Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 1, 1922 — page 15: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

WHISPERING SAGE. my words. What’s he going after; sheep or cattle?” Old Ironsides smiled. ‘‘No more sheep, my friend. Don’t -let that worry you. But enough of this man Bodine. How is everything at the Bull’s Head?” “Oh, so-so. Still losing a lot of calves.” ““ My people, I hope, are not suspected?” “No. We are losing them in the other direction, toward the Owyhee.” The talk drifted to cattle and the crops. The old Basque had a sense of poise and a choice of words that enabled him to hold - his own with the college-bred Acklin. A little tot of six, unnoticed by them as they talked, had felt his way upon the ve- randa. His sensitive fingers touched each familiar table and chair as if they were sign- posts to his unseeing eyes. The murmur of his father’s voice told his keen ears where the gray-haired José sat. With uncanny swiftness the boy made his way toward him. Once he almost stumbled, and the sound of his scuffling feet caught the old man’s ears. Instantly the father arose, and lifted the little fellow up to him. “ Fl hijo mio,” he said tenderly. ‘‘ Those bad chairs are always in the way, eh?”’ The boy rubbed his bruised leg and laughed as his father petted him. He wasa beautiful child. His brown, staring eyes made a mute appeal to friend and foe. For close to five years José had been both father and mother to the little blind Basilio. In spite of all his size and strength it was with the delicate touch of a woman that the old Basque caressed the child. Acklin stretched out his hands to the boy. “How is my little buckaroo to-day?” he asked playfully. “ Fine,’ the child answered timidly, but he made no attempt to go to him. “It is Senor Acklin, nizo mio,” the old man prompted. “ Can’t you shake hands with the senor?” Basilio did as he was bid. Acklin had often tried to make friends with him; but the boy held aloof as if he sensed—with that faculty the blind possess—an enemy, rather than a friend, in the big cowman. His father set the boy down at his feet. From the fence at the end of the patio, a 805 magpie scolded in raucous tones. Basilio knew that particular magpie. In a flash he slid off the steps and ran down the graveled walk of the patio. There were no chairs or tables to trip him there. As he ran he cawed and shrieked, until the patio seemed alive with. magpies. When he had almost reached the fastness of the vine-covered fence a black head bobbed up beyond it, and calling again, dashed up a side path of the garden, with the boy in keen pursuit. It was the Senorita Mercedes. Hair flying, her skirts tucked up about her, she fled helter-skelter around the patio until she dropped in a heap. A second later and Basilio was upon her, pull- ing her hair and showering her with fine spray from the tiny ditch. This romp was a daily pastime. From the veranda José and Acklin watched. Old Tronsides pretended to be shocked with such conduct in the presence of his distinguished visitor; at the same time he gloried in their -fun. Acklin laughed. He had had evidence enough of the tomboy spirit of the beautiful girl. José would have been surprised if he had known that the mighty Acklin had felt the sharpness of her tongue more than once. In answer to her father’s call she came up the steps truculently, the boy hanging on to the ribbons of her dress. “Querida, you are worse than a boy,” the old man scolded. ‘‘ What kind of play is. this before our guest?” She laughed mischievously, her black eyes snapping. She flashed them belligerently at Acklin. He had never seen her more beauti- ful; her gleaming teeth, well-rounded shoul- ders and bust, and warm lips all made her adorable. ‘You come to see me, huh?” she asked. Acklin blushed. It was disconcerting, to say the least. The fact that he might be coming so regu- larly to the Rancho’ Buena Vista to see its mistress had begun to dawn on old José some time back. He had proved how astute he was by not saying a word. What-:an alliance that would be! Mercedes would in reality be the queen of the land then. But now that his daughter had blurted out her tomboy question he blushed as furiously as Acklin. comicloool C©