Avon Fantasy Reader No. 11 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

ing. Don't tell me that he’s gotten loose and stolen something from the kitchen = “Oh, no, suh. He ain’t stole nothin’, Jedge y’honor, suh. He’s daid?!”’ “What?” The question snapped as sharply as a whip. “How?” ‘Pizened, Jedge y’honor, suh.”” The Negro swallowed hard and nodded solemnly. His eyes appeared to be all whites. ‘Ah heerd as how yuh an’ him wuz on ole Mis’ Lucindy’s place this evenin’ “Come on—out 0’ my way!” the judge burst in, and, Harrigan and Jake behind him, stamped out to the long shed behind the clubhouse where members’ dogs were quartered. Jake had not been guilty of an overstatement. The pointer, a big, rangy dog, lay on its side, legs stiff, lips curled back and foam-flecked, eyes bulg- ing almost from their sockets. Its sides and stomach were distended tiJ{ the skin was stretched like drum-parchment about them. "I left him less than half an hour ago,” Crumpacker almost sobbed. “He was well and healthy then, just finishing his dinner. Poor old Xerxes—poor old pal!” ‘He might have picked up something in the fields this afternoon,” soothed Harrigan. “Dogs often “Not this one, sir,’’ Crumpacker thundered. “I’ve had my eye on him all day. He’s eaten nothing but the food I gave him, and I brought that up with me—ba!” “What is it, sir?’ asked Harrigan, but even as he asked he knew the answer. There was a feeling of malaise about him, a sort of prickling of the short hairs on his neck, and a chilly, eery feeling, as of horripilation, on his forearms. “That infernal old Lucinda Lafferty—that devilish old witch. This ts her doing! She killed my poor dog just as she killed her neighbor's swine, by witchcraft. She got away with it that time; Petterson dismissed the case against her, but this time she has me to deal with. I'll track her down and brand her for the foul sorceress she is or die in the attempt. By Gad, I will sir!’ It might have been a foraging crow disturbed in his foray in the club- house kitchen yard, or routed by their voices from the shelter he had taken in the kennel shed. Whatever it was, there came a sudden flapping of strong wings against the shadows, and a hoarse, derisive croak of Jaughter as something took flight from the overhanging roof into the soot-black dark- ness of the rain-drenched night. Morning came with bright, cool air and sunlight sparkling on wet trees and grass. Harrigan was among the first at breakfast, but early as he was he found Judge Crumpacker finishing his ham and eggs as he came in the breakfast room. Apparently the judge had not had a good night, for his face was lined P| puffy and there was a sort of gray, unhealthy pallor underneath his ruddiness. The contrast reminded Harrigan of rouge smeared on a corpse. The old man’s eyes were swollen, too. If he had been a woman Harrigan would have thought he had been crying. ‘“Mornin’,” rumbled Crumpacker, nodding as he looked up from his 7 COmicdookks.com