Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 26, 2025
Aaron King was somewhat out of practise in the use of meaningless words, and the art of talking without saying anything is an art that requires constant exercise if one would not commit serious technical blunders. James Rutlidge's greeting was insolently familiar; as a man of certain mind greets in public a boon companion of his private and unmentionable adventures.
But while that truly benevolent inclination was, in his consciousness, unmarred with sinister motive of any sort; still, deeper than the impulse for good in James Rutlidge's nature lay those dominant instincts and passions that were his by inheritance and training.
James Rutlidge's foot slipped on the rocky floor; but, with a desperate effort, he regained his momentary loss. Aaron King worn by his days of anxiety, by his sleepless nights and by the long hours of toil over the mountains, without sufficient food or rest felt his strength going. Slowly, the weight and endurance of the heavier man told against him.
Suddenly, the artist remembered finding the studio door open with Conrad Lagrange's key in the lock, and how the novelist had berated himself with such exaggerated vehemence; and, in a flash, came the thought of James Rutlidge's visit, that afternoon, and of his strange manner and insinuating remarks. "I think I know the name of your good genie," said the painter, facing the girl, seriously.
We'll let the Sheriff, or whoever can, solve the mystery of that automobile and Jim Rutlidge's disappearance." A half mile from Granite Peak, they met Jack Carleton and, by dark, as Brian Oakley had said, were safely down to the head of Clear Creek; having come by routes, known to the Ranger, that were easier and shorter than the roundabout way followed by the convict and the girl.
The convict, looking along his steady rifle barrel, was saying again, "Pray, pray for me, girl." As the words left his lips, his finger pressed the trigger, and the quiet of the hills was broken by the sharp crack of the rifle. James Rutlidge's hold upon the artist slipped.
To one of James Rutlidge's type, schooled in the intellectual moral and esthetic tenets of his class, it was impossible to think of the companionship of the artist and the girl in any other light.
She laughed knowingly, "Just wait until Jim Rutlidge's 'write-up' appears, and all the others follow his lead, and you'll see! The picture is clever enough you know it as well as I. It is beautiful. It has everything that we women want in a portrait.
Myra explained that she had dreamed but that's all she would say. I figured that being upset by Rutlidge's reminding her of some one she had known started her mind to going on the past and then she dreamed of whatever it was that gave her those scars."
Word Of The Day
Others Looking