Page:Weird Tales Volume 12 Issue 05 (1928-11).djvu/142

mouth was drawn up at one corner by the scar into a sort of a half smile—so like Chulita's, so terribly like! I shuddered, and even in the hot sunlight pouring through the window my hands felt cold and wet. The dog sighed profoundly and came over and laid her head heavily upon my feet.

"When I returned I found Chulita dressed for travel in one of the prettiest of the dresses I had had sent out to her from Mexico City, some weeks before. She was so pretty and and so sweet and eager that fears and cautions slid off my back like water from a duck's wing. We mounted and rode through the fragrant, moonlit night, down past mist-hung ravines where the perfumes of a thousand orchids enveloped us, down and downward and at last into moonlit, sleeping Cuernavaca.

"I roused the priest, and we were married in the dark little church. The priest's sister and a sleepy Mexican lad were witnesses. The civil ceremony would be attended to later. We went out of the church to where our horses stood, and just as we came aroruid the stone buttress we ran into a Mexican. Heaven alone knows how he came there, by what evil chance he was abroad and passing at that hour and place. But there he was. In the clear moonlight I recognized instantly his great bulk, his evil eyes and drooping mustache. He snapped out a single word.

Chulita turned and saw him and screamed. A knife flashed from his hand and I sprang at him.

"It was a long and bitter fight, for this time he had not been drinking and he had his full strength. I had him at last, and felt his body suddenly grow limp as his breath left him beneath my fingers. But he had me, too. The blood was pouring from a gash in my head and the world spun and went out as I collapsed.

"The stars were paling when I came to myself, still lying across the body of the Mexican in the completely deserted street. Evidently no one had seen us or been near. The horses were still tied to the hitching-post. I staggered to my feet and looked about for Chulita. She was gone! There was no one there, nothing but the little brown dog lying dead in the moonlight with a Mexican knife through her heart. I never could find Chulita again, nor anyone who had seen her or any trace of her. There is no explanation, is there, Doctor? You've been out in lonely places, in Mexico; is there?"

Dr. McGonigal came out of his revery.

"Er—no, Mr. Larrison, I canna say there is," he answered.

"Except of course unless," continued Larrison, "unless—however, that way madness lies."

He rose, and soon, the storm having died down in the meantime, he left the club for his rooms.

The rest of us said nothing for awhile.

Bob Wheeler spoke suddenly.

"Er, ah," he began, "didn't I hear somewhere that Larrison uses some form of dope?"

The doctor grunted.

I admitted that I had heard the same rumor.

"Ay! Perhaps!" said the doctor, pulling on his greatcoat. "Godforsaken place, Acatlan. Gets a man, one way or another."

"That would explain a story like that," Wheeler went on.

Again the doctor grunted.

"Still," he said in his slow Scotch way as he pulled on his gloves, "I'm wondering, lads, which came first, the dope or the dog? Good-night, fellows."

The door closed after him.