Evening star., 1940-05-05
Il Short Story Complete in This Issue

UT here in the New Mexican desert, the ngnt
was 50 brilliant that Roger Borne couldn't
~ believe the sensitive needle of his exposure
meter But Carl Sade, after one swift glance. had
ho such difficulty. He lived in objective world,
Ibid Slade, and his voice. crisp with decision called
out the correct exposure for the colored tln "A
|seventy-fifth of a second at t.8.
Borne looked obviously at his exposure meter,
but accepted SHADES word.
Peggy Larson frowned, f1eeting expression of
displeaslre She looked at Roger, waiting for his
comment But Roger merely set the shutter OF the
camera adjusted the diaphragm stop. and shot the
picture.
Slade, she knew. was right He was always right.
But why did he have to be so calmly sefassertive?
| Why couldn't he have waited to let Roger figure
out the exposure from the exposure-meter reading?
Slade was always like that studying people, reach
ing conclusions quietly instructing those about him.
1t was this quality which filled Peggy with vague
uneasiness. He dominated people, not only because
of his strong character but because everyone knew
that Carl Slade would be right. As Roger had once
said with whimsical twist of his lips Better to do
as he suggests than argue that he's wrong and
lose the argument"
And so Peggys holiday had gradually become
something more, tour of inspection at the end OF
which she would reach decision There was nothing
she had said which showed that decision was about
to be reached Yet they knew it - all three of them.
There was subtle Tightening of the psychic tension,
an underlying note in their good d-natured banter.
quick nervousness about Peggy's laughter slight
deepening in the worry lines about Roger Borne's
fine gray eyes.
And as the hour for her decision approached, Carl
Slade assumed air of quiet possession. The mans
personality reached out and absorbed hers pushed
Rogers into the background. Coo calm, incsive,
he was nfallibe. Feggy found she was being swept
along on the current of the mans personality If he
would only be wrong once, if only Roger wouldn't
1atten out so under the influence of SHADES COM
potency
The Indian pueblo was etched into sharp bril-
lance against the blue of the sky, like the edges of
thunderhead catching the summer sunlight Stately
Indians walked with slow dignity, their moccasined
feet making no sound. their eyes steady and un-
curious Beyond the pueblo. the mesa sloped pre-
ciptousy to desert covered with juniper. cedar
and greasewood. A ragged little lad with eyes the
color of wet black rocks on seashore came toward
them holding out beaded rabbits foot. Slade
waved him to one side.
OUT in the patio of one of the houses where strings
of drying peppers made crimson streaks against the
an old man. The mans puckered lips wrapped them
selves around the stem of corncob pipe. He looked
past them with eyes that focused the mirage
distorted horizon paunchy Indian, sitting with
his back turned to them, sprawed lazily in the
sunlight.
One of the women casually lifted a pawn belt
from woven basket.
Peggy gave short, involuntary exclamation at
sight of that belt The silver had been hammered
into cups aboriousy carved into lace-lke fligree.
Turquoise studded the centers of the silver conchas
interlocked into belt of exquisite beauty.
Only last night she had confided to Roger Borne
that she wanted belt like that - if she could find
a perfect beauty. Today was her birthday. Peggy
could buy thousand such belts for herself, and
never notice the cost. But if Roger should have
remembered. if he would only Roger turned
toward the woman. Good morning. he said
Peggy Larson felt her pulse leap. Swift color
pounded into her cheeks The squaw looked at Roger
in cool appraisal. Good morning"