Life — August 13, 1925 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

‘Slim Larabee of Tarnation Ridge By Corey Fora Author of “Dropped in His Tracks," “He Bit the Dust,” and “100 Tasty Recipes for Midsummer Salad.” oe UT ‘em up, thar!” The crisp command rang out above the tinny rattle of the cheap piano in the “Crooked Knuckle” Saloon, and forty pairs of hands shot into the air with a deafening report. As the smoke cleared forty pairs of eyes stared at the tall masked Tllustrated by Ellison Hoover dance on nuthin’, so to speak.” The eyes above the stranger's mask flashed ominously. “What do you want o’ me?” whined Saunders. “I want thet herd o’ cattle as you and yore —— —— herd o'rustlers stole las’ night from ‘Ye Olde Lavender figure in the doorway. “Drap them thar shootin’ irons,” con- tinued the even voice; and by his tone the dissolute crowd knew that he meant what he said. “I come fer Prairie Rose,” he said slowly, “her with a voice like a nightingale, whut come from out o' nowhere to warm our hearts with song—Gold bless her.” And in his emotion he shot two men and wiped his eyes with the barrel of the revolver. Then from the adjoining room came a shrill scream, and through the beaded cur- tains struggled the beautiful dancer, locked in the drunken embrace of a bearded cattle- tustler. “I'm a-goin’ fer tew kiss yew, gal!” he laughed hoarsely. “Bang!” spoke the stranger's gun; and the intoxicated annoyer spun three times round and measured his length the sawdust. “Five foot eleven, he choked, while the stranger on just,” As if it had been a diphtheria epidemic, Red Murder stalked Tarnation Ridge—Red Murder with his fangs dripping gore; and the stigma smirched the proud ’scutcheon of ‘‘Honest Bob’’ Pen- dleton when he would of given hisallto been free. But he stayed and faced the will of the law and the wiles of the lawless alike, and won the Goal of Victory and Honor—and the Love of a Woman. Just a big, clean story of the out-of-doors. thought as much.” planted a hob- Kettle Ranch’"—here he paused and his voice broke tenderly—“an’ I want this Prairie Rose, I vum!" “Who are you, Lara- bee?" asked the dancer softly. Gently the stranger reached down inside his dusty blue shirt and drew forth a tiny locket on a gold chain, as the girl fainted in his arms. “My God, Larabee,” urged Saunders, “who are you?” By way of answer the masked man raised his gun and fired; and as the smoke cleared the startled spectators crowded around the bar. Painfully the uneducated rustlers spelled out the course of the bullet, which was written in a clear round hand. “Larabee!” uttered the bearded rustler. “By God, I nailed boot on his Cuarttr Two neck. OOM! boom! boom! beat down the sun mercilessly on “Lay offen thet the hot prairie, as a tiny speck would have drawn nearer thar gal, Oscar had there been any one there for him to approach. Now ‘Dirty’ Saunders,” and again he halted and peered eagerly on all sides, “Not continued the cool, much fu'ther ol’ pard,” he whispered to his horse. “Thet's steady voice, “er I the horizon yonder.” reckon you an’ “What of it?” murmured his horse. yore gang o” rus- “There's gold in them hills,” he breathed. tlers will do a “And what a sucker J was to come out here,” thought comicbooks.com