15 Western Short Stories — page 89: what you’re looking at

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

STARPACKER STAMPEDE 89 over the fallen gladiator, tryin’ to bring him to. “If that was a love tap, no tellin’ what’d happen yuh got real- ly b’iled up over a fella.” Windy still looks kind of dazed, but I get him on his feet just as Marshal Gordon stomps through the busted gate, followed by Ollie, Artemus Squidge and half the people of Tank- town. The marshal stares hard at McCar- thy and me and scratches his head. “I could’a’ swore I arrested you two,” he mutters. “Well, if I forgot it, yo’re under arrest right now!” He turns to Luella and points at the outstretched figures of Mabie and Dil- dock. “Hope yuh didn’t damage ‘em none,” he says. “I gotta bring them in, too. Disturbin’ the peace.” My pardner takes advantage of this tender domestic scene to step across to the huddled form of Bill Mabie with the object in view of retrievin’ his stolen petition. His coat is there alongside the unconscious miner, and as he picks it up and feels in the left hand pocket his hand closes on some- thin’ that brings a funny look to his face. He takes out his hand and stares open-mouthed at a thick bundle of bank notes. Nature ain’t give my pardner any very heavy amount of brains, but he can add up two and two and get four. A bank has been robbed, and here is an hombre with a bankroll big enough to choke a horse. All right, this bozo might be a bank robber! Windy steps over to Artemus Squidge and slaps the bills into the banker’s palm. “Mr. Squidge,” he announces dra- matically, “there’s the dinero which was stole from your bank!’ He turns to the gapin’ marshal and motions to- wards the outlaws. “Marshal,” he says, “arrest them two jaspers! They’re the outlaws robbed the Tanktown Bank! I been on their trail all afternoon—even after you throwed me and Piccolo in jail for tryin’ to give yuh a litle per- fessional assistance.” suddenly Droopy Dildock stirs and mutters in a whinin’ voice: “Damn it, Bill, where’s my iron? I told yuh—” Artemus Squidge gives a shout. “That’s him! That little one! I'd know his voice anywheres. Threatened to shoot me! Arrest him!” The marshal clears his throat and turns to McCarthy, who is standin’ with his chest pushed out enjoyin’ the admiration of the gallery and espe- cially the shy, flutterin’ glances of Luella. “Son,’ he confesses reluctant- ly, “I shore gotta give yuh credit. I— yessir, I plumb have.” The old man ‘looks as though he is gonna break down and cry. “Shucks, that’s all right,” Windy big-heartedly. “You’d’a’ done all right if it’d been a minor case, maybe.” OMEBODY in the crowd yells, “Windy McCarthy—our next mar- shal!” and the top button of Windy’s shirt flys off with a pop. “Pull in your chest,” I whispers. “Yuh wanta lose all your buttons?” Just then there is a long blast of a train whistle, and Windy gives a jump. The 5:10 is leavin’ the depot— and its the last train to Longhorn City before tomorrow. And tomorrow will be too late to file his petition for marshal. Windy jerks up an arm. “One minute, gents!” he cries. “I wanta take this here opportunity to announce I’m withdrawin’ from the race for marshal! And I think that with the experience gained from ob- servin my methods in this case, our friend Gordon here will make a pretty middlin’ lawman, in time.” The marshal’s bushy eyebrows twitch up. “Son,” he says sadly, “guess I done yuh an injustice. Too bad they ain’t no reward on these hombres, but”—he glances meanin’ly towards Luella, who is blushin’ like a Poco Pisada sunset—‘“‘reckon mebbeso you'll git another kind o’ reward, eh? At this sinister remark, I grab my pardner by the sleeve and move him fast out of the crowd. “If I got any- thin’ to say,” I states emphatically, “that there’s one reward you ain’t nev- er gonna collect!” Poor Windy fingers his sore chin very gingerly. “Maybe you're right,” he says. Then he pauses and looks back. “But if you’d ever tasted her maple sugar buscuits—!”.. says _ , @END con chaate ECO