Western Story Magazine, May 12, 1934 — page 104: what you’re looking at

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

102 sickish feelin’ when I think of that big hellion Virlee. I guess he’s more dangerous than | think he is, but J can’t help how I feel about him. This here Red Blackman is prob’ly a hellbender. I’ve gone up agin’ his kind afore. The man that faces him final will hafta be fast an’ sure.” The old man stared at Jerry. “Tf it’s you, Jerry, you'll hafta deliver as you never delivered afore.” “Parks,” said Jerry seriously, “‘when the show-down comes, leave him to me. It may be that he killed Mr. King himself. If he did. ” Jerry, too, stopped and stared, his eyes hard and bright. “Parks,” he went on, “if he killed Mr. King or had him killed, what could stop me from killing him?” “Nothing,” said old Parks simply. The two men continued to stare at each other as if some mystic thing were in the room. At last Parks nodded. | “Yeah, you’d kill him, Jerry,” he said. ‘“You’d blast his heart right out. Easy!” Parks took a deep breath. “Well,” he went on, “I’m goin’ to write a letter to Virlee. Pm goin’ to tell him we hung fifteen of his men. I’m goin’ to drag him out in the open.” “All right,” Jerry agreed. Jerry sat staring at the table. Parks gave him a sly look, then patted his pants pockets. “Where did I leave my pipe?” he asked. “I gotta smoke whilst I’m writin’ a letter.’ He rose. “Be back in a minute, Jerry.” Jerry only nodded. Parks went outside. He was back in a short time and set about writing his letter. When he had finished, he read the letter to Jerry. “It’s all right,” Jerry said. “It lets him know that we’re sure he’s guilty of everything that’s happened and that Red Blackman is his right- Street & Smith’s Western Story Magazine hand man. You call him a good many names, Parks.” : “1 don’t call him the names he should be called,” Parks asserted, “because them names ain’t. Well, I'll take this letter to a boy outside. He’s goin’ to get it to Virlee to- morrow somehow. I dunno jus’ how. He volunteered. I ast him to volunteer.” | Jerry smiled as Parks again went outside. The old man had his own way of doing things, Jerry thought. And, indeed, Parks was to prove that he had his own way of doing things. He came in presently and sat down and refilled and lighted his pipe. Jerry smoked a cigarette. Time slipped away while the two men sat in silence. “Must be one o’clock,” Jerry said. Parks produced a big silver watch. “Two,” he said. So late. What time you goin’ to start that bee, Parks?” “Lemme rest a bit, Jerry. I don’t stand these rackets like I usta. Time was I could set my saddle seventy-two hours at a stretch an’ never turn a hair. Can’t do it no more. Reason prob’ly is I ain’t got many hairs left to turn. Ho, hum.” A fit of abstraction came to Jerry. He idled the minutes away, while dim thoughts of Elizabeth went through his mind. He began to nod. Sleepily he looked at Parks. Parks. was steadily smoking, his eyes lidded. Jerry put his arms on the table and went at once into a sound sleep. | Parks opened his eyes and looked at Jerry. Tamping out his pipe, he softly rose and went to the living- room door and opened it. Elizabeth sprang up and hastened to him. ““Tt ain’t nothin’ important, Eliza- beth,” he said. “On’y, by now, that | unforchinit matter. at ther. Ae 10D5..