Western Story Magazine, May 12, 1934 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

18 Street & Smith’s filled with straw, and was soon snor- ing. Sleep did not come so readily to Dan Stuart. What sort of a recep- tion awaited him? And what of “El Mudo”’? Could he really read character, or did he accept or con- demn a man according to the mood of the moment? “Well,” he ‘con- cluded, ‘‘there’s more chance inside the Hole than out.” The next thing Dan knew, it was daylight, and the bright sun was bringing out the details of each col- ored rock and ledge. He followed the sun line as it worked down into the Hole, and presently the golden flood spilled over a slope, and there, sharply defined, lay the curiously placed graves of eleven sheriffs and Rangers. was possible to recognize the grue- some letters of Pedro Sanchez’s ini- tials. There was the P, composed of six graves, the S of five graves, and the round, empty grave await- ing Jud Tremper, which would s serve as a period. CHAPTER ITI. “BURY HIM ALIVE.” AN STUART walked about the barbed wire, which was strung across the entrance to the main part of Calico Hole, and eyed it curiously. No horse could make its way through there after dark, though a twisting lane was available for use by day. A rifle, commanding both the barbed wire and the split in the walls, lay on a ledge two hundred yards away. ~ Above the rifle Dan saw a dark head. Outlaws were on guard. “That fellow won’t come down,” Al explained, nodding at the guard; “it’s his business to stay up there. We can drift through, but return- ing would be something else. [Tm went on, Even at this distance it Western Story Magazine worried about you. I had hoped to later talk you out of your plan, but the posse forced things.” “How're you feeling, Al?” “Fine! Why shouldn’t I? Tm free,’ he answered, but Dan knew that he was trying to deceive him. Al was a sick youth, and it would require more than freedom to cure him, though that would help. Al required good food, rest, and care. “There’s no turning back now,” he “so we might as well get it over with.” Dan saddled the horses, and Al led the way through the barbed wire. The guard, recognizing the younger man, shouted something, and Al waved back. _ Near the slope bearing Sanchez’s initials, Dan pulled up. The graves, dug at curious angles to form the letters, were whitewashed. Around the mounds the grass was permitted to grow, and the contrast between white and green was marked. The beat of hoofs came suddenly, and Al Ford whirled in the saddle. His sallow face turned gray with fear, and he groaned. “Tt’s Alice!” Fresh and vivid, and perhaps a little excited, Alice Ford rode up on a mare that stepped daintily and — held its head high. ~ “T)on’t seold me, Al,” the girl pleaded before her brother could speak. “You shouldn’t have come into the .Hole,”’ he groaned, “you shouldn’t! You know it means you can never leave! Pedro Sanchez will always be around with his unwel- come attentions.” “T thought of that, but it’s not important,” the girl insisted. “You're all I’ve got, Al, and you need nursing. You are sick. You've been going on your nerve for hours now, and when yar re really back