Western Story Magazine, May 12, 1934 — page 74: what you’re looking at

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

journey. Poke awakened at day- break, refreshed and ready to start. The fur was loaded on Tabasco’s back, and after an early breakfast the trek to Big Nugget resumed. Poke Tupper found his prisoner meek enough, except for an occa- -siona protest over the long marches without rest. “Tryin’ to kill me off?” he would complain. ‘Me hoofin’ it and you ridin’ the mule some of the time.” “Pm trying to tire you out so you won’t start nothin’ you can’t finish,” Poke explained. . _ They arrived at Dad Morton’s ~ office after Big Nugget was in bed. Dad Morton and Bud Tuttle were playing cards when Poke herded Listman into the room. “Here’s the fur stealer,” Poke cried. “We want him to get the limit, too. Ill sign a paper tellin’ what he’s done. Me and Hard-rock won't be here for the trial, as we’re headin’ for the Iron Mountain country.” | “Well, you didn’t get far, did you?” Bud jeered at the prisoner. “You just couldn’t keep your fingers off other men’s furs, could you?” “Aw, shut up,” Listman snarled as Bud locked him up. Poke Tupper shook hands with the old marshal and his deputy. “I’m leavin’ first thing in the morning,” Poke said, “so I won’t see you until next fall. Good luck and Coming Next Week THE Street & Smith’s Western Story Magazine be sure Listman gets what’s coming to him.” “T sure will,” Bud promised. - Poke departed, and for several minutes there was silence, then List- man spoke. “That was a fine idea you had, Tuttle,” he bitterly observed, “turn- ing me loose to steal their fur, so they’d forget their differences while running me to earth. They liked to have killed me. Shipley, the old goat, butted me in the stomach with his head, and I thought sure Blue Glacier had fallen on me.’ “Maybe this will help some, List- man,” Bud answered as he released the other. “It’s a hundred dollars, your pay as special deputy in this case. It’s money well spent because it'll save this office hundreds of dol- lars looking for stampeders who might get lost if Hard-rock and Poke weren’t blazing a trail.” “Thanks,” Listman answered. “T’ll put it into trail grub. I’m goin’ on that stampede myself. How about the charge Pete Sather brought?” “JT talked with Pete,’ Bud in- formed him. “He said if you didn’t double-cross me and skip the country with Hard-rock and Poke’s fur, you weren’t the one who stoie from him. And so, I guess you're not.” “Which is something I knew right along,” Listman growled, eying the hundred-dollar check. VENDETTA KID by STANLEY HOFFLUND (LI