Western Story Magazine, May 12, 1934 — page 95: what you’re looking at

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

ron u Light broke dismally from the dusty windows of the Longhorn Saloon, as dismally perished before the smothering pounce of malignant dark. Pausing at the _ bat-wing doors, facing them squarely, the stranger broke them wide with a weaving twist of his shoulders. As he stepped inside, curving to the left, he slapped his shoulders against the wall and for a moment waited, tempering. his half-lidded eyes to that smoky yellow gloom. A roulette wheel clicked with ironic cheer; oil lamps sputtered and hissed like snakes against the cav- ernous celling; the motley crowd— weathered trail drivers, gamblers in beaver hats, buffalo hunters in fringed buckskin, soldiers with sabers, several long-haired scouts— swarmed through the glimmering murk, drank at the bar, played coldly at cards, or sat with their chairs tipped ‘back, half asleep against the shadow-thick walls. The stranger’s gaze swept the room. He poised there, now sud- denly defined in a splash of saffron light, his hips flat and his chest arched, tall and lean, that battered sombrero crouched on the back of his head and his sandy hair tangling around his ears like tufts of ripened hay. Finally his glance found the massive bulk of “Roaring Bill” Hyde, and his eyes blazed and then went cold. Roaring Bill Hyde sat at a table in the center of the room, his bulging body a mammoth mound of flesh, playing draw poker with five buck- skin-clad trappers. Sizable men by themselves, these trappers, but in the awesome shadow of Roaring Bill they seemed dwarfed to insignifi- cance. For that black-bearded man was a giant—he had enormous hands, the shoulders of an ox, and A Game Of Draw 93 the lowc ting, shaggy head of a great boar. The stranger smiled. It was a slow, contented smile. He crossed now to the bar, downing a drink and then casually rolling a cigarette. He lighted the cigarette. Then, swinging around, his elbows hooked on the bar, he loafed in lazy con- templation of the sullen play at Roaring Bill’s table. It was half an hour later that one of Roaring Bill’s companions pushed back his chair and left the game. The stranger stepped quickly for- ward, pausing behind that empty chair. He looked at Roaring Bill. “Can I sit in?” he asked. Roaring Bill glanced up from be- neath shaggy brows. “Huh? Don’t believe I know you.” “No,” said the stranger, “you don’t know me. Can I sit in?” Roaring Bill narrowed his eyes slightly, then he shrugged and nodded. “If you want.” “I want,” said the stranger and sat down. For another half hour, the play indifferently continued. The stran- ger lost a little, won a little. But finally there came a hand with every one but the stranger and Roaring Bill laying down their cards. Now the lean youth looked at his hand with a sudden interest. Then, jerk- ing a roll of bills from his pocket, he counted out five hundred dollars. “Covering that?” he asked Roar- ing Bill. The huge man pursed his thick lips, scowled at his hand, finally nodded. “Covered,” he agreed, counting the money, “five hundred.” The stranger picked up the deck and looked at Roaring Bill. “How many?” “Two,” said Roaring Pill SalGO