Western Story Magazine, May 12, 1934 — page 96: what you’re looking at

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

04 Street & Smith’s Western Story Magazine EANING forward, the tall youth flipped two cards at Roaring Bill, and swayed back. His hands dropped quickly below the edge of the table, fumbled, came up, and he gave himself four cards. Roaring Bill and the four trappers stared at the stranger blankly. So clumsy had been that dipping of hands below the table, that it hardly seemed possible that he could have deliberately changed decks. Roaring Bill half opened his mouth to speak, looked at his own cards, and then said nothing. The stranger glanced at his hand, smiled, and tossed another five hun- dred on the table. “Still in?” he asked. With an impassive nod Roaring Bill fingered out the additional money and said, “I’m calling.” The stranger spread four aces and a king face-up on the table. Roaring Bill stared at the re- vealed cards, at his own hand, and then his face turned _brick-red. Slowly he spread his own hand—a pair of jacks and three aces. “Seven aces,” said Roaring Bill, “that’s a hell of a lot for one deck!” Instantly the tall youth’s chair crashed over backward and his lean body whipped erect. All over the saloon heads reared, staring, voices cursed, and the crowd broke in a dozen directions, out of line, flatten- ing their bodies against the parallel - walls. The stranger leaned for- ward, his narrowed gaze striking Roaring Bill’s flushed face. ‘“An’ what do you mean by that?” “That you’re a skunk!” thundered Roaring Bill, lunging to his feet. “That you ‘re a liar an’ a cheat! That you’re a low-down, double- dealing polecat!”’ A quick, satisfied smile brushed the young stranger’s lips. His voice was ominously quiet: **That’s a lot to call a man, Roar- ing Bill. Figure you can back it with your gun?” Roaring Bill stood motionless, his heavy-jowled face flushed, staring at the smiling youth. But gradually then, strangely, an inscrutable calm washed across his massive features. Slowly he held out his right hand. _ “Shake, stranger,” he asked. “TI talked. out of turn. Shake, and we'll call it quits.” The stranger nodded, still smil- ing, and held out his right hand, seeming to brace himself as though expecting a shock. Roaring Bill’s great hand closed over that of the stranger. The muscles of Roaring Bill’s jaw ridged out with effort as he clamped that massive paw around the slender hand of the youth, crushing, breaking. The stranger’s face went dead-white with pain. Roaring Bill gave a guttural laugh, released the hand, and _ stepped swiftly backward. The hand of the other dropped limply at his side, bloody, the bones broken. “Pilgrim,” snapped Roaring Bill, “I’ve changed my mind. You’re still a liar an’ a cheat. Now go for your gun!” “T can t exe) for my gun,” said the stranger; “you’ve broken my hand.” “Go for your punky thundered Roaring Bill. The youth’s face was white, but still his lips were faintly smiling. “My name,” he said, “is Johnny Dartin.” Roaring Bill’s eyes leaped with a sudden start. He leaned forward, staring, licking his lips. “Why, you fool!” he blurted. “You'll never know it,” said the stranger, “but you’ve killed your- self.” A sudden panic swept the massive face of Roaring Bill. His nocee voice came raggedly:.. VOC aVOU