Cowboy Short Stories, November 1939 — page 92: what you’re looking at

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

THE FORGOTTEN SHERIFF 93 that could have happened. He stole it first, the dirty, lyin’ little sneak!” “Suh!” said the Jinx, at his full height. “Suh, do yo’ realize who yo’ ah accusin’ of sich a thing? The one-time Sheriff of Pecos County, in its wu’st days; a man thet fought the Denvers Gang single- handed, as Ma’shal of peace. Watch yo’ = suh !”’ Somebody sniggered. In a fury the Jinx stood before them. Then something seemed to snap. The Jinx was suddenly just an old man, in a greasy cook’s apron, and his skinny, old body trembled in the glow of the fire embers. All the swagger was gone from him, all the mock dignity. “Suh!” began the Jinx. “As a one-time, two-gun officah, down in— Aw—aw, what's the use? Yo’ all don’t believe me. Yo’ all nevah have. I’m jist an old windbag, Jinx of the outfit. Sho’ I know it. But allus since I kin recollect, I’d calculated my chance to be somebody would come some day. Allus figgered thet way, an’ was hopin’ an’ waitin’ fo’ it. But it nevah come till today. Mebbe thet’s why I took to talkin’ so much.” One of the boys muttered something that wasn't heard. Somebody tried to laugh. “IT ain’t nothin’,” said the Jinx. “I nevah been nothin’—but a wagon cook. Othah fellas allus tellin’ what an’. where they been . an did, an’ me jist tellin’ lies to make up fo’ what I ain’t. But today—today I seen it. I seen my big chance. Thet thief Larkin RIDE! watchin’ every move Lew makes. I knew he’d be back aftah thet money. I could see it in his eyes. An’—an’ it wuz my chance to prove myself. Then—then—” Lew Springer nodded very thoughtfully. “Yeah, sure. Sure,” he muttered. “But I ain’t got the nerve,” explained the Jinx. “I ain’t got the nerve to face him, when my chance is come. So—so I took thet money an’ hid it. I hid it in the flour sack. Thet—thet wuz all I could think to do.” E JINX stood staring down into the glow of the fire embers. There was silence. Lew Springer finally went over to the back of the wagon, and when he te- turned one arm was white with flour up to the elbow and the hand held a thick wad of bills and checks. “Allus,” muttered the Jinx, “I'd figgered some day to be a man of reco’d. Mebbe my chance wuz jist too long a-comin’.” “Record?” said Lew Springer after a while. “Record? Say, Jinx, I’m sayin’ you got the record of bein’ the best judge of men on the old A-Bar-1. Larkin was goin’ on as buckaroo boss next month.” They saw the Jinx’s head lift. ‘“Thet—thet’s right. Sho’ if yo’ look at it thet way, thet’s right. Yeh. Well, suh, yo’ see it wuz fifty-eight cents he stole frum me, in a penny-ante game of pokah—” RUN! WALK! CREEP! No matter how you move, move fast! Get to your newsstand for a copy of October issue of GREATER R_ZAWESTERN ACTION NOVELS MAGAZINE Containing TWO COMPLETE DRAMATIC NOVELS THE GUN-SLICK SAVIOR OF PAINTED BUTTE....by G. W. Barrington DESERT DEATH FOR OUTCAST COWMEN Bushwhack Range by Hapsburg Liebe Trail Drive to Boothill....by Lionel E. I. Day Fighting Peacemaker. ....by Kenneth P. Wood OO (©