All-Story Weekly, Vol. 112, No. 1 — page 92: what you’re looking at

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

82 He left the neighborhood of the Chapar- ral Cock, musing. He caught his mount, forked the horse and rode back over the trail to Ox Bow. As he went, he found himself often saying mentally: ‘“Y wonder how that young squirt is able to out-game two hard-boiled Mexican crooks like that at night and not able to get his gun out of its holster in time to hit a tin can that I throw up in the morning?” ‘“‘ An’ if so be he’s such a good actor as seems, what else has he acted out, and how, and why?” And again: “He'll bear watching—a heap of it. You tread light an’ soft an’ easy, Lars Maltrane. You went into one J. P. with a gun that only shot dirt. Don’t go nosin’ into another ’till you know you’ve got real bullets in your gun and why you’re into it, an’ furthermo’e, how’s ’t goin’ to end up?” —— CHAPTER XIV. A PRISONER OF HOPE. “ ATTEND, Maretta!” It was Aguilar, cap bells ajingle, cigarro smoke acurl about his well- poised head, hands on hips, as he stood in the quiet of the morning before the bar of the Chaparral Cock. The woman behind the bar was pouting. “T am attentive, Sevor,’ she gave him, yet in seeming careless inattentiveness. Both were speaking correct Spanish. “ Attend!” His hand flashed out and caught her small, supple wrist. Their eyes engaged in psychic duel. Hers fell—her wrist yielded. He twisted it. dy The joint snapped. Her face wreathed. in agony. He cast the hurt member aside. “ Attend!” ““ Si, Senor!” her phrase submissive, her great glowing eyes belieing it. ‘There, that is better, Senorita dulce!” He puffed smoke toward her—a cloud of insult that wreathed her face. She coughed. He laughed. ‘It was well enough to entice that Bar- ney Barnquist here, for gain,” he went on, suave, cool; ‘“‘ but to do it for love, to give ALL-STORY WEEKLY. him such warmth of greeting and atten- tion—” “But, Sezor, it was your wish to lead him on—”’ “There is a limit. Forget not that I, Aguilar, have the first claim on you, Ma- retta. In business we may do queer things, but once our fortune is made here, we go down into Old Mexico again, to enjoy our money. Now, attend again.” “ Si, Senor?” ‘““In some way procure a bit of the writ- ing of that Burlane who owns the big black caviard, that Midnight.” “Why, Senor?” ‘“It may come well if I have it, that I may forge a bill-of-sale, with Burlane’s name as seller; to me—” “ But that would be perilous—” ‘““In a certain case, yes. But Burlane IS Opposing the Ox Bow people. Something may happen to him,” his mouth wreathed in a cruel smile. ‘If he should be found on the prairie, dead, and no one wise enough to say how he died; if I were to appear in time with a bill-of-sale, showing I have bought the big horse—it would add a thou- sand dollars to our wealth, Senorita dulce.” ‘““T understand. You shall have the paper, Pedro.” This softly, caressingly. She leaned over the bar, kissed him lightly on his pouting lips, Just covered with a fine black line of well tended hair. He chuckled her under the chin and strode out, humming: ‘“ To- reagor, make ready!” As he went, the woman leaned her head on the bar and her eyes glowed. As Agui- lar flicked forth into the sunlight, Maretta said to herself: ‘‘ Paff, for you, Senor Aguilar! But to draw from that huge Burlane a bit of writ- ing will do no harm, and it will give me the chance to know him better.” Barney Barnquist’ had been gone for hours. He had left her with the dawn and ridden quietly off toward Ox Bow. The place would be quiet for hours, save for the occasional passer-by. She felt satisfied with the status of their affaire and glimpsed, afar, the delights of being mistress of Ox Bow. She thought she had but to humor the man-boy, the new heir, into marriage. cCoOmiclbooks C©