Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 126: what you’re looking at

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

752 “What do you want here?” demanded Tazewell. “How much is that there tobacco? Four packages I took.” “You can’t have it.” “How much?” Billy still smiled, but he spoke with a certain impatience. “T can’t let you have it. You'll have to give it back.” “ Sift it out of the ashes.” Tazewell’s full face fell. “You burnt it?” ‘“‘T put it in the stove.” “That ’ll cost you seven dollars.” “You might o’ said so sooner,” grum- bled Billy, but still he smiled. He took from his pocket the I. O. U. and showed it to Mr. Tazewell. “Take it out of that,” he requested. Mr. Tazewell blushed. ‘What do you mean?” he blustered. “There you go again,” sighed Billy. io 4 I mean, pay up.” Mr. Tazewell cast a terrible look about the ample audience. “It’s a holdup!” he gasped. “Tt’s a showdown,” said Billy. “One hundred and twenty-seven dollars and fif- teen cents.” “ T won’t pay it.” Billy turned a pensive eye upon the crowd which huddled about him. “You folks better get out of range,” he said. - “‘ This glass eyed sport looks like a bad shot.” A flutter of panic ensued, but curiosity defeated fear. Only a few were strong- minded enough to leave. “You mean you’ll threaten me?” ‘““T mean if you don’t pay up right quick,” said Billy, ‘ I1’l] call the police.” Some one laughed. Billy turned to him in mild reproval, and the laughter ceased. Mr. Tazewell emitted sounds suggestive of ironic mirth. _ “ The police?” he rattled. “ That’s good. That’s a good one.” “Yo’re right. They are sort of useless; but I’m betting they can handle you.” ‘You want the police, mister? Here they are!” cried a voice from the rear, and the crowd moved to let Supernumerary Constable Flynn pass through. Tired of ~ ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. riding alone to no place in particular, Flynn had returned home. Billy smiled broadly, resting a hand on his pistol butt, to indicate his good feeling. “Sonny,” he cried, “ yo’re prompt!” The minion of the law recognized his man. “What does this mean?” faltered he. “Shucks!” said Billy. “ Yo’re a disap- pointment.” “You're under arrest,” continued Flynn weakly. ‘“ Drop that gun!” “Not right now,” said Billy. “You're under arrest!” “ Shore,” assented the criminal. “ But first orf I want you to fix up this.” He produced the L. O. U. “It’s a legal obligation,” he protested, “and old glass eye here won’t pay up.” He turned a reproving gaze upon Tazewell. “ For shame!” he said. Tazewell blustered; the best thing he did besides short weighting his customers. “ Arrest that man, constable!” he splut- tered. “ He’s a fugitist from justice!” Flynn wanted to cry. Billy caught his arm in a strong grip. “You represent the law, young feller,” he boomed incisively. “He says arrest me. All right. Grab my arm.” Flynn grasped Billy’s arm. ‘See? I’m arrested,” said Billy. “ Now, then, constable, make this glass eyed son of a locoed muleteer pay up his honest debts.” The crowd cheered. They had known Tazewell long, and not infrequently to their grief. Flynn turned to the storekeeper; large encouragement came to him from the crowd. “The prisoner,” said Flynn sternly, glad of Billy’s backing—“ the prisoner is within his rights. You must pay up that obligation.” “It’s an outrage!” blustered Tazewell. “One hundred and twenty dollars and fifteen cents,” said Billy. “ Pay up, Tazewell!” ‘ Pay up, Nick!” came from the crowd. Tazewell glared frightfully with his glass eye and blinked with his good one. “ Pay up,” said Supernumerary Consta- ble Flynn relentlessly. 7A A) co DO0KS ae reteset ape ene a as