Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 137: what you’re looking at

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THE LAUGHING RIDER. “Smed,” he explained, “ we’re goin’ to write letters.” Again was wrapping paper forthcoming and again did Billy’s stub of a pencil do its service. In the fields of literature Billy was not a frequent wayfarer, but he pos- sessed a trenchant style in letters and found no*difficulty in expressing his mind with such an instrument as the stubby pen- cil provided him. He scribbled industrious- ly for some moments, looking up occasional- ly to meet the sympathetic and rotund eyes of the boy with the abstract gaze of his own constructive thought, and thereupon to break into a grin which suggested that what he wrote amused him. The labor finished, he ransacked his blanket roll and brought forth a crumpled but virgin envelope. He frowned thought- fully. “The sergeant, Buddy; what’s his first name?” he asked. “ You mean Staff Sergeant MacQuillan?”’ “ Bright boy. That’s whatever.” “You want to know what his name is?” Billy smiled his approval. “When you grow up,” he said, “ you'll be a college professor or card sharp or some- thing. That’s just exactly what I wanted to know. His first name.” “Well, I don’t know it.” “T was wrong. You'll be a Congress- man of the United States.” “ Prob’ly he ain’t got a first name.” “ Prob’ly yore wrong. Everybody’s got a first name. They come when you’re a baby, like measles.” “ T’ll bet it’s a Scotch one, like Andrew or Abraham.” Billy frowned thoughtfully. “T’d like to know his first name a lot. I want to write out this envelope all polite and proper.” “ Look for one of them signs.” “What signs?” “Them warning signs for Menzies an’— an’ people like that.” Billy grinned. “Son, yore tactful. But I ain’t people like that in any way, shape, manner, or description.” “Oh, I didn’t meant it that way.” sia ley flushed. 763 Billy laughed outright. “Tt’s all high up and good to look at, buddy,” he cried. ‘ You gave me just the right play.” From his pocket he drew the advertise- ment he had torn from the side of Taze- well’s store. There was the alarm for his arrest, there was the libelous description of himself and Concho, and there below it all, was the signature: “ Balwhider MacQuillan, Staff Sergeant, R. N. W. M. P.” With a widening grin, Billy scribbled the title on his envelope, and then, going back to his wrapping paper, he crossed out the salutation of “ Dear Sarge,” and with his stub of a pencil indited in bold characters above it, a new, and more blithesome greet- ing. “ Dear Baldy—” tas wrote. “When yore writing a friendly letter,” he abjured Smedley, “let it sound a heap friendly, right orf the muzzle.” He sealed the envelope neatly and gave it to the boy. “You take that to the sergeant first orf in the morning,” he said. Smedley’s bright countenance clouded. “* But he’ll hold me.” Billy frowned. “‘ If he holds you, come back and tell me about it,” he said ominously. He watched Smedley depart with the impish expression of a Texas cowboy, un- burdened with care, who anticipates with © great pleasure his little moment of happi- ness. Or, to put it in another way, Billy was planning for trouble. CHAPTER XXX. A VERRA LUCKY MAN. NNETTE had come to the Sleepy River post of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police with the laudable in- tention of interceding with Justice in behalf of an innocent man. She was not welcome, but Staff Sergeant MacQuillan was trying to be polite to her. “You are so stupid,” she had informed him frankly. “Ye dinna flatter him when ye say that,” he replied. ‘ I’ll say this for yer friend, if I be stupid or no stupid he could still , C€omicbooks.co