Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 127: what you’re looking at

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

THE SELF-ASSASSINATION OF ANGEL. “ Mirtjuana!l’ ‘“My Gawd, yes! I forgot about it!” Dirty Shirt exclaimed, “ but where’ll I get any?” Chico winked— ‘““T—myself—will give Angel a dose, Senor Dirty Shirt!” Angel didn’t know what the idea was in mixing the pulverized stuff which resembled tea leaves with the usual egg and cayenne pepper, but it tasted pretty good and he ate it anyhow. The thing Angel did know was that in a little while he felt that life wouldn’t be worth living unless he could kill something — several somethings — im- mediately. He thrilled, trembled, vibrated with the most stupendous desire imaginable to fight the whole rooster population, all the cats in the world plus the dog inhabitants, and every other thing that existed in one glorious simultaneous tackle! That last shot of egg and cayenne, spiked with the other some- thing Chico had mixed in it, m Angel’s judgment, certainly had exploding atoms beaten six of the longest blocks in Salt Lake City when it came to generating im- pulses for universal and unabridged murder. No wonder the government wants to pro- hibit szrzjuana! Angel was feeling that way when Dirty Shirt slipped him, despite his vicious strug- gles, into a sack and started fer the scene of carnage-to-be at 2:40 P.M. sharp on that memorable Saturday afternoon. ‘“ T’ll be along in a minute with Gld Bob!” Solemn promised, as Dirty Shirt, closely followed by Wong Gee, headed for Saloon Number Four. For legitimate reasons, Solemn wished also to convey Old Bob under cover to the battleground. He stepped into the kitchen to see if he could locate an empty gunny sack. None was available and Solemn con- tinued his search into the pantry-bedroom Wong Gee occupied and in which he like- wise stored potatoes and other bulky sup- plies. Still no sack was in sight. Searching about, Solemn stumbled over a newly opened five gallon keg of molasses, barked his shins on the edge of the keg and swore. He glanced toward the bed and concluded to take the pillow shp in 57 which to carry Old Bob over to Saloon Number Four. 3 As he jerked the pillow from the bed, the most brilliant imspiration of his career hit Solemn. For a moment the magnitude, beauty and originality of the conception overcame him. “Tl show them: Red Bluffers a new kind of rooster!” he muttered, “ they’re wantin’ shocks, an’ by gosh they’ll get one in this case at least!” To thmk, with Solemn, was also to act. He hurried to the coop, grabbed Old Bob by the back of the neck, yanked him out of prison and retraced his steps to the pantry. There he wrapped the pillow slip around the cat’s head—for safety’s sake— soused the rest of his furry body into the five gallon keg of thick, gummy molasses, pulled him out of the mess, ripped open Wong Gee’s perfectly good-chicken feather pillow, rolled Old Bob in the mass of feathers, dropped the totally feathered and unrecognizable cat into the pillow shp and hastened toward Saloon Number Four, to keep the tryst of slaughter with Angel and Dirty Shirt. Red Bluff had been advised merely, and mysteriousiy, that a worthy foeman, and one, too, who would gratify Angel’s fighting ambitions to a frazzle, had at last been discovered. Solemn, Dirty Shirt and Wong Gee had kept the name of the Great Un- known an inviolate secret. Partly was this due to the inherent ten- dency of the trio to be dramatic; but prin- cipally was it because of possible objections Mother Skillern might advance against Old 30b’s participation in the cruel and un- usual pastime of rooster-cat prize fighting. ' A large assortment of Red Bluff was assembled in the main auditorium of Saloon Number Four, waiting for the spectacular event soon to occur. The tension was per- ceptible. As Solemn stepped through the door a hush of expectancy settled over the throng. In the silence there came, like the wail of a. lost soul, fragmentary shrieks from the complaining buzz-saw down at the prop manufacturing establishment, next to the blacksmith shop, as Pedro pushed the great timbers against the whirling steel teeth. Eomichbooks (S@)