Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 52: what you’re looking at

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

208 over to the barebacked pony and _ its wretched burden. He continued to face the men as he did so, and they turned, fasci- nated, following his movement. Reaching the drooping steed, he drew from his hip pocket a knife, and with his teeth opened it. But his eyes never left the men before him. They flashed, like questing fires, over the many faces, and not one of the men who yielded to their spell could have ex- plained what held him motionless. The knife opened, David shifted so that the hand which held the knife was close to the pony. Then that hand ascended, fol- lowing Preest’s dangling leg, finding his thigh, his waist, moving about the waist to the prisoner’s hands. “Drop that knife!” voice of Dasent. David loeked at him. His boy’s face seemed to betray neither surprise, resent- ment, nor disquietude; but his eyes still burned. “No,” he said. ‘‘ Preest ain’t gom’ to hang to-night.” ; Dasent glared across at him, trying to match those eyes with his gross fury. “Drop it quick, kid!” he warned. “ Yo’re up against twenty guns.” “Not if I was up ag’in’ a hundred!” The knife had found its goal and the steel was cutting now at the twisted hemp. “Tf you cut that rope, it’s the last thing you do!” yelled Dasent. “If you was the old man himself,- you couldn’t stop this party!” “ Tt’s all off!” The boy’s voice rang out in a sudden burst of purpose. It struck the air with the lilt of a passionate spirit and seemed to sweep across the barren land with a sound of prophecy. “ You can’t stop me now!” But his eyes had been long centered upon the livid face of Dasent, and he failed to see the quick movement of the swarthy cow-puncher nearest his elbow. That movement was a leap forward and a lithe kick, and with a cry of pain the boy saw his father’s gun sail through the air, while the hand that held it went numb with pain. Instantly a dozen hands fell to as many guns, and the group of men closed in. But It was the harsh ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, a to their amazement the boy stood fast. With a lightning exertion of strength he cut through the cords which held Preest bound and threw the knife with a trium- - phant gesture on the ground. “Stand back,” he commanded, “ an’ listen to what I got to say!” Without comprehending the unleashed spirit that had so long lain suppressed in the soul of | the boy, they instinctively obeyed it. “Vou got me covered!” cried David. ‘You can shoot me to pieces! Blow orf my head! But it don’t signify. I say Preest ain’t goin’ to hang to-night! “You, Dasent, you ain’t the law. And my father, he ain’t the law. I’ve cut Preest free. If you want to hang him, then shoot. You can only do it after I’m dead here in front of him!” “Talk down, kid—he’s a hawse thief!” one man called out, but he spoke rather in pity than in protest. “Then there’s a law to deal with him. Stand back!” The boy blanched beneath his sun browned skin as Dasent moved forward, but this pallor made his face shine with a | more silver glow. ““ Tf you ain’t out o’ there damn quick,” growled the man, “we'll shoot Preest dead.” : The boy looked desperately about him. “¥ can’t help that!” he declared. “ But you got to account for him to me.” And with a sudden movement he dived for his father’s gun. As he did so the swarthy cow-puncher whipped up his gun and fired at the cring- ing Preest, but the bullet missed wide, for preceding the explosion of that cartridge by so fine a margin as to blend its din with the same reverberation another gun was fired, and the swarthy cow-puncher stag- gered back, clutching a shattered arm. From behind the cypress tree Aleck Shef- field stepped forth, and two guns glistened in his hands. “ Stick up yore hands, cowboys!” he said sharply; and this time no sense of mysti- cism or amazement held the old man’s committee still. They yielded _ instantly to the practical menace of those twin muz- zles and the incisive promise of that voice. comichoot conn