Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 4, 1925 — page 132: what you’re looking at

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

922 In another moment they, too, were down, and before the mass of humanity could un- tangle itself, El Cantor had leaped across the threshold. There arose before him only one man, and that was the sheriff himself —but it was the sheriff without a gun in his hand. True to the directions which he had given the rest of the men, he was making ready to enter that room with bare hands. But bare hands against El Cantor were like empty air against the lightning flash. A wrist of whipcord, a fist of iron flashed into the face of big Walter Long, and he dropped back against the wall with a re- sounding thump, while through the hallway past him darted El Cantor. And the first man to regain his feet from the floor of the room was Hugh Nichols, raging, raving with fury. From the corner of his eye he saw the fugitive leap away around a corner of the hallway. But that was his only glimpse of E] Cantor, who the next moment dived through an open win- dow, landed rolling on the lawn outside and was away. CHAPTER XXIX. NOT BORN TO THE DUELLO. EN PEARSON saw the fugitive in H the very act of landing on the lawn. Mr. Pearson had brought along an old relic of his stage driving days. Those had been times when the driver had to be a combination of horse-tamer and adven- turous knight. Mr. Pearson had qualified. He had a wrist of iron, the vocabulary of a muletter, and in the way of weapons he was fondest of an old double-barreled shot- gun, which had been sawed off and which threw two handfuls of deadly slugs. He recognized the man who was attempt- ing to escape the instant he appeared at the window. Therefore, Mr. Pearson was ready, and when E] Cantor struck the lawn, Mr. Pearson at one tremendous volley poured into his body two dozen or so chucks of lead. In spite of this, El Cantor rolled lightly to his feet and sprang along to the hedge, over which he leaped—but not undisturbed. > ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, Ham Lawrence, the crack hunter and mar- velous rifleman, whether at game on foot or at a Standing target at any distance, was near at hand with his Winchester tucked under his arm. He had seen El} Cantor pass through the shower of lead from Hen Pearson's gun. He himself was determined that it should not be said that any creature could pass within twenty paces of his rifle’s muzzle and pass on alive—if he willed otherwise! He tucked the butt of his favorite gun into the hollow of his shoulder, took a deliberate aim with a hand of iron, an arm like a rock supporting the long and glimmer- ing barrel of his gun. Then as El Cantor reached the hedge he fired. He shot for the head, so confident was he even in the starlight. When FE] Cantor bounded into the air, Ham was certain that it was the death leap. But when El] Cantor landed on the farther side of the hedlge, still running, he snapped up his rifle once more and through a gap in the hedge let drive again, once, twice, thrice and again. But El Cantor did not fall! He sped on, and as he ran, a shrill, high pitched whistle streamed back behind him on the wind. It was three times repeated in short blasts, and then three times again. Somewhere in the distance a horse neighed. In the meantime two score of madmen were raging through the house of the par- son and streaming outdoors again. The sheriff, gasping orders from one side of his battered mouth, ran for his horse and mounted it. Hugh Nichols did not have a mount at hand, of course, but he paid no attention to property rights. There were a dozen horses across the street, each with a saddle on its back. He picked the most likely and leaped onto its back. ‘Hey, thief!” yelled the true owner, sprinting up. ‘Out of my way!” shouted Nichols, and rushed past as if on wings. The sheriff was before him leading the way, and the others rushed close at his heels. A voice sang out: ‘“ Bullets don’t faze him. It ‘ll take knife-work to settle his hash! ”’ GIOok