Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 4, 1925 — page 142: what you’re looking at

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

952 ing of an immense pot of slumgullion, and after a sleep of two or three hours they would be off again, each hunting the hori- zon, each in dread of those terrible riders from Gloryville. The stew had been eaten, the tramps were reposing right and left, when the look- out gave a warning cry. By the time he reached the ground the others had rolled up their belongings, or pocketed them, and were ready to go. The lookout announced only one rider approaching. And at this there was a general groan of disgust. What was one man to be feared? ‘He might have a whole slough of oth- ers behind him,” suggested the lookout. ‘“And again, he might not. We'll lay for this bloke. Jerry—here, you sit here by the fire. The rest of us ’ll sneak back in the bushes and wait. When he comes up, give him your lip, old kid. And if he gets rough we'll swarm all over him.” ‘‘ That’s pretty hard on the rest of you, ain’t it?” suggested the unwilling Jerry. ‘“‘Here’s Steve Grenda. He ain’t so big that he’s gonna get into trouble with most folks. He’s got a better chance, too, of gettin’ away. Steve, will you take the job?” Steve, it appeared, was not altogether unwilling. He sat down by the fire, hug- ging his knees and smoking a pipe—a little man with a ragged-rimmed derby on his head and a pair of undersized shoes upon his extremely small feet. In the meantime his companions vanished, and they were hardly out of sight before the stranger ap- peared, riding right through the brush and coming into the flickering circle of the fire- light. “Well, partner?” he hailed. Steve shrugged his shoulders and grunt- ed: he offered no further greeting. So the stranger looked calmly around him and al- lowed his horse to wander closer to the fire. It stretched out its head toward the flames like a curious child. It was a magnificent red bay with a skin that glistened as if oiled in the firelight. ‘You are having a peaceful time,” said El! Cantor with perfect calmness, ‘“ Why have vour friends left you?” “ Friends?” echoed Steve Grenda. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. The rider swept his hand toward the ground. In fact, the depressions which many footfalls had left were all the more visible because the slant firelight, striking across them, filled them with shadow. “Well?” grunted Steve, making no con- cessions even to this evidence. “The size of your feet, man,” said El Cantor with a contemptuous impatience. “The size of your feet! They would not fit in nine-tenths of those clodhopper trails.” ‘Who in hell may you be to ask?” rum- bled Steve, bristling like the bull terrier that he was. ‘“A man with his eyes in his head,” re- turned I] Cantor. ‘“ Besides, your feet are extraordinarily small—” This thought, as he voiced it aloud, seemed to strike him so forcibly that he started in the saddle and looked f#xedly down to the little man by the fire. The latter glowered savagely back to him. “Why, damn you,” said he—“ leave my feet be!” The rider merely smiled again. “ You are a foolish fellow,” he declared, ‘to rattle along like that. You do yourself a great deal of harm.” “With saps like you,” said Steve fu- riously, ‘ I dunno that I give a damn how 1 stand.” “You don’t,” observed the other, “ and that’s the pity of it. Because we're the only ones who can help you.” ‘“* Help me?”’ rT 3 Yes.” “* Help me from what?” ‘“‘ Hanging,” said El Cantor. The eyes of the little man by the fire glinted back and forth, as a dog’s eyes flash when it glimpses two approaching. And his stubby fist slipped back to his hip pocket. ‘‘ Now, you slick-faced dick, you” he whined in a muted fury, “ what in hell are you after?” “You talk like a jackass, man,” said El Cantor. “If I were a detective, would I come up to you like this when you are sur- rounded by your friends, the gunmen, in the bushes yonder?” Steve Grenda stood up. MICLOOOL