Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 11, 1925 — page 110: what you’re looking at

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

264 ‘hung on a steaming, bloodied body. The flesh of its legs showed through tears in the trousers, and as it ran, fear-driven, it waved a heavy revolver in its right hand. This man did not look as though he would be the Honorable Caswell Harley within the year, or as though his future in- cluded debates in the National Congress. He was, just now, a maddened animal in flight for his life, running for protection to the man whose place he had sought to usurp, whose life he had conspired to take. Carroll stood with his hands thrust into the pockets of his jacket. His face was quiet and almost expressionless, and that of Wade Murrell was unreadable back of its fixed frown. No one spoke as the desperate man ran stumblingly forward and halted with heav- ing chest before them, the revolver still swinging in his hand. “Ther Skidmores air atter me, Wade,” he broke out explosively. “‘ Me an’ Lesher, we quarreled, an’ I hed ter kill him. Hit war self-deefense. I hed ter do it, but now ther Skidmores air atter me.” “What war ye doin’ at Lesher Skid- more’s dwellin’-house so soon in ther morn- in’, Cas?” inquired Wade quietly. “T went thar ter hev speech with him, but ther Skidmores air atter me, an’ I’m a Murrell. Hain’t thet enough fer ye ter know, Wade?” The Murrell leader slowly shook his head. “Not quite enough, Cas,” he answered. “T hain’t bat-blind. I knows thet ye’ve done been consortin’ with Lesher right often hyar of late. Hit wouldn’t amaze me ef ther two of ye hev been plottin’ erginst me—but es ye says, ye’re a Murrell.” “Why would I be plottin’ with Lesher, Wade?” There was a terrified whine in the voice. | ““Mebby ye did hit because I told ye ye’d hev ter lay by yore notion of goin’ ter ther Legislature. I kinderly ‘lowed ye'd _ done turned ter Lesher ter back ye up.” ‘He paused, then went on evenly: “ TI hain’t - got no jedgmatic way of knowin’ what S = passed betwixt you two, but I suspicions thet Lesher sought ter hev ye slay me. Hit : 2 _ would be a right easy way out for hin— havin’ me kilt ¥ a Murrell.” - ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. : ‘“ Thet’s what he sought ter hev me do, Wade,” the other declared incautiously, - blundering headlong into a pitfall of admis- sion. “ But I gainsaid him.” “Fer why did ye gainsay him, Cas?” “‘ Fer why? Because we’re both Murrells. Because we’ve got ther same blood in our veins. Wasn’t thet reason enough? More- over, [ ain’t no murderer.” “'Ye’re lyin’, Cas,” came the biting reply. “Ye’re lyin’. Ye'd done agreed ter git me, for him, an’ ther pair of ye cavilled an’ fell out over ther terms of ther bargain. But still I don’t aim ter let no Skidmore mob take ye away from me.” “Thank God, Wade. I knowed I could deepend on ye.” “Right now,” went on the steady voice of the Murrell chief, “‘ Enoch Wade’s round- in’ up our men. Ef so be ther Skidmores gits hyar fust, Vl aim ter hold ther fort twell they comes.” “Thank God,” panted the fugitive. “ Us Murrells, we always stands tergither.”’ “An’ when they all gits hyar, Skid- mores and Murrells alike,” went on the other, ignoring Harley’s observations on loyalty, “I aims ter give ’em my orders. - I aims ter tell ’em no Skidmore gang kain’t take ye off an’ slay ye in the woods. I aims ter tell ’em thet a posse made up even-steven of Skidmores an’ Murrells air a goin’ ter take ye ter ther jail house. An’ atter thet, both ther Skidmores an’ Murrells alike air a goin’ ter turn in an’ try ye fer ‘murder—an’ convict ye—an’ hang ye! I aim ter show all men thet murder is murder, whosoever does hit.” Cas Harley had stood growing livid as he listened. Astonishment had altered to unspeakable terror as the intent of this other man developed through his words. Now, like a wild beast, he lurched forward shaking with an ague of fury, and leveled his weapon at his kinsman’s breast. “TI always knowed ye wasn’t no true Murrell,” he shouted in demoniac fury. “Ye aims ter hang a man thet’s got yore own blood in his veins. Ye aims ter send me unshirted inter red hell; but, afore God, , I aims ter carry ye along with me.” His voice had risen to a shriek and his eyes | were hot with the fever of madness.