Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 11, 1925 — page 122: what you’re looking at

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

ue (rf Ly, yen ee We te MS. New, fhe -y a 4 : ote Aaa ve WW VE Nee iis ; Ave lA NAG Be I a me vy MTech 276 show what price was paid for killing a friend of the Double-Y. . “Get a rustle on,” said the bartender anxiously. “As soon as you shoot him, scatter far an’ wide, an’ watch out what kind of tracks you leave. Hell’s goin’ to bust loose up here, shore as shootin’!” He stepped forward to oversee the handling of the prisoner, and he did not catch the slow and silent movement of the front door; did not see the crack slowly widening. “ Come on! Move lively! Ain’t you got no—” “ Han’s up!” came a low, snarled order, whereat the trussed and bundled man at the base of the wall started to struggle fu- riously and to shout. ~The answering movements were spas- modic, some of the postures ridiculous and contorted. Foxy Joe turned as white as his dirty face would permit, and seemed to have trouble with his breathing. The bartender instinctively reached toward his belt, and his whole upper body followed the down- ward swing of his arm, to crash on the floor and slowly straighten. Through the smoke swirling around the door the startled crowd saw a man leaning against the sill for support, one knee on the floor. His face was working with rage, which now began to lessen as the meaning of the struggling figure near the wall drifted through his consciousness: Mesquite was not dead. The newcomer’s elbows were fast against his sides, to seek what support they could obtain; and, as though this was not enough, the arms moved until the wrists rested against the hips. In each hand was a Colt, both wab- bling a little. First among the crowd to sense the sig- nificance of that huddled posture, those hip-steadied wrists and the wavering guns was Foxy Joe, who believed that another few seconds would find him dead. His well- founded fear of that gunman was overcome by the desperate situation in which he found himself and the signs as he read them; and the rage and fear of a cornered wolf blazed in his eyes. In a jump he had gained the shelter of a rigidly erect friend, and thus bulwarked reached for his gun; but as his elbow ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. flashed out past the barrier another roar filled the room and was echoed by a shriek. The shock of the heavy bullet spun Joe sideways and he grabbed the falling gun with his other hand. Another roar from the door drove him backward in a stumble. He dropped his gun and leaped toward the window, diving at it head first,eareless alike of glass or sash. He struck it alive as another shot crashed out, and he was dead before his feet flashed through the ragged opening. A shaky laugh came from the sagging man in the door, and there was not a hand in the room that was lower than straining mus- cles could hold it. - “Untie him,” said Hopalong, fighting with all his will to keep his consciousness until Mesquite was free to dominate the situation. ‘ Untie—him, damn—you!” he grated. The command was quickly although somewhat bunglingly obeyed, and Mes- quite, aflame with rage, leaped to his feet and knocked down the two men nearest to him; and then, controlling himself, hastily disarmed the unresisting crowd. He seemed to be greatly interested in the weapons as he handled them, and his frown increased until he chanced to glance at the bar. Two worn and battered Colts lay on it, and when his eager hands closed on them his exultant laugh rang out loudly and clearly. “All right, Hoppy!” the shouted. got ’em!”’ He balanced the weapons in his itching hands and searched the line for an excuse to use them; but none offered, and he backed the cowed crowd against a wall. The man in the door was now down on both knees, and his two guns sagged almost to the floor. He swayed a little and stiff- ened, and smiled reassuringly at his sud- denly anxious and understanding friend. “T’m all right, Kid,” he said. “ Just a little tired, that’s all. Just a little tired, an’ mad as all hell.”” He paused a moment, and continued: “ String a rope through th’ trigger guards of them guns, an’ we'll get outa here.” Again he paused. morrow, Kid; till to-morrow.” heel § In a few moments Mesquite threw the “Till to- | <i