Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 4, 1926 — page 135: what you’re looking at

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

THE DEVIL’S SADDLE. jits!” the Chief commanded. ‘“ No use gettin’ to your hoss. No use trailin’ him. You can’t catch that boy now. Just wait.” He went to the doddering, choking old man, as the latter was climbing to his cayuse. “I ain’t finished with you two yet. The boy’s innocent. You git that? I am guilty. You breeds want to see a hangin’—all right you'll see one. I’m goin’ to pay for the death of your thievin’ hoss- rustler kinsman. You savvy that?” But the old shaman did not savvy. He did not want to savvy. All he wanted was the blood of Harry Morrel. ‘Your son kill my kinsman! Old Papago want re- venge! Nothing more! If not—” The aged savage glared at the Chief out of bleary but venomous eyes. His flat chest heaved, his puckered, mottled lips bared the broken teeth. ‘‘ Papagoes go on war- path. I make promise!” The Chief shouted something back. What he said was not heard. The squaw providentially drowned his outburst of scathing oaths. “ Tell that old volcano to shut up!” Swig cried irascibly. “Tell her what’s happened,” the Chief shouted at the top of his lungs. ‘ Tell her her brother was a hoss-thief, and if she don’t act lady-like we’ll arrest her as a ac- complice after the fack!” “ Hoss-thief!” they all repeated. This seemed to impress the palsied old shaman. He went to the hysterical squaw, and put a shaking hand up before her. He yelled at her while she was still screaming and stamping her moccasined feet, and pointing at the escaping rider. Then sud- denly her outburst subsided. It subsided into a series of sniffs. She looked back at the group of men in whom she had put her trust for so long— the group that had at last “‘come Injun ” on her, which was what she should have ssuspected. Then as a conclusion to her catastrophic eruption, she let out one of her eloquent grunts. Her other grunts, uttered at climactic points in the palaver, had been more sig- nificant that a whole vocabulary of murder- ous threats and curses. But this one was different. It seemed to say, simply enough, ee a a Se ed * , 445 ““My brother a horse-thief? Humph! I thought so!” Then the mountain of trembling flesh subsided—as if settling after the throes of an earthquake. By this time Larabee, who had stood helpless and baffled while his authority had been so ruthlessly over-ridden, found his tongue. ‘Just what do you mean, Chief?” he asked. ‘‘ I can’t quite believe my ears. Did your boy kill a Injun who was a hoss- thief? Where’s the proof? Was he steal- in’ a hoss at the time? If so, whose hoss? And where’s the hoss at now?” Simpson the Elder had also recovered his wits: “‘ You turned your son over to be hanged—we all understood that. How come you did that if you didn’t think he was guilty?” “T’ve found out the truth—that’s why. And you men will hear it. You'll hear every word of it from my own lips. You’re still the sheriff, Larabee. And I’m givin’ myself up to you.” “Tl be caterwopously damned if I un- derstand you, Chief!” Larabee cried. “ If you figured we wasn’t goin’ to hang your son, you’re mistaken. We was performin’ that thar very act, after allowin’ him all night to pray for his black, rotten soul. “We was doin’ the job up right, if I do say so, and Harry would be swingin’ up thar right now, if it hadn’t been for this double-crossin’ little coot standin’ thar yankin’ at his mustache.” Swig flared up belligerently. “I know’d Harry was right all along,” he said stoutly. ‘““That’s why I called a halt to the cere- mony.” This was a slight perversion of the truth, but it came in well at the moment. At least it forestalled any further accusa- tions from Big Larabee. ‘“ Harry’s inno- cent. His dad says so, and that proves it enough for me.” “Innocent!” Larabee cried, his rage re- turning. ‘‘ Didn’t he confess with his own mouth?” “He lied,” the Chief said. that breed for a reason. “The breed was a damned rustlin’ coy- ote. He was rustlin’ one of our own broncs —a bronc with the Morrel brand!” “ He killed EO mie DOOKS (E)