Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 4, 1926 — page 45: what you’re looking at

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

EXCITEMENT TRAIL. you at Las Vegas that we were having some little trouble with rustlers.” ‘ Didn’t get the letter,”’ Rusty explained. “ Probably it ’ll catch up with me year after mext. I’m a sight too speedy for the UV, S. mails.” ; Dan Towers glowered at his son resent- fully. . “ Ain’t it time you settled down like a regular citizen, Rusty? Ain’t you chased up enough excitement to last the rest oi your life? From reports I get of you, all I’ve raised .is a gun-totin’, ridin’ fool—a chap no better’n a thousand ‘Other range riders. Some day all this plunder I been so busy collecting ’ll be yours. Figure you'll be a big enough man to take care of it?” “ Ain’t you well enough acquainted with me to know the answer?” A gleam of pride—and éaderuteniioa- was in old Dan’s eyes as he surveyed the stalwart, lithe figure of his son. “T ain’t got any right to crab at you, Rusty,” said ‘he. ‘“ Youre just the spitting image of me when I was your age—exactly like I was. excitement trail, too. Folks put me down as a hopeless drifter—a chap that ’d never amount to a row of eggshells. But I sure fooled ’em. “ That was because I met a gal; Rusty.” A note of fond retrospection crept into his. “Makes a raft of difference when you meet the gal, son. It pulled me up short, I’m telling you. Knocked all my hell-raising notions to a fare-ye-well. Made me see that riding around, working for this and that outfit, and then blowing my pay at the nearest cow town, wasn’t any way to get ahead. A young chap needs to own some- thing more’n a hoss, saddle, and a gun when he gets ambitious to raise him a fam- ily. I been counting on the same thing curing you that cured me.” Rusty manufactured a cigarette, puffing at it in contemplative silence. “ Ever think of marrying, Rusty?” his father asked wistfully. ‘“‘ Now that gal of Ed Wallace’s is likely looking. She’s a healthy, buxom critter; no foolishness about her. Make a hell of a fine wife for a cowman.”’ “She’s all right in her way, likely,” voice. Me—lI was allus riding off on ~ trembled in his earnestness. B55 Rusty generously conceded, blowing a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling, “but I wouldn’t touch her with a ten foot pole.” ‘“* Well, then, how *bout that one over to the Tumbling Y? She’s a gay, spritely little thing, though to my notion a trifle too particular with her duds—that is, for a corn-fed beauty.” Rusty yawned. “Youre wasting your breath, dad. They's | only one girl in the world I’d marry.” “You found one, Rusty?” old Towers demanded eagerly. “Yes,” said Rusty slowly, and a flash of pain glowed momentarily in his eyes, “I found her—and lost her—all in the same night.” “ What’s the matter, son? Wouldn’t she have you?” ‘““T guess she would—she seemed to take to me some; only things got mixed up, sort of, and I lost track of her. I don’t know where she is now.” ““What’s her name?” “That’s the trouble. first part—Rosita.” “ Good guns!” Dan Towers gasped, : scan- dalized. ‘“‘ A greaser gal!” “Don’t say that, dad!” All I know is the Rusty’s voice “‘ She’s no more greaser than I am; high class Mexi- can, of pure Spanish strain—the sweetest, daintiest thing God ever made. Rosita’s not pretty; she’s beautiful, and they’s a big difference. And all I know about her is her first name and that she lives in Mexico!” Rusty bowed his head on his hands, the picture of despondency. glared at his son for a moment, but his stern face softened as he grasped the fact that Rusty was really hard hit. When he spoke the old man’s voice was gentle: ‘Buck up, son! They’s always a chance you'll find her. Tell meeall about it—if you want to.” So Rusty told the story of his adventure at the fiesta; of his romantic meeting with the beautiful girl from beyond the bor- der. Haltingly he tried to describe to mat- * ter-of-fact old Dan Towers how wonder- ful she seemed in the black gown with its Dan Towers | COMME DOOKS