Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 4, 1926 — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

308 “ Yeah?” rejoined Rusty indifferently. “Don’t take any wild chances, son.” There was a note of formless fear in old Dan’s voice. “I ain’t got anybody but you, you know, and I’m a counting on you to jump in and run things for me ’fore long. Besides—that Rosita gal of yours, Rusty—you can’t go looking for her after six feet of Mexican adobe’s pressing down on your remains.” “Don’t worry, dad,” said Rusty. “ I can handle my end of the proposition, I reckon.” ‘Empty the shells out of your gun,” his father ordered. Wonderingly Rusty obeyed, while Tow- ers, Sr., did the same, thrusting the unload- ed pistol back into its sheath, a move which Rusty imitated. : “Now we'll be talking together,” old Dan explained, ‘“‘ and all of a sudden, un- expected like, without any warning at all, I’m going to pull my iron on you. I'll have a head start, see? I want to find out how good you are.” “ Let ’er ride, dad!” grinned Rusty. The conversation between father and son went on as before; in the young man’s at- titude was the same deceptive indolence he had displayed in that poker game with the dishorest gambler months previous. Old Dan’s voice droned along in a monotonous account of various happenings about the, ranch. “Ed Wallace rode in that morning,” said he, ‘and I told him—” Without a break in the words the hand of old Dan Towers made the characteristic snap toward the pistol butt sagging against his broad thigh. A sardonic grin was on Rusty’s face as his own hand flickered like a dancing shadow. The hammers of two pistols fell with harmless clicks, but the click from Rusty’s Colt beat his father’s by a full second. Two emotions—chagrin and _ pride — struggled for mastery on the features of old Dan. “Tl be dog-goned!” he ejaculated. “You son of a gun!” Thoughtfully he replaced the cartridges in the cylinder of his gun, returning the weapon to its holster. He sighed. “ Either I’m getting older ’n I thought, ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Rusty, or they make ’em better now than when I was a gay young blade your age. You'll do, son. You're a sight better ’n I ever was, and folks gave me credit for being a very snappy hand at gun pulling. Guess I don’t have to worry none about you. If you ever come to a show-down with that greaser he’ll think he’s shaking hands with a buzz saw. He was silent for a moment, then added wistfully: ‘““ Wish I was riding excitement trail once more—with you, Rusty! It’s great to be young, just starting out to see what this here thing we call life’s really made of. But you got to remember one thing, my boy. A chap can’t stay young forever. How soon you riding?.” ‘“ Right away. In an hour or so, I reckon.” “Likely it’s a long lane you follow. Money ’ll come in right handy. How you fixed?” ‘“T got plenty.” It was characteristic of Rusty Towers that he always financed his own journeys that followed the lure of adventure. Never yet had he sent back an S O S call for money. Nor did any of the young man’s chance companions ever suspect that his father rated as a millionaire. Two hours later Rusty was ready to de- part—as casually as he had come. Old Dan Towers dragged his crippled foot to the door, to wave his son farewell. ‘““So long, Rusty!” he called. ‘“ Adios, dad! See you later.” ‘“ Remember, Rusty,” were old Dan’s final words, “ T’ll be waiting for you—and your Rosita.” —_— — CHAPTER III, ON THE TRAIL. USTY TOWERS had no very defi- R nite plan in mind as he headed his cayuse toward the border. Chances that either of his two objectives would be quickly attained were remote, to say the least, and he was reconciled to an indefi- nite stay. “Tl keep my ears open,” he told him- Gomichboo (C <S) (C@