Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 4, 1926 — page 51: what you’re looking at

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

EXCITEMENT TRAIL. him go with that same malevolent expres- sion on his face. 3 Rusty rode for the nearest settlement, his mind definitely made up as to the im- mediate future. “These cards I got Ill play at the pulque mill,” he reasoned. “I ought to hit on something before long.” An hour later he was sipping a drink in one of those small barrooms, typical of the region. The dispenser of liquid refresh- ment was a young Mexican, whom Rusty sized up as rather a decent sort. “T’m looking for a man with a spot of white in his hair here,” Rusty’s hand touched his right temple—‘‘ and a small pock mark on the chin,” Rusty narrowly watched the face of the bartender as he spoke, noting with extreme gratification that a flicker of emotion—per- haps fear, perhaps merely interest—passed over his features. “Right in the bull’s-eye,” Rusty chuckled to himself. ‘I’m sure getting warm now.” Then aloud: “ You know anybody that answers the description?” ‘What is his name, senor?” the barten- der asked guardedly. Rusty laughed with engaged frankness. “Why, I don’t know his name, but a certain party—a friend of mine—told me about him. ‘ Look up this man with the white streak in his hair and the pock mark in his chin. He’s the chap you want,’ he says to me. Can you tell me where to find him?” The barkeep opened his mouth to reply, but no words came. He stood as if frozen, lips parted, staring past Rusty’s shoulder. ‘“ Why do you wish to see this man whom you describe so strangely, sefor?” a smooth voice purred. Rusty whirled in astonishment, for when he entered the barroom it had contained no other customer. Evidently a third person had just come in, so silently that neither he nor the bar attendant heard the newcom- er’s arrival. The man who had thus surprised them was dressed as a vaquero, and Rusty promptly admitted to himself that never in all his checkered career had he encountered an individual more villainous in appear- \ obl ance. And in striking contrast to a face stamped with a diabolic love of evil for evil’s own sake, was the soft, almost ef- feminate voice, dropping words like liquid honey. “You know this man I was asking about?” Rusty demanded, shrewdly sizing up the intruder. “Tt is possible, senor,” with a smile doubtless intended to be ingratiating, but which made the speaker look all the more unprepossessing. ‘“‘ But why do you wish to meet him?” Rusty had a faint notion that the friend- ly bartender was trying to flash him some sort of warning, but his plans were instant- ly formed. “Tm looking for a job,” he said. “TIT understand this sehor—who shall be name- less—can use riders of spirit and courage, brave fellows, who are willing to run risks for the love of adventure—and perhaps a little profit. How about it?” “You know something, then?” the stran- ger whispered. Rusty nodded. ‘And I’m looking for a job,” he added. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet a sefior like yourself,” the vaquero said, and his voice was soft as the fur that sheathes a jaguar’s claws. “I think it can be ar- ranged. Come with me, senor. This is a matter which we had best discuss in pri- vate.” © “A drink first?” Rusty suggested. “A thousand thanks! To your health, senor!” The young bartender served them with downcast face, Rusty following his actions with secret amusement. “Probably thinks I’m dead and buried a’ready,” the cow-puncher chuckled. ‘‘ Now, if you will be so kind as to come with me, I will take you to the sefor. Per- haps you will find favor in his eyes. He is particular—this senor of whom we speak —but his eyes are never shut to the chance of securing caballeros of the kind he needs. I think he will be glad to see you.” “Sounds good to me,” Rusty grunted shortly. ‘ Lead on!” Their horses waited at the hitching rail before the barroom. The riders mounted, COPMIEL OO KS com: i Ta i Py Cah aye eames ie