Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 4, 1926 — page 53: what you’re looking at

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

EXCITEMENT TRAIL. “Likely he’s one of the gang that raid- ed our ranch; if I knew what he knows I’d be plenty wise. Trouble is, I don’t know it, which is sad but true. Anyway I slipped something over on the hombre. He’s out of the way, not me, and nobody 1] be tipping off the big boss to the potent fact that the Grim Reaper’s whetting a scythe for the harvest. “ This sefor, whoever he is, must have his hang-out not so very far from that village where I was to-day. Seems like a wise hunch to linger there or thereabouts and see what else might break loose.” Rusty left the dead vaquero where he lay, returning to the horses. Removing saddle and bridle from the one ridden by his would-be murderer, he turned the brute loose, hiding the equipment among the rocks, where no chance passer-by would notice it. Then Rusty mounted his own horse and rode down toward the mouth of the cafion, where, having found a suit- able spot, he rolled up in his blanket and slept as one whose conscience is clear. The following morning Rusty set forth with the notion of spending a few days in general scouting, to see what might devel- op. For the time he abandoned his idea of revisiting the village, through fear that some friend of the vaquero’s might have seen the two of them ride out together. Rusty desired that the Mexican’s untimely demise should not be made the subject of inquiry—at least for the present. Nothing of interest developed until af- ternoon of the second day, when it seemed to Rusty that an unusual number of horse- men were abroad, traveling singly, or in groups up to half a dozen or so in number; together with an occasional carriage that was occupied by members of a somewhat higher stratum of society. But all were headed in the same general direction. Rusty’s curiosity was stirred to the point of emulating the example of all these other people. They were headed somewhere, and Rusty did likewise. He didn’t know where he was going, but he was on his way. At length he encountered an aged priest, who smiled at him in friendly fashion. “ Buenos dias, padre,” said Rusty Tow- ers, civilly. 363 “Buenos dias, hijo mio!” the old man responded. “It is easy to see that you are riding to the baile.” Rusty slapped his thigh. “That’s it, padre! I knew I was headed some place, but it never once occurred to me it was a baile. Now would you mind telling a chap, who’s a stranger and far from home, just where this baile is to be pulled off?” The padre’s eyes twinkled in amused comprehension. “Tt is indeed clear that you are a stran- ger, my son,” said he. ‘“ The baile takes place to-night at the hacienda of Don Perenzo. Every one is invited.” “That means .me,_ then. Muchas gracias, padre. Adios! I’m on my way.” “ Adios, hijo mio!” The aged priest plodded on down the dust-laden road, while Rusty sat silent on his horse for a moment, thinking tardily of many other questions he might profitably have asked the padre. He was half mind- ful to turn back to pursue the conversation further. “Oh, what’s the use?” he muttered. “ I'll find out what I want to know soon enough, if I sit tight. It seems like everybody’s going to Don Perenzo’s baile, and mebby this Senor Who-is-this ‘ll show up as big as life. Cayuse, shake your feet! We're going to a dance.” ——____—_ —_ CHAPTER IV. THE BAILE. USTY knew not the location of Don Perenzo’s hacienda, scene of the baile that evening, but clearly the move- ment of other travelers bound in that direction would provide him with accurate guide posts. Accordingly he continued, serenely confident of arriving in time for the festivities. Toward evening he found himself ap- proaching a rather imposing collection of buildings. Everywhere was bustle and con- fusion, scores of guests milling about, with new ones constantly arriving from all points of the compass. Seductive odors met the nose, wafted COMIC LOOKS (@