Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 113: what you’re looking at

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

DRY “Vou needn’t bother showing off your shooting education, mister!” I says, quick- like, ‘cause Alkali Joe was about two sheets under the wind, and I thought there was no telling where the bullet might go. “I wasn’t handing out any bull—all I was tell- ing you fellows is straight. You can be- lieve it or not!” Alkali Joe rested his right elbow on the yellow pine bar and looked at me sharp, eying up my double-breasted blue serge suit, set off by my sailor straw hat and yellow tan shoes. “And you expect us to swallow them yarns!” he tried to shout, his tongue a little thick. ‘Huh! I never yet seen a white-collared dude what didn’t have a swelled head, but you take the cake for crust! JI never run up against anything like it! It strikes me you need a little lesson about as bad as any fellow I’ve ever met. So, here goes!” The crowd pulled back from the bar as Alkali Joe drew his bead on the bottle. Bang! A good inch of the neck, carry- ing the cork, went spattering all over the room. “ How’s that?” Alkali Joe sings out, turn- ing to me while he slipped his gun back in his belt. ‘“J’ll bet you never saw any such shooting back in the East!” “Not so bad for a fellow that’s half drunk,” I says, sneering into his face, ‘“‘ but it’s nothing for a sober guy.” The crowd kind of snickered, and Alkali Joe got awfully mad. : “Td like to see you do it—drunk or sober!” he shouts, waving his arms. “ That’s just kids’ shouting!” I spouted, . seeing a fine chance to make a big hit with the boys. ‘If you care to watch, Ill show you a real shot!” When I drew my little thirty-two from my hip pocket, Alkali Joe and the rest of the bunch giggled, then started to roar. That made me kind of sore. I never could stand much kidding. “ See that next bottle—the one with the cork sticking out?” I asks, stifflike, wheel- ing around to the crowd. ‘“ Well, I’m going to plug through that cork without touch- ing a bit of glass—that’s what I call a real shot!” 583 “Never thought the sport was that drunk!” some one in the crowd snickers. “You've got to hand it to him for carry- ing his liquor like a gentleman—I never got wise.” That helped a lot. It gave me a good alibi in case I missed, even if I was almost as sober as a judge. While the crowd stood grinning like a batch of fools, I steadied my gun and took careful aim. Holding my breath, I squeezed the trigger. | Bang! Nothing seemed to move ’cepting the splinters from the planking in back. The bunch started to razz me proper— asking if my gun wasn’t loaded with blanks and all sorts of josh like that. “ Better take a look at the cork, gentle- men!” I wheezes. “It would be damn funny if I missed.” At that, the crowd roared loud enough to shake the hotel. Then a tall, long-whis- kered old man with a nickel-plated star pinned on his red flannel shirt, winked at the rest and hustled around the end of the bar. _Asrabbing the bottle from the shelf, he started to give it the once-over. The rest of the crowd were still laughing hard enough to split their sides. ‘What do you find, sheriff—the liquor shot away without bustin’ the bottle or budging the cork?” some one kidded. The sheriff turned and stood the bottle on the bar, his gray eyes almost poking out of his thin, red face. ““I—I find the best shot I ever seen made!” he stammered, just like he couldn’t hardly believe it himself. ‘ The bullet has passed right through the middle of the top of the cork! And a greenhorn Easterner at that!” For a couple of seconds, the crowd stared at me, open-mouthed, just like they thought I must be Buffalo Bill in disguise. Then they crowded around the bottle, talking all at once. When Alkali Joe had seen that the sheriff wasn’t kidding, he came back to where I stood. ‘“There’s something damned strange about a white-faced dude like you being able to shoot like that!” he shouted, giving Gomichbooks (E@)