Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

482 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. It is furthermore my dying wish that Janice eventually marry Martin Sandisfield, Jr., son of my former comrade. I should not make this solemn request a part of my last will and testament were I not assured that Martin Sandisfield is in every way a worthy son of a worthy father. CHAPTER I. THE BOSS OF BALD BUTTE. R. MARTIN SANDISFIELD, JR.., finished off the last of a belated breakfast complacently, as one well pleased with himself and the world at large. Thoughtfuliy he tipped back from the table to ease the sense of repletion born of an over-hearty meal, grooming his firm white molars with a quill toothpick. This genteel task concluded to his satis- faction, Mr. Sandisfield replaced the im- plement in his vest pocket, selecting from another pocket a corpulent cigar, which he clipped and lighted. He blew a series of smoke rings, lazily watching as the nebulous spirals drifted upward toward a restaurant ceiling. Sandisfield deserves a word or two of no- tice by way of introduction, since the po- sition he held in the town of Bald Butte was one of considerable importance. Thanks to the indomitable industry of a persevering father, who prior to the advent of the rail- road had built up a vast freighting business in that portion of the West, Martin Sandis- field, Jr., found himself removed from the need of toiling for his daily bread. He had used shrewdly the influence gained through this inherited wealth, to the point where for all practical purposes his word was law in Bald Butte. The role of despot pleased him, gratified his inordinate vanity, and in some measure prevented time from hanging heavy on his hands. A casual observer would have perceived in Sandisfield merely a heavy-set, florid- faced individual, whose expressionless face defied attempts to penetrate below the sur- face. Though his features were regular and not unprepossessing, one who saw with more discernment might have noted that he missed being actually good looking by a very narrow margin: his eyes, almost color- less, were just a shade too small and were set just a shade too close together. Not so many years before, Martin Sandis- field could have been classed as athletic in build, but now the results of good living were beginning to be manifest in softened, pudgy muscles and a faint, yet unmistakable paunch. This last item was concealed in part by the skill of his tailor, since Sandis- field dressed with meticulous attention to detail, favoring the more formal type of Western attire for town wear. When occa- sion required that he ride abroad on the range His garb was what the conventions re- quired of a prosperous ranchman. The morning was already well advanced when Sandisfield concluded breakfast, but for a time he lingered at the table in idle enjoyment of his cigar. The arrival of Charlie Rand, proprietor of a local saloon, interrupted his musings. “ “ Hello, Chass,” was Sandisfield’s affable greeting. ‘ Hello, yourself,” Rand grinned. ‘‘ What meal’s this you been consuming—break fast or dinner? Good thing for you your dad wasn't afraid of hard work.” Sandisfield dismissed the impeachment with a careless wave of his hand. ‘‘ How’s the cash coming in for the big show?” he inquired, referring to festivities planned in honor of Bald Butte’s approach- ing twenty-fifth anniversary. Rand was in charge of the war-chest. ‘“ Everything’s fine, Mart. Folks in town certainly came across with a bang, glad to help put the old burg on the map.” ‘‘ Got a plenty, do you think? I can dig a little deeper without stretching the bank roll till it snaps.” ‘They'll mebbe be a deficit when we’re all through and know how it stands,” Rand said. “ Things like this generally run in the hole by the time the account’s closed. I’ve got you down as underwriter.” “Fair enough,” Sandisfield chuckled. ‘“ Guess I can stand it. By the way, Chass, did you connect with the Denver orchestra I recommended for our dance? I’ve a spe- cial reason for wanting that hop to touch only the high spots.” (EO) JOO! Gon