Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 121: what you’re looking at

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

DRY in the air. And the ground looked awfully hard. “Tf you don’t mind,” [ mumbles, think- ing to put off trying to get on that horse as long as [ could, ‘‘ you can ride him up to the Wet House while I go and get a big- ger gun. This one’s all right for town work, but not for the open spaces.” “Sure thing. Ill tell the boys you'll be there in a couple of minutes.” He vaulted on the horse and went tear- ing up the street. When I got to the express office and ex- changed my little thirty-two for the big forty-five which we always kept hanging in the place, I began to tell myself I’d been a fool for not trying to ride that horse— but ride it north, away from the Red Hand- kerchief and his gang. As it was, I was caught like a rat in a trap. I couldn’t get out of Redbug nohow, ex- cept at the head of the boys, right into the Red Handkerchief’s mit. And that wasn’t my idea of a Western health trip at all. By to-morrow, they’d be saying, “‘ Poor Gus!” just like they’d been saying, “ Poor Sam!” Better to have cashed out in Coney where I belonged. But I was in it now, and I’d have to go on. Maybe I could manage to break a leg or an arm before I got too close to the Red Handkerchief’s guns. It didn’t appear at all impossible, seeing the horse [ had to ride. When I came up to the Wet House, weak in my knees, and as pale as a ghost, | found the boys all lined up on their horses in front, fidgeting to start. “ That was a bum horse you fellows picked,” some one calls out. “ He’s fast enough, but you could never set yourself to shoot straight on that critter—he’s too damn skittish. We sent him back and got another—not quite so speedy, but gun- broken and steady. This one trots so smooth that you can carry a glass of water without spilling a drop!” My last hope was gone. They had a horse ready for me that I couldn’t fall off of if I tried without their getting wise. And I’d been figuring on that broken arm or leg so much. It was the only thing that had held me together. AIR. O91 I couldn’t even open my mouth to an- swer that fellow—I was scared that stiff. I got to wondering whether they’d send my body back East or bury me in Redbug. I could feel one of the Red Handkerchief’s bullets tearing through my flesh that min- ute. ‘“ Hop into your saddle, Gus,” one of the boys sings out. ‘“ We’ve got to.get moving along—the Red Handkerchief’s got a big start on us by this time.” I looked at my horse and tried to move my feet. But they wouldn’t budge. It seemed as if they were nailed down on the ground tight. The fellow holding my horse brought it over to where I stood. I managed to get one foot loose from the ground and sticks it in the stirrup. Then I caught hold of the saddle and starts to pull myself up. “‘Who’s that coming up the street?” some one shouts. ‘ He’s coming like hell!” All eyes went down the road. “It’s the sherifi—sure as you’re born!” another squawks. ‘And he’s riding as sober as Carrie Nation!” In a minute the sheriff had brought his horse up in front of the bunch. He didn’t look as if he’d tasted a drop of liquor in a year. His mouth was closed tight and his gray eyes seemed to look a hole through the crowd. “Just got word about the holdup as I was riding back to town, boys,” he snarled. “It’s damn lucky I decided to sober up last night. Ill land that Red Handker- chief if it’s the last thing I ever do. Come, boys.” “Do you want me to come along, Sheriff?” I asks, faintlike. ‘ I can’t remem- ber whether I didn’t forget to lock the safe.” “You go back and look after it—quick!” he roared. “I reckon we’ve got enough here without you for this job.” They were the sweetest words I’d ever heard in my life. They sounded like spiffy music in my ears. I couldn’t say that I was never lucky no more. And just when (’d made up my mind to a wooden over- coat. ‘Sorry I can’t go along,” I choked, try- ing to hide how I felt. “TI sure was figur- GEomichbooks (E@)