Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 125: what you’re looking at

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

DRY So I made up my mind I wouldn’t spill a word about what was in that green car er the tool box till we got back to town. The gang locked surprised when they saw me sitting on that hand-car. “ Why, if it isn’t Blow ’em up Gus!” one of them shouted. ‘“ What ’re you doing here, Gus?” “‘ Seems like it’s the place for the deputy to be!” I says quietlike, waving my hands toward the stiffs on the ground. ‘‘ Where did you expect to find me—in an ice cream parlor?” The men shook all over as they lamped the bodies of the crew. “ Get some fire under this boiler!” I went on. “I’ve got to get back to town and my arms are pumped sore.” By the time the boiler started to blow off, we had all the four bodies laid in the back of the tank, partly covered with waste. And not a peep out of Mr. Red Handkerchief since the railroaders had showed up. As ‘the fellow who was going to do the running, climbed into the cab, some of the men started for the green box car. I called them back—telling ‘em they’d have to ride on the engine or the tank— that they might destroy some evidence if they stepped into the car. They didn’t get sassy at all—just nodded and climbed up on the tank. Then we backed down to the Rocks, coupled up the rest of the train, and headed for Redbug as fast as we could. There was a big crowd at the station when we pulled in—about every person in town, ’cepting the sheriff and his posse. Everybody was all worked up about the holdup. They stood gaping at us with round eyes. When the boys carried the bodies out of the tank, a hush went through the whole crowd. But after they’d got ’em out of sight, into the little station, hell broke loose. “ What ’ve we got a sheriff and a deputy for, anyhow?” a hoarse voice shouted above the rest. “To hand out bull in the Wet House bar! And let these killings go on right under their nose!” “ And that new deputy sticking around town when he ought to be after his men!” AIR. 595 another voice roared. ‘“ The yellow bum —we ought to string him up!” The crowd started toward me, fire in their eyes. I threw out my chest and held up my hand. ‘* Just a minute, gentlemen!” I says stiff- like. “ Before any more of you opens up your dumb mouths, I want to give you a little surprise. It’s plain you folks ain’t educated to my ways of working—just used to the ordinary stuff! A few of you gents get your guns out and cover the door of that express car while one of your party opens it. Then you can talk to me later!” They looked at me like they thought I was crazy. “Go ahead!” I shouts. there gawking all day!” “Let’s see what the fool means!” a fellow cries, going to the door and throw- ing the hasp while the others followed at his heels, their guns in their hands. ‘“‘ Here she goes!” The door slid open with a thud and I ducked low. But I needn’t have gone to that trouble. The Red Handkerchief stood in the open doorway with his hands raised high above his head. ‘““You’ve got me!” he choked. ‘“ I can’t do anything against a mob like this!” ‘‘“Who’s that we’ve got?” some one hol- lered. “I don’t know as I’ve ever seen his face before!” “Why, the Red Handkerchief, you fools!” I roared. ‘‘ Take him to the hoose- gow and lock him up!” “The Red Handkerchief—alive?” an- other shrieked. “Sure thing!” I spouts, locking quite cocky like. “I don’t waste bullets only on real bad men—he’s only an amateur! You'll find the Bright Lode’s money over in the tool box.” And the crowd whooped up three cheers —three long cheers for the only man who had ever got the best of the Red Handker- chief. A minute later, I found myself up on the shoulders of the mob, on my way to the Wet House bar. “Don’t stand THE END books (E(0)