Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

430 Accordingly Bob Kenworthy acted, and just at the crucial instant when the sharp hoofs of Sandisfield’s mount were descend- ing like twin hammers on the helpless man coils of rope swished softly through the air, tightening about the neck of the maddened pony. Overbalanced, it fell backward. Some of the color returned to Sandis- field’s face at this unexpected reprieve. Weakly he stumbled to his feet, shuddering at the narrow margin by which he had escaped a dreadful death. “That was quick work, cowboy,” said he. ‘I’m obliged. If you’d been ten sec- onds later with your rope that damned horse would have made mincemeat out of me,” Kenworthy said no word in response, his face hard as granite, thin lips pressed close together. Sandisfield was blissfully uncon- scious of this hearty disapproval on the part of his rescuer. With an oath he drew his pistol. Then it was that Kenworthy spoke. “ Just what you aiming to do, stranger?” he inguired mildly. The question seemed to recall to Sandis- field’s mind something he overlooked. “T want that horse you’re riding,” he snapped. ‘‘ Name a price.” “You're traveling too fast. ain’t for sale.” “ Of course he’s for sale,” Sandisfield in- sisted, with a confidence born of always having his own way. “I said name your price. Whatever you say will be all right.” “Guess you don’t understand me, hom- bre,” Bob stated coldly. ‘ My horse ain’t for sale at any price, to you. So, if you’re counting on riding him home after shooting this poor brute I roped, take another think.” Sandisfield glanced from the horse, held captive by the lariat, to the face of the puncher who had saved his life. He was grateful for the service rendered, but found the stranger’s tone and attitude not to his liking. “Oh, well,” he conceded, “the cayuse is yours, and if you’re fool enough to pass up a handsome profit on him it’s no con- cern of mine. Guess it won’t kill me to walk a few miles.” Sandisfield’s attention again centered on his horse, and his face My cayuse ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. grew black with the rage which still mas- tered him. The pony had risen to its feet, neck en- circled by Bob’s rope, and now stood with heaving sides regarding its owner. The poor creature was in a pitiable condition, streaming blood and half blinded. A Vicious oath escaped Sandisfield’s lips as he leveled his pistol. ‘“‘ No damned cayuse can buck me off and live!” he gritted through clenched teeth. “ Hold on there, hombre!” Bob observed, speaking with deceptive mildness. ‘“‘ Guess you better not shoot that cayuse. He ain’t done a thing to deserve it.” Sandisfield’s rage was in part transferred to Kenworthy at this interference. “Ts that so?” he snarled. ‘“‘ Who’s going to stop me?” “I might take a notion,” Bob told him modestly. By a Herculean effort Sandisfield kept sufficient control of his raging temper to speak with a semblance of coolness. ‘“‘T’m a bad man to cross,” said he, “ as you’d likely know if you weren’t new in this section. You saved my life just now, for which I’ll be glad to pay you, but that don’t give you any license to butt in on my private business. Get it?” “Not being afflicted with deafness, I’m able to hear all your remarks,” Bob softly. responded. “As regards pay for yanking the cayuse off you—I don’t want any. I’m plumb ashamed of myself for doing it, as now I can see that the cayuse showed a sight better judgment in the matter than I did. I’m apologizing to him for interfering in his private business. The least I can do to square myself is to see that he gets an even break—and a bullet in the head ain’t exactly my idea of that.” ‘You looking for trouble?” Sandisfield snapped. “Looking for trouble!” Bob repeated with a mocking drawl. “ Hombre, I sure am! They ain’t anything I’m fonder of than trouble. Why, me and Old Man Trouble are bosom friends, as you might say.” “"You’ve found it then,” and with the words Sandisfield started to swing his drawn weapon around on this rash puncher. The (ECO AMIE cS JOO (E@)