Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

492 were mere lovetaps compared to the savage smashes Bob Kenworthy handed forth with ‘lavish generosity. Sandisfield was sobbing in the impotency of his rage, vainly striving to get at the mocking face which danced tantalizingly before him, imperfectly seen through his smarting, swollen eyes. Mart’s breath came in gasps of agony, ever interrupted by the sickening crunch of hard fists on tortured flesh. Sandisfield was indeed paying a bit- ter price for his cruelty toward the horse. At last he could stand it no longer, drop- ping his arms in token of defeat. “Had enough, have you?” Kenworthy asked, interestedly. “Yes, damn you!” The words were spoken thickly, for Mr. Sandisfield was hav- ing serious trouble with his articulation. Bob Kenworthy surveyed the results he had accomplished—with the air of a true connoisseur. “Yes,” he agreed, ‘‘ I’d say you’ve had a plenty.” ‘Then in an impulse of compas- sion for the wreck before him he produced his flask. ‘“ Take a pull at Old Jawn Bar- leycorn, hombre. Looks to me like you’re in bad need of his help.” Sandisfield accepted the offer eagerly, al- beit with poor grace, draining the bottle to its last drop. “ Didn’t save me much, did you?” Bob erunted with a shrug of his shoulders. Spec- ulatively he eyed Sandisfield. ‘“ I’m buying that cayuse off you,” he next observed. “‘ He ain’t worth much from the looks of things right now. So all I’m paying is twenty doliars. Write me out a bill of sale.” Sandisfield’s damaged lips curled back in @ sneer. “ Twenty dollars for that horse!” he pro- tested spitefully. ‘“‘ You’re loco. He cost me two hundred, and was cheap at that.” “ Well, I’m paying exactly twenty more’n he’d be worth right now if you’d had your way with him. Hides are dirt cheap, and a dead cayuse ain’t hardly worth the bother of skinning. But I ain’t disposed to argue,” and Bob’s voice grew threatening. . “ Might be I ain’t gentled you enough yet. Dig up some paper and write me that there bill of - sale, or I’ll sure have to labor with you some more. That what you want?” ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. There was an unmistakable something about Kenworthy’s cold gray eyes that served as a warning to Martin Sandisfield, whose battered body cringed at the mere thought of facing again such punishment as he had already received. “You're sitting high and pretty now, cowboy,” he muttered. “ But other days are coming, and this country ain’t big enough to hold the two of us.” ** Just what I was thinking,” Bob agreed cordially. ‘So you best make plans to shift on some place else. Meanwhile, as I a’ready remarked, I’m buying your cayuse. Make that bill of sale out to Robert Ken- worthy.” Muttering and grumbling to himself, Martin scrawled a few lines on a scrap of paper, in exchange for which Bob gravely tendered a double eagle. “Oh, so you’re Sandisfield, eh?” he said indifferently, glancing at the informal docu- ment. “ The big gun on this neck of the range, so I’ve heard.” He paused to send a withering glance at Martin. “ Right now you don’t look much bigger’n a kid’s toy cap pistol. “Well, adios, hombre. I’m a riding. You can get back your saddle and bridle in Bald Butte. Next time you try out any rough stuff on a cayuse, make sure I ain’t in the neighborhood.” That evening Bob Kenworthy wandered forth on the streets of Bald Butte, a stran- ger in town. Spurs jingled on his boot heels and coins jingled in his pocket. He was wondering if there was any hope of lo- cating a poker game run on the level. ‘Chances are they’re all as crooked as a dog’s hind leg,” he grumbled. ‘I’m cray- ing excitement, but I sure ain’t in the mood to contribute to local charity by way of crimped cards.” When he blew into town Bob Kenworthy had located a livery stable in charge of one Slim Pawling, a former trail boss of his when the two of them had been em- ployed by the Wagonwheel outfit up in eastern Montana. After suitable greetings had been exchanged Bob briefly related the trend of events which led to his ownership of Sandisfield’s horse. ‘Mr. Pawling nodded. GEomichooks (E@)