Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 7, 1928 — page 83: what you’re looking at

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

By DONALD BAYNE HOBART One man against a band of outlaws and the game of stealth that was played in the effort to outwit them SULLEN silence brooded over the sloping gray walls of the narrow canon, a heavy listless hush, a part of the warm, sweltering August day that was swiftly passing. It was late afternoon now, and already the shadows were growing longer as the sun began to disappear behind the tall cliff to the westward. Faintly from behind the high bowl- ders that stood like sentinels at the mouth of the ravine came the sound of some one whistling. The notes of the familiar strains of “ Old Black Joe” thrilled mournfully through the sultry stillness as they grew steadily louder. Beneath the sound, as though it were 73 a faint accompaniment, echoed the soft pounding of hoofs and the creaking of leather as a horseman slowly entered the cafion. When he had passed the last of the jagged rocks the man halted his horse and sat motionless, staring about him. Keen blue eyes gazed thoughtfully over the scene, missing nothing which came beneath their vision, from the little clump of cottonwoods ahead to the tall gray walls which rose on either side. As he sat there, the sensitive lips were puckered as he continued to whistle the melody softly, plaintively. “ Solitaire’ Stevens, known from one end of the range to the other as COPMNICLOOOKS (C (E@)