Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 7, 1928 — page 88: what you’re looking at

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

78 “ All right, Mr.—Solitaire.” “Jimmy.” The Whistling Waddy’s tone was very gentle. “ Your uncle ain’t comin’ back no more.” “Yuh—yuh mean they got him?” A look of terror passed over the boy’s face. ‘‘ Oh, Solitaire!”. He tried so hard to be brave, but after all he was only thirteen. “ That—that damn Ace!” Suddenly his face quivered and the tears began to run down his cheeks. “Unele Jim—Uncle Jim—” he mur- mured brokenly. “ Buck up, son.” And Jimmy found the strong arm of Stevens about his shoulders. ‘* Pardners, I said, kid,” murmured Solitaire, and there were traces of tears in his eyes as he realized the depths of the boy’s grief. “And I’m sure glad T took a hand in this deal!’ IV. “Hasty”? CRAVEN was in a rage. His was a sullen nature at best and to have been so coolly knocked out in front of the patrons of the Trail’s End Saloon was far from soothing to his dignity. That his half-breed henchman had not been able to get the drop on the quiet stranger added-all the more to Craven’s anger. It was a little over an hour after the deed had happened and now the heavy- set man was out for blood. He moved along the street of Vereston with one purpose in his mind. He was going to annihilate the calm two-gun waddy who had punched him on the jaw. As he had regained consciousness there on the floor of the barroom Craven had heard Solitaire whistling as the latter made his exit. The musi- cal notes which had issued from Stevens’s lips added insult to injury as far as the badman was concerned. Now as he moved cautiously along the dimly lighted street, Craven fairly seethed in his rage. Punch him in the jaw and then whistle, would he? He’d show that jasper a thing or two! ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. It might have been observed that the street was quite deserted at the present, time. There was a reason for this, a very excellent reason. Hasty Craven had announced that he was going gunning for the fresh stranger. he citizens of Vereston had heeded the warning. ‘They were remaining carefully under cover until the shooting was over. About twenty yards behind Craven a figure flitted silently along amid the shadows. As usual, Ed Jenkins was in the background, waiting to come to his partner’s aid should his services be needed. Suddenly Craven stopped abruptly and reached for his gun. To his left, on the opposite side of the street, he had heard some one whistling loudly and musically. He drew the weapon and peered in- tently at the buildings across the way, but they were dark and shadowy, and he could see nothing. Then as he thought he saw a figure move at the side of a shed his gun roared. It was answered by a spurt of flame from a building behind him. Craven let-out a howl of pain and grabbed a wrist in which a bullet had torn a fleshy wound as it knocked the gun from his hand. Jenkins rushed into the fray, his gun barking loudly. Then he, too, howled and fell to the ground—a bullet in his leg. As he did so he heard, as did Craven, a softly whistled tune to his left. As the sound died away it was echoed from the other side of the street. _ Solitaire Stevens, safe in the shad- ows of a building to the right of the two wounded men, smiled grimly. His new partner whistled right well for a kid! V. THE morning sun beat steadily down upon the little town of Vereston. Be- neath its warm rays the jumbled col- lection of wooden buildings sweltered CONNICOOOKSS (E@)