Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 7, 1928 — page 89: what you’re looking at

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

THE WHISTLING WADDY WARBLES ON, with the heat, even though it was still early. ‘Sour Grapes”? Watson yawned “widely as he swept the rough board- walk in front of the Trail’s End Saloon with a worn broom. The yawn changed to a frown that made the thin, sad face of the barkeeper look all the more melancholy as he worked lan- guidly, pausing now and then to mop the perspiration from his brow with a not too clean handkerchief. “Fine job, this is!’ Watson mum- bled sullenty to himself as he swept. “Expect a man to work day an’ night an’ not get paid decent wages.” He grinned suddenly as a thought struck him. ‘ That stranger sure put one over on Craven an’ Jenkins last night! First he knocks out Craven, then he outshoots th’ both of *em when they goes gunning for him.” The bar- keeper frowned again. “ Wonder who that feller is, anyway?” “They says folks is kinda half-wit- ° ted when they get tuh talkin’ tuh themselves like that,” drawled a voice from the corner of the building. Watson turned, startled, raising the broom as though to ward off a blow. When he discovered the stranger about whom he had just been mumbling to himself he grinned sheepishly and looked exceedingly foolish as he low- ered the broom. “Vuh ought not tuh go talkin’ out loud like that,’’ stated Solitaire quietly as he rolled a cigarette. “ As I heard a lawyer say once: ‘ Remember every word yuh say ‘ll be used against yuh!’ ” “ Aw, I didn’t know there was any one around!” replied Watson, continu- ing his sweeping. “ An’ it is a hell of a job!” “ Maybe.” Solitaire lit the cigarette and leaned lazily against the wall of the building. “ Still there might be worse jobs ”—he looked intently at Watson— “like finding a jasper when yuh don’t know who yuh’re looking for!” For an instant the barkeeper looked at the Whistling Waddy as though he 19 were about to say something, then he shook his head and went on with his sweeping. Stevens’s attention was diverted by the sight of two horsemen who had entered the town and were riding slow- ly re) the street toward the Trail’s nd. Through half closed eyes the punch- er observed the two men as they drew closer. He saw that they both ap- peared to be examining him intently as they dismounted at the now deserted hitching rail in front of the saloon. The older of the two who was gray- haired and had a short gray mustache, said something to his companion, a smooth-faced individual with a hard expression. The latter glanced in Stevens’s direction and nodded as — in reply to what the other had said. As they reached Solitaire the older man paused and spoke. ‘“*Morning, stranger,” he said. “’Mornin’,” replied Solitaire quiet- y. The second man nodded, but said nothing. “ Mind tellin’ me your name?” asked the older man. Solitaire’s eyes narrowed. Such di- rect questions were not always consid- ered safe topics of conversation. He was very much on guard now, but he continued to lean languidly against the sy the cigarette drooping from his ips. “Any good reason why I should tell yuh?” he asked, his hands resting on his hips close to the butts of his two guns. * I’m askin’—officially. I’m Sheriff Hawkner.” The gray-haired man threw back his open vest and revealed his badge of office pinned to the shirt beneath. ‘“‘No offense meant. We kinda check up on strangers ’round here. That’s all!’ “ Uh-hum!” said Stevens slowly. Sour Grapes Watson, who had been an interested listener to the conversa- COPNICLOOOKS (E@)