Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 14, 1928 — page 134: what you’re looking at

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

272 into this great West of which I have read with so much avidity. It seems hardly believable that we have left civ- ilization behind and are in the wild, un- curbed regions where men carry dead- ly weapons as unconcernedly as though they were palm-leaf fans or cotton um- brellas.”’ The little man paused, his eyes fixed upon the heavy navy revolvers strapped to the form of the slumbering giant. “Ts he—do you think—er—our fel- low traveler—would you call him a—a bad man?” he asked in an almost frightened whisper. A grin from Hal Donald as he rolled a cigarette. “ He looks kind of hostile, but you can’t tell,” he answered in guarded tones, “ but I aim to find out. He looks something like an hombre I’ve got my eye peeled for—if he is, just watch the fireworks.” A puzzled expression came into the professor’s mild blue eyes. For a mo- ment he seemed to be studying the words just spoken. Then a beneficent smile chased away a frown and he fair- ly beamed upon Hal Donald. “ Ah—I understand your pictur- esque metaphor now. You are a sheriff, one of those fearless souls who protect the weak against the predatory ele- ments which—” “Hold on, professor. You got me to milling now, ready to stampede. If you mean I am an hombre who takes care of bad men—you're hitting the bull right in the eye. Taking care of bad men is my game from hock to soda. When I get through taking care of a bad man, he’s good—that’s all.” “Reformed, you mean?” “Well—I wouldn’t exactly say re- formed. Still you might put it that there way. He certainly ain’t the same shape as when I started in on him. More ventilated, you might say—more sunshine looking into him.” “ More sunshine in his soul, Ah— I understand.” The professor was beaming with interest. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “No—I don’t reckon I’d say his soul, either. Hardly that. I don’t have much to do with souls except set ’em free, but I sure can make a bad man be good.” “You sway them then?” asked the professor. “Sway them—lI push ’em over.” “You must tell me of your experi- ences, Mr. Donald. I am greatly in- terested in the uplifting forces of our great West. I want to know how they meet the many, problems confronting them. Do you think, for instance,” here the professor’s voice was lowered, “that you could sway our friend there?” He gestured to the sleeping figure on the other side of the coach. ‘““ Fasy—TI don’t care if he has got a flock of notches in his gun.” “Notches? In his gun?” Here the mild blue eyes peered anxiously at the . sleeper’s weapons. Upon the grip of one was a series of indentations, deeply filed. ““Goodness—he has—hasn’t he?” An inquiring look came through the steel-rimmed spectacles. “ Is there any —er—significance to—er—notches ?” A smile of amusement flashed across Hal Donald’s well-tanned features, a smile at the professor’s childish candor. It was seldom a man of this type came into the Pecos Valley and the young man was enjoying the situation to its fullest. He-had heard of tenderfeet greener than the bay tree, but here was one who exceeded the most far-fetched stories of the range. “Them notches are tombstones, pro- fessor,’ he replied. “ They mean men killed. ‘That hombre is a killer if there ever was one—either that or he’s a four-flusher who’s issuing invitations to his own funeral. I mean to find out.” | ; “Goodness me!’’ Professor Darley seemed to shrink an inch in height. “Do you mean we’re—we're riding with a murderer?” SA (C (E(0) vOOK 7€O