Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 14, 1928 — page 137: what you’re looking at

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

, NOTCHED GUNS. = his features. The young man’s solemn gaze bored deep in that fleeting second. Then the serious expression relaxed and a smile bared smooth, white teeth. His hand reached to his breast to draw forth a weapon. He did not carry it at his side like Titus Coulter, but in a spring-faced scabbard beneath the left arm. Apparently he had been unarmed when Coulter’s taunt had brought the weapon into flaming action. “ Sure—you can look at it, profes- sor,” he said. The older man’s fingers toyed with the gleaming thing, his eyes twinkling as they studied it, widening with sur- prise as they noted an array of notches running down the grip. “TIsn’t it amazing,” he mumbled, “and just think—how you shoot. I must write a monograph upon the Western man, his skill and superhuman speed, stressing the codrdination of mind, eyes, and digital muscles.” Now his attention was directed to deeply filled notches. “What a remarkable number of marks you have,” he pointed out. “Quite a few more than Mr. Coulter. These, I should imagine, mark the—er —passing of noted outlaws, despera- does, criminals you have been forced to—er—dispatch while protecting the innocent.” A grim smile crossed Hal Donald’s thin lips. “ Something like that,” he answered. “ There ain’t any hombres in that there list that don’t deserve to be there, and some mighty bad men has got their monuments on that shooting iron.” “Of course—of course.” Here the professor beamed upon his compan- ion. “I know, Mr. Donald, in this wild, almost uncivilized community, an officer has to mete out justice with his own hand.” Darley continued to toy with the six- shooter, apparently loath to part with it. He spun the cylinder and peered down into the loaded chambers. “ My—my—” he muttered. “ What 275 an extraordinary weapon. And its his- tory— I shall have to write—” “ All aboard, you folks,” bawled old man Kelly from the stage box. “We have wasted too much time already. Got to be hustling.” “ Quite so—quite so.” Darley grudg- ingly surrendered the revolver to Hal Donald. ‘ Coming—instantly. Come, Mr. Donald, they are waiting on us.” He took the young man’s arm, and the two walked toward the stage, speaking in subdued tones. “Do you really believe Mr. Coulter is—er—a road agent?” the professor asked. “ Sure—I know it—now.” “ Really! How?” The steel-rimmed spectacles only partially concealed the interest-filled blue eyes. “Didn’t you see what his game was?” Donald asked in lowered tone. “He was working to see if Bob, old man Kelly’s guard, was quick on the draw and how he shot. Pretty slick— the way he worked that. He wanted to find out what kind of shooting he was up against. He knows now, I reckon.” “Do you suppose ’’—Darley’s voice fell to a husky whisper—*“ do you im- agine he suspects you are an officer of the law trailing him, following him to his destruction? Do you suppose he has the slightest inkling?” ‘He inkles something, professor, or he wouldn’t have played that gun trick. He wasn’t throwing thirty dollars into the air just to see how far he could chuck it. It’s our move. We’ve got to do something.” “You mean, fix his guns—like you said?” The professor’s voice was lowered like that of some conspirator planning a dark, desperate deed. aa “ Seguro—we'll wait until—” “Hurry up, you folks,” bawled old man Kelly. “We ain’t got all day and night both. Climb in there if you are going on this stage.” Soon the coach was rolling its sway- Comichooks;:: (E(0)