Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 14, 1928 — page 139: what you’re looking at

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

NOTCHED GUNS. “Gosh!” he exclaimed. “TI almost forgot to reload this—” “Oh, Mr. Donald!’ The sudden exclamation caused the young man to slip his weapon back into its holster. The professor’s hand had gripped his arm, and the spectacled eyes looked into his with an expression akin to terror. “What's the matter ?” “Didn’t you see?” He glanced to- ward the outsprawled form of Titus Coulter. ‘“‘ He’s getting ready to—to do something.” “Do something? Say, what do you mean?” This in an angry whisper. Coulter was stirring uneasily. Now he was lifting his hat and gazing sleep- ily around. With a yawn he sat up, staring stupidly at one, then the other. His hands dropped to his weapons, but the touch of their grips seemed to re- assure him. Then he glanced out the window at the dusty countryside. “Getting along toward sundown,” muttéred the big man. “‘ Gosh—funny, isn’t it—how time lopes along when you are pounding your ear? Don’t seem more than five minutes since we had dinner.” An interval of silence. Now the professor began to look-out of the window. It was nearing evening and the road was dipping down through a narrow defile, the sheer walls of a cafion rising on either side. The song of the Chisholm trail no longer sounded from the driver’s seat, and old man Kelly was lashing his horses to the full gallop in spite of the precipitous trail. A. sudden tenseness seemed to grip the coach. “ Our driver seems to be in a fright- ful hurry,” remarked Professor Dar- ley. “ Isn’t it rather dangerous, driving like this along a winding road?” “We're just getting into Box Cafion,’” Hal Donald explained. “ That is where some road agents stuck up the stage last week, and Kelly don’t want another helping from that dish. Not when he’s got all that gold aboard. That’s why he’s got a guard riding with him.” “A guard ain’t going to do a heap of good when trouble comes from a di- rection he ain’t looking,” was Titus Coulter’s contribution to the conversa- tion. A flash in Donald’s gray eyes as they were held upon the big man. “What do you mean by that?” he demanded. “ Just that—that’s all,” was the lazy answer; and Coulter sank back on his cushions once more. Professor Darley’s attention was held upon the young man beside him. He sensed the growing tenseness as the coach careened along, and the ac- tions of his fellow passengers seemed to tell him big events were impend- ing. They might cover their tautness with elaborate nonchalance, but he could see it in the actions of both. “We are like passengers on a treas- ure ship, sailing through the Spanish Main,” he said. “ Pirates may come down upon us any minute, flying the Jolly Roger. Wouldn’t it be exciting if we were held up?” “Yes—wouldn’t it?” Donald’s lips smiled, but his eyes did not. “ Espe- cially if the pirates had somebody on board who was working for them.” Darley’s spectacles seemed to flash a glance toward Titus Coulter. No sign from the heavy figure, now ap- parently sleeping once more. ‘Do you think—” He nodded across the coach. “That’s just what I do think,” Hal answered. “ But he won’t catch me asleep in the saddle. When I start, Betsy will be smoking.” “Gracious!” exclaimed the profes- sor. Now the stage was dashing through the cafion’s bed at breakneck speed. It pitched and jolted until Titus Coulter 4 Se sat up, damning a driver who had no co "comicbooks