Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 14, 1928 — page 33: what you’re looking at

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

THE MAN of reach of the bandit’s guns, thousand or no thousand, and that his dramatic departure was just another one of his bluffs. 3 But the uncertainty on both sides speedily brought things to a climax. It needed only a mild remark by a shriveled old prospector as to the lack of wisdom in the whole procedure to bring Judge Wilson into action. “You're right, Silas!’ the judge agreed. ‘It does seem we've all gone plumb out of our heads over this brag- ging business—thinkin’ more about showin’ Jake up than catchin’ our man. And again, if Jake’s really what he says he is, ’tain’t exactly fair not tuh give him some help—not to mention how that killer will get clean away if Jake’s layin’ down on th’ job. We'd better all sneak up th’ pass and see what’s bein’ pulled off. Come!” No further invitation was needed to move the excited mob from the con- fines of the Lucky Strike. They bolted for the door, two and three abreast, and once outside carefully inspected their weapons as they followed the judge down Copper Gulch’s dusty main street, utterly devoid of curbs and pavements, to the outskirts of the town. Here they fell into single file and hastened up a well beaten trail leading through the foothills to the north. Finally coming to the spot of the crime, a heavily brushed point in a footpath running up a narrow, rocky ravine, Judge Wilson called a halt. After the judge had explained the po- sition of the bodies when found, the crowd scattered in all directions, look- ing for the tracks of either the killer or old Jake. It was but the matter of a few mo- ments before one of the party, search- ing ahead, caught sight of Jake’s foot- prints in a strip of loose, powdered quartz, a hundred yards or so up the path. “Take’s headed up this way all right!” he called to the rest. “ [’m sure FROM THE RIO GRANDE. 171 of it, ‘cause he’s the only one around here what wears such high heels on his boots. Looks like he meant what he said.” “Keep right after them tracks, Tom!” Judge Wilson called back. “We'll come sneakin’ right along at vore heels.” And for the next half hour the long line of patrons of the Lucky Strike followed Tom up the slippery, winding trail, single file, until their leader halt- ed at the base of a large bowlder, from which the path took a downward trend. “We're ’most on to Roaring River now!” Tom announced. “It’s just down at th’ bottom of this next little valley—less than a half mile more. And old Jake’s keepin’ on, all right— I kin see a couple of his prints right ahead. I guess we’ll—” Tom suddenly lost his footing on a loose rock and down he went in a heap while the rock rolled down the path in the direction of Roaring River, smashing against the bowlders on the right until it caromed off into a deep gully on the other side with a loud thud. “Careful thar, Tom!” Judge Wil- son cautioned as Tom got to his feet, rubbing his elbow and grinning from ear to ear. ‘“ Noises like that travel somethin’ terrible in a ravine—maybe it spoilt our whole plan. Yuh cain’t tell how near that killer might be!’ “Sorry, judge,” Tom whined. “Maybe you want somebody else tuh take th’ lead ?” “Naw, go right on—you’re the best trailer we've got!” the judge growled stiffly, The column moved along, now care- fully watching their footing on the steep downgrade which was, in a mea- sure, harder than climbing up. Sud- denly, every man halted with wide- open eyes and gazed ahead in alarm. Two shots, fired in’ rapid succession, echoed through the ravine, their loud- ness proclaiming they had been fired from a point not far distant! COMIC OOKS (F@)