Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 14, 1928 — page 62: what you’re looking at

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

Gunplay on Moonlow eS = “e. S By HOWARD E. MORGAN iff — ~~ ry LY) ‘cM, \ = fg TUN. & SF —— The man who, in a good cause, shot wild, then realized he was mixing in a quarrel of which he really knew nothing = AM DODD, he introuble. Dam S bad trouble, for sure.” The words were mumbled out of the old Indian’s toothless mouth in a manner as matter of fact as though he had been asking for another portion of bacon rind. Like most In- dians—particularly of the old order— Joe Muskrat never became noticeably excited about anything. Evidently this bit of news didn’t mean much to him; he had been hang- ing around Dad Williams’s little cabin for the better part of two days, toast- ing his ancient bones in the hot sun, without uttering half a dozen words. Dad Williams drew his lanky body erect and faced the Indian; the old prospector was, evidently, much ex- cited. “Sam— Sam Dodd —in trouble: What kind of trouble, Joe? Where—” Dad stopped, abruptly. There was no use questioning Joe Muskrat. The leather-skinned old Piute would sit there like a wooden image, and stare, uncomprehendingly. Never could get nothing out of him,; marvel was that he had spoken at all. Probably once a month, Joe Musk- rat made a sociable call at Dad Wil- liams’s isolated cabin in the foothills of the Moonlow Mountains; sometimes he stayed only an hour or two, some- times two or three days; but seldom it was that he spoke except to grunt a 206 Gomichbooks (C@