Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 28, 1928 — page 123: what you’re looking at

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

A SWELL HIDING PLACE. shut an’ do what I tell you. You got a gun?” “ Ye-e-ss. In the office. What’s it—.”” “ Git that gun. See it’s loaded. Then you do a quick ramble up to Flecker’s mill tower. Jes’ plant yourself in there an’ if anybody shows up, no matter who ’tis, you keep ’em there.” “B-b-but !” “No buts. You’re a-howlin’ all th’ time f’r the law t’ do wonders. Now’s yr chanst t’ help. You needn't fret, though. I'll be roun’ there in half an hour or so. I got a coupla places t’ cover first. So you sit tight in the mill till I show up.” Pitts had no choice, and he took him- self off, well aware that he would be under Poley’s eye until he should be well on his way to the mill. The chief watched him go. Then set out to round up Jim Creeper. He chuckled at the eerie assignment he had handed Clem Pitts. {Tf. Not knowing what it was all about, but with his ancient thirty-two caliber nickel-plated revolver—which he never had fired at all—clutched in his right hand under cover of his coat pocket, the editor of the Democrat made his way to the designated spot. The site of the Flecker mill was not a cheerful place even by daylight. It lay almost half a mile from the center of the town, in the glowering shadow of a wooded mountain. And since its abandonment as a commercial factor, a mass of young growth had sprung up about it so that, save for occasional pairs of hardy lovers, few persons ever visited the ruin. Now, dusk had settled over the gloomy tower, and Pitts shuddered a little as he picked his way gingerly along the remnants of a path leading to the sagging door. “Ugh!” he muttered. “ What sort of a game is this, anyhow? Wonder 500 why he sent me here? I don’t trust him.”’ He drew out his gun as he ap- proached the entrance. Even if Burden did say that nothing would happen for awhile, he did not intend to be caught napping. He cocked the revolver and held it ungracefully before him as his foot touched the rotting wood. At the same instant a slight sound caught his ear! It came from inside -—directly in front of him, in the pitchy darkness of the damp smelling in- terior! Pitts’s heart seemed to stop beating, his vitals to freeze. His scalp felt sud- denly tight and the hand holding the gun shook like a leaf. There was a terrific roar, followed by an exclama- tion—something sharp that burned and bit struck Pitts in the face! His head flew back, knocked against a timber, and he sank to the floor, half sitsace! He felt his assailant brush past him into the outer air! Staggering to his feet, still clutching the gun he had inadvertently dis- charged, thus bringing upon himself the wrath of his unseen foe, Pitts rushed into the open. He put his hand to his face and drew it away soaked with blood. How seriously he was injured he did not know, terror-crazed, half whimpering, he ran for it! To the nearest drug store he dashed. Oblivious to the few staring customers in the place—it was supper time—he sank down on top of a five gallon car- boy of ammonia that stood in the rear. “How bad am I hurt, Pete?” he gasped. Pete Winch, the proprietor, thor- oughly astounded, picked up the gun Pitts had dropped on the floor, laid it away behind the counter and gave his attention to the injury. “Not bad,” he said after a few seconds. “ Just a flesh wound. How’d you come by it?” While Pete bound a bunch of gauze over the damaged spot, Pitts mumbled EOPMICL OO KS (E@)