Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 28, 1928 — page 65: what you’re looking at

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

SCISSORED. an opponent’s midde in the “ scissors,” that man could chalk up a defeat against his record. He could have accepted one of a dozen offers to follow the game pro- fessionally after his discharge, but tlre heritage of his fathers forbade. He preferred his traps, the joy of bucking the elements, and the moan of the wind through the tree tops. And now he was going in to spot out his trapping line. At the river’s edge his canoe nosed the bank, loaded to the gunwales with camp duffel, traps and wanigan. He nodded in reply to Mac’s last statement. “Yes, it’s a last winter’s catch. I did not turn it in with the rest of my fur last spring—for a reason. I’ve brought it to you to store for me until I come out next spring.” MacWilks eyed him a second, then chuckled. Idona, the half-breed daugh- ter of Pierre La Forge, was “ reason ”’ enough. Pretty as a picture, and in a land where pretty women are rare, Idona had favored big, good-natured Nap from the first. “ Aye, an’ small blame to ye, lad. She'll fancy it, I ken. An’ ye want I shall keep it for un, come spring?” Again Toon nodded. “T'll gin ye a receip’. Storage ’Il be in proportion to the resk o’ loss,” he added cannily. “ All right,” agreed Nap, “ but the loss can’t be measured in dollars and cents, Mac, so guard it carefully.” “That I will,” promised Mac. MacWilks was scrawling a receipt, when the door opened and a stranger blustered in. Thrusting an aggressive blue-black chin forward, he rang a sil- ver dollar on the counter and demanded a plug of chewing tobacco. “And step on it,” he growled as Mac continued to write. “I gotta date.” Mumbling in his beard at the per- emptory tone, MacWilks, turned to the tobacco case, when the stranger sighted the fur. 495 “Cripes!” he gasped. “A_ silver! An’ prime!” He thrust his fingers into the fur, and, like MacWilks, submitted it to a searching appraisal. “How much, Whiskers?” “ Hisn.” Mac stabbed an ink- smudged finger toward the Indian, whom the stranger apparently noticed for the first time. “Yourn, eh?” He extracted a bulky poke from his pocket and started to untie the knots. “ Tell Whiskers to Wrap it up, and I’ll count out a thou- sand bones for it.” Toon deliberately snapped a match alight with his thumb nail and applied it to his pipe. “It ain’t for sale,” he grunted be- tween puffs. | ‘““Whaddya mean, ain’t for sale?” “ Just that.” “Oh, hell!’ snorted the stranger. “Everything and everybody has a price. [ want that pelt, and Lew Quinn gen’ly gets what he goes arter. I'll go as high as two grand, cash money. What say?” “Your offer is fair enough; but, as I said afore, it ain’t for sale,” said Toon smilingly. Mentally he marked Lew Quinn down as “ Blue Chin,” and a hard customer. “But, dammit, man,” exploded Quinn, “ what good is it if ye don’t cash in on it? I want it for a weddin’ present to th’ gal as is goin’ to be Mrs. Quinn.” Nap’s smile deepened into a full- throated laugh, while Quinn’s swarthy face went blacker. “Ye. laffin’ at me?” he roared. **Scuse me. I wasn’t laughin’ at you, but with you. It struck me funny when you said that you wanted that fox for a weddin’ present, for I am savin’ it for the same reason, come spring.” “Oh! Congrats.” Quinn’s snag- toothed grin was not prepossessing, and his swinish eyes swept the Indian from head to foot; noted the dandified, gay- VTOOKS COMMUC (C@