Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 5, 1928 — page 112: what you’re looking at

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

678 “Tll bring Leary the way I finds him,” he grumbles. “ No one can ac- cuse me of being no grave robber.” ‘Nothing personal,’ snapped the sheriff. “ You're allus ready to be in- sulted. Some day a quiet geezer will call your bluff and you'll be so full of holes they'll use you for a sieve.” The deputy stalked out of the place, and his partner, called Gerry, a nice- appearing young feller, laughed. “ Better him than me, peering around with a lantern,” he opines. “Tf it is Leary,’ said Martin, “old Renwood will want immediate action. I wonder who stopped his whistle?” “Tf you asks us,” chipped in Shorty, “all we says is that we don’t know the party, but figured it was right to re- port the finding to you. We could ’a’ kept our mouths shut and no one would have been the wiser.” “ That’s so,” retorts Martin, rubbing his chin, “‘ you two boys did the right thing and [ thanks you. About this rescue of Miss Renwood and the Injun ruckus, her father’s been half crazy since she’s lost. Let’s meander over to the Oriental and find the old man; he’s been liquoring up some, but he will want full details—and like to thank you plenty.” The tone in which the peace officer asked us to go with him was one that implies more an order than an invita- tion. We cavorts out of Martin’s shack, along with his deputy, Gerry, and let them lead the way to the Oriental Sa- loon. ‘This said institut’on of mirth and revelry is a short jaunt farther up the main street. It stands out as pop’larly supported ‘cause of twenty or more cayuses tied to the hitch post, while their owners 1s busting loose inside. There is a big painted sign over the wide, swinging doors, and the sound of fiddling floats out to us. “The key is thrown away of this yere pride of Gorge City,” said Martin proudly. “ It glories in the longest bar ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. in the State; a fellow can start sober at one end and by the time he reaches the other he’ll be playing tag with pink rabbits.” We drifts in after the peace officers, not reluctant but cautious. Shore, it is some layout I’m here to state. A bar sixty feet long supports five barkeeps at one time, and the rest of the insides is big and roomy. Over at the right is tables for those who likes to anchor, and extreme ag’in’ the walls faro and three-card monte is open but dull this early in the evening. At the back is a circular dance hall, and three music hounds is playing up on a raised platform. But the dancehall girls is standing around listless, chatting, or persuading cow-punchers who is so groggy they can’t see ’em well to saunter-to the bar and buy drinks. The girls get a little round slip for each drink bought, and these they cash in afterward. All the sinews of money- taking is in sight, but customers is slow arriving. By midnight we’d see an en- tirely different picture, I figgers. “Toss one down with me,” offers Martin, nodding to the barkeep. “I don’t want to seem inhospit’ble.” The man with the apron decorates the polished bar and we hooks a quick drink. I notices that the sheriff nods agin instead of paying for the round; I guess he runs an account, which is usual in cow-towns between pay days. “TI think Renwood will be back in the private cardroom,” opines Martin. and leads directly to a door at the right. This entrance has a sign: PRIVATE—THIS MEANS YOU! Martin gives no attention to this warning and swings the door wide open. Inside, under a big swinging lamp that casts a round golden circle on a card table, I sees four men playing draw poker, but listless, as if jest pass- ing time. A bottle and whisky glasses (EO) 0)(0 (0) AMUN <S) (C@