Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 5, 1928 — page 113: what you’re looking at

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

ROPE NECKTIES. is on the table, and the former is down to the dregs. Three of the men is plain, hard- faced hombres, none in the first flush of youth; desperate-looking; and es- caping a powder-burning finish so many years, they must be tough. The fourth man, older than the others, I recognize in a flash. A thrill goes through me as my mem- ‘ry darts back to peering out from the barn the day my father and brother is murdered. There sits the leader of the ruthless gang, then wearing a Mex sombrero, who directs proceedings! That face is branded in my mind, cl’ar as a running iron could sear it, with my purpose of vengeance. There he sits, the damn leader of those mur- derers, and I long to drill him, though that wouldn't satisfy my longing for justice. ‘“T hates to interrupt a social game,” breaks in Martin, smooth like, “ but I brings lots of news, both good and bad, so comes on a gallop from my shack.” The four men lays down their cards and gives the sheriff complete atten- tion. “These two boys claims to have rescued your daughter, Renwood, from a war party of Injuns, and they brings news of finding a_ corpse, weighed down with lead, that describes like Leary, your foreman, on the way to town from your ranch.” CHAPTER XV. THE NEW DEPUTY. F Martin had set off a stick of dy- | namite under that table, or the crust of hell cracked, he couldn’t have caused more excitement. The table teeters as Renwood pushes back his chair, his men entangle their legs, and one of ’em grabs half a drink from a glass as it starts sliding to the floor. Renwood flushes and his black eyes dance. He isa beefy, heavy-set party, about fifty, I should jedge; dressed in 679 store clothes that seem a size small, and he’s ready to bust out of them. As he jumps to his feet I notice he has his cartridge belt slung under his vest, and a pearl butt protrudes from the holster. ‘Let me get the right of this,’’ he blurts out. “‘ First thing, my daughter is safe at home?” I pushes by Martin, and Shorty el- bows Gerry aside. As we are the fel- lows who done the trick we takes the reward or blame on our own shoulders. ‘“ We brung Miss Renwood back to yer ranch, and a young chap that rides with her,” I explains. “ He’s dead from wounds inflicted by the red- skins.” “That last is good news. If they hadn’t plugged him I’d have done so, shorely.” “Yer daughter is fit as a fiddle, if a bit upset. We had dinner at the ranch, follerin’ her kind invite, then trails in to spread the word.” “Did you see Leary out at the ranch?” Renwood asks, peering at us from under fierce black brows. “We don’t know the gent. No, we didn’t see any one, ’side from your daughter and Carrie, the old cook,” I returns easily. Renwood turns to the sheriff. “ What’s this report of a dead man with the earmarks of Leary?” he de- mands. Martin shrugged his shoulders. “These fellers breeze into my shack, thinking I should be told first, official like. Like hon’st citizens they re- ports direct to me, which is right and proper. Loping toward Gorge City they stumbles over a corpse strewn on the plains. They don’t bring it into town—” “TIT plants my own dead,” growls Shorty roughly, “but I ain’t fool enough to lug in a undertaking exhibit, which is a late prominent citizen, into a strange town and get a volley of slugs for my pains. No, sir, not this cowboy. “The corpse ain’t of any interest EOPMICLOOKSsE© im