Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 5, 1928 — page 115: what you’re looking at

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

ROPE, NECKTIES. As I stands there, foot on the rail, holding my empty glass, I wonders at the strange pranks of nature, that the old hellion facing me could have a daughter like Mary. “Nother example of a lily springing out of mud. Never- th’less, such a fact would have no power to swerve my purpose. “ Let a stranger buy a drink,” opens Shorty, rattling a gold piece on the bar. “T allows to treat you, gents. Bar- keep, pass the p’isin.”’ The bottle, Old Jordan, is set up ag’in, and I slides it toward Renwood. He nods thanks of my being so courte- ous and pours a lib’ral dash. He has gargled plenty already, but is steady on his pins as a rock. Only a pallor under the tan shows he was quietly been getting a skinful. His punchers, too, seem to have lapped up the stuff with no appar’nt effect. The Oriental is starting to fill up, by now, with a rough-spoken but good- natured bunch of cattlemen, and some fellers with courthouse clothes I takes to be buyers. There’s a gen’ral hum of conversation, but I notices our gang is left a cl’ar space at the bar. Ren- wood must be a power, and in the West when that is so a man is given room for his elbows. Now that we has told our story, con- versation is so light you could blow it easy as a feather. Martin and Gerry is sparing of talk, and Renwood and his hired hands act restless. “Burke should be back with his buckboard and the body by now,” snaps Martin. ‘‘ He’s had time enough to make it.” “That team is fast as jack rabbits,” adds his aid. “I can’t see what's keeping him.”’ ‘“Mebbe,” drawls Shorty, “he’s makin’ a special, official ’xamination of the remains.” “What do you mean by that?” grates the sheriff. “ Aw, nothin’,”’ replies Shorty, and whistles, gazing up at the swinging lamp over his head. 681 There is a pause. Shorty has as much as intimated Burke is searching the body. How that little runt craves a ruckus is a caution. And this time I’m afeard he is crowding to get it. Just then the swinging door, which I has been watching out of the tail of my eye, flies open, and the absent lurches in. Toward us stalks Burke, and he is mad cl’ar through. ‘ Leary is on the buckboard in front of your office,” he says to Martin. Then Burke turns to us, and his manner is hostile. “ You gents didn’t say nothing ’bout Leary’s hoss,” he exclaims, sudden. “I finds his sorrel pony standing over the body.”’ “No,” says Shorty, low and slow. “We didn’t speak about a hoss—’cause we didn’t see none. Since we isn’t hoss thieves, we don’t pack eyes so eager for other folks’ equines.” “You don’t ’sinuate?” “Take it as it lays, partner. I ain’t backing water for any two-bit deputy.” Burke kind of slouches away a few paces, sliding on his heels, and a clear space is left between, around, and be- hind both him and Shorty. “TIT says that hoss was standing guarding the body,” repeats Burke. “All right, boy, but go slow. I jest wants to find out 1f you alludes to my lyin’ when I says I see no hoss. If so, mebbe I'll register my own opinion.” The deputy is breathing hard, and standing legs far apart, with his fingers closing and unclosing a faint few inch- es above his low-hung six-guns. “IT know hosses,’’ he says in a deep voice, “‘ and how they acts. A hoss that is a pet never leaves his master’s dead body. I thinks you is a liar, and a dirty—”’ Burke’s hands settle on the butts of his guns and he twists ’em up, planning to shoot through the open ends of the holsters. Quick, but a plumb inaccu- rate way of firing. Both barrels belched flame, and I heard a shrill cry far behind me. But Go DOOKS mie (©)