Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 5, 1928 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

A HARD-BOILED TENDERFOOT. against the side of Rawlins’s jaw, his right arm dug its fist into the triangle below Rawlins’s ribs so that Bear Paw doubled over. And then once more his left fist found holding ground under Rawlins’s chin, and once more straight- ened him up. Bear Paw emitted an involuntary grunt, changed it to a bellow of sur- prised rage, and rushed. Mr. Nutting merely stepped aside, thrust out a foot and tripped Bear Paw, who sprawled with his face in the dust. “By golly—’ Swede Anderson be- gan, and paused as Bear Paw scram- bled up, tried to go into a clinch, and found his head once more rocked by a staggering punch. And, seemingly, that punch waked sleeping devils in Rawlins’s brain. Un- trained in boxing though he was, he could still take punishment. For bare- ly an instant he appeared to hesitate. Then, with another inarticulate cry of fury, he lunged straight at his antago- nist, his huge hands no longer seeking to strike, but. striving to seize the weapon in Nutting’s holster. “Hi, stranger,” Paragonah lifted his voice in warning, “watch yore gun!” Too late. Bear Paw’s clawing fin- gers closed on the holster and clung. Two blows he took without flinching, while the fingers of his other hand went out—to drag the weapon from its leather sheath and bring it into ac- tion. “ Hi, Swede, grab him!” Once more Charley shouted, reaching for Raw- lins’s arm, just as a long-hooded, low- slung yellow roadster flashed toward the bunk house and came to a skidding stop. Unnoted by either combatants or spectators, it had come swiftly up the road that skirted the emerald green fields of alfalfa beyond the ranch house, to arrive just as Bear Paw had managed to possess himself of the gun. Over its wheel a girl of possibly 581 twenty, a girl with red-gold hair and a very self-sufficient and straight little nose, regarded the scene before her out of long-lashed, wide blue eyes. From beside her the second passen- ger in the roadster spoke in a tone of - grating command: “ Drop thet, Rawlins!” Paragonah Charley drew back. The other riders shuffled in silence. Bear Paw turned to face the speaker, breath- ing deeply, his features already begin- ning to show the marks of conflict still further disfigured by a scowl. Old Jed Brewster, owner of the Bar- Bee, clambered out of the machine. Of medium height, but heavy-set, his eyes were cold, and the gait of the age-old cowman was in his stride as he ap- proached his foreman. “Now, jus’ what’s the idee?” he asked. ‘Why, you see, Mr. Brewster, this here party—” Bear Paw essayed an answer. And his antagonist interposed: “Tm Richard Nutting, Mr. Brewe- ster, sir.” “Yes, sir,’ Bear Paw agreed. “That’s jus’ what I was sayin’. This here nut drove in here a leetle while ago, an’ ‘lowed es how he’d come fer a job. Me bein’ foreman, I asked him fer the partic’lars an’ one thing leadin’ to another—why—” “You say your name’s Nutting?” the Bar-Bee owner cut further explan- ation short. “Yes, sir. And I have a letter for you from your old partner, Lawrence Barr.” Mr. Nutting inclined his head. “Larry Barr!” old Jed exclaimed. Annoyance gave way to pleasure in his face and voice. “ Lawsee, boy, why didn’t you tell Bear Paw that ’stead of tryin’ to bash in his face? Larry an’ me started this layout more’n forty year ago, an’ anybody he sends out here’s welcome. You hear that, Raw- lins?” “Oh, I ain’t deaf yet,” Bear Paw mutnbled. COPMICG OOO KS (F@)