Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 7, 1928 — page 51: what you’re looking at

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

TWO-GUN MAGIC, voice in—l man’s let me “Major Marsh,” a called. “It's Lomond; must see you at once.” Stevens hesitated but an instant. He wanted to know all about what had happened in this house that night, but he did not wish to be found there then. Noiselessly he made his way to the open window and climbed out. As his feet touched the ground he stared about him, guns again ready for action, but there was no one in sight. Slowly he edged in along the wall toward the front of the house, keeping always in the shadow of the overhang- ing roof above his head. As he reached the corner Solitaire removed his heavy black Stetson and peered cautiously around. <A_ roan horse stood a short distance from the house, its head drooping as though it had been ridden hard and far. The pounding on the front door con- tinued, and Stevens glanced in that di- rection. <A tall, slender man stood at the door calling insistently for Major Marsh. He was dressed in a long frock coat of ancient vintage, and his dark trou- sers were thrust into the tops of heavy boots upon which were fastened ornate Mexican spurs. From the distance Solitaire could not see the man’s face clearly, for it was shaded by a broad-brimmed hat, but it appeared to be unusually white and hawklike. As the waddy watched, the door of the house was suddenly opened from within. Solitaire caught a glimpse of a strange, hunchbacked figure, and then the tall man stepped into the house and the door closed. As it did so Stevens uttered very softly the mournful whistle which al- ways came from his lips when he was intensely interested in something. Like a gliding shadow he moved to- ward the trees where he had left his little horse. The whistling waddy was heading for the nearest town to try and learn all that he could about a man 191 named Major Marsh, and a tall hombre whom he knew only as Lomond. CHAPTER II. ‘Wo “LOW-DOWN TJASPERS.” ROM far down the road in the di- rection of the little town of Festi- val there suddenly came two shots followed by the rhythmical pounding of horses’ hoofs that grew steadily louder. Solitaire Stevens reined his mount as he rode along toward the town. He sat motionless, a tall lean man on aw ira little gray, listening intently as he gazed ahead of him through the shadow y darkness which linge: ‘ed in spite of the moon. Cold blue eyes set in a strong, tanned face stared from beneath the brim ofa worn black Stetson, while his thin, whimsical lips were puckered in that soft musical sound that had brought him his name of “ the whistling wad- dy.” His right hand rested lightly upon the butt of one of the two heayy Colts which hung in well-worn open holsters on either hip and which were tied low by a long leather thong about each leg. Again came the sound of a shot from somewhere amid the darkness of the winding road ahead. Solitaire frowned as he heard it, for he realized it meant trouble for some one, but he continued to whistle softly and musically. As the approaching hoofs drew nearer Stevens rode his wiry little gray into the shadows of a clump of trees. Again there was the roar of a gun. The whistling waddy suddenly grew silent as he gazed out at the moonlit road. He could see only a short dis- tance ahead of him, for about a hun- dred yards away the road curved sharp- ly and disappeared behind a row of trees. Above these the distant lights of Festival left a faint glow in the sky. Abruptly a horse and rider shot out Gomichbooks (E@)