Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 7, 1928 — page 55: what you’re looking at

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

TWO-GUN MAGIC. played such a minor part in his life that the thought itself was surprising. As a matter of fact, what Solitaire Stevens had been seeking all his restless life was romance, and women had never meant anything to him merely be- cause he had not met the right one. “You ain’t married!” exclaimed Mintz. “Such a pity.” “Maybe.” Stevens’s ‘tone was doubtful; he looked about him. “ Guess yuh don’t find Festival very excitin’, does yuh?” “Exciting!” Mintz shook his head. “Listen, I’m telling, one more week in this place and it’s gray hair I’m get- ting! Every little while somebody gets feeling foolish, and, bang goes a gun! It’s heart failure I’ve got if I stay here long—such a place!” : “Sounds kinda interestin’,” re- marked Solitaire thoughtfully. “‘ Yuh talk like this town was livin’ up to its name. Is that right?” Mintz looked about him nervously before he answered, and then he low- ered his voice. “You don’t belong around here, do you?” he asked. “ Where’d you come from, Mr. Stevens?” For an instant the two-gun man’s eyes narrowed, and he stared intently at the other, his gaze cold and hard. As he caught the look Herman Mintz paled and his hands shook nervously, for he thought that he saw the ominous threat of death in the expression ofthe whistling waddy, and he was quite right. “T didn’t mean to get personal,” he said hastily, his voice trembling in spite of his effort to steady it. “ I got a good reason for asking.” “Ves?” Solitaire’s voice was low, but there was something in its tone that did not make the traveling salesman feel the slightest bit safer. ‘ Maybe yuh better trot out yuhr reason.” “ Sure, sure!’ Mintz glanced about him, and observed that there was no one within earshot. The barkeeper had gone to the other end of the bar and 195 was polishing it with a rag. “ Listen, Mr. Stevens, I ain’t been here in town but a few days, but already I learns that there’s something wrong here. The sheriff, the storekeepers, everybody is being bossed by a feller that they calls the Chief.” “ Th’ Chief, eh?” remarked Stevens. “Who is he? What’s he look like?” “That’s just it; from what I hear they ain’t no one that really knows who the Chief is—he works under coverlike and gives his orders through a feller called Blocky MacGill, who | owns the Lazy X ranch.” “How'd yuh learn all this?” de- manded Solitaire, gazing at Mintz in- tently. “ Just listenin’ when no one thought I was around,” said the fat man. “ I’m a stranger here, and being a stranger in Festival ain’t such a healthy business, particularly for a feller like you what carries guns and everything—that’s why I’m telling you all this now.” “Thanks,” said Stevens, and then he smiled. “ Reckon I sized yuh up wrong, Mintz, I’m sure right much obliged for what yuh’ve told me.” “You’re welcome.” Mintz sighed with obvious relief, and mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “‘ Such a country! You say it’s a nice day, and another feller says it ain’t, and, bing, you're dead. The feller what first in- vented them words, ‘ Watch your step,’ must have lived arotind here.” The fat man reached in his pocket and produced a small object which he handed to Solitaire. “Look! Here’s a little present for you. One of my best sellers—genuine, unbreakable silk thread.” “Thread?” Stevens glanced down at the spool of dark thread that Mintz had given him. ‘“‘ Now what yuh figure I’m gonna do with that?” “Who knows—it might come in handy. You never can tell, you might lose a button or something.” The sales- man smiled and shook his big head as Solitaire started to hand the spool of COPMICLOOOKS (E@