Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 4 — page 186: what you’re looking at

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

692 reconnoitering distance. see plainly; all they could distinguish was a group of men around the spring, but they saw no body hanging inert from any of the trees. There was a hitch somewhere and the officers had come too early to avoid trouble. Sheriff and chief drew aside for a whispered consultation. “‘ Here,” demanded Tucker, ‘“‘ who has the key to these here cuffs?” With a slight motion of the gun he motioned the mob- leader forward. ‘The leader’s pockets dis- gorged not only the key but also a pint of yellow whisky. And the gaunt, lank, sinewey superbad-man actually laid aside one of his guns and took a camel’s-sized drink. “Why,” queried some one in ‘the rear of his elbow-neighbor, “why don’t some- body sometimes call the old bully’s bluff?” “They do,” was the answer; one in every town.” The mob had thinned down to a pitiable score. Alf Riggs was not surprised to see that two of his trusted lieutenants had van- ished; Alf himself would have felt more at ease elsewhere. Tucker drained the bottle with a Second draft and resumed his other gun. And suddenly his eye assumed an animated ex- pression—such a look as, his friends said, he wore when he began to fancy himself a god. | ‘IT don’t want no trouble,” he drawled; “I’m a peaceful man—” w 1s] ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. They could not “ Let’s get away from here, Alf,” groaned one of the masked figures in a panic of fear. “Tf that big devil gets drunk, he’ll kill the last one of us for the fun of seeing us die. He’s got that whole damn bag full of dyna- mite. He’s not human—he’s a devil—lead wouldn’t hurt him. Why—why, he’s over forty years old and ain’t dead yet!” | The speaker led the stampede, followed by the others like sheep. Their panic gained momentum as they ran; they inter- preted the sounds of their own abnormal heart-beats as the big drunken devil pur- suing them with his two cannon. Sheriff Bush and Chief Haskett conferring apart from their men on a little knoll south of the springs, saw them pass and wondered at the cause of their panic. Tucker turned to his companion. “Say, if I ain’t mistaken, I met- you here one night before. You must be the same young gen’man—”’ “The same,” admitted Danny. know how I can ever repay you—” “Huh?” said Tucker. ‘“‘ Well, let’s go down-town an’ see if we can stir up another little drink. What might be yo’ name?” Danny told him. ““Oh, you’re the son of the Mr. Shane that owns the stove works where I work?” said Tucker, extending his hand. ‘“‘T’m sho’ proud to meet you, Mr. Shane. Dan Tucker’s my name—‘ Peaceful Dan’ Tucker. If I can ever be of service to you anyway, jes’ let me know.” I don’t u u SANCTUARY BY MAZIE V. CARUTHERS | "THERE grass grows tall and trees stand sentinel, With leaves so interlaced the sun’s bright beams _ Scarce filter through, the green dusk to dispel, I keep my dreams. The voices of the wood, so small and still, Keep vigil with me for an hour, and when Tis time to leave, my dreams bide ‘there until I come again! Digitize «vy Google | ! We 1 t | aaron LEGOOOLK COM