Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 2 — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

CROSSROADS. “And the marshal?” “ There’s no one with him—no one I can see.” “Thank God.” ‘““ Not yet. This Mex is a bad one—if he’s the man I think. Pedro Alvarez—long rec- ord—snap-shot.”’ ‘““What’s he doing?” She yearned for a single glance back. But such a glance might have betrayed her companion to the hunter. Small things, she knew, frequently turned the odds of such battles. ‘““ He’s walkin’ about—slow. ing hard.” “Dix Van Dyck, you’re white! It ain’t too late. Start for that back door before he sees you.” “ You’re right, Jack, I’m scared; not of the Mex, but of that cross you wear; but I’m not too scared to fight; my hand don’t shake none.”’ It was, in fact, as steady as a rock. “Get your hand on your gun.”’ “Nope, Ill keep it here till he makes his move. I’m givin’ your cross every chance to get in its work, see?” ‘““Maybe he won’t sight you.” ‘“* Maybe.” ce Then—”’ But the words froze on her lips. The eyes of Dix Van Dyck had widened and narrowed suddenly, and into them came the gleam of recognition. She knew that somewhere behind her a man stood, staring at her companion. Death was there—its wings outspread — hesitating which to strike. Then the hand of Dix Van Dyck shot down and a gun flashed with a crazy wob- ble over the edge of the table. The wobble came from the force of the explosion that kicked the muzzle of the gun high. No - answering shot; she rose, whirling from her chair, and saw a tall, thin Mexican, in an enormous sombrero, toppling backward. From his outstretched arms a _ revolver dropped. He struck a post, staggered, and then pitched forward on his face. With both his guns now in his hands Dix Van Dyck stood like one transfixed, staring at his work. She caught at his arm. He’s look- 173 “Follow me. jiffy.” And she fled before him toward the door, through it, and into the blessed dimness of the night. A form raced by her. ‘What was it?” shouted the voice of Glasgow in her ear. ‘““A Mex shot,” she answered. man’s inside.” He leaped into the door of the saloon with his gun poised, and at the same time she saw the big form of Van Dyck lunge across the street, making for the stables. In a moment she sprang into her own sad- dle and waited. In hardly more than half a minute there came a thunder of galloping hoofs over the wooden floor of the stable and she spurred into place beside him. Behind them babel was issuing from the door of the dance-hall and pouring out onto the street, but a wind- ing of the way shut them from her view almost immediately. He was well mounted, she saw at once, not on a horse like the matchless stallion which carried her, but on a tall charger which covered the distance with mighty, swinging strides; he towered above her on this steed by a whole foot, and she felt sud- denly reduced to impotence again, as she had felt when she sat opposite him in the dance-hall, waiting. However, he reined in his horse when she reined in hers, keeping always half a length behind her. At length she reduced the pace to a gentle trot. “No chase?” he called. “cc Nope.” ** What’s wrong?” “They know you’re with me.” Well?” “And they know I’m hard to catch.” He chuckled through the dark, and she added rather spitefully: “ Besides, they’ll wait for your bad luck.” ‘Bad luck be damned!” cried the ring- ing voice of Dix Van Dyck. “ I’ve broken the bad luck to-night.” “Ts jt better,” she added almost angrily, resenting his confidence, “‘ to be a free man in Double Bend or on the run-in the desert with Marshal Glasgow behind you. I ask you that, man to man? Is that good luck or bad?” Glasgow will be here in a “ Your NOOK CONMUC (C@