Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 5, 1921 — page 125: what you’re looking at

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

<Jhe Puster— by William Patterson White Author of “The Owner of the Lazy D,” “The Brass Elephant,” ete. CHAPTER XXXVI. WITAT CONNIE SAW. [oe JONES and Bud Thompson entered the Engle House by way of a side window in the dining- room. They entered the kitchen to find Bill Coryell peering past the door-jamb at the fortuitous stove that meant so much to Relel Stanley. Coryell was reloading his six-shooter ancl swearing, but he took time out to greet pleasantly the two men. _ At this juncture the rifle behind the rusty stove cracked, and a forty-five-ninety buzzed past Thompson’s ear and tucked into the wall at his back. “He thinks yo’re me, I guess,” observed Coryell, withdrawing himself a little far- ther lehincd the sheltering wall. ‘ It’s lighter over there where vou are.’ Bud Thompson did not remain “ over there’ an appreciable length of time. He joined Tom Jomes under a_ window-sill before the words were out of Coryell’s mouth. Crack! A spurt of gray smoke between the stove and a _ whisky-keg. Sput-t! Plink! Tinkle! And the largest water- pitcher the Engle House possessed flew in pieces. Crack! A high pile of stoneware was struck at the bottom and fell all ways with clinkings and crashings. “Tf this keeps up,” remarked Coryell, cocking a humorous eye at the two under the window-sill, “1 dunno what Buff will do for supper.” suff was the hotel proprietor. Tom and Bud grinned. They did not sympathize This story began in the Argosy- Allstory Weekly for Decesrag7) 1a Oo KS..co with Buff. For the previous week he had raised the price of Sunday dinner from six bits to a dollar, and they considered that a bit of misfortune would do hin good. Entered then Kuff from the dining- room crying: “ Here! Flere! What are you celebrat- in’?”’ Crack! The rifle at the stove answered Buff's question and bored the lintel of the dining-rocm door. The two under the window-sil! became three in a breath. “Welcome, Buff,” Coryell intoned gravely, ‘“ welcome to the Promised Land. Ji I was you I’d move that there table. She’s right in range, an’ the gent behind the stove has already put a crimp in the water-pitcher an’ a stack o’ plates. No, no, not this here stove—the one out yon- der.” Crack! Buff Nattened himself on the floor with a grunt. A bullet had grooved the window-sil] and = sprinkled splinters down the back of his neck. Corvell» laughed. ‘Who is it out there?’ demanded Buff. ‘Who? Rebel Stanley! Hell’s bells. Bill, couldn’t you ’a’ picked s’m’other place besides my kitchen for a fort?” “TI done the best I could,” Coryell pro- tested mildly. “1 had to hunt through nigh every room in yore old shack before { was able to throw down on Stanley, an’ then he was leggin’ it for Tom Jones’s barn fast as he could.”’ ‘“T heard you had a fracas with him in the Mint,” Buff grumbled on. ‘“ Whyn’t you settle it there, instead o’ draggin’ it all over other folks’ property an’ causin’