Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 4, 1922 — page 130: what you’re looking at

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

440 expected to remain in that little adobe chuck-house until the hour of the fight. The fight was to take place at three that afternoon. Some time before noon Juan Scaly rode to the Dead Cow Saloon and an- nounced to every one present that there was to be a big show at the crater. -A large audience heard his announcement. Bar- keeps were called from mopping up the pine boards, croupiers were summoned from their breakfast, sleepy dancing girls were awak- ened and called down from their bedrooms, and Jude Silent, the proprietor, left his‘work in the dance-hall where he was superintend- ing the rehabilitation of the booth where Quade had fought the preceding night. News spread all over the town of Lava that Taurog was going to give an exhibi- tion of his fist-fighting prowess. The coun- tryside was going to be shown once and for all that Taurog was master. Saloons were closed, chow-stands were surrendered to the flies; gambling dens were deserted and the merry-go-round in its huge striped tent on one of the street corners ceased for once to howl out its pipe-organ ragtime. By noon Lava was practically deserted ex- cept for an occasional drowsy Indian curled up in a red blanket. A glaring sun beat down on broad, dusty streets, on forsaken shacks, and a dozen lonely yelping dogs. A long and continuous procession of rid- ers moved across the plain toward Taurog’s crater. And every kind of nag was used to transport Taurog’s guests to the fight: buckskin pony, cayuse, and mule, not to mention the wagons and stages crowded with gamblers, freshly painted girls, and hilarious buckaroos. The news radiated from Lava on every side so that rustlers and outlaws as well as the old cattlemen in their frock-coats, sombreros and jackboots, poured in through the granite gorge to see what they heard was to be a finish fight. It was already understood that Smoo Taurog’s power had been challenged by some wildcat stranger who purported to be of the family of Quade —and a brother to Sterry Quade. Many of them had even seen the stranger engage in a barroon brawl at the Dead Cow. The disagreement was to be settled—so it was explained—by ‘the time-honored method of ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. a duel. This duel, however, was not to be a private affair at sunrise with the use of pistols. It was to be staged as near as possible after the manner of a prize-fight. At two o’clock—one hour before the fight —Taurog gave a feast to the entire assem- bly. Most of the crowd was obliged to file through the chow-shed like picknickers at a barbecue, but a few of the nearest cronies of the host were invited into his house. At the head of a long table, laden heavily with plates of roast beef, potatoes, jerky and tortas, sat Taurog himself, proud, boastful as an old viking, flushed slightly with Juarez wine—which he had adopted for the day in preference to whisky.- Red- eye, as Trilles warned him, would get him ‘too het up to fight decent.” On Taurog’s right was the proprietor of the Dead Cow, on his left little Jug Trilles, the calmest man there except for the ex- cited twinkling of his brown eyes. Jug said little during the feast, but with his one hand he shoveled in prodigal chucks of beef and potatoes. Inasmuch as the deputy sheriff was not in training, he helped him- self freely to the alkali whisky which Jude Silent passed to him from time to time across the seat of their host. The other guests with loud shouts and songs kept up a continual round of toasts to their leader, some of them swearing that if he did not win the fight they would finish it for him, using their gats. These vows, however, at- tracted little attention because at that table it was most objectionable to even suggest the possibility of Taurog’s being defeated. Taurog reacted to this homage. To be worshiped by all men because of his physi- cal power was his greatest passion. It was this one trait which had been most import- ant in influencing him to accede to his fos- tter-daughter’s request for a fair, man-to- man fight. When the yipping and the drinking and the worshiping of his guests were at their height, the host leaned over to little Trilles and whispered in his ear: ‘““T want for the fight to go on as long: as it can,” he said. “I’m going to beat the hell-bender up good. I’m goin’ to wipe the corral with him so’s the horses will wonder what the hell was pulled off there durin’ their absence.”’ COmiclbooks.Gom