Argosy All-Story Weekly, January 13, 1923 — page 57: what you’re looking at

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

down the malcontent from Midvale they failed to see the Boulton police wagon roll up at the edge of the lot. They discovered its. presence only when Town Marshal Hummel, flanked by his occasional deputies, Chester Grice and Peter Bowlby, came stalking among the carts and confronted the chairman of the meeting. “ What’s all this row?” Hummel asked. He had his club in his hand, ready for ac- tion. “ Take seats down in front,” said Steve, “and you'll hear all about it.” “We'll hear about it when we ask,” Hummel insisted. ‘“‘Once more—what’s going on here?” The crowd bunched up close to listen. Steve Brown stood bareheaded in the mid- dle of the ring, his yellow hair blowing in the wind, his blue eyes snapping. Dick Lambert, his publicity man, danced around the edge of the throng and hugged himself with the only arm the Germans had left him. ‘“ Chief,” said Steve Brown, resting his gaze on the mark that still showed where his knuckles had connected with the town mar- shal’s countenance in the Abe Whittlesey case of a few weeks before, “ you really ought to nose—that is to say, know—you really ought to know what we are up to. This is an anarchist meeting. The com- rades are starting a riot. We plan to burn the court house.” At this interesting moment some one gave him a tremendous shove from behind. He had time to recognize his impelling force as the roughneck Howfer. Then he tripped over a pair of feet and lunged into the town marshal, who tripped in his turn and fell, with Steve on top and Grice and Bowlby adding their weight to the pile-up, down. among the legs of the crowd. There was a season of yelling and scuff- ling and trampling, and the thud of fist on bone was heard in the land; and then, trumpetlike, Steve’s voice raised in warning. He was up. His arm waved above the mélée. In his hand was the town marshal’s club, its tasseled cords writhing like snakes. And facing him, as the crowd shrank away right and left, stood Marshal Hummel with a drawn gun. WHEN A MAN’S BROKE, The circle melted away fron» Steve zs Brown’s side. reom. “ Put up that gat, you boob!” He advanced a step, keeping his eyes on the foolish, angry, earth-grimed face. “Stand back!” Hummel raged, lifting the weapon. “I call you all to witness—” The baton flew whirling from Steve’s hand at Hummel’s head, Hummel ducked, and Steve was into him and clinching, while a dozen hands were getting the gun. “ Now bring ’em along,’’ Steve command- ed those who held Grice and Bowlby. He had Hummel’s neck snugly locked under his . arm. They rushed the prisoners in at the rear of Pelham’s barn, slammed the door on the bloodcurdling yells of the pursuing mob and turned the captives loose. ‘“‘ Beat it,” said Steve, “ out the front.” The town marshal fled, with Grice and Bowlby at his heels, while S. Brown re- turned calmly to the back lot, where thirty vociferous job hunters clamored to be taken on as partners in his gamble against hard times. It was noon before he remembered that Samuel Schwartz wanted him at the bank. — He had plenty of elbow CHAPTER VII. FINANCIAL. ASSING the Palace Hotel on his way Pp to the bank, Steve Brown was-remind- ed of the New Yorkers, those saga- cious rich men whom he had seen in an ap- parently friendly call upon Mayor Doc | : : Hamilton the previous evening. Were they still in town? If so, the mayor had need of being warned against them. . Queer birds, those two. If they recog- nized the value of the mine, why had they made Professor Frazer so absurd an offer for it? Why had they been so gay-hearted on the drive down to Boulton yesterday, after Frazer had virtually kicked them off the place? Into the town hall Steve turned. The mayor’s office was locked. He put his head in at the town clerk’s door. “ Mayor around?”’