Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 6, 1923 — page 34: what you’re looking at

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

816 it gives me a right to talk freer about him,” she said softly. ‘‘ We never speak ill of the dead, because—fool notion that it is— Wwe pity ’em. “* [ll come out straight from the shoulder about Dan; he was a good pal, maybe be- cause he was a ne’er-do-well. They’re al- ways easy to get along with. He was, as you say, a good looker. All women folk was crazy about him!” She changed her tone. ‘‘ And he about them!” Phil waited during the silence which this last reminiscence demanded. He saw a winsome passion smoldering underneath the drooping lids. She smiled. Then: “Further and more,” she went on, “ he was daft over the card deck. He’d stake anything—fortune and family—on drawin’ to a bobtailed straight. I’ll see the old boy again soon. He was wonderin’ when he died if Saint Peter played stud! The or- nery kid!” She caught herself in a reverie, lifted her head, and the foreman stuffed the pil- low behind her back. Upright, she looked with a fresh momentary vigor into Phil’s eyes. ‘‘ Now here’s what I fear, Wynd- ham: The girl and Dan, her father, were as alike in character as two peas. She’s going to follow in his ways. She was al- ways bettin’ you this and bettin’ you that, and givin’ odds for this, and staking what- ever she has on a chanct. Some day she’s goin’ to stake too much—and maybe lose.” She stopped to muse over this thought. Her head nodded. ‘‘ What was I saying? Cards? Oh, yes! Of course, it ain’t the cards I’m leary of. Gals don’t go in much for cards, and they never lose nothin’ when they do, because, as the sayin’ goes, a gal don’t pay her poker debts when she plays poker with a man. But it’s her whole character which Dan left her. She’s a devil-may-care little sage hen, and the men find her—vwell, what ’ll I say—easy to get along with.” ‘“¢ She sure is popular wherever she goes,” Wyndham commented. “That’s it. Just like her dad! And she likes it. That’s like her dad, too. And she’s headstrong like he was, and ”—the Widow Crockett added with a sigh of ex- treme pathos and exhaustion—“ she ain’t ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. a goin’ to put up with no drudgery like I have.” Her head reeled backward to the pil- low. Phil saw that it was time to go. ‘““She won’t have to put up with drudg- ery,’ he assured her, “‘ since you’re ap- pointing me sole manager of this outfit.” The old woman smiled again. Her voice became placid, suddenly and completely be- reft of all anxiety. ‘““ All right, Wyndham; leave me,” she said. “Get out of here. Go on. I feel there’s too many people in here. I can’t breathe. It seems like Dan Crockett is in here. Maybe he wants for to tell me a thing or two. “Yep, it’s Dan, sayin’ not to be afraid; that it’s easy to go from here to where he is. ”Tain’t hard ridin’. Good trails. Sum- mer fallow. Alfalfa turnin’ purple under the sun—oh!”’ She came to herself suddenly. “It’s only you, Phil Wyndham. I thought you was Dan. Don’t stare at me. Vamose, now. I’m through talkin’. Git!” An old Indian servant, Lucy Montana, obeying the foreman’s beckoning call, came from the kitchen to the bedside of her mis- tress. | Wyndham paused at the door before leaving. “Tl be riding up to Sun-up, ma’am,”: he said. The Widow Crockett made no objection. He thought she might not have heard him. But, as he stood, uncertainly turning his sombrero like a potter shaping a clay brim, he heard her answer: “Bring Hallie to me before morning.” CHAPTER VI. ‘6 T DON’T LIKE YOUR CLOTHES!” T was ten o’clock that night when Phil Wyndham reached Sun-up. Directed to the old den on First and Slag Streets, he galloped his horse through the deserted cen- ter of the town. He assumed that the community was still suppressed in the moral strait-jacket of Noah Doxey’s régime, but soon he saw something that abruptly changed his mind. 1 A COMiclooe (©