Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 17, 1924 — page 104: what you’re looking at

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

254 At that instant, unconscious of what was occurring down the street, Solemn Johnson and Dirty Shirt Smith leaned thoughtfully against the polished hardwood bar in the fourth resort for the thirsty. There was a brief silence. Sweat still poured, more insistently than ever if possible, from Solemn Johnson’s brow. Dirty Shirt looked with considerable anxiety at his partner. ' Solemn was first to speak: “ Ed,” he said in a low voice to the bar- tender, ‘‘ have—have you got any—any— lemon sody?” Dirty Shirt Smith looked in astonishment at Solemn. “If you have,” Solemn continued, “ give me some, but ’—and the prospector’s eyes blazed with determination—“ give me a hell of a jolt of Scotch first!” Dirty Shirt sighed deeply and grinned. There followed then another short period when nothing was said. Presently Dirty Shirt Smith began to speak: “T was just thinkin’—” he began, sen- tentiously. “Fer Gawd’s sake,” Solemn ejaculated, “what with?” Dirty Shirt ignored the interruption. “] was just thinkin’,” he resumed, “‘ how funny it is that I ain’t never seen a dead mule!” Solemn fastened a look of peculiar in- tensity on Dirty Shirt. “Tn all my life,” Dirty Shirt went on, musingly, “I never did observe a dead mule!” “Has anything happened to Versus?” Solemn asked anxiously. Versus was Solemn and Dirty Shirt’s mutual mouse-colored burro, with long ears; companion of many blistering journeys across the far-flung desert, co-discoverer _ with them of the borax mine east of the gulch. As if to answer Solemn’s question, Versus herself at that moment stuck her head in the front door of the fourth alcoholic re- action, blinked her eyes, and whinnied. Solemn was relieved: ‘She wants some beer,” he said, simply. *“ Give her some, Ed!”’ 3 The bartender complied. -ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, Dirty Shirt rested his elbows carelessly on the bar. “ All. my life,” he repeated, dreamily, “ T’ve been curious to see a dead mule, and I ain’t never seen one nor even seen any- body that ever has seen one!” Solemn remained discreetly silent. There was something almost sinister in the draw]- ing manner in which Dirty Shirt Smith was speaking. Dirty Shirt paused, drew a long breath and continued: “JT reckon there ain’t nothin’ much scarcer than a dead mule,” he muttered, gently; “even when I was in Los Angeles that time I didn’t see no dead mule! I looked all around, but there wasn’t a soli- tary dead mule in sight. “ But I saw a dead cat in New York one time!” he exclaimed with nearly boyish en- thusiasm. “ It was down on Sixth Avenue, right opposite Jefferson Market, out in front of a restaurant. It was black and was layin’ on its stomach! But there wasn’t no dead mule!” Solemn Johnson sniffed contemptuously, but said nothing. “Did you ever see a dead mule, Ed?” Dirty Shirt asked, looking wistfully at the bartender. Ed shook his head. Dirty Shirt turned his brown eyes tri- umphantly on Solemn. “T heard there was a dead mule in Nogales once,” Dirty Shirt murmured, reminiscently; “‘I heard about him. They said people come for miles to look at him! They kept him two weeks. They only retained that dead cat out in front of the restaurant in New York for five days, but they kept that dead mule in Nogales two weeks!” Solemn Johnson cocked his head to one side and squinted suspiciously at Dirty Shirt: ‘““ They kept that dead mule two weeks,” Dirty Shirt repeated doggedly; “it was terrible.” “Kept him two weeks?” Solemn snorted, involuntarily. “Ves,” Dirty Shirt answered gently. “I was sorry I didn’t go see him! They kept him two weeks.” CORmliclooolK< (E@