Argosy All-Story Weekly, August 9, 1924 — page 159: what you’re looking at

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

CHECKMATED BY CHANCE. belonging to his uncle? So I sneaked up there the next day, but, although I searched that place thoroughly, I couldn’t find a thing that would give me something on him—he was too clever for that—so I had to try a little bluff. I was dead certain that he had bumped the old man off, and then hid away for a couple of days, but I couldn’t prove it, so I bluffed him! And, say, it worked, too! Those birds are all alike; give themselves away, sooner or later!” and he lit a cigarette. “Then,” Flanagan gasped, ‘“ that knife was—”’ “Was only a bluff!” interrupted Reilly. \] 309 “He didn’t leave it at the lodge at all, but I made him think he did, and that was enough to start him going!”’ ‘‘ But,” and the attorney’s face was puz- zled, “‘ where did you find the knife?” “On his library table, the day before!” chuckled Reilly. ‘I saw it when I reached for my hat, and, realizing I would need it to bluff him with if I was unsuccessful in finding anything at the lodge, I copped it. That guy just thought he left it up there!” Flanagan looked at the imperturbable de- tective, scratched his head for a moment, then muttered: “ Well, I’ll be jiggered!” U EXILED AM exiled to the city, and I want my freedom back, I’ve a hunger for the open, and my rough old clapboard shack; Here the clack and clang and jar Of each roaring, rattling car, Tears my eardrums into shreds and keeps me always on the rack. I am exiled to the city, but I sure don’t fit in right With this din and hubbub pounding every day and every night; Where the sleep bird notes fall, And the slinking coyotes call— That’s the place my lonesome heart is yearning for with all its might. I am exiled to the city, but you couldn’t hold me here With a marble-fronted mansion and a million every year! Give me just a blanket bed, With the mesa round me spread, And a mind that’s free from worry and a soul that knows no fear. T am exiled to the city, but I’m going to break jail; Back to where the grass is lushy and the sweet springs never fail; There my bronco stands to-day, Munching his alfalfa hay, Ever eager for his master and the old familiar trail. Edwin Carlile Litsey. CoOnnicloool< CO