Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 13, 1925 — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

THROW thrills. Wouldn’t you spose Yumpa would make her just purr?” “1 don’t claim to know nothin’ about wimmen,” Friday replied. ‘‘ Now let’s go across the street and raise some hell.” ee ce CHAPTER XIX. TEMPEST. T was quite dark when they emerged from the Grand Palace Hotel—dark and somehow ominous with a threat of im- pending storm. The sky had swiftly be- come overcast, lightning flicked in greasy waves along the crests of the encompassing mountains. Thunder growled distantly like the cursing of an approaching destructive giant. In the street men were fighting and sing- ing. Red Wilpin and Friday Pepper entered Hell’s Delight. They pushed their way through a mass of men to the bar and eachs downed a drink of a scorching poison, masquerading in a bottle labeled Scotch. The insistent, persuasive voice of the keno dealer penetrated the hubbub. Nearer at hand a roulette croupier—a thin man with murderous cold eyes and a complexion of pipe clay-whined his invitation: ‘“ Try yore luck on th’ wheel, boys!” A dance-hall girl with blood-red lips, watery eyes, and artificially gold hair seized Red Wilpin by the arm and brazenly in- vited him to dance. . “JT ain’t dancin’ to-night, ma’am,” he said courteously, removing the plucking hand. ‘I’m a-lookin’ for Doc Saunders, th’ saxophone player. Will you kindly tell me where to find him, ma’am?” The dance hall girl laughed and swayed tipsily. | ‘Doc Saunders?” she shrilled. ‘‘ Ye mean the one who could imitate all th’ animals?” “That’s the one, ma’am!” “Oh, he’s gorn.” “Gone?” “Yeah! He got into a row with Big Sam Snarky a long while back, and Big Sam knifed him. C’m’on, hon’, le’s dance.” “Leave me alone,” Red Wilpin said an- grily and pushed her aside. UP YOUR HANDS. ~ Doc Saunders—-and he’s dead. DoT “ Did you hear that?” he demanded of Friday. He was pale, so pale that his an- cient retainer became alarmed. “ Doc saunder’s is dead! Here I went and stuck up that dog-goned stage coach to come over here to take some saxophone lessons from Aw, hell.” ‘“Le’s have another drink.” ‘Aw, to hell with that rot-gut. I wanna fight.” “Come on, Red, be sensible. early t’ fight.” “Uh-huh. Wve done changed my mind. Gonna try my luck on the wheel. Say, you keep an eye peeled for Big Sam Snarky. If you see him you tell him I got some busi- ness with him—important—-savvy?” “ Be sensible, Red.” “I ain’t here to be sensible. to raise hell. bum!” This was addressed to a tall, broad-shoul- dered man with a spikey black mustache and hostile black eyes. He wheeled on Red Wilpin, revolver half removed from holster, but the cold muzzle of Red Wilpin’s weapon was already jammed against his ribs. ‘Tf you’re a-hankerin’ for a fight,” the young man said in a quiet voice, “‘ say it snappy.” The black-mustached man thrust his gun back into its holster and grinned. “Quit yore funnin’, Red. I ain’t cravin’ t’ make the acquaintance of no ondertakers yet a while. In town long?” ‘As long as the roll lasts.” “ Wall, jest plunk down a leetle on that wheel f’m time to time, son; it won’t last long. Have a drink?” “Ain't drinkin’.” A half hour later, consistently playing the red, Red Wilpin had parted with th last of the contents of Julius Yost’s wallet. Fri- day had been having similar success with Judge Oglethorpe’s recent bankroll. Their play had been punctuated by occasional visits to the bar. ; ‘ Friday,” the young man said suddenly, ‘““we gotta guard that U. S. mail. You run out and take a loox at the hotel once in a while.”’ “Shore!” — It’s too I’m here Git outa my way, you big COmiclboo CO