Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 13, 1925 — page 68: what you’re looking at

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

040 Friday withdrew and presently returned with the news that the hotel was still stand- ing. ‘“'Thar’s one hell-buster of a storm brew- in’. It’s lightnin’ fit to kul,” ‘Let her brew. Let her lightnin’. Doc Saunders is dead. I don’t care what hap- pens. I wish somebody would start some- thin’. I shore do crave some action. Hey, white face, gimme another hundred dollars’ wuth o’ them chips. What? You give me any of your backwash and I'll blow your crooked heart out!” The croupier looked thoughtfully at Red Wilpin’s fists. “YT think this here wheel is fixed,” the young man said, to taunt him. “Wall, ya didn’t think so any quicker thin I did, old timer,” the croupier hastily assured him. “ Friday!” . “Whut ya want now?” ‘‘ How’s the U. S. mails?” “Tl take another look, Red.” In Friday’s absence, a thin, pale-faced youth approached Red Wilpin. “Say, Mr. Wilpin,” he said huskily, “vore gal wants ya.” ‘Who the hell are you?” Red snapped. “fT ain’t got no gal.” ‘ She’s over in the hotel, Mr. Wilpin.” ‘“ Somebody’s stringin’ you, kid. I ain’t got ne gal nowhere.” ‘Wall, she says she’s yore gal, and she wants ya should come over on th’ jump. Gosnamighty, 1f I had a gal as purty as she is, I'd sure come a hoppin’, no kiddin’ ” ‘“ Whut’s this gal’s name?” ‘“ Name’s Miss Corbin.” Red Wilpin wheeled on him and seized his shoulders. ‘Say! What’ve you been sayin’ lately?” ‘“T been sayin’ yore gal wants. ya!” “ Did she tell you to fetch me?” ‘“‘ Shore, she did!” “Well, why don’t you say so in the fust place?”’ “T did! I says—” Friday came racing in. “ Red,” he pant- ed, “fer Gawd’s sake come outa yere quick !”’ ‘“ What’s Margie?” up? What’s happened to ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY * I dunno. fool!” Red Wilpin struck the man standing nearest a fair, clean clip on the jaw. The man sank to the floor. He lashed out at I don’t keer. Come on, you the next, and sent this one sprawling back- . ward over a table occupied by five earnest poker players. These at once sprang to their feet, and Red Wilpin struck at first one, then another. | Some one lifted a chair. It hissed past his left temple. He hit the wielder soundly in the mouth. A man sprang at him with a six-inch bowie knife. Red kicked him in the shins, dove between the legs of a tall, lean man who was balancing a bottle preparatory to throwing; came up on the other side, butted a fat man in the stomach, stepped on his face, and clipped a gold prospector in the jaw. Hell's Delight was now in an uproar. Tables were upsetting; chair backs were be- ing wrenched apart to serve as weapons. To add to the general confusion and excite- ment, Red snatched his gun from its holster and with three nicely placed shots extin- guished as many kerosene lamps. Dance hall girls were screaming and crowding the exits. Strong men were won- dering profanely what it was all about. Red answered one with a blow in the solar plexus, another with a straight-arm jab in the jaw. Friday Pepper, in the rear, was fighting off pursuers. Back to back they fought their way to the street amid flying bottles, tossing furniture and flashing knives. They reached the door and left Hell’s Delight in their wake, a howling pandemo- nium. A six-shooter cracked viciously six times. A woman screamed. The street, strangely, was almost desert- ed. Friday Pepper dragged him into the center of it and pointed waveringly toward the hills from which they had come. “Look!” he screamed. * T don’t see nothin’!” “Wait fer th’ lightnin’. look!” A clap of thunder shook the air, the ground, the buildings. Green lightning licked the outline of a towering thunder- Look, Red, EO 1TOO S C@