Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 27, 1925 — page 114: what you’re looking at

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

Arriving by dead reckoning at the ap- proximate position of Hell’s Delight’s once famows bar, he began pulling away boards. Beneath a jackstraw tangle he found finally that for which he was so painstakingly seek- ine—a dark-brown, quart bottle. Water bad washed the label away, and in some doubt as to its contents, Friday drew the bottle’s cork and sniffed. “Is it licker or is it shellac?” he mused. “The licker up at this bar always smelt like shellac, but they’s a leetle difference in th’ taste.” Still in a quandry, he tasted the fluid, rolling it well around with his tongue. He swallowed the taste and awaited results. The first effects of the questionable liquid were comparable to those which might have resulted from a stream of white-hot sparks passing rapidly down his throat. For a tame nothing happened. Then a burning sensation directly beneath the lowermost of his floating ribs apprised him that the charge had reached his stomach. By degrees, a sense of well-being pervad- ed Friday, and he reached the conclusion, with a happy surge of relief, that the bot- tle contained, not shellac, but Hell’s De- light’s familiar brand of “genuine Ken- tucky Bourbon.” He placed his right thumb at the exact halfway point on the bottle and, after a few long drafts, lowered the contents to the indicated imaginary line. “If my pal is still alive,” Friday thought cheerily, “ this yere licker fire will stop or prevent any germs {’m takin’ holt on th’ lad. If they’s a spark o’ life left in him, this yere will fan it to a roarin’ blaze. Now, le’s take a leetle snoop around and see jest whut’s goin’ on.” A thorough investigation bore out his original guess. The inhabitants and guests of Yumpa had gone forth in the rain, and as there was but one place to go when de- parting from Yumpa, Friday started plod- ding toward Dead Man’s Pass, the bottle of restorative clasped fondly in his gnarled old hands. He had covered all but a few hundred feet of the distance when a rift in the storm- blown rain disclosed an approaching caval- cade. He looked hastily about for shelter, but no hiding place disclosed itself save be- ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. hind the clump of cholla cactus which he had observed from Sentry Rock earlier in the day. His knowledge of the habits and traits of cholla cactus caused him to hesi- tate, but the hoofs of the cavalcade were drumming nearer and nearer; so, droppmg to his hands and knees he approached as close as was humanly possible to the cluster of prickly vegetation. The cavalcade swept past within a few yards of his hiding place, and the horse- men were followed by a procession of run- ning men and dance hall girls. When the last of these had gone on into the rain, Friday backed away from his ref- uge and hastened through Dead Man’s Pass. The young man whom he had raised from childhood was lying as the human vultures had left him. The poncho had been jerked aside; the pockets of his coat and riding breeches were so many protruding pale ears. “Th’ buzzards!” Friday growled, as he knelt at his employer’s side. He lifted Red Wilpin’s head and poured a generous dose of whisky into the young man’s mouth. And as that vigorous stimu- lant trickled down into his interior, a tremor passed through the youthful outlaw. Pres- ently his eyelids fluttered up and the mus- cles of his face twitched several times. ‘“Where’s—Margie?” he whispered. “Qh, she’s all right, kid,’’ the old moun- taineer said huskily. “Where is she, old pal?”’ ‘Qh, I reckon she just went for a leetle walk, pardner.” ‘ But—but I saw her climbin’ up th’ lad- der on that standpipe, and she clapped her hands together and took a long dive in.” ‘‘ Great grief, son, ya shore?” “Yes,” the bandit whispered. “Wall, ain’t ya kind o’ glad to git nd of her? Ain’t she been a pest and a nui- sance f’m th’ word go?” Red Wilpin feebly pushed his ancient re- taimer away. “How can you talk that way? I love her! And—now she’s gone! She took a high-dive into that there tank. She’s a-lyin’ down at the bottom—drowned! And if she’s gone, I don’t want to live. I can’t live with- out her. Fer God’s sake, put me out o’ my misery! Put a bullet into me! I don’t COMmica@oo SS Co