The Argosy, April 1916 — page 181: what you’re looking at

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

WHEN THE DEPUTY CAME FOR BUD. est. “Getting cold feet, eh? Looky here, my friend, this Bud Morris is one bad man and we aim to get rid of him! You’ve come out here after him and you are either going to take him back with you or kill him—if he don’t kill you first! Now, come along!” Mr. Mallory looked awful sick. He didn’t want to go to the Bucket of Blood, alias Red Front, but he went just the same, pro- pelled by Zeke’s able hand. The stage was set for him there, too. Twenty men lined the bar, and as many more were scattered around the room in picturesque attitudes, every one of them bristling with deadly weapons from hat- crowns to boot-legs. They were a spectacle intended to inspire the casual observer with a feeling of extreme discomfort, and they succeeded admirably. } | Judge and I had been talking things over on our way through the alley from the restaurant kitchen, and as soon as we were inside Judge took charge of the deputy, while I drew Zeke into a corner. ‘Looky here,” I whispered, “‘you’ve got that ¢eniente scared so stiff that he ain’t got any more bends in him than a billiard cue. Ain’t he had enough? He’ll never have the nerve to pinch Bud now. Take him outside and drop the halter, and he’ll make just one small cloud of dust between here and New York that'll go so fast that it can’t be fol- lowed by the naked eye. We’d better call. off the rest of the program.” “Call off nothing!” retorted Zeke ‘When that maverick pulls out of here he'll bust the halter wide open! There won’t be noth- ing able to stop him—not even the Rocky Mountains! And he'll leave here cured ab- solute and complete, too! There won’t be any: writing back to Spud, or sending an- other man out here after him. We'll now stage the next act!” and with that he re- turned to the bar. “‘Now then,” he began, addressing Mal- lory in a loud voice, “every man in this room is your friend; we’re all here to see that you get fair play; we fully appreciate your perilous position and we’ll do what we can in helping you arrest Bud when he ar- rives—if you feel that you need any help. We're going to see that he goes back with you if he kills half of us before we get him under control—we’re determined on that. But you’ve got to do the arresting. Where’s your gun?P”’ ‘“‘{—I—JI—bu-bu-bub,” answered Mr. Mallory. 171 He seemed to have lost all power of ex- pression. Zeke promptly felt in his rear pocket and produced a cute little .32-caliber pistol with a shell handle. “Huh! Is that all you’ve got!” he ex- claimed in disgust. ‘Great cats, man, if you should shoot Bud with that thing he’d shed tears of mortification! You can’t talk . to a man-sized man in this town with that kind of an argument! Here, take these!” and he shoved a couple of his own guns into the deputy’s hands, tossing the pistol over the bar. _ Bud was outside taking the play in through the window, and when Zeke slipped the deputy his shooting-irons, loaded with blank cartridges, in exchange for the toy pistol, it was his cue to come into the game. He came prancing through the front door with a gun in each hand and enough more on his person to equip a Mexican revolt. “Where’s this high-standing coyote from New York State what wants mé?” he yelled, striking an attitude. “There’s your man,” said Zeke, taking a firm hold on the deputy’s coat-collar and shoving him forward. “Go get him, officer, and remember that we are all with you.” That information must have been a heap of comfort to Mallory. If he’d had the Ger- man army behind him just then he wouldn’t have been happy. ‘Don’t waste so much time!” Zeke ad- monished, shaking the deputy. ‘Speak up like a man and tell him to surrender!” “Yip-yip-yipi!” yelped Bud, gyrating his six-shooters. ‘‘Who’s going to pinch ME?” “Stand up there!” ordered Zeke, as the deputy started to wilt and was jerked up- right again by the hand on his coat collar. ‘Why don’t you do something? Look out! He’s going to shoot!” “Bangity, bang, bang!” Bud blazed away with both guns. Tink Hickman answered with two booms from his double-barreled shotgun—and then we all cut loose. You never did hear such a lot of noise rolled up in one small room. The old original Bucket of Blood saloon, which we were trying to emulate, never did, even in its most ambitious days, pull off anything that half-way equaled the roar we raised. Inside of ten seconds the place was so full of white smoke that you couldn’t see the lights, and then, naturally, everybody broke for the door and fresh air. And that tenderfoot deputy—oh, where was he? Zeke still held the coat by the Conmnicloooks C©@