Argosy All-Story Weekly, January 21, 1922 — page 35: what you’re looking at

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

THE BLOOD-CALL. teeth. The men were silent as he looked: into each face. When the tobacco was made into a good cud, he wheeled his horse and rode off toward the south. “ He’s right,” little old Jug Trilles said when a cloud of alkali covered up the exit of the chief. ‘One of you guys will be delegated to throw a scare into the women folk.”’ The little deputy ran his eye around the circle of brown, unshaven faces. ‘‘ How about you, Juan?” Juan Scaly grinned through big white teeth. He was a sinuous animal of a Mexi- can, with long arms and spider fingers. Jet hair lay over his low forehead as far as the prominent cheek-bones. The grin was not a pleasant one; it made two long wrinkles across his cheek from the blue underlids of his eyes to the undershot jaw. ‘ Count on me, sefor,” Juan Scaly said. “TJ am your slave!”’ The troop advanced, this time at a slow trot, their horses churning up a light but choking screen of alkali. Men and mounts became hot, sweating, irritable, and thirsty. A mile from the ranch they deployed. The negro and two other riders were or- dered to attack the ranch from the creek. The remaining seven would advance in a widely extended skirmish line. As soon as this deployment. was accomplished, Jug Trilles caught his first sight of a strange rider galloping down the county’road from the east, and making for the creek on the eastern border of the ranch. He imme- diately assembled his men. Juan Scaly ad- vised sending for Smoo Taurog again. “ He left us to fight one man, sexor— now there are two.” Trilles laughed his, shrill, chuckling old man’s laugh. “ You’ve got a good strain of Mex in you, Juan. For that I’ve a mind to send you packin’ into the ranch. A little lead in the belly would let out some of that Mex blood.” But Trilles sensed the immediate differ- ence in the morale of all his men. An at- tack in broad daylight upon a house with only one opponent was a sure thing—even though it might mean the death of several men. But an attack against a house with two men was a different matter. They all knew this. 25 Trilles was old and sharp and conserva- tive. “ We'll wait till dark,” he said. The men retired to a little arroyo which was cut into the side of the hills at the very gate of the ranch. Here they dis- mounted, loosened the cinches of their horses, and lay down in the shade to wait. According to Taurog’s law no man was allowed to drink from his hip-flask until a few minutes before a fight. Jug Trilles, who made a very careful analysis of the present situation, ordered every-man to sur- render his flask. He went around and made the collection. “Tl give this stuff back to you when the time comes,” he said. For three hours the men waited, chewing at their tobacco-cuds and rolling innumer- able cigarets. Their conversation centered mainly about the question of the man whom they had seen riding into Larkey’s ranch. “Probably one of the old cow-hands changed their mind and went back—think- in’ of the skirts what was left to our mercy,” one of the men suggested. ‘Tt waren’t Souse, anyway,” another man put in. ‘“ Souse was seen up to Mule City blabbin’ about Taurog’s threat and sayin’ he wouldn’t come back to the ranch for love or money. I figure old Larkey sent him to Mule City for help—but every one was afeered to help in a fight ag’in’ Taurog. They ain’t a rancher in the coun- ty would come to Larkey’s help. He’d orter knowed that. I reckon they all told him he could shag out and save himself— and his family—instead of buckin’ Taurog and callin’ for help!” ‘““No, they ain’t no one fool enough to mess into Taurog’s fights,” old Trilles said. “But how about this horseman that came back?” Juan asked suavely. ‘“‘ Tf he’s a ranch-hand belongin’ to Lar- key he ain’t to be afeered of. They ain’t been no gunmen hirin’ out at Larkey’s so fur as I can remember.” “For the matter of that,” said Jug Tril- les, “ there ain’t been no gunmen on the whole range since the old days when Peter Belge was here—old Fat Peter Belge—he waseso sharp at the buckhorn sight that he hired out with a circus. Went to Coney Island and got famous sharpshootin’!” comicloool C©