Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 1, 1922 — page 152: what you’re looking at

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

- $42 Jo entered the room, still twirling the crushed derby. When Cal say him he burst out laughing, ‘‘ What the hell!” “Can- I speak to him alone, ma’am?” the barkeep asked. The old white-haired doctor and the girl stepped into the hall. Then dropping his voice immediately to a husky whisper, Jo said: ‘“‘ Now, then, Triggers, buck up. You ain’t as bad orf as you think. They’s no one guarding the hall. Can you walk?” “Not yet, Jo. The doctor said I’d be all right in a day or so. What the Sam Hill are you up to?” “Ah, you can’t afford to wait a day or two!” Jo whispered. “It’s got to be done mow. You may never have a chanst like this agin. And as for that thar gal—you can’t tell what she’s got in store for you. You never can tell, Triggers! Take my word for it. If they’ve put you in the mercy of a woman—the game’s just about up, and all as you can do is to take the very first chanst you get to shag out!” Cal did not seem disposed to regard the matter as seriously as Jo had anticipated. The little one-eyed barkeep went on ex- citedly: “If you don’t believe what I say, Triggers, then it’s good night! That’s all! Look at me. I’m a fine specimen of man, ain’t I, now? Just look at me!” “ T’m looking!”’ ‘“ And what do you think caused me lookin’ like I do?” ‘Damned if I could guess, Jo.” “The judgment of a woman—that’s what!’ Disregarding Cal’s laugh, the lit- tle man went on hurriedly: “ Now, look here, Triggers. I figured it all out. There’s a staircase leadin’ down through the back lot where the men in the saloon downstairs won’t see you. I can help you if you put your arm around me. If the gal says anything—I’m heeled good. No, I won’t shoot her. I'll just make her hold up her hands, and salute us while we pass. ¥t’s a cinch. Beyond the lot is Mush Pel- ler’s livery stable. We can hide you thar. Then at night—you vanish! Zip and you’re nowhere to be found. You've es- caped!” Cal let out a sigh in which Jo detected ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. all the misery of a great gunfighter’s de- feat. The barkeep’s one dry little eye al- most misted with the first tear since his babyhood. Then Cal, having completed his sigh, admitted sorrowfully: “I don’t want to escape, Jo.” The barkeep’s reaction to this astound- ing confession was interrupted by Nan’s entrance. Jo watched the ensuing scene with the distraught emotions of one who is seeing the end of a tragedy. Nan arranged a pil- low for the gunfighter’s head, helped him sit up, pulled the blankets over his ban- daged leg, and actually lit the cigar which Cal was holding in his mouth. Jo, the barkeep, whose one eye had seen enough to make a much bigger man weep, threw up his hands in a gesture of disgust and sorrow and fled to the sanctuary of the bar downstairs. “Well, you got him! You got him!” he said desperately as some of Scrub Ha- zen’s buckaroos ordered him to drink. “You got him—and you sure did finish him!” One of the herders shot back belligerent- ly: “Old Scrub and Pickering did the right thing by him. They turned him over to the gal!” “You call that doin’ the right thing? You call that a white man’s way of doin’ things? The Hopis did it—turned their prisoners over to their women—well and good! But did you ever hear of white men doing it!” “Well, the girl freed him. Now, didn’t she, Jo?” Jo burst out into a long, interminable stream of profanity and abuse. “ Freed him!” he ejaculated. ‘‘ You call it free’ him! The worst thing that could happen to Cal has happened. The gal’s goin’ to marry him! Free him!” he snorted, as he elbowed his way out for the fresh air. “ That’s pretty good! The gal sticks him up for hfe, and they say she’s freein’ him! Wow!” Scrub Hazen’s cowboys, dismissing their excited townsman with jeers and laughter, returned to their cups and a furious discus- sion of past stampedes and future weddings (The end.) comicloool C©