Arizona Round-Up — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

ARIZONA ROUNDUP ans, “A steak with all the trimmings and the hottest pepper sauce you ve got.” He turned and looked into the Deacon’s almost meatless fea- tures. The face seemed to be all lumps of bone covered by thin skin; cheek bones, eyebrows, nose, chin, and a monster Adam’s apple bulging the front of the stringy neck. The Deacon’s coat and white shirt were new and clean and the diamonds in his stickpin and the ring on a little finger of his left hand were large. The Deacon also wore another ring on a finger of that left hand. But it was a solid gold band. Tex took the hand before its sur- prised owner could protest and spread it, palm up. The gold band contained a flat surface polished to mirror brightness. When the Deacon held a cupped match over the table to light a miner's cigarette he could see the cards in his hand. Tex Burnett laughed softly and drank from the tin cup of water. “Still the same old Deacon, eh?” he said. “Haven't learned a new one in fifteen years. Same old game, eh?” He didn’t bother to shake and the Deacon's return grin was a bit wry and sour. “So you got the word and came in?” Deacon Sellers asked softly. “All the other boys of the old days are here, except two or three who'll never get here. They came on the run when I sent out word, most of them. I'd about given up hope you'd show when Ace and Charley just came in and broke the news. You haven't changed much with the passing of the years, Tex. Same platinum white hair. Don’t look a day older than the last time we sat in that big game in El Paso.” “Charley’s hand seems to have healed all right. I was watching him deéal with the other up at Pearson’s a few minutes ago. He's switched. Probably the gun too.” The Deacon smiled at that and unconsciously looked down at Tex’s right hip and the black walnut handle of the worn Colt. “Same gun, eh? Where's the other one?” “Same old gun,” Tex replied. “You can tell Three-Finger it’s as good as it was that night in El Paso . . . in case he’s got some more fingers to spare. But I won't shoot fingers this time, Dea- con, he warned coldly. “That’s all been taken care of,” Deacon Sellers said sharply. comicbooks.com