Arizona Round-Up — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

44 WILLIAM HOPSON “Count me out,” he said. “But don’t try to run me out.” This started some persuasive talk which got nowhere. Cresty was adamant. Argument followed. It had reached the threat stage when the flaps of the tent were pushed aside and two men, clubs dangling from thongs around their left wrists, entered. “Hello, Bothwell,” Deacon Sellers greeted the larger of the two, a once massively built man now going to fat. “Howdy, Howard,” to the smaller and younger. “Hello, Deacon,” grunted the big marshal; and to the bar- tender: “A snort, Loopy. Big one. On the house, as usual.” The big-eared barkeep nodded and reached for a bottle. Both- well turned to the group at the table. The Wild Cat had bent down to pick up a small rock from the dirt. He flicked it at a fly asleep on the side of the tent wall. “I'm looking for a man,” the marshal said. “Platinum hair, dressed in dark clothes—cowpuncher—wears a six-shooter. Same gent who threw a gun on Bud Bailey. Seen him?” “Tex Burnett?” Charley put in. “He was up in the big game room at the Pound, having it out with a couple of—” “Tex Burnett?” Charley put in. “He’s not any more. One of ‘em’s dead. Feller named Massey.” “He was up there,” Bothwell cut in. “What?” burst out Frenchy. “Got him over the table with a .44 on what was supposed to be a crooked play.” “If Tex said it was crooked,” Cresty put in, the toad back in his hand, “then you can bet yore life it was, mistuh.” “What happened?” the Deacon wanted to know. The marshal told them. He added, “And that ain’t all. That big drunk miner named Joe who made a cleanup at the Pheasant tonight was found a little while ago right in front of his cabin with his head bashed in. Dead. Robbed. And two more miners got stuck up by a masked man on their way home. The town’s boiling. There’s talk of a miners’ meeting and vigilantes. Unless I miss my guess there's going to be a real mess of trouble poppin.” He reached for the drink. “Well, we'd better get on down to the Pheasant. Maybe he’s in there. Here’s luck—” He had the glass to his lips when something happened. comicbooks.com