Arizona Round-Up — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

78. WILLIAM HOPSON robbers an’ muggers who'll git what’s comin’ to ‘em. Just yuh wait, mister!” He wiped his bloody nose. “I got plenty of time,” the phlegmatic Bothwell replied. “About thirty years yet—that is, unless I’m a simon-pure fool and stay on a job like this.” Howard, the younger, came over-with the keys and unlocked the two empty cells. He helped Bothwell herd the four angry men inside, two to a cell, and turned, slamming shut the doors and clicking the big padlocks through chains. “Well, that takes care of things for a few minutes,” he grunted in relief, wiping at his face with a sleeve. “Just listen to that mob. If I stay on this job much longer, I'll get to be like you. I'll start drinking. Whew!” “I'm goin’ to rest five minutes if they tear up the town, grunted the heavy-set Bothwell. “My feet are killin’ me. Up all night, then fightin’ drunks an’ looters an’ burners all over the place. Let Carriker take care of that cowpunch who got killed in the Pheasant. I’m sittin’ down.” He sank into the chair back of the desk, took off his hat, and wiped his sweaty face by running a hand over it. The hand was still on his chin when he paused, frozen, staring. “Where did you come from?” he gasped out grunting. Howard had spun too, hand dropping to his gun. “Don't try it, son,” Tex Burnett said softly. “And he wasn't a cowpuncher. He was a gambler who posed as a down and outer. His name was Wild Cat Cresty. Deacon Sellers and Three-Finger Charley, two of his tinhorn friends, shot him in the back as he started out the Pheasant door. I saw them come out with their guns still in their hands, If you're so anxious to arrest a murderer, you ve got two of them.” “We're not doing so badly,” Howard cut in icily. He was young and he had nerve. He believed in his job. “Drop the gunbelt, Burnett. We'll take care of that later. You're under arrest.” “Son,” was the quiet reply, “when you ve been in this lawman’s game as long as I have you get to be a bit careful about arresting a man who can throw a gun faster than you can. Don't make me prove it. I came in to prove something else.” “Yeah?” This from Bothwell. “What?” “That I didn’t kill that miner last night.” comicbooks.com