Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine — page 144: what you’re looking at

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

486 ARGOSY AND RAILROAD MAN’S MAGAZINE. ite beverage. Your credit’s good at the B. Burns till kingdom come. This one’s on the house. Step right up, gentlemen!”’ Jenks proved himself a good host, and a nonchalant but attentive listener. After the dozen generously filled glasses were lift- ed simultaneously for the sixth round, Jenks was able to retire quietly to the grill. There he penned in code a terse report of the day’s proceedings. Rousing Indian Pete from his wickiup, Jenks despatched him post-haste to Tecopa with the message. This third and most up-to-date report of the Dry Gulchers’ recent doings was on the wire, relayed to San Francisco, and in Pluto Macdonald’s hands almost before Tiny Tim, in Tecopa, had finished rinsing the alkali dust out of his throat with aged- in-the-wood alcohol, preparatory to entrain- ing for the coast. Efficiency was Jenks’s middle name. Days passed without word or sign from Tiny Tim. Hope flickered, then burned to ashes. ‘‘ What can yuh expect of a shorthorn who can’t remember to set up a drink?” Mose reminded his tomrades, and they could make no answer. So another: Saturday came, and Dry Gulch lapsed into its former graceless es- tate. The Hoyle Club ran full blast; the roulette ball clicked merrily as ever in the casino; keno, Klondike, and _three-card monte had their innings. Macdonald, hu- morously disguised as the goddess of “Chance,” accepted their devotions and all their gold dust. And the seventh was a day set aside, as usual, for penitence. Doc, guitar and uku- lele wailed, sobbed and bleated dolorously, until Jerusalem’s ‘‘ Weeping Wall” became a rollicking cabaret when compared to the professor’s bungalow with its penitential congregation. But on Monday a dozen assorted con- Sciences actually did prick surprisingly when Tiny Tim—smiling, optimistic, and a wee bit cocky—suddenly reappeared. There, followed him from the buckboard a tall, lean individual, distinguished by a close-cropped Vandyke and a quiet, self- contained manner. Tim introduced him simply as John Truscott, as this internationally recognized expert preferred to be known. Although the miner, in a confidential aside to the professor, whispered that Truscott could tag after his name if he wanted to: M.S, PhD., C.E., M.E., Ch.E., and so on through the alphabet, When Truscott looked, his eyes Sore right through you. When he spoke, men jumped to do his bidding. His crisp, in- cisive tones carried the ring of authority and the power to command. Under his serious, penetrating gaze the Dry Gulchers felt that-this was no time for effusive greeting. Even Mose Tuttle’s or- nate speech of welcome—ready, as ever, on the tip of his facile tongue, was swallowed hastily in silence. After a few pointed queries the mining expert picked up his bag. The professor immediately placed his bungalow at their guest’s disposal. But Truscott, thanking him, replied that doubtless he would be comfortable enough at the B. Burns, of which he had heard. His tone, while cour- teous, permitted of no argument. Their supper over, the Dry Gulchers gravitated toward the B. Burns and hung around the bar, at last inquiring casually for Mr. Truscott. Jenks reported, how- ever, that Truscott was ‘‘ busy with pa- pers, and hardly would be down.” Jenks himself disappeared for the rest of the eve- ning, and left his bartender, young Dar- row, to do the honors. “Sort of unsociable cuss—that Trus- cott,” observed the Doc. Notwithstanding which he and his comrades were inclined to be more impressed than peevish. Next morning Truscott inspected the river-bed, through the camp and beyond; scrutinized both banks and the adjoining areas. He devoted the afternoon to a second and closer examination* of the river-bed, and the western bank which rose precipit- ously above it. He repeatedly chipped off fragments of the rock. And the following day he concentrated on the river-bed and western bank at the northern extremity of the camp. Indian Pete made the rounds while the Dry Gulchers were at supper and sum- moned them to confer with Truscott at the comicbooks-com