Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 3 — page 118: what you’re looking at

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

com! hy Raymond Le slie Goldman. CHAPTER XVI. THE BUBBLE BURSTS. ITH a hoarse cry of mortal agony, \ \ | Paprika staggered forward, reeled, spun round, and dropped heavily to his knees, facing his smiling, treacherous executioner. “ T-Turner!” he gasped, swaying on his knees, his hands gripping his sides ima frenzy of horrible pain. ‘“ You—killed me! You—killed—me—you—you lyin’—son-of- a—”? Standing there before his tertured victim, holding the smoking revolver in his steady hand, , Turngr smiled. ‘““T saved* you a lynching, Blake,” he said evenly. ‘ Thank me.” A loud knocking sounded on the door, the sheriff's excited voice raising itself above it. “ Ellis! Ellis! Did he shoot your Ellis, did—”’ ““T’m all right, Joe,” Turner called out. ‘ Tl be out in a minute.” Paprika clung to his ebbing life, still swaying on his knees, raising his glassy, suffering eyes to Turner’s, trying to articu- late through the bloody froth that came to his lips: “You — you — dog — lyin’ — black- hearted—dog—vou—”’ And gasping, gurgling, choking forth the words through his bullet-torn chest, he | shaking his fist in Turner’s face. rained down upon Turner the curses of a dymg man. He damned him in the name of God and in the name of the devil, couch- ing his awful condemnation in terms of invective that would have withered a nobler soul than Turner’s. / And through it all Turner listened with the smile still on his lips; létened until a mortal gush of bleed swept upward through Paprika’s twisted mouth, drowning the words in its red ebb-tide of life. A great shudder shook the man’s giant frame, the accusing eyes rolled upward, and he fell, face dowauward, upon the carpet. Turner waited a moment, until the twitching form had become quite still; then he stooped ever it and took from a pocket a smali roll of bills. Then he walked to the door, unlocked it, and opened it to the men who were clamoring for admit- tance. ; At the sight of the still, blood-bathed figure on the floor, the sheriff purpled with impotent rage. ‘“What did you kill ’m fer?” he cried, ‘What did you kill“’m fer? You knew I didn’t want ’m dead! You knew it! You—”’ Turner gripped the sheriff’s arm and drew him aside, putting his lips close to War- ren’s ear: ‘’ Here’s why, Joe,” he said in a low voice: “‘ Because, like the dirty yellow dog that you are, you tried to bite the hand This story began in the Argesy-Alistory Weekly for July 31. 492 COL @ DOO|KKS Colin