Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 3 — page 200: what you’re looking at

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

§74 room ” of the drug-store, which was buffet, club, and council chamber to such as were A sideboard, an ice-chest, tables, and chairs were there, and the patrens were county officers, including the sheriff, whose swom duty it was to suppress traffic in liquor; the small business men of the vil- lage, farmers, ranchers, and such cow- punchers as were possessed of those per- sonal qualities which men among men hold more important than social station. Simon Bent had never seen the inside of this room, but Jacques Duval, rated as a business man, and a favorite, had voice there in those quiet hours when village policies and county politics wer discussed and decided. The sheriff, the county attorney, and the proprietor of the Drovers’ Hotel were play- ing seven-up. They wanted a fourth man, and at the sound of Duval’s voice, as he greeted the clerk in the front of the store, they looked up expectantly. At the sight of Simon Bent behind the blacksmith, thetr faces hardened. Duval nodded to the young fellow in charge of the sideboard. ting,” he explained, answering the ques- tioning looks of his friends. “ You know that old Ring dog of mine? The baby loves that dog as much as she does her dad. It would break her heart if anything hap- pened to that animal. lif one of the big hind wheels off of that old Noah’s Ark of his just as it was going to mash the poor old beast.’’ ‘“‘ Make mine whisky,” said the shenff, sitting back in his chair and studying the repulsive countenance of Simon Bent, as one does a familiar object in which one has suddenly discovered new qualities. He was a huge, hairy, gray-eyed -man, with a short, heavy beard into which the years had be- gun to sift the white. the officer’s for a moment, and then turned to the man at the sideboard. “ Ginger ale,” he said. ‘ Beer,” said Jacques Duval. Five glasses were raised. ‘ Here’s thanks, Simon,” said Jacques, ‘and our better acquaintance.” The sheriff put his glass down, untasted, and picked up his “T'm oeebra- Simon saved his — Simon’s eyes met e . ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEELY. of cards. “ Play,” he said. Bent affected an interest in the game. Duval devoted hm- . self uncomfortably to his beer. ‘““Ts Simon Bent inside?” asked a man’s deep voice, which oarried easily through the thin partition. ‘“ Who are you, anyway?” they heard the clerk demand. “T’m Bill Bent. I ran away from the old man’s ranch when I was a kid.” ‘Bill Bent,’ ejaculated the clerk. “ Why—why, go right in.” The four who sat with Simon Bent stared first at ham, and then, as the door swung in, at the somber-faced, broad-shouldered young man whose bulk filled the opening. Jacques Duval was the only one of the four who had not, until that moment, believed that the ranchman had murdered the lad whom he had called his nephew, and his disbelief was less than an hour old. The young man dropped into a chair, depositing between his feet a grain-sack which evidently contained several rounded objects. “ Come back to God’s country and Si- mon,” he sad. “ Are you glad to see me, Simon?” The sight of the man whose name he bore brought no smile to his brooding fea- tures. The ranchman’s lips twisted mto a ‘purplish grimace that may have been meant for a . ‘You bet I be, Bill,” he cackied. reckon it’s time you come back and let the folks hereabouts know I didn’t murder you.’ The siecit decioadl bis elem ead ook to the attendant. ‘‘ Simon,” said he, “‘ it looks ike to-day is going to clear up a whole lot of misunderstandings.” “TI reckon a man gits his dues,” mum- bled Bent—“ in time.” ‘““ What's in the sack?” asked the hotel proprietor, by way of making conversation while the drinks were being: poured. “Tye been fishing,”’ sephed the young man. The questioner poked at the bag with an inquisitive forefinger. ‘ Feels like a tur- tle,” he said. ‘“‘ Here’s to God’s country,” said Bill eConniclaocclks “oy } Colin