Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 124, No. 3 — page 69: what you’re looking at

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

THE WHISPERER. cepted the silence of her companion and persisted in it, but she came to this place for a purpose and talk was necessary before she could accomplish it. — “TI suppose,” said Patricia, “ that every one wonders why I’ve come out here?”’ Ugly Joe had caught the reins between his knees while he rolled a cigarette. Now he finished licking the paper smooth and ' bent ‘a meditative eye upon Patricia while he lighted his cigarette and inhaled the first puff. “Don’t know that I’ve heard any re- marks,” he responded at length. ‘‘ Giddap, They jolted over a particularly uneven stretch of the trail. When Patrica had caught her breath again she said: ‘“ Never- theless, I'll tell you, Cousin Joe. I’ve come out here to run down the murderer of Mor- ° timer Lauriston!” She waited for this verbal bull’s-eye to take effect, but Ugly Joe seemed not a whit interested. “ That ain’t hard,” he answered. ‘ You can pick him up mostly any day in Eagles.” “I,” said Patricia, ““am going to have him tried—and hung.” “H-m!” grunted Ugly Joe. ‘“‘ Where you going to get'a jury to convict him?” “Is it hard to do that?” : “ T'll say it’s hard!” ‘“ Does he bribe the jurors?”’ ‘Nope, not exactly.” “Is this murderer too popular to be con- victed ?”’ “Hime” Ugly Joe grinned for the first time. ‘* Nope, it’d be a hard job to find a feller less popular than this Goggles. ” “ Goggles? I thought his name is Vin- cent St. Gore?” | ‘“ Maybe it is, but who could remember a word as long as that? We call him Gog- gles because of the funny glasses he wears— big ones with black rims. Makes him look like a frog. Goggles popular? Not around here, Pat. Nope, he’s just a plain, damned dude, that’s what he is. Out here for a couple of years for his health. Little, skinny feller who goes around in fancy, shined-up riding-boots and trousers baggy above the knees. Lives over to Widow Morgan’s house, where he got a piano 443 moved in and he just sits around and tickles the keys, or mosies out and rides a fine, foreign, high-steppin’ hoss around. Never talks much to anybody. He forgets every- body as quick as he’s introduced to ’em. Popular? Hell, no! Excuse me.” The description was a distant shock to Patricia. She had pictured, quite naturally, a tall, gaunt, swarthy rider of the moun- tain - desert, black - browed, black - eyed, fierce, silent. Instead, here was a man who fitted his name—Vincent St. Gore—possi- bly some disinherited second son, the black sheep of some honorable family. “ But if he doesn’t bribe the jurors, and if he isn’t popular,” she queried, “ how in the world does he manage to escape scot- free? Is it because Mortimer Lauriston was disliked—because the people of Eagles were glad to get rid of him?” ‘“‘ Nope>everybody liked old Mort. He never did no harm, except when he was full of red-eye.” ‘ Then,” said Patricia desperately, ‘‘ was it because St. Gore—your man Goggles— killed Mortimer in self-defense?’’ “Pat,” said Ugly Joe, grinning again, “the more I hear you talk the more I see that you sure are the cousin of my wife Martha. She does just the same way. Get her talking about anything and she hangs on like a bulldog till she’s got out of me all I know. I can see you’re the same way and I'll be savin’ myself if I tell you the whole yarn right here and now.” ‘“ Good,” said Patricia, unabashed. “Tt was in Langley’s saloon,” said Ugly Joe. “’S a matter of fact most of these hell-raisin’s begin with red-eye and end with guns. Well, it was along about the middle of the afternoon. I was in there, sO was about twenty more. And _ there was Goggles standin’ at one end of the bar sipping whisky mixed up with seltzer-water out of a high glass. He never would drink whisky straight like a regular honest man. There he stood, staring straight in front of him that. way he has and never seeming to see nothing that happened near him. ‘“‘ About that time in come Mort Lauris- ton. He was lit to the eyes, was old Mort, and when he got drunk he was some noisy. Which everybody knew he didn’t mean COMME OOOLK (CO