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Pulp Fiction, 1923 · page 116 of 172

Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 116: what you’re looking at

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Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 116: Pulp Fiction, 1923

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AW) ; Ny i von § Wel Cat ot / i, Pia \ ait J A Yi ‘ UY i rua Any Moki POON OW } Py) Sy ews Vhs ‘eh 6 . 7) a TOP ANSAATT tpi Fae yi" ‘Ma! Ky, ci Huh?” “T say, 1 would like te fit you tell me the main points of what you are te testify _ to, so I may be sure you have the story “straight: = “ Well, you want this here committee to ‘pass a bill to let you build a dam on the north line of section ten. The reason fer the dam is to raise the water so you can float out your logs. Your timber reaches down to half a mile above the dam. The reason the dam’s got te be right there is because there’s a ridge of high ground there that will make a wall fer your pool!” “Very good, Leonard, very good. And now have you ever seen MacAlister’s tim- ber?” “Yes. I was through it huntin’ deer.” “What do you think of it?” “ Well, they’s a lot of little stuff not hard- “Jy more’n what you might say, brush. There’s some big stuff, but he told me he’s. ben hackin’ away at it fer more’n twenty years, so it don’t stand to reason there'd be so much left.” “« Just so, Leonard, just so. A great share of it is what might be termed cut-over, if that is the case?” “Most of it has be’n cut over all right.” “Don’t forget that peint. I shall in- struct my attorney te bring out that evi- dence at the hearing—to ask you specifical- ly about that point.” “Good idea, cap. Yl give ’em an earful.” “ Very sood. We will havé plenty of time to-morrow on the train to go over the finer points with King. Good night.” “ Good night,” answered Leonard, and as he passed around to the bunk house door, he chuckled. CHAPTER XXT. “ UP AGAINST IT.” T was late that night when Tim Neely knocked loudly on the door of the Mac- Alister cabin. -_ “ Who’s there?” called a voice from the ‘inside as a light slowed dully from the ‘window. “It’s me—Tim Neely.” _ The door opened and ee clad & in ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, Se = = his underclothing, and holding a tin lamp, -bade him enter. ~ “Who be ye, an’ what dye want, na folks up in th’ middle av th’ night?” asked the old man as he laid kindling in the Stove. “¥ got somethin’ to tell you, an’ there ain’t ne time to lose neither if you’re goin’ te save yer timber.” — “Save the timber! save th’ timber?” “ Blodgett’s after it, an’ we've got. to move quick to stop him,” He aint goin’ to haul it off to-night wid this thractor, is he?” “ No. But you've got to get your elathes on an’ hitch wp yer team an’ pull out fer Thunder Head to-night So we can catch the train in the marning for St. Paul.” “St. Paul, is ut? What the divil ye driv- im’ at? An’ who be ye?” “ I was boss of Blodgett’s Number Eight camp till a couple of hours ago.” The flames were roaring up the pipe, and the stove began to radiate heat. A sound frem a corner of the room attracted Neely’s attention and he saw that some one was descending the ladder that led to the loft. A moment later Mary MacAlister stood be- fore him, dressed in checked shirt and heavy wool trousers, her feet incased in gray yarn socks, MacAlister had drawn on his trou- sers and stood scowling into the face of the big foreman. “Boss av Blodgett’s Number Eight!” he exclaimed angrily. ‘“ An we’ve had th’ boss av his Number Nine, an’ his thractor man sneopim around here! Why don’t he sind over th’ rist av his crew?” Neely returned the scowl. “‘ Look here, Paddy MacAlister, you quit yer nonsense an’ listen to me! My name’s Neely—Tim Neely. An’ my dad was Mike Neely that’s worked side by side with you on many a job. I’ve heard him tell about yeu an’ him always Sstickin’ toegther in fights an’ such, back in the early days—” , “Mike Neely’s bye! An’ why in hel didn’t ye say so? An’ what ye doin’ work- in’ fr a bla’guard like Blodgett. Oi mind the time down to Brainerd—” “Yes, yes, I’ve heerd tell about on him an’ you cleaned up on the hull camp of What d’ye mane— oO = comichooks-com