Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 120: what you’re looking at

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

110 ing your order, That’s why I forgot it. Get going!” Gibson moved closer. “We're wantin’ your gun,” he explained. Cameron felt Gibson’s presence. One of Gibson’s hands came out, touched Cam- eron’s shoulder. Cameron dropped his right hand to the holster. “ That doesn’t go, Gibson,” he said stead- ily. “Ii my gun comes eut it comes out shooting!” “Let her rip!” sneered a voice. “ li he wants shootin’ we'll give him plenty of it! That’s the quickest way to get rid of the damned fool, anyway!” “You boys shut your rank mouths!” growled Gibson. ‘‘ There ain’t goin’ to be no shootin’ done until I give orders to shoot. An’ that ain’t goin’ to happen ii Mr. Cameron don’t get to kickin’ over the traces! ““ Cameron,” he added, ‘“‘ we’re lettin’ you keep your gun. But don’t try to work it.” He seemed to turn his head and issved a short command: ‘Ed, bring my horse over here!” There was a brief silence in a period of waiting, and then slow hoof beats. A black shape loomed out of the night and came close to Cameron. Gibson’s voice, cold, peremptory, followed: “Get up! I’m ridin’ behind you!” Cameron touched the horse, climbed into the saddle. He felt Gibson at the reins; sat silent while the man mounted behind him. Then the horse began to move away into the darkness, westward. There was a stir, a swishing of the grass and weeds as of men running through them, then came the beating of hoofs, and Cam- eron knew that all the men had mounted and were trailing behind. “Ts Calamity a member of this party?” he asked Gibson. “ The agreement was that Calamity was to go along,” Gibsen replied. ‘Rather a mean way to get hold of me, wasn’t it, Gibson?” Gibson did not answer. “In the dark, Gibson. And through a trick. I had been thinking better things of you, Gibson,” ‘Gibson. country, ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “I ain’t carin’ a heap what you think of me, Cameron,” Gibson declared, his voice sullen. “ You ain’t no angel yourself.” ‘““ Meaning what, Gibsen?’’ .“ Meanin’ a lot of things! Puttin’ aside the shootin’ of old Ballantine, you’ve been performin’ like a dog—or worse. Seems to me that man Kensington wasn’t far wrong when he talked like he did about you an’ that Fargo girl! An’ all the while you’re tryin’ to make a fool of Virginia!” ‘“ Gibson,” said Cameron, “if you'll get down with me and keep the Other men off I'll try to jam those words back into your mouth!” You'll keep a sittin’, Cameron!” sneered “This ain’t the time for no four- flushin’! Youll keep a-ridin’. An’ if you go to try any monkey business 1] blow you’ apart!” They rode into the darkness of a level Cameron could distinguish noth- ing by which he might establish a sense of direction, but as they crossed the level and began to climb a slight slope he di- vined that they were going into the upland country westward, beyond the white ranch house, He said nothing more, for it appeared there was no more to be said. He could hear the beating of hoofs behind him, the creaking of saddle leather. After they had ridden for about half an hour he saw a luminous haze stealing over the east, heralding the moon. But they had ridden another half hour before the golden orb appeared from behind some distant mountains, and Cameron could distinguish the dim forms of the riders around him. They had passed the range of hills at the summit of the upland, and were bearing downward, into a big valley. They had not traveled more than a mile or two down the sloping side of the valley when a brilliant moonlight flooded the place. Far away, from east to west, were the two gleaming lines of steel that ran past Ransome. A train—a freighi—was rum- bling eastward, its signal lights blinking, the headlight of the engine throwing a long, bright beam into the night. The rumbling of the train broke the tense silence which had descended. In a few GOMIGDOOKS GO