Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 132: what you’re looking at

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758 supremest achievement in needlework and furniture. It was multi-colored and en- ticing. “TI don’t mind,” grinned Billy, and ab- ruptly threw himself upon the cushioned divan. “Ye’ll like yer feet up, maybe?” Billy inclined his head. “ Willis, do ye put a hassock under the gentleman’s feet.” Willis, catching the sergeant’s humor, obeyed, while for a moment but two guns covered Billy’s reclining form. “ Annette, ye’d best go and help yer father,” adjured the sergeant. Annette sweeping them with a look of fiery scorn, obeyed without a word, and Billy was left alone with his tormentors. “Ye canna think of anything ye need?” questioned MacQuillan icily. “A chew of fine cut tobacco,” suggested Billy. “Tm sorry,” replied the sergeant, “ but that can only be had by thievery.” “Which is why so few folks hereabouts use it, I suppose,” said Billy. “Tt’s a strong tobacco,” remarked Wil- lis. ‘ Its use sometimes proves fatal, Mr. MacKreagh.”’ “Then pass me a cigarette,” suggested Billy. Craddock, his revolver in one hand, slipped forth a cigarette case, and proffered it to Billy with the other. “ Just like they do in stories,’’ comment- ed the pleased recipient of this favor. “A match, Salvadore.” Craddock held the light for him. “Ver sure you’re comfortable?” solicited the sergeant. ‘““T would be if I had one of them round dofunnies under my arm.” He indicated a firm round bolster, tightly clad in orange satin. The wish was father to the service. The sergeant himself placed the bolster at Billy’s elbow. “ And now,” murmured Billy, “ just prop my feet a little higher.” Willis, with a ready cushion, leaned for- ward to do this service. “Lay down,” said Billy. With these words he shot a foot fotce- fully into Willis’s stomach, hurling him across the room. At the same time he ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. whirled the heavy bolster across the front of the other two red coats with devastating effect. Craddock’s revolver clattered to the floor. The sergeant, a wrist twisted, but game, fired; but at the instant he pulled the trigger, a softer cushion limply and forcibly struck the muzzle of his gun. The shot went wild. The sergeant swore. Craddock stooped for his gun. Thereupon cushions became a pestilence and an abomination. The air was filled with them, and Billy moved like a flame. He leaped to his feet, a cushion in either hand, bashed Craddock to the floor again with one, and made for the stairs. Willis, however, regaining his feet, head- ed him off. Billy’s remaining cushion, a pink one, with azure dots, whizzed through the air. It struck Willis’s gun at the in- stant of its explosion, whipped it from his hand, and with it sailed across the room. Craddock, rising, caught it on the side of his face. “Oh, God!” blurted Craddock, and sank to his knees with blood streaming through the hand which clutched his head. Sergeant MacQuillan tore at Billy’s col- lar and presented his gun, but Billy leaped aside and struck out with the first cushion that came to hand. It was a square one and a heavy one. He swung with all his might, and it dashed the sergeant’s head aside with that sickening sidewise pull, which only a cushion, mightily swung, can deal with full effect. The sergeant sank down limply on the bottom stair, and Craddock, with bloody head, dashed blindly past him to take Mac- Quillan’s gun and hold the stairs. Billy plunged forward, his mighty cushion well in hand. He dashed it at the red coat’s > face, but Craddock dodged and fired—into . the cushion, which Billy had instantly re- gained. The stairs barred, Billy turned from Craddock and, vaulting the banister, landed on the pile of cushions beneath. “We're losing him again!” roared the sergeant. There was the pathos of despair in his voice. - Among that pile of cushions Willis was wildly groping for his gun, and Billy nar- rowly missed him with his heels on landing. —{comicbooks.co im