Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 122: what you’re looking at

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912 the ungrateful invalid. ‘“ Why in hell you got me all roped up?” ““So’s you won’t bust a blood vessel or somethin’, You might wild up if you found out where you was goin’.” *“¢ Where am I goin’?” “To see the sergeant.” The agitation of Mr. Menzies thereupon passed all control. Billy couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Menzies sat with his legs outspread and hung talk all over the scen- ery, making shrugging signs to render his meaning clear. He exhausted the pro- fanity of the range, skimmed over a speak- ing acquaintance with the gutters of the city, fell back upon the argot of the docks, and tried what he could do with the lan- guage of the range once more. Inasmuch as almost all his experiments were concentrated upon an endeavor to tell Billy what he thought of him, all this lan- guage notably palled upon the listener. But it was no use reasoning with Menzies. He was mad clean through. He wanted Billy to know it, and he wanted the world to know it. “You was all the time a—not sufficient- ly elegant to be recorded—spy!” he yelled. Billy arose at this and, bending over Menzies from the rear, grasped him strong- ly about the torso. He then swung him, with legs widely thrashing, over one shoul- der, and controlled the flow of conversa- tion by pressing the rustler’s head force- fully against his breast. Carrying Menzies in this manner to his pony, Billy slung his burden across the saddle, and by dint of tying the rustler’s wrists to his ankles under the pony’s belly, made him fast in this position. “That’s for throwin’ too much talk,” he informed Menzies with regret. “If you’d been cheerful you could of rode these ten miles in comfort and in peace.” CHAPTER XXXVI. BILLY COMES AND GOES. T was the custom of Staff Sergeant Mac- Quillan to sup at leisure in the dining room of the Royal Arms. Afterward he would indulge in a bitter criticism of that AKGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. establishment’s cuisine, and having thus proved to himself for an incomputable number of times that the blond youth at _ the desk would listen to his complaints with respectful solicitude and do nothing what- ever about it, Staff Sergeant MacQuillan would light his pipe and reflectively smoke it in the hotel’s musty lobby. On this Thursday night, however, the Sergeant finished his meal with unwonted haste, and, foregoing his critical review of what he had eaten, walked briskly back to the post. He was divided in mind between a serious doubt of Billy’s ability to bring in an outlaw who had so long defied the Royal Mounted, and a sincere desiré to meet with Billy and inform him of his in- nocence. MacQuillan was of that sterling quality which tenders a worthy opponent the trib- ute of sincere respect; and the eternal jes- ter in Billy appealed more strongly to the soul of the staid policeman than MacQuil- lan knew. Also, there was Annette. Mac- Quillan would like to be of service to An- nette. So he felt a hopeful sense of anticipa- tion as he walked back to the post that evening, and he dismissed Supernumerary Flynn with a geniality bordering upon act- ual kindliness. “Ye can get yerself gone for the eve- ning,” he instructed him. “ But I wouldn’t advise yer to tire yerself, for I misdoubt but what we’ll have a prisoner to guard the night.” The eyes of Supernumerary Constable Flynn dilated. ‘“‘ Argent?” he asked. “ De’il take the man! Hasn’t he gone vet?” answered the sergeant affably. But Supernumerary Constable Flynn did not depart. “ But if it’s Argent, sergeant—surely you ain’t—” Sergeant MacQuillan found the words of his assistant irksome. “<¢Tf it’s Argent, sergeant,” he mim- icked. ‘“ What’s the man up to? Are ye singing a song?” “But hadn’t I better be at hand?” The sergeant gazed upon him with cold disparagement. connichoaks (CO)