Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 4, 1925 — page 143: what you’re looking at

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

SENOR JINGLE BELLS, “JT dunno,” he declared thoughtfully. “T dunno about this line of talk. You got a fast-workin’ tongue. But I dunno about trusting you too far. It ain’t good sense.” ‘“ Very well,” El Cantor remarked. ‘ But what do you think has brought me here?” ‘Nothin’ but accident, bo!” E] Cantor smiled. ‘A lucky accident,” said he. “Lucky for what?” “ For me, you fool!” With that he dropped the reins across the neck of the red bay, and while a tap of his heel sent Monsieur le Duc flying away at a round gallop, E} Cantor leaned sidewise from the saddle like a swooping hawk, His lean, powerful arms gripped about Steve Grenda, and that worthy was snatched up before the rider in a trice. As for the watchers, they had time to utter one yell of astonishment. But when they raised their guns to fire they hesi- tated. There was more chance of killing Steve with their bullets than there was of dropping the rider. Before they could make up their minds El! Cantor and the horse and the captive were across the thick- et into the open country beyond. Steve Grenda made a brief fight and a bitter one until a hand of steel caught a wrist and doubled his arm behind his back. Then, with the bone threatening to snap at every instant, he was helpless. “What are you drivin’ at?” he snarled. But the captor made no reply. His cruel, contemptuous face did not alter— not a spoken syllable was returned to Steve. But presently he was secured with both hands bound behind his back, and in this fashion he was forced to run forward in front of the horseman, run until his breath was failing him. So they came over the hill into full view of Gloryville by night. At that sight Grenda stopped with a shout of despair. He turned to fling himself at the other, even with his bound hands. But he was struck down into senselessness, and when he wakened again he lay bound hand and foot and gagged in a shrouding darkness 933 among shrubs; but where he was he could not tell, for he was unable to move. And the gag which closed his throat was nearly strangling him, But that place which he lay in was none Other than the back yard of the house of Sheriff Walter Long; and in the harness shed the weary sheriff, too harassed with worries to sleep, was busily patching a broken girth. He looked up from that work with his needle poised and observed before him none other than the much-wanted Jingle-Bells, with a long revolver hanging from his hand. The gun was not leveled upon the sher- iff, as though the mere show of it should be enough to a sensible man. The sheriff appreciated keenly this tribute to his in- telligence, but he glowered blackly upon the other. *« Jingle-Bells,” said he, ‘damn me if you ain’t up to more deviltry! What is it now?” “Tam about to perform an act of char- ity.” “ Of which?” “ Charity.” ‘To what, might I ask?” ‘To you, sheriff.” “IT got to be patient,” said the sheriff, “while you got the drop on me. But what might you mean?” ‘“T am about to make a trade with you. For the sake of the freedom of Little Sam- uel, I'll turn over to you a bona-fide mur- derer—a real rare one, sheriff.” “Yo’re talkin’ crazy,” said the sheriff. “What murderer?” ‘““What’s the one you most want just now?” “Not one—I want the bloody pair that slaughtered good old Mart Hendon. I want them bad, too!” “Very well, sheriffi—I bave one of the men!” “ What?” “Look at this!” He tossed a half dozen silver spoons down before the sheriff. “This stuff was in his pocket. There’s an °H’ on them, as you see.” ‘As I see? God bless me, ain’t I ate with "em many and many a time? Ob, Jingle- Conn lDOOlK