Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 157: what you’re looking at

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

THE BAD MAN OF _“ Caught ’em one right after the other. In that pool—under the flat rock—you know—”’ ‘Tl cook them both, Andy. They won’t be so good to-morrow. Maybe the stranger will like some?” “Right nice fish.”” Butch meant it, too. His eyes, sparkling appreciatively, were all for the fish. His business with Andy Gregg was forgotten, quite. It was not until he saw out of the corner of an eye the little man’s fingers tentatively exploring his shirt front that his one-track mind switched ab- ruptly back to the business in hand. But Gregg apparently had no intention of starting anything. He drew up a chair. ‘They ain’t nothin’ t’ brag about. Noth- in’ at all. W’y, in Thunder Crick, back yender in the hills a piece, wunst las’ year a Mrs. Gregg laughed. ‘“.,. nothin’ but worms . “Live millers goes best over my way. Angle worms never—”’ An hour later, in the late purple dusk, Andy Gregg and the bad man of Banter Mountain sat on opposite sides of the Gregg doorstep and talked. Their faces were flushed. They argued excitedly. ‘ Ain’t they nothin’ you two men know but fish?” Mrs. Grege appeared in the doorway, knitting in hand. “T’m thinking you forgot to feed the hawgs, Andy. Better do it now. Give the stranger a minute’s peace.” Andy departed reluctantly. “Kitty, show the stranger your new doll.” The yellow-haired tot came running. She grinned toothlessly up into Butch’s face and _ held the pink doll proudly toward him. “Well, now, that there’s a bird.” 7 He negotiated what was intended for a - winning smile,:reached for the flimsy, pink creation. But his clumsy grip in some way missed connections. The pink doll slipped through his clutching fingers, and fell with a crackling clatter, face down, on the stone doorstep. It broke in a hundred pieces. For a moment there was silence—com- _ plete, ominous, like unto that breathless instant before a black stormcloud_ breaks. 2? BANTER MOUNTAIN, 467 Then, sobbing wildly, Kitty Gregg threw herself down beside the broken doll. Mrs. Gregg dropped on ner knees and crooned comfortingly. Andy appeared and knelt be- side his wife. Young Bud patted his sister’s shoulder and with misty eyes glared ac- cusingly at Butch Keever. TV. Ir was late that night when Butch Keever plodded down the dusty main street of Banter Flats. Not too late, however, for his purposes. It was Saturday, pay day- . at the Silver Bell Mine. Kid Goler, welter- weight from San Francisco, was scheduled to give an exhibition bout at Squint Du- gan’s, which bout would not take place until after the thirsty miners had had plenty of opportunity to spend some of their hard-earned money. Dugan’s place was packed to the doors with a noisy throng. The racket died away noticeably as Butch Keever elbowed his way through the smoke-dimmed room. Squint Dugan slid questing fingers beneath the new counter until they found and grasped an automatic pistol. The big man looked and acted queerly. He wasn’t drunk, that was patent. But there was a strange gleam in ~ his eyes. His thin lips were drawn in a straight, firm Jine. He, Squint Dugan, was taking no chances. Kid Goler, garbed in a new pair of grass- green tights and a flowered bathrobe, was off duty for the evening. Perched on a table in the center of the room, feet on a chair, he left off advertising the fistic accomplish- ments of one Kid Goler when Butch ap- peared. ‘‘ Here’s the old bird himself, gents. The bad man of Banter Mountain, What ‘d you do with him, Butch? Eat him? Where's Andy Greeeae Squint Dugan signaled frantically to his henchman, He didn’t like Keever’s looks. But Goler paid no heed. ‘ Didn’t you git him?” Butch shrugged and grinned uncertain- ly. He was shuffling slowly. but purpose- fully across.the room toward Goler. ‘“ Ho, ho, ho—kin you beat that?” Goler addressed the room at large. “‘ What ’d I O (e(6) GComichbooks