Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 11, 1925 — page 121: what you’re looking at

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

HOPALONG CASSIDY’S PAL, it was too far away; but he could guess whom it might concern. Mesquite was moving in the darkness in the general direction of the saloon which had proved to be so interesting on his former visit. In his haste to get the work over with, he was not as cautious as he might have been, and the hoot passed al- most unnoticed. Before him lay the littered square in front of the saloon, which was foolish to cross from that direction. He worked around this open space and then ap- proached the building from the north, and tried to find a serviceable crack among the scores of them in the flimsy shade which blocked the window in the wall on that side of the building. There were cracks enough to let a glow of radiance through, where the sizing had been abraded by years of service; but not one of them was wide enough or open enough to give him a glimpse of what lay behind. He did not realize how vividly he was outlined against that luminous yel- low square, how plainly he was silhouetted to a keen-eyed watcher. The ringing notes of a distant whippoor- will made no impression on his conscious- ness, and after a moment he slipped along the wall, turned the corner, and stopped beside the rear door, his hand cautiously feeling for the latch. Slowly he moved it, ready to surge against the planks and send them swinging inward when the bar was free. He had no way of knowing that things had happened swiftly in that room; that the first hoot of the owl had sent a dozen men scurrying to agreed-upon positions, half of them watching the front door, the other half the rear. With the sounding of the whippoorwill all eyes had focused on the rear entrance and now were intently watching the almost imperceptible rising of the latch and its home-made bar. Neither did he, nor they, know that the owl would hoot no more that night; that the whippoorwill had felt a gun butt crash against its head and was now bound and -_ gagoed. Neither he, nor they, knew that an almost ‘exhausted man was dragging oe toward the littered square, desper- 275 ately eager to get to the front door of that saloon. Mesquite, the latch raised as high as it would go, hurled himself against the door and sent it crashing back against the inner wall, following it like an angry cat, both guns breast high and balanced for action. Then the light was blotted out, he found himself half suffocated in the folds of a blanket, his guns torn and knocked from his hands, and he was fighting for his life in a snarling pack of thieves. The hands on throats, wrists and ankles were too many; and the rope which bound him, coil after coil, made him helpless. Mercifully the blanket had been torn in the struggle, else he would have died from suffocation. Realizing that he was only wearing him- self out and that he might need all his strength later on, he ceased to struggle and lay inertly against the wall. Foxy Joe, his right hand against the side of his face where a bullet had left a bloody furrow, turned furiously to the man whose plan had been carried out. ‘ Tt’s all damn nonsense, takin’ that pup prisoner!” he snapped angrily. “ We could just as well ’a’ riddled him when th’ door opened an’ saved ourselves a lot of trouble. Lookit what J got, an’ all for nothin’,’ he _ continued. “ An’ made signs of a killin’ for them damn punchers to see?” growled the bar- tender. ‘“‘ They’ll be up here, every damn one of ’em, when they find he’s missin’. An’ I'll be th’ one that ‘ll have to answer their questions. Too bad that bullet didn’t go a couple of inches more to the right!” “That so?” snapped Foxy Joe. “There ain’t no use startin’ a row,” urged another. “ Put him on a hoss an’ get it over with.” “ Where you takin’ him?” “* Any place out in th’ brush far enough west of town.” The exhausted man outside was crossing the square, staggering and resting, crawl- ing and resting, stirred to frenzy by the — sounds of the shots. He rested again, grit- ted ‘his teeth, and went on a few yards, his — eyes fixed vengefully on that door. Let him reach that and touch its latch, and he would = ee Eee eae vere ete aoe a ME MO TS SR SAE oes es 25