Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 11, 1925 — page 45: what you’re looking at

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

THE INNOCENT, “Where from?” “ Gray Butte, Arizona.” ““ What’s your business?”’ “Rancher.” “What are you doing here?” “ Trying to get to the city.” “What for?” “To visit my sister. My father and mother both died. I’m a Republican. I can ride a horse and cook hash. We’ve got a dog on the ranch named Isaac, but he’s no good. My mother was a Presbyterian, but my father didn’t have any particular re- ligion. He smoked Burley Twist tobacco, but I’m studying cigarettes. I was born at Yuma and educated in the public schools. Age, twenty-five. Anything else?” “Don’t get fresh!” There was a pause. Then: “You may be all right. I think so; but we'd better keep a watch on you: Hey, Bill—euard this fellow. If he gets gay, slug him!” Steve’s voice broke out of control. “ Say, what makes you bootleggers so scary?”’ “ That’s enough from you. You stand still and mind your own business!” Steve felt his universe wabbling around him. The steam schooner had been strange enough, but his present environment was weird. Puzzled, he thrust cold hands into his pockets and watched the cargo come over the white line of surf and thence by degrees to the shore. Only the marvelous work of the winchman prevented the ship from slinging its wares all over the place. The cargo piled up. At length the leader gestured. The workmen, except for Steve’s enormous guardian, started inland into the shadows where sudden lights glared out. Motors roared. The two white houses came. to life and backed toward Steve. They were moving vans. He saw their sides covered with flaring advertisements. “ Get to work!” commanded the boss to Steve. “What for? I’m not in this! ss “ Get to work!” snarled Steve’s big guardian, producing something that glit- tered in his hand. Steve resentfully was forced to join the blur of sweating men hauling heavy packing cases into the lantern lit recesses of a great 199 wagon. Vigilantly he sought a way for es- cape, but no chance presented itself. In time the first van was loaded. The second backed up. Steve glanced seaward toward a shredding fog-bank. The lines of the steam schooner crumbled away even as he looked. “Get busy!” snapped the hook-nosed boss Steve perforce obeyed, working slowly, wondering what they would do to him later. Case after case went into the moving van until it became filled, Wads of old quilts and carpets were roped around the end to give the vehicle a domestic aspect. Big Bill started tying part of the rope. Steve saw his chance. ~ He slipped out of the busy circle of men and stole along the right side of the van, leaving it before striking the arc of light from the lamps, not knowing that the shreds of fog distended the glare and threw his body into gigantic silhouette. “Hey!” yelled a voice. away!” The note of alarm made Steve doubly sure about these fellows. He ran like a deer, inland along the side of the hill. A flash of flame leaped at him from the rear. A report banged. Another flash made him duck his head. The wall of the hill forced him to race across the vehicle’s lamps. An- other shot blazed at him. Some one leaped out of the van ahead. Steve swerved to the left into unknown lands. He passed the glare of the headlights, but his steps became heavy in a sand dune. He leaped over it toward utter darkness. His leap continued surprisingly downward. He thrust out his arms wildly, touching nothing. Suddenly his legs were almost smashed by the impact of hard ground, which brought him painfully to his knees, but only for an instant. He pitched for- ward again, this time landing upside down. Sparks danced before his eyes. “Ts this the way I visit the city?” he wondered as he struggled to his feet. “ He’s gettin’ An infernal crackling noise made him shake his head. It redoubled. He tried to look around, but his world was pitch dark. Flashes of yellow light spat into the inky haze above him. “Will they never let up?” he wane: ‘comicboo “S - \ (G0)