Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 11, 1925 — page 51: what you’re looking at

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

THE INNOCENT. “Oh, no!” ruled Taylor. “ We'll look into this! Give an account of yourself, mister! How do you horn into this so often?” * Accident!” “ Huh! Well, mebbe you'll have another accident!” Bill’s hoarse voice bawled forth: “ Grab him! Search him!”’ Too late Steve remembered the money belt around his waist. Sudden panic made him lash out frantically and try to rush through a door or window. | His right fist leaped forward. It caught Taylor fairly between the eyes, knocking him across the bed. The other three in- stantly closed in. Steve tried to swing again. The thin-faced man smothered his arm as he leaped forward. The mighty fist of Big Bill descended. Steve saw stars. He stag- gered toward the door. Big Bill struck him again and knocked him to his knees. Steve yelled at the top of his voice, desperately trying to attract possible aid from the taxi driver. The cry was muffled by a blow in the mouth. Another heavy blow crashed into his right eye. He yelled again, just as he saw a blackjack lifted and poised over his head. He tried to swing a protecting hand, but his arm was. held. There was a shattering concussion. ‘The world split into fragments of sparks which fell apart and then faded out. He awoke in darkness, groaning from many hurts. At first he had an awesome feeling that this was the end of every- thing; but his hands lay on wood and the smell of alcohol and packing straw per- sisted. He arose to his knees, noting that his whole body was in disarray. At length he put a hand to his waist. The money belt was gone! A hoarse voice boomed from somewhere outside: “You needn’t wait, driver. He’s goin’ to © stay here!” ““ Aw, how do you get that way?” scoffed the chauffeur. “ All right, then. I'll tell you to beat it, then. How about that?” Steve gathered his battered muscles to- gether and managed to crawl to a side win- dow, where he tried to raise the shade. 205 He saw the vague outlines of the taxi out in front. The driver had come from his seat. | “See it in my hand?” snarled the chauf- feur. “ You pull any of that stuff on me, and you'll be holdin’ a harp! D’ye think I slam around town all night without know- in’ my stuff?” “ Hold ’em!” yelled Steve. There was a howl outside and a distant pattering of feet. Steve lifted a chair and crashed through the window. “Hold ’em!” he implored, through jagged glass. The driver calmly twirled an automatic. “Aw, they’re gone!” he announced. * We don’t want ’em!” “Find ’em!” raged Steve. “‘ Hurry up— let’s chase ’em!”’ “ Wadda you think I am—a cop?” Steve reached the taxi and shook both fists wildly. | “They’ve got my money. They rolled me! Come on—chase ’em!”’ ‘““ Aw, chase ’em yourself!” “ ‘You—you mean, you'll do nothing?” *“ Aw, what’s the use? Every time one of you hicks come to town you lose your roll and then yell. Id be chasin’ my legs off. You’re the second one to-night!” “Wow! Ye gods, what a city! Stay here, then! I'll do something, even if I’m shot!” He turned and raced toward shadows be- hind the house, where he thought the others had disappeared. He struck a fence, vault- ed it, barked his shins against an empty doghouse, dodged between two more houses, swung into a rear street, and then tore around the block. He saw abso- lutely nothing of his despoilers. At last he was forced to return to the maddening taxi driver. “It’s a good city,” reported the chauf- feur, taking up the recent conversation. “T’m a booster. You birds come in here and crab at us, but it’s you hicks and boobs and bootleggers that raise all the trouble, and then you blame the city!” “Lend me your pistol!” pleaded Steve. “TI want to look into that house.” “* Nix. again!” climbing — comicboo . a s vos I may have to drag you out — . (E(0) = & = > J & Sees = Ht %.