Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 11, 1925 — page 90: what you’re looking at

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

244 bit of sense in wastin’ my breath on ye ; nohow.” — ‘“ But yit, Lesher, ye’d love right well ter 2-3 see Wade die yoreself—and, despite thet, ye suffers him ter go on livin’.” Skidmore stood and looked his visitor disdainfully up and down. “Ef a Skidmore bullet deadened him,” he said sharply, “thar’d be hell ter pay. Ther war would bust loose an’ carry off man atter man. Ef a bullet from ther la’rel- bresh deadened him—mankind would lay hit up erginst ther Skidmores whether a _ Skidmore done hit or not.” He paused a moment to let his words sink in. ‘‘ But ef a Murrell was ter pick a quarrel with him, and hed ther guts ter draw quickest an’ shoot straightest in ther open sight of witnesses, an’ slay him in self- defense, I reckon a jury would let thet man come cl’ar.” Cas Harley winced at the audacity of the suggestion, and Lesher saw the wincing. “As I stands hyar and eyes ye up an’ down,” he said, “I sees a man thet stands risin’ of six foot in his socks. I sees a man thet don’t look no fashion puny. I sees a man thet admits his own self he’s got ther makin’s of a President in him an’ ther qualities fer leadin’ ther whole United States, an’ yit thar’s somethin’ missin’ outen him. He don’t dast ter hit at one snake thet bars his pathway ter Frankfort-town.” Sua 3 “Hit would hev ter be face ter face— aS an’ afore Murrell witnesses, wouldn’t hit?” = faltered Cas Harley. “ Hit would undoubtedly, shorely hev ter be done thetaway. But yit a man thet knows what he’s aimin’ ter do kin be ready, an’ with a fightin’ feller like Wade he’s got a license ter figger thet almost airy move is a move ter ther holster. I hain’t nuver red self-defense called no crime.” CHAPTER XXI. ame SAINT. _ aspect from that which Cynthia had seen back there in New York. Except for the occasional glint of sardonic purpose that rein an eta) 7 peal eA Mats * } : he SFOUMaRY uaa Ce meen LR PER 5 aN ie Aly MY DAS ent aoe ’ 5 ; ‘7 a hes tel Bal Ne Ne OA ON Be ee Ge Li lah’ ts Boca Wil ae? bile ie , ~ iw e . wal a eo +. nd -: ‘Y eral isvaieed be aia TP st 2H 4 «ey a wea oS oe Ph Aeey, 8 t ORNS ey ey: f\ wi * \) ae ney ty ot A | *j - 4 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. came into his eye when it met hers, and hers alone, the girl might have been be- guiled into thinking and hoping that he had actually changed. But she warned herself that he was sap ingratiating himself with her protectors, strengthening and consolidating his position against the day when she might appeal to them against him. It filled her with a futile fury to see how easily he, of whom she had thought as a New Yorker with all the New Yorker’s insistence on life’s smooth and brittle finish, fell into his place here in a land of opposites. He had come fighting no head tide of preconceived prejudice, and his gift of adaptability carried him easily into the con- fidence of men given to slow friendships. He mingled« with ragged mountaineers and talked of their interests as if he were a brother in blood, and in the same wise they accepted him. He drank with them in their own hidden stills, but no man ever saw him affected by the fiery nectar with which they plied him. When self-esteeming marksmen offered demonstrations of swiftness and accuracy with either “ rifle-gun ” or “ pistol-gun ” the stranger was generous in admiring praise— but, to their amazement, he usually capped their performance with one almost as good. The word went abroad that whatever might be said of Wade Murrell’s female protégé, there was no gainsaying that his new guest was a he-man, “ up-standin’ an’ straight- gazin’ an’ not afeared of nuther hell ner high water.” Cynthia watched his progress through apprehensive eyes. It did not matter that along Little Flinty this man was winning a quick popularity, but it did matter tremend- ously and dangerously that Wade Murrell, slow and cautious of judgment, was being drawn to him; was being won by him. “He’s selling himself to Wade,” she mused in an agony of apprehension—and Wade Murrell was her last defense. They were sitting about the breakfast table now, and the morning mists were dis- sipating into brilliant color. Although the same roof had sheltered them for a week, the man and the woman from the lowlands still maintained the distant formality of . > q - Mn Ags a om Sis. < ao = ee > ” a ~ - + oa ~ — - x . Ne, ~ IEE, . . A, - ‘