Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 4, 1926 — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

302 making a cleaning, too. How’s the food supply?” “Fair enough. Stage just came in last week. Help yourself.” The desert man busied himself selecting packages of flapjack flour, ¢offee, canned goods, salt, sugar, and flour from the dust covered stock. “Come from the south, you say?” de- manded Satterwaite. ‘‘ Hear about the murder at Pokato?” | Starley, stretching his tall form to reach a tin of tea on the topmost shelf, didn’t turn his head; but Joe Budhouser, who was stocking up heavily on cigarettes, cringed visibly. “JT asked you, did you hear about the murder?” the storekeeper insisted. ‘What was it?” asked Starley, placing the tea on the plank counter. “Blackie Vari. Some young squirt of a hobo shot him. Blackie caught the fellow with Kettle Kate, both half drunk on Black- ie’s liquor. He went after the guy, aiming to beat him up. But the guy shot him with his own revolver. Blackie croaked in less than three minutes.” Satterwaite related the story with en- thusiasm; his rheumy little eyes were watching the nervous twitching of Joe Bud- houser’s lips. ‘Well, I guess Blackie sure had it com- ing,” Starley suggested. “ He’s popped off more than one man himself.” “Yep, maybe Blackie had it coming,” the storekeeper agreed. “ But not from a thieving kid who was mixed up with that Kettle Kate. And not close up, either. Say, that kid will give a necktie party if they ever catch him. ‘“‘ Even the boys over here are all heated up over the raw deal Blackie got. You see, he’s been here a lot; he was a great friend of Pig Grabow. Yes, it’d go hard with the murderer if he was caught around here.” Pop Satterwaite turned deliberately, and scrutinized Joe Budhouser. ‘‘ Who’s your pal, Jerry?” he demanded. “ Pick him up ~in the south? Thought you always traveled alone?” “ Getting lonely in my old age,” Starley answered, grinning easily. “ Well, get out _your pencil, pop, and tell me the tax.” - ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. A few moments later, Tin Can, looking and feeling more abused than ever under his load of groceries, turned back down the single sprawling street of Quartz City. Of ‘the two men following him, one was deep in thought, the other wide-eyed, fear-smit- ten. “Guess we’d better stop at the Ritz,” the desert man decided. “ Old Satterwaite back there had suspicions that you’re the fellow who killed Blackie Vari, and by this time he’s spread his ideas all over town. The .gang would think we were afraid of something if we didn’t stop for awhile. They’d be after us, pronto. “Come on, Joe! We've got to brazen it out. Keep your nerve up, and your mouth shut. Let me do the talking.” He tied Tin Can to the hitching rail in front of the Ritz, and strode into the combined hostelry, saloon, and pool room. Joe Budhouser fol- lowed, manifestly so frightened that he could scarcely step. Silence greeted the entrance of the two desert wanderers into the murky bar room, that strained silence which indicates to new- comers that they have been the immediate subject of conversation. A dozen loafers were leaning against the forty-foot bar; another dozen lounged neg- ligently at little round-topped tables. A game of faro had just stopped under a corner window, and the dealer was closing his cases, Pig Grabow, the huge, florid-faced pro- prietor, was leaning over a slender, black- eyed man who sat in the darkest corner, talking earnestly. bulk at last, and faced the new arrivals. ‘Why, as I live and breathe, it’s Jerry Starley!” he called. The note of surprise in his voice didn’t ring true. ‘“‘ Welcome to the land of the living, and the haunts of sin, Jerry!” He stepped across the room, extending a puffy hand. There was some- thing catlike in his tread, despite his huge size. “‘ Introduce me to your friend, Jerry.” “ Thanks for the welcome, Grabow. This is my pal on this trip. Buddy, meet Pig Grabow, the uncrowned czar of Quartz City.” Grabow’s big hand closed over the thin one of Joe Budhouser. “ And what do (C@ mie S) He turned his bulging . (E@) 0)(0\(0)