Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 4, 1926 — page 52: what you’re looking at

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

362 the vaquero starting off at a brisk pace that soon put them in open country. “Where you headed?” Rusty demanded bluntly. “Be patient, senor. we must ride.” The journey continued with no further attempts at conversation, striking toward rough, broken country that marked the rise of a low range of detached mountains. It had been late afternoon when Rusty and his new acquaintance left the small settlement. Now the sun was approaching the horizon, bathing the summits of dis- tant mountains in a blaze of glory, while the western sky glowed a marvelous rose pink, shading off into various tints of or- ange and yellow, like a huge palmetto smeared with a profusion of rich colors. “Right pretty,’ was Rusty’s apprecia- tive comment. “I bet they’s lots of artists that would near give an arm for the chance to paint that sunset.” They rode abruptly into the shadows of a canon. ‘Now we are almost there, senor,” the guide called reassuringly. Five or ten minutes later he pulled in his mount, pointing up the slope to a rather sizable cabin, built of hewn logs, perched on a level spot above the canon floor. “ We wili find the senor there. The rest of the journey must be made on foot.” The vaquero swung gracefully from his mount as he spoke, and Rusty did likewise. Together they started the climb, Rusty close at his companion’s heels as they toiled upward among huge bowlders that clung to the steep slope in seeming defiance of the law of gravity. For an instant the vaquero disappeared from view around the side of a mass of granite. Rusty in turn rounded the rock— to find himself suddenly confronted by the livid face of the vaquero, eyes distended with hatred and the lust to kill. “ Pig of an Americano!” he grunted sav- agely, and the keen blade-of a knife flashed in the fading light. The treacherous thrust never landed. Rus- ty laughed aloud as he saw it flicker, and his left arm knocked the vaquero’s hand to one side even as his Colt crashed in It is not far that ~ ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. the canon stillness. “The Mexican lay where he fell, his face still contorted with the violent emotions which had attended his passing. “Darn the luck!” Rusty complained ag- grievedly. “I was scairt I'd have to sal- ivate the ornery salamander. Seems like I ought to been able to get the informa- tion out of him first. But I hope it ll be a lesson to me, as the guy said just be- fore they hung him. “Wonder if I’m really as soft-looking a sucker as this hombre played me for,” and Rusty allowed himself the luxury of a cheerful grin. ‘“ Anyway, that’s that, and I’m expressing the fervent hope that when- ever I’m called upon to help a fellowman out of the world he’ll be as deserving of my assistance as this side-winder in human form. ‘“ Question now is—where do we go from here?” Rusty glanced curiously up toward the cabin, where no sign of life was visible. “ Don’t seem like this mysterious senor I’m so anxious to sign up with is on hand at the trail meet,’’ he ruminated. “ Guess Pll give the place a looksee anyhow.” Rusty climbed the remaining distance to the dark cabin, which from the outside gave every appearance of being quite de- serted. Such, in fact, proved to be the case, nor was there any evidence that the building had been in use for several years. Rusty rolled and lit a cigarette while pondering the situation. Certain things were by now reasonably clear in his mind. First of all it was plain that the vaquero never had the slightest intention of taking Rusty to meet the mysterious sefor—he with the white blotch of hair and the pock mark on his chin. Hearing Rusty’s in- quiries, the fellow had correctly sized him up as being on the rustlers’ trail, and too hot for their comfort; therefore he had im- mediately taken steps to remove him by murder. “Handed me that cock-and-bull story just to get me interested,” Rusty told him- self; “so he could drag me out of sight of folks at the village and plant a knife in my ribs where nobody but the buzzards would ever find the corpse. (E(0) DOOKS (EO) AAG