Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 12, 1927 — page 148: what you’re looking at

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

ib MA ith » OVAL ee AM MHA aa of Broneo a Yes. Young King should Se _ Bronco” 142 ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. of him. Believe me, if he can make a man o that young bunch o’ low-grade shirt- stuffin, he’s some trick manufacturer.” Inside the bank at this moment, C. K. Thomas was being admitted to the inner office of Seth Mosier, president of the bank, and prospective father-in-law of the junior Thomas. Seth Mosier unlimbered his lanky form from the only real mahogany swivel-chair in King City, and shook hands with non- committal solemnity. His leathery face as usual bore no expression, except for his elusive gray eyes. Those eyes had a trick of hinting at sev- eral expressions at once. There was pene- trating shrewdness—no doubt about that. But back of it was something that might be kindly humor and might be sardonic malice —no man was ever quite sure which. And at times those eyes could look as guileless as a baby’s. Seth Mosier would have been a poker player par excellence had he not been too conservative for indulgence in games of chance. “ Shorely pleased to meet you,” he ad- mitted, as his caller eased his girth into the proffered chair. “Mutual, I assure you,’ mumbled Thomas. ‘ We’re more or less acquainted already, I take it. You know all about me. I’ve looked you up pretty thoroughly. My letter made my position pretty clear. Won’t deny I was uneasy when the boy wired me he was engaged. But since I met your little girl I will say he has shown some sense at last.” “Mmm,” intoned Seth Mosier, non-com- mittally. “Now this King place I telephoned about. The boy says your girl admires it a lot and he wants to buy it. Seems to think he’d like to settle in this country. I think it might be just the thing to make a he-man of him. Did you arrange to have young King here?” Instead of replying at once, Seth Mosier eyed his caller speculatively for a moment. “So,” he commented at last. “ You sort of aim to have your boy ride in the saddle “ Bronco King?” Thomas asked. “Is that what you call him?” Again the banker did not reply immedi- ately. There was a faraway look in his enigmatic gray eyes. Presently he roused himself, ‘Call who?” he asked. “ Young King? No. I’m sorry to say, no. Oh, the boy’s a nice boy, popular, clean. But he isn’t Bronco King—-sort of a dreamer, easy-goin’ sort. I’m afraid he’ll never ride in the saddle of Bronco King. “No. Bronco King was old Daniel B. King, Sr., father of young Daniel B., the boy we’re expecting. There was a he-man for you! He was a real king! ‘They gave him the title of Bronco King because he was the biggest raiser of broncos in this part of the West. He was born an’ brought up just over the border in Montana and came here as bronc-buster - on old man Hansett’s ranch when he was turnin’ twenty-one. I struck the West at the same time, sent here for my health from Connecticut where I was brought up, and got a job as mess-steward and bookkeeper for old Hansett. Bronco and I got to be pals, more because we were so different than anything else. “Bronco was an easy spender at first and I was a tightwad. I got him to begin saving, took care of his wages for him. I reckon that’s what started me to bein’ a banker, “ By the time I went over to Wind . City to work in a real bank, he had money enough saved to buy a few bronc and set up ranchin’ by himself. He grew fast. Ten years later he owned all the land in sight around here and had started King City. Then I took my savings and came here. With his help, I started this bank. “ Bronco King died when his boy, Dan- iel B., Jr., was a baby. Well, you know how it is. His widow did the best she could. But times ain’t what they used to be around here in the horse and cattle rais- in’ business. She had to let go of the ranch a little at a time. All there is left now is the old ranch house, and the land between the city limits and there. “ But folks around here ain't forgot | comicbooks.com