Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 119: what you’re looking at

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

= DRY Saunders nodded. ‘“ I guess he can’t take too many precautions in a country like this. I don’t blame him. The way you’re tied up here makes it out of the question to go down to the springs. Too bad.” “A damn shame!” I shouted, seeing that Saunders was starting for the door. ‘ Just my luck.” Saunders nodded again, passed through the doorway, and walked up the street. Then I began to breathe a little easier. I figured the sheriff was bound to show up before long, and since I got to thinking it over, I wasn’t much worried about the Red Handkerchief pulling off any of his train holdup stuff that day. The Bright Lode’s pay roll wouldn’t be coming up until to-morrow, and he’d at least wait for that. And the sheriff would be back to look after things by that time. But when the sheriff hadn’t showed up at the house when I got out of bed the next morning, I was worried sick. Without stopping to eat any breakfast, I hunted all over town, trying to round him up. But not a soul had seen him since the night he’d got drinking with that stranger. Nor could I find any one who knew where they went. And the Bright Lode pay roll coming by Whitesand Springs that noon! But I didn’t care to make any cracks around town about getting up a posse and stopping a holdup. I had better sense than that. As the sheriff’s deputy, I’d be obliged to lead the bunch and make myself the first target for the Red Handkerchief’s gun. Nothing doing at all. So I went to the office, praying that the Red Handkerchief wasn’t set to do business that day—that he’d postpone his little transaction until the next time the Bright Lode pay came up the road, after the sheriff got back. And around one o’clock my prayer seemed to be answered, for the station got a wire from the operator at Drywood, about twenty miles this side of Whitesand Springs, that the train had passed right on time. I wouldn’t have any cause to worry for another week—not until the Bright Lode pay roll came up the road again. That made me feel so good that I locked up, beat it for the Wet House bar, took AIR. 589 three or four good drinks, and remarked to the boys how peaceful the Red Handker- chief was since [’d got on the deputy job. They all agreed they’d never seen anything like it—that they never knew him to go so long without making trouble of some kind. “Pll tell you the secret, boys,” I says, lapping up another drink. ‘ You’ve got to make fellows like the Red Handkerchief know that you’re not afraid of ’em, then they'll put on the soft pedal every time. You see, he’s always had the idea that the sheriff was a little bit scared of him, but since I’m here to help out on the law, it’s different.” ‘Do you suppose he’s heard about all the bad actors you’ve croaked?” one of the boys asked. “ That might account for him drawin’ in his horns.” ‘Most likely,” I breezed, giving a care- less wave of my hand. ‘“ You see, the time I killed them four train robbers all at once, back in South Dakota, my name got around the country pretty well. heard about it? Well, that’s funny. tell you how it was. “T was on my way from New York to Frisco when—”’ The door opens with a bang and a cow- puncher, sweaty and dusty, rushes into the room. ‘My God, boys!” he cries. ‘‘ The train’s Tl been held up at Purple Rocks and every one of the crew killed. The Red Handkerchief and his gang again! They’ve cut the wires, so I rode in like hell! Where’s the sheriff?” The crowd stared at each other just like they couldn’t believe their ears. For a full minute, all our tongues seemed paralyzed. Even «s dumb-struck as I was, I saw through the whole thing in a second. The Red Handkerchief had only been bluffing Saunders and the railroad crowd about his holding up the train at Whitesand Springs, so’s they wouldn’t be watching at any other point. And he’d been cute enough to figure that Saunders would try to get the sheriff to hang around the Springs with all the able- bodied men he could pick, far enough away from Purple Rocks so’s they couldn’t bother him. And if the sheriff hadn’t got drunk, he and his posse would be lying around the Gomichbooks You’ve never (F@)