Argosy All-Story Weekly, November 12, 1927 — page 17: what you’re looking at

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

SOMEWHERE Mickey of course joined in; and never was seen such unholy luck as he exhibited. Naturals followed one another in a steady stream. ‘“ Big Dick” and ‘“ Little Joe,” the stumbling blocks of most shooters, proved no handicap to him. He’d make the point within a pass or two. With un- canny foresight, too, he seemed to know just when to press, and when to draw down his wagers. “ One by one the gypsies gave up and dropped out of the game. The cowboys lasted longer, but gradually they also were cleaned. In the end, only one of them, the ob- stinate fellow they called Slim, was left to contest Mickey’s winning streak. In a desperate effort to recoup, he laid his watch, his boots and his saddle on the board, only to see them successively added to Mickey’s pile. Finally he staked his last possession, the Miller horse he was riding. “Read ’em and weep!” cried Mickey, and rolled out the bones for a seven. “Well, I guess that means I gotta walk back to camp.” Slim shrugged disconso- lately. “ Barefoot, at that.” “Not a bit of it,” volunteered Mickey sraciously. “It’s a bum gambling house that can’t stake a loser to taxi fare home. The horse will carry double, won’t he? All right, then; we’ll wait till we get to your camp before you need turn him over. That will save you stone bruises anyhow.” But as he hustled about to get his coat and make ready for the ride, a dark figure slid out of one of the tents and clutched him by the arm. “ You’re not leaving us, gorgio?” whis- pered Natushka suspiciously. ‘“ You are surely coming back?” Mickey laughed reassuringly. “You don’t suppose I’d trust myself to a bunch of cutthroats with all this jack on me?” He jerked his head toward the party of cowboys as he spoke; but it was really the black-browed gypsies of the caravan to whom he referred. Natushka, however, accepted his words at face value, and, satisfied, turned to go back into the tent. IN NEVADA. 491 On an impulse, Mickey jerked out of nis pocket half the money he had won, and thrust it into her hands. “ Take care of this, kid, until I get back,” he muttered hastily. “ ‘‘ And if for any rea- son I shouldn’t show up, it’s yours to keep.” A minute later he was up behind Slim on the horse, and galloping away through the darkness. “ Well, I’m out of that, thank the Lord!” He drew a long breath of relief. “What’s the matter?” Slim grunted in surprise. “I thought you was one of ’em? You was right there in camp along with the rest.” “Yes,” assented Mickey; “and you’ve seen a prairie dog and a rattlesnake, both living in the same hole, haven’t you? But that doesn’t mean that a prairie dog is a rattlesnake. “No,” he explained; “ I’m a puncher, buddy, same’s yourself.” And as if to prove it, he broke into the lugubrious refrain: “T’m a poor, lonesome cowboy, I’m a poor, lonesome cowboy, I’m a poor, lonesome cowboy, And a long ways from home!” Then he went ahead to tell of his experi- ences, and of the reasons which had made him so eager to detach himself from the car- avan. ‘Well, if you’re looking for a job,” sug- gested Slim, “ we could use an extry hand right now. The boss ‘ll be around in the morning, and if you say so, I’ll speak to him about you.” But Mickey shook his head. “Nothing doing,” he declined. ‘In the first place, if I’ve got to play around with cows, I’m well enough suited with the out- fit where I belong; and, secondly, yeu’re much too near that gypsy camp. Come morning, and it’s a safe bet, this jane I’m telling you about ’ll be out hunting for me. And when she does, I aim to be quite a stretch away from here.” “'Ye-es,” granted Slim disappointedly; “TI can see how you feel, 0’ course. But I was kinda hoping you might stick around long enough for me to buy back my little, ole hawss. I sure do hate to part with COPNICLOOOKS (C@)