Argosy All-Story Weekly, November 12, 1927 — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

SOMEWHERE preparations. To tell the truth, he was tuckered out physically, and far from chip- per in spirits. The prospect of returning to the ranch offered no especial zest to him. He had to report, of course, and relieve any fears aroused by his absence; there was noth- ing else to do. But his mood was much like that of a boy going back to school, after a brief, exciting vacation. Even the appetizing odors of frying bacon and boiling coffee failed to lift the discon- tented cloud from his brow. He ate glumly when the time came; glumly helped clear up afterward; and at the word from Slim, glumly mounted and rode on. Anxious evidently to finish the job and get back to his regular duties, the cowboy struck into a brisker pace; and it did not take them long to cover the distance to the low hillocks which had been indicated as their point of separation. Finally, rounding the shoulder of a sandy elevation, they came in sight of the trail; and involuntarily both of them drew rein to stare in surprise. As far as the eye could reach in both di- rections, the road was choked with hurrying travelers—a speeding procession of flivvers, buckboards, wagons, vehicles of every de- scription, with men trooping among them horseback and afoot. “ For the love of Pete!” gasped Mickey. “ What’s Broadway and_ Forty-Second Street doing out here?” Slim, however, had already galloped on to discover the reason for the phenomenon; and he hastily followed suit. Together they drew up beside a motorist, who had pulled out to the edge of the road to patch up a blowout. ‘““ What’s all the shootin’ about, brother?” Slim hailed him, waving an arm out toward the crowded highway. “ Balloon going up somewheres, or is it the end of the world a-coming?” The man did not interrupt his labors even to look up. “Gosh A’mighty! You two must ’a’ been doing a Rip Van Winkle back in the mountains,” he grunted impatiently. “ Thought everybody in the State knowed about the gold strike.” 495 “Gold strike?” echoed Slim and Mickey in a single breath. ““ Sure. A couple of prospectors, reg’lar old desert rats, run onto it out at Quoonah; and they say it’s the greatest in years. Beats even the Comstock, and the Bonanza, and them old-timers. ‘““Durn this fool tire!” he broke off with an exasperated snarl. ‘ Patch won’t stick, and it’s been holdin’ me up now for more ’n half an hour.” A speculative glint had come Mickey’s eye. ““Quoonah?” he repeated. where is that, please?” “ Over beyond Goldfield.” The man gave a jerk of his head. ‘Out toward Death Valley. ’Bout seventy-five miles from here, I figger.”’ All signs of weariness and fatigue had left Mickey. No longer conscious of his disabilities, he sat up straight in the saddle. “Your road to Circle A runs east,” Slim reminded him conscientiously. IN NEVADA. into “ Just about ‘“T know,” grinned Mickey. “ And yours’ runs back to the branding camp.”’ They exchanged questioning glances. Each saw in the other’s sharpened expres- sion a youthful thirst for adventure, a quickening to the world-old lure of the yellow metal. Mickey’s black eyes were snapping. He flung his shoulders back with a devil-may- care gesture. “Listen!” he urged. “I’ve got about five hundred dollars left. What say—shall we make it a partnership proposition?” Without another word he and Slim both turned their horses to the trail and, join- ing the motley procession, journeyed on— on to Quoonah, on to the Broadway Night Club, and on to the girl with the golden voice. ae CHAPTER IV. IT’S ALL IN THE CARDS. ONG after song was demanded of the singer. It seemed as if the crowd would never grow tired of listening to her. But at last, on a promise that she would appear again later in the evening, CORMICGLOOOKS (C@