Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 18, 1928 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

304 “Them hard-headed ol’ fire-eaters won’t make up nothin’,” said Maw Dzibble. “They'll jest keep on fightin’ till somethin’ happens.” “It ’d be a shame,” said the old post- master, “if anything happened to Tom Tolliver. That son o’ his ain’t goin’ to amount to shucks. He spends his time a-drinkin’ an’ a-devilin’. No wonder he got kicked outa college. I reckon thet was fair what killed his mother. He don’t do no work at all.” “ Blaine’s a gentleman,” said Maw Dib- ble. ‘“ You don’t expect a han’some feller like him to be a plain puncher, do you?” “Gentleman?” echoed Dibble scornful- ly. “ Mebbe he is, but he ain’t no man! Not accordin’ to my reckonin’. Jest a kind 0’ pretty boy, an’ I s’pose thet’s why you like him. His sister, though, is a reg’lar gal. Her little finger’s wuth more’n all 0’ thet Blaine.” - ‘“‘ She’s a kinda pretty gal, an’ I reckon thet’s why you like her!” retorted Maw Dibble belligerently. “‘ She acts too high an’ mighty, in my opinion, since she come back here from that finishin’ school. Fin- ishin’ school! Huh! Well, I never knew it to fail to finish a gal bein’ a good honest rancher’s wife.” She looked a little sourly at her spouse, as if old Dave were to blame for such a condition. Dave did not pursue the mat- ter directly any further. Instead, he asked: “ We never kin agree on nothin’, kin we, maw?” “Vou’re too sot in your ways, Davy Dibble,” said his wife sharply. “ Thet’s the trouble. You’re never right about any- thing, an’ you won’t never admit it, an’—” The incipient tirade was interrupted by the opening of the door, and Billy Per- kins, the young cow-puncher, came back into the store. “T told you once_there wasn’t no mail for you, Billy,” said Dibble mildly. “ Mail don’t come into Poco every five minutes.” “ Cain’t a man come in to buy a sack o’ smoke-dust without bein’ pestered about mail?” asked Perkins in an aggrieved tone. “Why, I never give a single thought to mail,” he added ingenuously. “ Who’d I git a letter from, anyhow?” ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “ Thet gal in Noo York thet wrote you,” chuckled Davy. ‘‘ The one thet you wrote ten times to.” “Ten times nothin’!” exclaimed Billy. “It was only eight times.” ‘“She prob’ly couldn’t read your spell- in’,” said Dave. ‘““ Gimme a sack o’ tobacco,” replied Billy morosely, “ an’ forgit about that gal.” The tobacco was forthcoming, and Billy opened the bag and deftly rolled a wheat- straw cigarette and lit it. “You ridin’ back to the ranch to-night, Willie?” Maw Dibble asked him. ‘“Yessum,” growled Perkins, trying to hide a scowl in a cloud of smoke. Maw Dibble always called him Willie; and he detested that appellation. “We might trust him with thet letter to Mr. Steele,” suggested maw to her hus- band. “ Trust me!” repeated Perkins. ‘‘ Course you kin trust me to carry a letter. You don’t think it’s too heavy for me, do you? You don’t think I’d git fagged out afore I got to the ranch?” ‘** Now, Willie,” said maw in a motherly tone of voice, “you know you’re only twenty, an’ you’re sorta onreliable.” She looked at him keenly. ‘ Y’ain’t been drink- in’ to-night, have you, Willie?” “Naw,” replied Perkins nonchalantly. “Only ten or twelve whiskies, that’s all.” “Tf you had even one, Willie, I’d smelled it on your breath,” said maw pleasantly. ‘* An’ she would, too,” offered Davy posi- tively. ‘‘ She’s shore gotta accurate nose for licker.” “Don’t ever drink, Willie,” admonished maw. “ You don’t wanta fill a drunkard’s grave, do you?” ‘““T don’t wanta fill no grave at all,” Per- kins asserted positively. ‘“‘ Leastwise not for a long time yet. If that letter’s ready,” he added, “ I’ll go down to the Corral an’ pick up Blackie Sanderson an’ Dick Ste- vens an’ go lopin’ on to the ranch.” ‘“Thet Corral Saloon ain’t no fit place, Willie, for a nice young boy like you to go. You jest poke your head through the door, Willie, an’ call Blackie an’ Dick out.” “Sure,” replied Perkins, with a grin GEomichooks (E(9)