Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 18, 1928 — page 91: what you’re looking at

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

DAMAGED REPS. T nodded, sat down, tore a sheet out of my damp notebook, and commenced to write. It was awfully hard to figure just what words to say at a time like that. I guess my hand must have moved terribly slow. Anyhow, Red got right uneasy and started to bawl me out. So I finished as best I could, and asked them to leave the note there, right on the table of the cabin. I knew it would be only a matter of time when somebody would blow in and find my body and the note. They promised they would. Then I draws myself up from the chair, stands with my arms folded behind my back, and tries to look into the muzzle of Sam’s gun, brave like. But it was the hardest job I’d ever tackled in my life. “T feel real sorry to have to do this, sheriff!’’ Sam kind of apologizes, his finger taking up the play in the trigger of the gun, held dead to my heart. ‘“‘ But you see— business is business—we can’t take any chances, you understand!” ‘“‘ Give it a squeeze and he won’t under- stand anything!” Red shouts. “ I’m getting sick and tired of all this tomfoolery!”’ Sam glanced at Red and nodded his head. Then his eyes turned back to me. I met his glare the best I could. But I didn’t meet it for long. Just over his left shoulder, through the open door, I caught something moving outside. The next second, a heavy-set fellow, dressed like a scarecrow, was filling the doorway, a big forty-five in each hand. I guess Sam must have got wise from the look on my face, for he wheeled around like a flash. Then his gun started up with a jerk. But it didn’t get up more than halfway before that fellow in the doorway lets go. And when the cabin cleared of smoke, Sam was lying in a heap on the floor, stone dead, shot clean through the head. While Red was backed against the wall, his hands high in the air, with one of the stranger’s big six-shooters pressing against his stomach. Then about a dozen of the boys from town came rushing in. It was Lanky Bill that first grabbed my THE 889 hand. And Lanky Bill was the next best trailer to Oklahoma Pete that we had in these parts. : “How did it all happen?” I gasps, tickled silly to get out of my mess. Lanky Bill pointed to the fellow in the tattered, old clothes, holding Red to the wall with his gun. “Ask him! He’s got the whole dope. Somehow, I haven’t been able to figure it all out.” The stranger must have heard us, for he turned to one of the boys and asked him to keep Red covered for awhile. Then he walks over to where we stood. “ Glad finally to meet you, sheriff!” he opens up, eying my star and sticking out his hand. “I’m Detective Keeler from Sioux Falls.” ‘““Why—why, these devils said they bumped you off!” I gasps, wringing his hand. ‘“ How did you fool ’em?” ‘“T don’t know exactly myself. When I hit the cold water, I must have come to long enough to wriggle out of their knots. The first thing I remember clearly, I was stretched out on a large rock an the bank, over a mile below the bridge, with two pros- pectors bending over me. They took me to their cabin and fitted me up with some old clothes. ‘“[ wasn’t badly hurt, and I managed to work my way into Highridge early this morning on a freight train. When I heard the story—how Red Garlow had escaped from jail after his partner had got away from the detective on the train—it didn’t take me long to see through their scheme. And when I asked where that detective was now, one of the boys remarked that he’d seen him heading up the Red Swamp trail, late last night, after the rest of the posse started. ‘“And when [ told them who I was and asked for help to track Robbins down, the boys dug up Lanky Bill. And Lanky Bill is some trailer, all right—he led us to this cabin in a jiffy.” “ Mighty glad he was so speedy!” f chokes, moving over to Lanky Bill and throwing my arms around him like he was one of my own. END (ECO AMINE DOOKS (ECO)