Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 7, 1928 — page 128: what you’re looking at

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

118 “The fourth time, then,’ corrected Norman Trent pointedly. “‘ There was a mine shipment on the stage when | saw him hold it up, though he failed to get it.” Kemp scowled, but looked at the prisoner thouyshtfully. “You may be right,” he allowed grudgingly. “i reckon it “Il come out at your trial. Three times is bad enough, anyhow. It’s a wonder Henry Spindell don’t hire a whole army of Pinkertons and fetch ’em out here.” Split Cafion’s main street was lighted by the various lamps and lanterns that hung in front of the stores and resorts, but the illumination did not satisfy Red Jukes’s mob. They piled wood and rubbish in the middle of the street and made a rousing bonfire to keep up the spirits of the potential rioters. Bill Evans, evidently coming down from his little shop at the mill, and taking the sandy street to avoid pass- ing through the boisterous hoodlums on the plank walk, proceeded to march straight into the heart of the roaring flames. He was hurrying nervously, with his stick extended in front of him, and seemed oblivious even to the heat, smoke, and crackling of the fire. The crowd laughed and jeered, ap- parently willing to let him take a scorching, but Fishbone Marlin had heart enough to dart forward and swing the blind man out of danger in the nick of time. Ronald saw the incident, grew ex- cited, and described it to his com- panions. Althea turned pale and clenched her hands as though in agony. “Your old daddy is suffering a whole lot of hatred and contempt in town, all through your doings, young woman,” remarked Kemp. “An old man so blind he can’t see bright flames ought to be taken care of.” Althea set her lips in a hard, straight line, and neither spoke nor looked at the sheriff. “You going to spend the night here, ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. sheriff?”’ inquired Rance Buxton with a suspicion of irony. “Don’t know’s I am. marshal?” — “T might, an’ I might not. But when I get ready to go I ain’t afraid to go through that crowd out there.” “Hope you don’t insinuate I am!” growled the sheriff. “ But if I go out there, your cow-punchers are going to hear a piece 0’ my mind.” The noise in the street steadily in- creased. Farmers and cowboys from the smaller ranches were coming into town for the evening, and most of the newcomers were quickly infected with the disorderly spirit of the mob. “Say! Here’s old man Spindell right now!” cried Eben Hoskins, who was taking observations from the win- dow. The sheriff and the marshal mut- tered imprecations and cautiously ad- vanced to the window. The powerful mine owner, president of the Coronado Mining and Smelting Company of New York, rode down the street on a handsome Kentucky sad- dle horse and halted near the bonfire. He held up his hand in a command- ing gesture, but found it difficult to make his voice heard above the noise. “TI want this crowd to disperse!” he shouted, displaying no mean courage. “Tf we've no means of law enforce- ment here, [’ll wire to Washington and have troops sent at once.” Sporadic and half-hearted outbursts of catcalls and jeers came from the far- ther margins of the gatherings, but there might have been spirited replies from Jukes and his henchmen if they had had time to collect their wits. The episode was fated to begin and end with Spindell’s speech, for a pro- digious diversion came with stunning force from the north end of the town. There was a great roar like a thun- derclap, a burst of fire that curtained the northern sky to the zenith, and the earth under Split Cafion shook and quivered as in an earthquake. Are you, Gomichbooks (E@)