Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 7, 1928 — page 85: what you’re looking at

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

THE WHISTLING WADDY WARBLES ON, “He got me, damn him,” he mut- tered with an effort. “‘ The Ace wins this time. The—Ace—wins—” With a groan the man plunged for- ward on his face and lay there motion- less. For an instant Solitaire stood gazing at him, then, with a swift glance about him, the Whistling Waddy moved toward the still form. As he did so he placed his guns back into the two well-worn holsters that he wore tied low on either hip. When he reached the other Stevens leaned over and examined him. It took but a minute for him to be con- vinced that the man was dead. The Whistling Waddy stood up, a frown that bore ill for some one upon the strong face beneath the brim of the worn black Stetson. “The Ace wins,” he repeated. “ Huh, reckon I’m gonna play a hand or two in this little game! Yuh can beat an ace if yuh got the right cards!” He began to whistle softly as he once again knelt to examine the man on the ground, hoping to find some sort of identification, and there was a deadly note of warning in that plain- tive tune. Il. Over the little cow town of Vereston the bright stars gleamed placidly in the tranquil sky of the summer night. Lights shining through the windows of the rough wooden buildings cast yellow squares upon the one and only street of which the place boasted. Solitaire Stevens glanced about him quite casually as he rode along the dusty thoroughfare, the possessions of the dead man in his pocket. Though he seemed quite indifferent to his sur- roundings, the keen eyes of the Whis- tling Waddy were taking in all the de- tails of the vicinity, and he was very much alert. Solitaire had a mission, and that was to learn all he could about a person called the Ace. 15 He halted his horse at the hitching rail of the Trail’s End Saloon. As he dismounted he noticed that there were already five cow ponies hitched to the rail, and he fastened his mount at the extreme end of the string. “Yuh’re a stranger here, ain’t yuh?” said a small voice from the rough boardwalk that ran across the front of the saloon. Solitaire glanced swiftly in that di- rection, hands near his guns, then smiled as he caught sight of a small, freckled-face boy. He was dressed in a ragged shirt and a pair of worn over- alls, and he sat on the edge of the walk, his bare feet dangling in the dust. “Reckon yuh guessed it, son,” Stevens laughed, and then held out his hand as he moved closer to the boy. “My name’s Stevens—what’s your brand?” “Jimmy Lawton,” The boy leaped to his feet, obviously delighted at being considered an equal, and took the ex- tended hand. “ Glad to meet yuh, Mr. Stevens.” An anxious look passed over his face. “ Say, yuh want to be care- ful ’round here; th’ pack ain’t got much of a welcome for strangers!” “Thanks, Jimmy,” said Solitaire gravely. ““ Who do yuh mean by th’ pack?” “Why—” the boy glanced about nervously, as though afraid of being overheard, then added softly: “ Th’ pack is th’ Ace’s gang. They’re a bad bunch.” “The Ace, eh?” . The Whistling Waddy’s tone was casual, though he was deeply interested. “ Who’s th’ Acer” “{[—” Jimmy glanced up the street and caught sight of two riders ap- proaching swiftly. ‘“‘ Gee, here comes Craven and Jenkins—I gotta go. See you later, Mr. Stevens.” Before Solitaire could speak the boy dashed around the corner and dis- appeared. The puncher frowned and Le moved into the bar of the Trail’s nd. COPMICGL OOO KS (F@)