Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 14, 1928 — page 69: what you’re looking at

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

GUNPLAY A man’s head appeared above a jagged rock some distance away. * All clear,” the man said. The head disappeared and the clattering soon be- gan again. Dad whistled softly through his teeth. Claim jumpers! He fingered his rifle uncertainly. No, he was in no position to start anything yet. Even if some one was working Sam Dodd’s claim there was nothing he could do about it, according to law. In the first place, the law did not recognize Sam Dodd’s ownership of that claim, inasmuch as the chances were a hundred to one that he had not registered on it. It was, therefore, the property of the first man who filed on it. Still, every one in Alton County knew that this was Sam Dodd’s pros- pect, and none but a crook would do what these men were doing. Dad circled about by Sam’s cabin and dropped his rifle behind a cedar clump just outside the door—just as well as if he didn’t look like a walking arsenal—then he started noisily to- ward the spot where the men were working. They heard him before he came in sight, as he had intended they should. They were waiting for him as he clam- bered down over the rocks. There were two of them. City men, Dad promptly decided, despite their rough clothes and dirt-smeared faces, they bore, unmistakably, the stamp of strangers to this wilderness land. Both were plump and prosperous looking; the one, slightly older than his companion with hair graying at the temples, fumbled with a strip of loose adhesive tape, which stretched across the lower part of his face. This must be the man whom old Sam had shot— the two strangers—from Denver— “Howdy, boys?” Dad greeted. ““Whar’s ol’ Sam?” The men exchanged quick glances. But there certainly was nothing arbi- ON MOONLOW. 207 trary or suspicious looking in their vis- itor’s appearance—just another simple- minded old desert rat. “I’m called Williams,’ Dad con- tinued quickly. “Everybody aroun’ here knows Dad Williams.” He grinned, disarmingly, but his quick eyes watched the two men close- ly as he stretched out a lean hand in greeting. Apparently his name meant nothing to them. The man with the bandaged face took the proffered hand. “ My name’s—Jones,” he said, “ and this is Steve—er—ah—Merton, my partner.” “Pleased t’ meetcha,” Dad mum- bled. He noted that the hands he gripped were soft and covered with newly formed blisters. “ An’ whar did you say ol’ Sam was?” “Didn’t say,” Jones answered. “ He ought to be in jail, though, by this time. Hope he is, too—the old devil.” He rubbed his sore jaw gently. “Jail? Ol Sam—in jail?” Dad was properly incredulous. “That's right. But it’s quite a story. You’re probably a friend of his? Well, we're strangers and we’re anxious that this trouble we’ve had with old Sam be well understood. Don’t want to get off on the wrong foot, understand? We're quitting for the day now; how about joining us ina bite to eat? Tell you all about old Sam after supper.” “ Shore. Whut you diggin’ fer?” “ Why—er—ah—I’m somewhat of a geologist—on the side. ‘Thought I discovered a trace of tungsten; lots of scheelite around here.” ~ Yeah?” Dad tramped along behind the two men to Sam Dodd’s cabin. Here he automatically took over the burden of preparing supper, while the two men washed with much soap and water, and finally shaved and changed’ their clothes. As he worked, Dad’s thoughts were busy ones. Where had he seen these two men before? Both were familiar SS ses comicboo (F@)