Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 28, 1928 — page 111: what you’re looking at

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

DAMMING HAIRPIN CANON, These facts can be readily verified by any one capable of taking measure- ments and making a simple mathemati- cal calculation. Since the discovery of these secret alterations in your irrigation system, three separate attempts have been made upon the lives of those who brought them to light and are protesting against them. Yet your sheriff has arrogantly re- fused to take any steps to apprehend the murderer or to prevent further at- tempts of the sort. WHY? WHY? WHY? I charge that your corrupt Court- house Ring, for graft and personal profit, have entered into a gigantic-con- spiracy with powerful outside interests to divert the benefit of the irrigation system, for which you are paying, to the Bridger County plateau. Your money will have been spent. The system will be a failure. Your land will have no value. Then this greedy Gang will gobble up your depreciated acres for a song, restore the dam and pumping plant at a comparatively slight expense to the capacity originally planned, and reap millions. You pay, and they cash in. That is the scheme. What are you going to do about it? (Signed) NORMAN RICH. It was a smudgy proof of that in- flammatory poster which had somehow been smuggled out and got into their hands that had led to that hasty exodus of Crawford and the courthouse crowd the night before. As they read its sizzling, straight- out accusations, they had seen in an- ticipation the rising of an enraged citi- zenry. With unpleasant visions before their eyes of tar and feathers, and ropes and all the paraphernalia of wild mob justice, Mr. Fenton hurriedly closed his undertaking shop, Mr. Creel forsook his garage, Mr. Thornley left his dairy farm, and with Crawford and the sheriff they all scurried across the cafion to the refuge of neutral soil. 541 The wicked flee where no man pur- sueth. Big Bill had been shrewder in his diagnosis. _As a matter of fact, the sunbaked, listless inhabitants of the lava hills did not fall into any paroxysms of indig- nation when they read the poster. They spelled it out curiously, and, scratching their heads, glanced at one another. “Well, what do you know about that?” said John Smith to Bill Jones, his neighbor. “S’pose there’s any- thing in it?” * Shouldn’t wonder,” drawled Bill in response. “I always said that gang at the courthouse wasn’t no better’n burglars. Who’s this Norman Rich, anyhow ?”’ “Oh, he’s that feller what’s been stoppin’ at Molly Todd’s. A man from Rio Rita told me he disappeared last night, and they ain’t been able to find no trace of him. Likely, the crowd got him.’ “That so? Fine doings for a law- abiding community, ain’t it? Somep’n ought to be done.”’ “Sure ought. Fust thing we know, Fenton an’ that bunch ’ll be walkin’ off with the courthouse.” “You said it. Still I never did be- lieve this irrigation business ’d amount to nothin, nohow.” “Me, neither. Just a chance for Molly Todd to snort around and make speeches. Wimmen’s place is in the home, [ say.” “ Right, you are. But there ain’t no holdin’ ‘em down nowadays. Which reminds me that [ll be gittin’ scalped if [I don’t show up pretty soon for supper.” “Same here,” said Bill Jones. “Well, slong.” They trudged off to their own affairs. 3 And the same scene was enacted by dozens of other John Smiths and Bill Joneses throughout the county. It is the way of the world. What is every- body’s business is nobody’s business. But the courthouse crowd and Craw- CORNICLOOOKS (F@