Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 28, 1928 — page 27: what you’re looking at

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

FIRED AND HIRED. Over at one end of the collection was an ancient buckboard, weather- beaten and rusty, its wheels warped and wabbly, but still standing gamely, a monument over its own grave. Doc had just finished the shoe job when Asa Benton came r’aring in, all dolled up like a wedding breakfast and dripping perspiration and vituperation. “Say, Doc,” he hollered, “I wish you'd come over and see what ails my car! The darn starter won’t work, and I’ve been cranking her till I’m black in the face. Me and the fnissus is all set for our trip to the Coast, but we can’t get started.” So we all went over to fix Asa’s car. It was just across the way, and I strung along, having plenty of time on my hands and nothing particular to use it for. Asa was a retired cowman who had sold off his ranch holdings and moved into town. He was getting old and did not ride much after he quit the cow game, but used to traipse around the country in a top buggy, buying calves, just to keep his hand in. After he bought his automobile he sold off the buggy to make room for his car in the barn, but he still kept a bunch of horses in a forty-acre pas- ture back of the barn just for old times’ sake, Doc found a loose connection on the starter and tightened it, and the engine started kicking the first punch. Five minutes later me and Doc was waving adios to the old cowman and his wife and they were on their way to the Coast. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was picking up information that was going to come in right handy later on. I put Jessie hawse in the livery sta- ble, with orders to feed her, ate my own dinner, and then went over to Abe Goldstein’s to buy me a new hat. I picked me out a swell big gray Stetson that set me back a twenty-dollar gold piece. | Right next to Abe’s place was a 457 vacant lot with an old cellar hole, where the “ Hurrah ”’ Saloon stood be- fore it burned down. I sent my old hat spinning out over that and put two holes through her with my six-gun by way of farewell, and then went over to the Square Deal Saloon to wet down the new Stet. There was half a dozen fellows sta- tioned at regular intervals along the bar to keep it from falling outward. They was all strangers to me, but you could see at a glance that this was their steady job. There wasn’t a regular cowboy in the place, it being a busy time on the range, but I never was overparticular about company; and, besides, I had a lot of money to spend and sure do hate to play Dick Smith. So [ got sociable with the gang and we had several snifters. They wasn’t such a bad bunch at that, letting me do all the honors without no interfer- ence whatever. That is, all but one big bozo with a crooked right eye and a way of leering at you that gave you the feeling that he was giving you a horse laugh up his sleeve. I didn’t like that hombre nohow, even though he was the only one in the bunch to buy back. After we’d had six or seven drinks and was getting along toward “‘ Sweet Adeline’ and eternal friendship, this big guy suggests that we’ set into a little game of seven-card stud with deuces wild, just to kill a little time, which was all right with me. IT. It was a little after noon when I entered the Square Deal Saloon, and a little after midnight when I came out. First off, I climbed down into the cellar hole and retrieved my old hat, and then strolled over to the depot, thinking up plans for my immediate future. The station agent was just locking up for the night when I arrived. COMMICLOOKS (E@)