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

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

453 “Why, hello, Rawhide,” he greeted me, with surprise. “ Why this night prowling? Got insomnia?” “ Worse than that,” I told him glum- ly. ““ When does the next train leav east, Ed?” / “Three twenty this morning. Stops on signal only, and I won’t be here. I can give you a newspaper, which you can light and flag her down. Want to buy a ticket?” ‘Not unless the railroad is running a credit department,” I answered. “I set into a little game of stud to-day over at the Square Deal, and some of your prominent citizens took me down the line for everything I own except my shirt, pants, and boots. What I’m hankering for is a freight car with an open side door. I’m fixing to drift north and hit for a job with the J-B outfit.” “Why, Rawhide Billings, I’m sur- prised at you!” cried Ed, aghast at this information. ‘‘ Bucking that gang of crooks! Why, their system is abso- lutely unbeatable!” “Tt seemed to work all right with me,” 1 agreed. “ But why this desig- nating your fellow townsmen as crooks, Ed? And what’s this system you mention? Do I gather from them two chance remarks that the cards were stacked against me?” “You don’t have to stack ‘em in seven-card stud,” the agent informed me sarcastically. “Them cards they used read the same, top and bottom, when you're acquainted with ‘em. Them tinhorns read your hole cards as plain as if you'd laid ’em face up. You never had a chance. Did they hit you hard?” “Oh, nothing to speak of,” I told him cheerfully. ‘‘ Only a little matter of three months’ wages, a new hat, my Jessie hawse, saddle, bridle, spurs, and gun, ill will, and a cyclone.” “Cyclone?” queries Ed, looking puzzled. “ Yeah. They gets that later, if what you tell me is true.” ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “It is,’ he assured me. “If you want to go collecting I'll keep you com- pany.” “That’s right nice of you, Ed,” I thanked him. “‘ But I won’t start no ruckus to-night. Besides, I ain’t got no gun.” “T’fi lend you mine,” he offered. “No, thanking you kindly, Ed. I ain’t no squawker. We'll let them tin- horns ride for the present, and I'll get ‘em in my own way when the proper time comes. Now, how about that freight?” “Oh, .well, if you feel that way about it,” says Ed, very disgusted. “There’s a freight through here at two ten. You'll have to flag that too, but it ‘Il be all right. I'll write you a noite to the conductor, who is a friend of mine, telling him you are broke, and he'll see you through.” So Ed wrote the note, locked up and hit for the hay, while | settled down on an empty bread box against the east end of the depot to wait for the freight. Ii. It’ was a peachy night, with a half moon shining overhead and the white clouds flitting by. A brisk wind had sprung up out of the west, rustling the chaparral and slithering up my sleeves and pants legs and feeling right smart chilly. I sat there quite a spell, building cigarettes and thinking about them tin- horns and cussing my damfoolishness. Along about one thirty the train from the east pulled in. The conduc- tor piled off with a lady passenger, pointed out the way to the hotel for her, and then signaled the engineer with his lantern, and the train pulled out. He didn’t notice me setting there in the shadow. I built me another smoke and con- tinued my ruminations, which princi- pally concerned a low-down hombre named Rawhide Billings, who’d been canned out of his job, got lit up on COPMICGLOOOKS (C@