Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 28, 1928 — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

FIRED AND HIRED. getting more like one every minute. It might be worth taking a shot at any- how. “Think! Think!’ Sadie implored, peeping out from behind her handker- chief between sobs. “ You must think of some place quick or I—I—I’m 1-l-lost!’”’ Well, putting it up to a man that way, what else could I do but think? There were plenty of ranches, scattered far and between, where I could take her; but her presence would be known all over the territory next day. News travels fast in the West. Then, of a sudden, I though of Ma Beam! IV. Ma was one of them regular old- time Western he-women, with a mind of her own and a perfect willingness to express it. She lived alone on the old Bent-Arrow ranch, eighteen miles south of Sudden City and not far from the Mexican border. Ever since her husband, old Dad Beam, died a couple of years back, and she had been com- pelled to sell off the stock and slap a mortgage on the place to pay off his debts; she had been hanging on there, hoping something would break to put her on her feet again. Being she was hard up and alone, I figured Ma wouldn’t be averse to tak- ing on a paying boarder, and as. there wasn’t any help there, and the old lady tight-mouthed as they make them, and the ranch isolated, it wasn’t likely any one would learn about Sadie being there for quite a spell. Besides that, once Ma got the how of -the situation, and provided she was in sympathy with it, this guardian and his nephew would have one merry hell of a time getting Sadie away from Ma. She come from a breed of old-timers that used to scalp at least one Injun every morning before breakfast. Next thing was how I was going to get Sadie out there. This was a poser. I’d lost Jessie 461 hawse in that stud game, and she wasn’t available. I slid down to the west end of the depot and took a slant over at the Square Deal. The place was dark and the hitching rail empty. No chance there. Then I thought of Asa Benton’s hawses out in his pas- ture. : “Can you set a saddle?” I asked, coming ‘back to the girl. “Goodness, no!” she answered. “TI was never on a hawse in my life!” Well, that put a crimp in that idea, and I did some more thinking. Then I remembered the old buckboard back of Doc Lucas’s blacksmith shop and had a happy inspiration. “You set down on this box and wait until I come back,” I instructed the girl. “I’m going after a rig.” “ All right,” she answers. “ But, hurry. We haven’t any time to waste.” I hustled over to Asa’s barn. The door was padlocked, but I pried out a staple with an old tire iron I found and was inside in a jiffy. There was some harness on the pegs, and Asa’s old saddle was hanging by one stirrup with the riata still tied to it. I took this and a couple of halters, hustled out to the pasture and roped me a couple of hawses, led them to the barn and threw the harness on them. Five minutes later I had them hooked up to the buckboard and tied back of the blacksmith shop, and was on my way to get the girl. I’d just stepped into the street when here come an automobile from the east. The headlights hit me square before I could duck out of sight, and I kept right on going, hoping they would pass me by. , No such luck. ‘“‘ Honk, honk,” says the horn, and they pulled up alongside. [ got a jolt right off the bat. Old Lafe Elwood was at the wheel and he was sheriff of Caxton Junction. ‘There’s a couple of bozos with hard-boiled hats in the back seat. I couldn’t see them plain, but had a hunch who they was right off. COMMICLOOOKS (F@)