Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 28, 1928 — page 52: what you’re looking at

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

482 strips of colored cloth, and their manes bright with feathers. Turbans was wrapped around the heads of these wicked-looking braves, and they was all armed with rifles they waved above them, as they yipped in shrill voices to one another. Suddenly they started in single file, at about a thousand yards from us, to circle around the hollow in which we lay. They was yip-yipping a war cry that sounded bloodthirsty enough, and seemed to lift their ponies up with their legs. They was all riding bare- back, and so had no stirrups. As if playing a game of foller the leader, they started to whirl around and around as in a circle, always get- ting a little nearer. If they was trying to show us how well they could ride, they sure succeeded. I made the gal lay down by pushing her forcible with my left hand. “We two can take care of this,” I urges. “ Lissen, lady, what would we do with a dead female on our hands?” “hat’s right, Harry,” said Shorty, “tell her to think of us.” But she insists upon peering over the dead animal’s flank. Shorty didn’t have to be urged to wait until these bucks got within a sure killing distance. He had his Sharp, I had another, and also the dying man’s Winchester and ammuni- tion belt for same. The Apaches started shooting at mebbe eight hundred yards, but no savage has ever learned to pull down the front sight of his rifle. It was just noise up to now, yelling, drumming of hoofs, and these harmless bullets sail- ing over our heads. But as they circled nearer, Shorty and me let them have it. We downs two leaders with our Sharps, and then instead of reloading I switched to the Winchester; and Shorty, like a blamed fool, jumps up and leaps over a dead hoss, running forward with both re- volvers pumping lead at close quar- ters, ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. The charge broke and went by, on either side of the hollow. All together we had accounted for eight more In- juns; we could count their ponies run- ning around wild and reckless. Whether or not these here Injuns had any mistaken ideer that they were charging a lone woman or not, of course we never knows. Or if they knew, before trying to stampede over us, that the two forces had joined. Fighting these redskins is not like a game where all the details come out afterward. These same scalp-yearning savages, after leaving the warpath, will come into a town so peaceful you could make ’em eat out of your hand; and all you can get out of them are grunts and ** Me good Injun.” They all gathered together in a body for a confab, and it looks from where we squint that there is a powerful dif- ference of opinion. Mebbe the chief has been wiped out, for no one brave is in command. I called to Shorty, who was stand- ing outside the barricade of hosses, walking up and down defiant like. “Come back here, you fool!” I yells. * What are you trying to do—show off before the young lady?” He flushed under his leathery tan. Without a word Shorty awkwardly sprawled over a dead hoss, and, lying down at my side, started to réload his rifle. “Every time, after this, I sees a meek looking blanket Injun in a cow town, I’m going to bend a gun over his head,” he growled. ‘“ They’re treated too much like humans, that’s what. Who was the genius who orates: ‘The only good Injun is a dead In- jun ’?” [ chuckled, but the girl did not change expression. He should by tights have cheered her up a bit; for he talked as if there was no doubt we would get through this fray alive. This was an example of the old Western spirit; and the odd thing was, it works. Gomichbooks (C@