Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 28, 1928 — page 62: what you’re looking at

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

492 meat and spuds and so on in front of us and retreats. We spears our own, gen’ral, instead of asking for it to be passed. I was breathing all kinds of relief when the meal is over and we adjourns outside. It didn’t seem to me I could count twenty words let out by any one during the food fest. There is a brooding amount of sus- picion in the air, supplied by Foreman Leary. It is remark’ble how one man can p’isin the springs of friendly inter- course. As I leaves the dining room Mary looks meaningly at me and nods her head slowly. IT takes this to indicate that she had spoken to Carrie, and that old party is ready to swear blue is black for the girl’s sake, and that it is agreed neither has clapped eyes on Mr. Leary during the day. There was no time lost getting to our hosses. Leary was mounted on a fine sorrel mare, and looked better on hossback, which is true of lots of riders. Not a word was exchanged as we started away from the ranch across the plains. But I haven’t figured this out as what you might call a sociable trip. I noticed Shorty was a trifle stiff holding the reins of his hoss. “When you gets to town,” I tells him, “ring in a doctor and have him put some linament on that wound of yours and bind it.” “You get shot?” asked Leary. “Just creased,” returns Shorty. “ It ain’t bleeding none.” Leary showed no further interest in Shorty’s wound. , The three of us were riding abreast, but suddenly I canters somewhat for- ward and nods my head to Leary to catch up with me. The fact was that I wanted both to act secret, and keep my pal out of any possible line of fire. Last time there was some killing for ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. me to do, in the case of Slim Quarters he had done my job for me. Once was enough ; I swore it wouldn’t happen again. “Mr. Leary,” I whispers, “I have a message for you. The Gorge City catile pen needs filling.” He gazes at me with sudden, fierce interest. The passwords I had just given him were the ones my dying brother, Bud, had heard and repeated, a secret code between members of the gang working northward. “You must be one of the boys,” he say, low. “ Harry Flint, I never heard of you, but you got the get-by message all right.” “There’s lots, mebbe, you haven’t heard about,” 1 went on, furtive like. “Vve been working down south. I helped pull off that blotting out of the Hawley ranch, and then breezed south- east to look up further work.” “Humph. ‘That Hawley cattle ar- rived when buyers were fair hungry for same.” “Glad of that,” I said, venturing blind. cleaning up a pretty piece of change.” “He is, but he’s scared of the big boss.” “The big boss,” I repeated, playing dumb and ignorant. “ Of course, you fool,” rasps Leary. “Boss Deveture.” I whistles, thrilled all over. ‘That is just what I wants to know, and all, I expect, that Leary can tell me. This gent has sure outlived his usefulness to me, and going on would certainly be in the way. He thought I was a member of the gang because I had the password, but Renwood and Deveture, knowing everybody mixed up in the band, wouldn’t be fooled for a moment. And my light would go out just as quick as that! Aside, now, from being an obstacle in my path, Mr. Leary has a document on him he had spoken of a spell back that might be of interest. All in all, I (e(0) 0)(0\0) AAI S “Old man Renwood must be ~ (C@