Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 5, 1928 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

A HARD-BOILED TENDERFOOT. voce. “ Ain't anybody takin’ movin’ pitchers in this district, is there?” “Not as I know of,” said Joe Mad- delena, the hardest riding, darkest visaged waddy the Bar-Bee had. Whether he heard or not, the new- comer gave no sign. He walked to the back of the car, which supported a truck body, and lifted out a trunk. Thereafter he removed a collection of other baggage, at sight of which the eyes of the Bar-Bee riders widened more and more; a bag of golf clubs, two tennis racquets in canvas covers, two rifles in cases, a mandolin, ditto, a suitcase, and lastly a saddle of the English racing type, at sight of which Swede Anderson, blue eyed and sandy haired, drawled an interrogation: “ Askin’ yore pardon, stranger, air you collectin’ postage stamps?” ‘“ Why—not that I know of.” The new arrival straightened from piling his dunnage. And Paragonah emitted a snicker. “Don’t show your ignorance, Swede,” he admonished. ‘“ The gentleman’s a Hivver buster. He rides *em with Spurs.” “Shut up!” Bear Paw advanced a step to face the man beside the bat- tered truck. “‘ An’ now you've got all thet stuff unloaded, just what do you aim to do with it, ef you'll excuse my askin’ ?” he inquired. “Why ”—once more the newcomer flashed strong teeth—‘‘ you see, [’m expecting to get a job. And—when one reaches one’s intended destination, the natural thing is for one to unload, is it not?” “That depends,” Bear Paw said in the way of one who considers a weighty point. ‘‘ You was expectin’ to git a job—here ?”’ “ Why—yes.” Again the stranger. smiled. ‘‘ See here—let me introduce myself. I’m Richard Nutting—” “Squirrel food, by golly, I knew it!’ Paragonah chuckled. “Shut up, Charley,” Bear Paw di- rected for the second time; and turned 579 again to Mr. Nutting. “I’m Bear Paw Rawlins, foreman of this outfit,’ he said. ‘‘ But the p’int is, Mr. Nutting, thet it occurs to me thet in unloadin’ this mess of truck you may hev been a leetle premachure—at least on the basis of gittin’ a job.” “Oh, yes, yes.” Nutting removed his hat, ran a hand through a heavy thatch of brown hair, and once more smiled. ‘If I don’t land the job, you mean. But—” His eyes strayed to the ranch house, a large two-story brick structure set some distance to the south among box elder and cottonwood trees. “I assume your manager is in the house ?” For a moment Bear Paw did not answer. Rather, he hooked his thumbs in his belt and regarded the speaker with something like a sneer, Sometimes at the very first meeting men strike out from one another an antagonistic spark. And now it seemed to the Bar-Bee riders that here was a case—that between this newcomer and Bear Paw already was dislike, on the foreman’s part at least. “You zssume a lot, it looks like,’ he said gruffly at last. “ But speakin’ of managers, mostly I manage myself.” “Eh?” Again Mr. Nutting smiled. “Oh, yes, yes—I see. But, in a man- ner of speaking—” ‘“ Speakin’ or actin’,” Bear Paw cut him short. ‘“‘ Now, I don’t know who you air, or what. You say yore name is Nutting—an’ you shore look the fust part of it; you shore look like a nut. An’ this here ain’t no dude. ranch. So ef you don’t mind bein’ a leetle more explicit, jus’ what sort of a job was you aimin’ ter git?” ‘“ Why—why—” For the first time Mr. Nutting seemed really abashed. He turned his hat in his hands before he essayed an answer: “Why—lI thought I might be a—a —I thought I might herd cattle.” “My Gawd!” Joe Maddelena groaned. “I betcha thet’s why he wore them clothes.” CEOPMIE MOO KS (E@)