Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 5, 1928 — page 131: what you’re looking at

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

ROPE NECKTIES. The old judge listens while I tells the entire tale of my mission of revenge and is even amused at the plan I out- lined. “You indeed have a case, young man, but who are you expecting to serve warrants, if I make them out? The peace officers of Gorge City are corrupt, it is known.” “My ideer, sir, would be to borrow your sheriff and a deputy, and with their help and that of my bunkie, kid- nap those two murderers and land ‘em safe behind the bars of the county jail.” “ You are bold, boy, but I like your spirit, and if Sheriff Conway allows he will take the risk I'll issue the warrants with pleasure.” Judge Marlowe sent a house boy a-running for the local peace officer, who had a fine reputation, after clean- ing up Fort Prescott, once the wildest of cow-towns. Famed killers like Curley Knowles and Two-Gun Becker had been downed by him in fair fight. When Conway stalked in, a strong frontier figure, the judge outlined my scheme to him, and he could pick no flaws in it. “Gorge City,” he drawled, “could be a purty nice town with some of that bad element rubbed out. I'll ride back with you, son, and take along a trusted deputy, Kerry Cheney, with me.” The sheriff arranged to pick up the warrants later. Then we bows out of the judge’s home and wets our whistles with a little drink. After which we saunters down to Pedro’s, on the edge of town, and finds Hink Dawson dead drunk in the back room. “The best place for this sot, till the trial, is in jail,” opines Conway. He picks the man up, slings him over his shoulder, and I march with him to the county jail, which has a reg’lar keeper and everything. Conway leaves Dawson with the following instruc- tions: “To be held till called for by Sheriff Conway.” The old boy has a sense of humor 697 and takes the fame that stretches across three States with becoming modesty. About noon Conway obtains the war- rants from Judge Marlowe, rounds up his deputy, and we arrive outside of Gorge City before the appointed hour. We do not go into town but head our hosses for the cottonwoods where the lynchings took place. Shorty must have put over my lie about me having news but being afraid to enter the town. At any rate, a little after the hour, the three men ride toward us, Shorty in the rear. Renwood is half-drunk, but Deveture is cold sober, yet not sus- picious, apparently. Before any ques- tions can be asked about the two stran- gers, Conway pulls his shooting irons and levels ’em steady. “IT has a warrant for you two gents’ arrest for the murder of Thomas and Bud Hawley. Make one move and I'll drill you plumb center.” “T know you by reputation, Sheriff Conway. We'll come peaceful,” said Deveture. The deputy disarmed both-men, while keeping out of the line of fire of Con- way’s guns, and slips handcuffs on the two of them. Mebbe Deveture knows he is tricked, but he says not a word on that trip back to Fort Prescott. Renwood, half- drunk, wants to talk, but Deveture icily tells him to stop the lip, and he obeys. I breathed one sigh of relief when I sees those two murderers delivered to jail, where I knew they'd be safe until the day of the trial. Fort Prescott was too hard a nut for any of the wild gangs of Gorge City to try and crack. The jury had been picked and the prosecuting attorney, Mr. Marshall Kenne, was outlining to me just what was to be proved to them. During the wait for the trial, Ren- wood’s nerve had cracked. His cell had been directly next to Dawson’s— at my suggestion—and hour after hour he had listened to the cow-puncher’s threats of vengeance and pretty pictures EOPMNICOOOKS (E@)