Argosy All-Story Weekly — "Sea Marauders" — page 38: what you’re looking at

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

460 “Tt sure figured Pete was a-burning up. A guy should ought to use better judg- ment in picking the color of his scalp lock.” Such are the disadvantages of being biessed with red hair. “Sure is dry,” our rider remarked to his,mount, for want of a more re- sponsive listener. “I’m cultivating a thirst that'd reach from here to the Panhandle. Don’t it ever rain in this country, I wonder?” The jogging broncho cocked an ear back at the sound of his master’s voice, but made no other reply; then both ears pricked forward as the trail rounded a projecting hogback, bringing the dis- tant town into view. It was their first glimpse of the local metropolis—Cac- tus Springs. A short time later found the traveler modestly arrived in town. His first thoughts centered about the comfort and needs of his faithful pony, after which he proceeded to seek refresh- ment for himself. A> garishly painted building commanded his attention with its sign: THE RED FRONT OPEN DAY AND NIGHT Toward this life-saving’ station puncher steered a course. The Red Front proved to be a typ- ical frontier resort. A mahogany bar extending along the left side of a large room served as an oasis to the thirsty; card tables and sundry games of chance run by the house permitted those who so desiréd to try their luck at poker, roulette, monte and the like; the center of the room was left clear for dancing during the evening. It was late afternoon when Pete ventured within the Red Front, a time of day when business ran slack. No more than two card games were in progress; even the bar, in charge of a single attendant, was without custom- ers for the moment. A light of recognition glowed in the traveler's eyes as he spotted the drink the ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. mixer. Quickly he approached, hand extended. | “I’m a son-of-a-gun! ‘Aleck Car- michael! Been.a spell of moons since I saw you, Aleck!” The bartender for his part showed equal delight at this unexpected en- counter with an old acquaintance. “P. D. Q. himself!” he ejaculated, pumping the other’s hand up and down over the polished mahogany. ‘ When did you blow into town?” “Just now,” he was informed. “* How’s everything ?” “ Finer’n the hair on a frawg. You’re looking great, Peter.” “ What's this—a college reunion?” came a bantering interruption. The speaker had strolled over from one of the card tables, where he had watched the leisurely progress of a game. “The boss,’’ Aleck Carmichael ex- plained in a whisper to his friend. Then aloud, “ Mr. Varney, I’d like for you to shake hands with a-good scout, Mr. De Quincy. Peter’s the first part of his name, and folks that know the gent call him P. D. O.—for damned sound reasons, which crop out when the occasion calls *em.” Varney laughed as he acknowledged the introduction. “Td say you had a heavy responsi- bility living up to a name like that,” was his comment. “‘ How about it?” Young Mr. De Quincy grinned, in no way abashed at the faint suggestion of mockery underlying the words. “ Responsibility’s something that never worried me a whole lot,” he-af- firmed. ‘ Nor anything else, for that matter.” “You going to be hereabouts for any length of time?” Varney inquired, voicing merely a polite interest in the stranger’s affairs. “Hard to say definite,” Peter De Quincy informed him. “But at least I aim to stay long enough to flood the alkali out of my system.” “Have a little something on the “— eS Py > ~ < nme (E(0) , = *y% = a ee fo = ; et Pere et em ~ Ser See et ~~ — ent ne SM ae on a C J00kS.com =