Argosy All-Story Weekly — "Sea Marauders" — page 40: what you’re looking at

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

tered about the outlying country, while abundant mineral wealth in the moun- tains to the south provided another steady source of income. Practically all the pay roll of both mines and ranches eventually found its way into the town coffers. Lights were blazing in the Red Front, where a three-piece orchestra— piano, guitar, and banjo—were blaring forth a peppy tune, when Peter De. Quincy made his second appearance within its portals. Short-skirted beauties were on the job, making themselves generally use- ful to the management and personally agreeable to its guests. One well understood duty of the girls was to see that their companions were not nig- gardly in patronage of the bar. Cus- tomers who failed to spend lavishly were not worth the bother of entertain- ing. Peter stopped at the bar, where busi- ness was rushing, but he waited until Aleck was free before making known his wants. “How’s the special brand?” he queried in a low tone, and Carmichael, with an understanding grin, produced from under the bar that same black bottle whose contents Peter had al- ready sampled. “This is a special favor, P. D. Q.,” he said. “Most folks ain’t wise. Keep it dark, you better.” “J will, Aleck,” Peter promised warmly, “thanking you for the chance.” | “‘ About that poker game,” the bar- tender went on. “Guess I gave you a bum steer, far’s to-night goes any- way. ‘The party won't be on, looks as if. There’s plenty of other nights coming, though.” “Don’t say a word, Aleck. I ain’t liable to die of ongwee if I don’t get to play cards.” “Young Spofford’s shooting a few hands,’ Aleck informed him. “ Third table from the corner—on the left. Losing too, The blond-haired cuss. — 462 : ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. like he generally does. chokes !” De Quincy glanced across the room, curious to meet what sort of fellow it was who had gained such cordial dis- like from Carmichael. Though the evening was no more than well started, young Spofford’s flushed face already gave evidence of a drink or two too many. showed lack of strength of character, which last was emphasized by a weak, receding chin. The unmistakable ravages of fast living robbed him of any claim to good looks. For a man of this type young Mr. De Quincy felt nothing but con- tempt. “ Humph!” he grunted in an aside to the barkeep. “They’s sure one thing the lad ain’t learned—that poker and whisky don’t mix. He ought to make a mighty good meal ticket for somebody, with his dad’s bank roll to back him.” 7 “They don’t dast squeeze the spigot too hard,’ Carmichael said. “ But at that I guess Frosty Freeman gets to the guy plenty heavy. Freeman’s one smooth Jimmy; it’s him dealing the pasteboards now.” 3 To even a careless observer it was evident that John Marlborough Spof- ford, Jr., found the luck running strongly against him. He snapped out an oath as the pot went to an opponent, throwing his hand on the table in a petulant exhibition of temper. “That card game crooked?” Peter asked. 3 “It’s supposed to be straight—when Spofford horns in. But Frosty’s clever, and he might pull a little something now and then, just to keep his fingers from getting stiff. But, shucks—you don’t need to work crimped cards or a cold deck on Spofford. He beats him- self, that guy!” After a few minutes Peter left the I hope he bar, to wander more or less aimlessly _ about the room. One or two of the > short-skirted sirens accosted him, but His features were regular, but. = €omicbooks:com — } _s | i i nN \ ww LU oe: Se ee oo et eee eto ee et RS, ease ont Ng a a i ee Rh ne iin ae soy ee Lares S = . i? my, > +