Argosy All-Story Weekly — "Sea Marauders" — page 45: what you’re looking at

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

be’. Sars, § a. ——~. . = 7s Wh ee, Da ia ob Nes ayy af Pd TROUBLE RANCH. 467 Which is why I took a crack at that pole-cat Spofford.” At the Phoenix House, Caetie Spring’s unpretentious. hostelry, Peter held brief consultation with the night clerk, Then he rejoined Marie, who had waited off to one side. — “Things are all fixed for you,’ he told her. “ They’s an east train goes through early in the morning — six twenty. Might be I’d sleep over and not see you again, so I’ve left cash at the desk to take you through. You can get it when you check out. They’s no more need to worry, Marie. Good- by and good luck!” Tears stood in the girl’s eyes as she seized Peter’s hand in both hers. ‘‘Tll work and earn the money to pay you back,” she whispered. ‘“ Tell me your name—and where to send it.” The range rider shook his head, smiling. ‘“That’s all right. Forget it, Marie. The pleasure of socking Spofford twice was all the pay I want. “You must tell me!” she insisted. But before Marie knew it, her cava- lier was gone, spurs jingling musically as he slipped through the door. She started to follow swiftly; then, con- scious that the curious gaze of the night clerk was fixed on her, aban- doned the impulse. CHAPTER II. NOT QUITE A PHILANTHROPISI. OHN MARLBOROUGH SPOF- J FORD, Sr., reached down into the lower drawer of his desk for a Ha- vana, clipping and lighting the weed with the air of a man who is vastly pleased at the way his affairs are pro- gressing. Spofford was what is termed a private banker. Physically he was a well-preserved individual on the border line between late middle and early old age. His hair was plentifully shot with gray, perhaps less so in his whiskers. A luxurious crop of side burns fol- lowed either cheek bone, curving up- ward at their lower extremities to mingle with his meticulously tended mustache, His chin was smooth shaved, save for a tuft of hair, a goatee, which coy- ly nestled in the hollow beneath the nether lip. Eyebrows were aggressive- | ly bushy, and inclined to shoot upward, affording shelter to a pair of shrewd gray eyes that missed little worth seeing. On the whole, Banker Spofford, de- spite a carefully cultivated air of be- nevolence, was a man easy to dislike if not distrust, for he was as cold, and case-hardened, and soulless a proposi- tion as ever foreclosed on the sorely troubled widow of a formerly well-to- do rancher, He was never satisfied, reaching clutching fingers out for more — and more—and more. His reputation was that of the busi- ness man who is perhaps a little over- zealous in looking out for himself, but Spofford’s prosperity and continued success brought a grudging admiration rather than censure. His shrewdness was largely respon- sible for this tolerant attitude, since he realized that one must make some con- cessions to public opinion if the wheels of progress are to turn smoothly. Therefore he cultivated an open-hand- ed attitude of generosity in civic mat- ters, giving abundantly and without question of his time as well as his money when he felt that such a lavish gesture was called for. This liberality brought him no small influence in local matters, which finan- cially and otherwise more than made up for Spofford’s outlay; and he came to be an unseen power in the affairs of Cactus Springs, never seeking public office himself, but always exerting a sinister sway that gave him full con- trol of the political “machinery. What he said went. Many a secret conference took place’