Argosy All-Story Weekly — "Sea Marauders" — page 55: what you’re looking at

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

TROUBLE RANCH. ATT D. Q. where he never socks any one again. What ees that leetle job worth to the Sefor Spofford?” “You know I pay well, Mex. It would be worth a thousand dollars ’— Spofford saw disapproval on the other’s face, and hurriedly amended his offer by adding—* to each of you.” “ Ah, that ees better. For two thou- sand dollars I theenk we weel do eet. First must I see Carl and talk weeth heem.” “Make it snappy, will you, Mex? I’ll sleep easier when that fellow’s planted.” “There ees no hurry. When deal- ing weeth thees red-heads one must be careful.” | “ Oh, all right, then,” Spofford con- ceded unwillingly, giving in because he had no choice. “ Take your time about it, if you say so, but make the job sure.” And he left the saloon. CHAPTER IV. PEGCY. OISED at the door of the Three Star Dot ranch kitchen stood a slim, lithe young girl who looked serenely forth upon her world, obliv- ious of the fact that the picture she made would have stirred any suscep- tible male to cordial and sincere ap- proval. Peggy Winsome was doubly blessed, not only with beauty of face and fig- ure, but also with the priceless charm of a gracious personality. Considered individually, Peggy’s features might have fallen short of perfection. Take the young lady’s nose, for example. It was a trifle re- troussé, but that detail merely added a piquant expression to her already love- ly face which was worth a bushel of perfect noses. And just under its saucy tip perched the most kissable mouth you ever saw, flanked by an adorable dimple. The chin was delicately chiseled, though firm, betokening strength of character. And her eyes— They were of the blue color which mirrors the azure.of a cloudless Wes- tern sky in the pellucid depths of a mountain lake. They bubbled infec- tiously, like two crystal-clear springs, when Peggy smiled; friendly eyes, too; at times sober, more often joyous, but always a true reflection of their own- er’s mood. There was about Peggy a very ap- pealing air of domesticity as she stood at her kitchen door this morning. Puffs of wind whirled in from the open range, whipping at her gay little ging- ham apron and mussing into charming disarray the crown of golden hair atop her head. Her cheeks were flushed crimson from an encounter with a rebellious stove; bare arms—round, and tanned through exposure to the Western sun —were whitened by patches of flour, a portion of which had somehow been transferred to the tip of her retroussé nose. The whole effect was decidedly irresistible. Peggy’s lips curved in an affection- ate smile as she watched a twelve-year- old boy, who, unaware she was looking at him, played for his own delectation the role of seasoned range rider. He was dressed like a true puncher, even to the man-sized six-gun slung at his belt, though a careful glance would have told you that the cylinder of this dangerous toy contained no shells. A. small bull calf regarded the em- byronic puncher dubiously, tail stiff as a ramrod; then started off at an awk- ward gallop as the coils of a lariat spiraled swiftly toward him. But the calf delayed starting by the fraction of a second too long, and the noose set- tled full around its neck. “ Whee—yip!” came a shrill yell of triumph from the wielder of the lasso, and Peggy, in the doorway, applauded generously. “ That’s fine, Newt! You're almost as good as a regular cow hand.” oe se > eee Sn oe Th a? Sg OE ee ne : Bah a ~€omicbooks.com — Sony ogee