Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 4, 1922 — page 135: what you’re looking at

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

THE BLOOD-CALL. here to say that it’s the truth. Mr. Tau- rog himself has give me directions to say that he admits it’s the truth. Mule City is right. Taurog wouldn’t hesitate to pot anybody. You all know that!” ‘Hell, yes!” from the crowd. ‘“‘ But here’s what I’m here to say, gents. Mr. Taurog wants it made public that he ain’t goin’ to do away with his enemies thetaway no more. He admits it ain’t le- gal. And he has decided to be converted to the side of law-abidin’ men. From now on, gents, Mr. Smoo Taurog announces he’s plum civilized. From now on he ain’t goin’ to use a gat. Instead he’s goin’ to smash hell outen his enemies with his bare fists!” This announcement drew a roar of ap- proval from the crowd, accompanied by the throwing up of sombreros and even the discharging of a few salutes from random six-guns. The announcenient that Taurog had promised to be civilized henceforth even brought a response from the silent, furtive sheepmen. His avowed intention to beat his enemies to a pulp with his fists set the bettors wild again. There was a stampede in Jude Silent’s corner where the bookmaking was going on. “ Now, then, gents, I will announce why you-all got invites to this here party: you are to witness the manner in which Mr. Smoo Taurog will deal with all such as come lookin’ to him for trouble. This here gent in the corner, folks, has came from New York in search of Taurog for to wipe out a quarrel that was supposed to be fin- ished ten years ago. He has said he wanted to meet Mr. Taurog, and we're givin’ him a chanst. But let me say, folks, that Mr. Taurog could have potted this here bird last night a dozen times. Taurog captured him outside the gorge. “Tl say that it’s lucky for him that Taurog was generous, else the coyotes would be eatin’ the nose off this guy right this minute. Now, gents, you’re here to see a fair fight. It’s goin’ to be a fight with bare fists. They ain’t goin’ to be no ref- eree—and there ain’t goin’ to be no sec- onds, nor no rounds. But when a guy flops, that’s the end of the round; and when he’s of a mind to get up, that’s the begin- ning of another. Everythin’s fair—kickin’, 445 seratchin’, bitin’. None of your damn Queensbury rules here in the cattle coun- try. It’s a fight to the end, and me as deputy sheriff won’t ask no questions. I thank you.” The cheering that answered Jug Trilles swelled into a thunder of shouting and yipping when Taurog entered the corral. Taurog had stripped himself of his chaps, vest and spurs, which left him clothed like his adversary in khaki shirt, open at the throat, corduroy breeches, puttees and boots. The proud poise of his bare head, the big shock of yellow hair, the thick wrinkled skin and the tiny squinting eyes gave him an air which suggested remotely the figure of an animal that is pestered by flies, but too proud to notice them. The big crowd thrilled to this picture of their “king,” for his chunky shape, his wide, low shoulders and tremendous fists made the outcome seem certain. The two antagonists immediately stepped to the center of the ring before the ap- plause which had greeted Taurog’s entrance had died down. Jug Trilles stepped between them. He seemed a little cowering dog be- tween the two great men. Taurog and Quade both unbuckled their cartridge belts, and turned over holster and gun to the “announcer.” Jug immediately scurried to a corner of the corral where he crawled under the fence. © Before he had time enough to turn around he heard the air ripped with the screaming and yelling of the mad crowd as the two men tore into each other. The fight was on. All that little old Jug could make out was a big scuffling of dust and a sound of the ground being pounded as if two bulls had entered into a terrific combat. He saw the two forms of the men, dimly visible in the dust-clouds, hurling their fists at each other, clinching, hooking with vicious thuds to each other’s hearts. Jug could not tell who was winning. He peered anxiously out of his frightened little brown eyes. However the fight was faring, he knew that he himself had something very definite to attend to. He had an- nounced that there would be no referee, but little Jug knew that, infinitesimal as he COmiclbooks.CGom