Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 3, 1924 — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

SPIKES AND SIX-GUNS. when Deacon Stiles, the paragon of pro: priety, swore for the first time in history: “Damn baseball! I allus hated the game!” This decidedly relieved the atmosphere. For a fraction of a second there was un- bounded surprise, and then there was a roar of derisive Jaughter in which even Freckles could not refrain from joining. | ‘“‘ An’ after all these vears,” mocked Ed Manney. ‘““I—-1 might ’a’ termed it different,” stammered Deacon, blushing crimson. “But —but—”’ “You certainly might have,” broke in Tubby Armstrong, the Easterner who never mentioned his past and was supposed to have been a famous athlete. ‘ You should really have blessed the grand old national pastime! Boys, I’ve just been thinking, and it’s going to save us. Baseball, I mean; not my thinking!” Freckles raised his head, eagerly, hope- fully. He knew, as every one else did, that the usually close-lipped puncher never spoke unless he meant business: ** Meanin’?” ‘“‘ Meaning this. The big boss is a doukle dyed, copper distilled baseball fanatic-— otherwise known as bug or nut—of the worst order. He’s so crazy about it that he’s invited this minor league team out here to do their spring training, feeding them and bedding them just for the pleasure of watching them practice. It strikes me that on top of this, seeing things are slack now anyway, that he wouldn't mind if we or- ganized a team and did a little playing our- selves. I’m even willing to bet—” ‘“* Hol’ on there, Tubby,” cried Manney. “ Who-all ever put it into yore head that. we want to play?” Armstrong gave him a look of extreme pity and continued with his usual bland- ness: “We want to do what we can do for Freckles, don’t we? Well, here’s my dope. If Dora, the attractive daughter of our beloved foreman, has fallen for this big stiff of a Rube Hummer who pitches for the Birds, why wouldn’t she fall even harder for our own O’Ryan once /:e becomes a mounds- man? Especially, too, since she has pre- laughed Tubby consolingly. -decent shape. 857 ‘viously allowed him to fondle her hand and even go so far as to kiss it. Does my simple strategy register?” “But I ain’t never had a ball in my hands,” protested Freckles glumly. “Nor me!” “Same here!” ““T ain’t either!” In fact, there was only one man there who could truthfully say that he had ever played, and even at that he had to admit it had been over twenty years before. ‘Qh, don’t let that worry you, boys,” “Tl tell you. I happened to catch a little back in college, so I know something of the game, and I'll gamble I can whip this bunch into pretty Of course, we may not put up much of a brand of ball, but we don’t have to. To tell you the truth, I don’t even want us to. I’m well, I’m thinking of showing them what we might call base- ball @ la cowboy. What’s the good word? Shall I ask the old man in the morning if we can have a couple of hours off a day for practice? Tell him we want to make him proud of his own boys by showing up these bush leaguers!” ‘““Go to it, Tubby,” they cheered in unison. “ Tubby,” added Freckles, “ if you'll jest help me get her back I’ll—yep, I'll give you my Mexican silver-worked saddle!”’ Which, considering that it had been the puncher’s prized possession for years, cer- tainly proves what a dub a fellow can be about a girl, eh? II. Not only did Tubby receive permission from Old Man Bassett; he received assist- ance as well. The old gentleman was heartily in favor of the plan, and told the organizer to get together nine men if he had to keep them from work all the time. The business of the ranch wasn’t rushing, anyway, and what did cattle matter when it came to a ball game? Why, he’d burn up the prairie with his racing roadster, right off, and come back with all the paraphernalia necessary. Go to it! Great idea! Tubby agreed, a day later, that maybe it was, but it was likewise hard and dis- COMIGD OO! S (©