Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 17, 1924 — page 108: what you’re looking at

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

258 — Scarcely was Solemn seated before he lapsed into the heavy stupor of utter un- consciousness. The sun was just beginning to hurl his blazing, scintillating shafts across the awakening earth and tinge the distant peaks of Tombstone Range with the first old rose and gold of the newborn day, when Solemn’s fitful slumbers were disturbed by the slow, low-toned drawl of voices faintly, dimly heard. Indistinct and far-away they seemed. Yet fragments of sentences penetrated to Solemn’s drowsy ears: “ M-m-m-m—Devil’s Gorge—terrible— m-m-m-m—th’ hell!—m-m-m-m—yester- day afternoon—m-m-m-m—dead—m-m-m- mules—”’ At the words “‘m-m-m-m—dead—m-m-m- mules ” Solemn Johnson was electrified into wide awake alertness. He sat up, held his breath, and strained desperately to locate the speakers or to grasp the trend of their conversation. With the suddenness of a radio outfit when it decides to function, the sounds be- came distinct. Solemn recognized the smooth, velvety rhythm of Colonel Spilkins’ refined tenorlike tones, answered occasion- ally by monosyllables in the deep and powerful voice of Old Jeff Andrews, official scrubber-out, potato-peeler, backyard butler of Mother Skillern’s hotel. The speakers were in the lobby of the hotel; Jeff was evidently giving the office spitoon its morning. ablution; Colonel Spil- kins, always an early riser, had paused as was his custom for a brief chat with the interesting though erratic personality who lived as a semi-pensioner on Mother Skil- lern’s bounty. ‘“ Whar th’ hell ’d y’ say it was, colonel?” Solemn recognized the heavy rumble of Old Jeff’s voice. “Out at Devil’s Gorge,” Colonel Spil- kins spoke clearly, in fine, well-chosen phrases. ‘‘ Heterogeneous Saunders drove in from the construction camp last night and brought the deplorable intelligence.” Old Jeff dropped the brass cuspidor. The clatter broke the silence. Solemn listened tensely to hear more of what Colonel Spil- kins was saying: “It happened yesterday afternoon,” once ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. more the colonel’s voice was audible, “ right close to camp. It was the most distressing episode that has occurred since work was started. Six entire mules were killed and—” Solemn waited to hear no more. His keen brain unerringly comprehended it all. Two minutes later, Dirty Shirt Smith felt a strong, rugged hand, grimly deter- mined, clutch his Adam’s apple, another closed firmly over his shoulder and shook him. “Wake up! Get out of this! on!” Solemn yelled. “What th’—Well, of all things!”’ Dirty Shirt grunted, protestingly. “ Well, of all—” “Get your pants on while I get Versus!” Solemn commanded, ‘“‘ We’re goin’.” “Goin’?” Dirty Shirt grumbled. “ Where ii" But Solemn was already outside, flinging the pack on Versus, their mouse-colored burro with long ears. His fingers trembled as he diamond-hitched the outfit on her arched and rope-scarred back. Dirty Shirt appeared at the door, rubbing the side of his face where his whiskers had become cramped during the night. ‘Where we goin’?” Dirty Shirt de- manded. “TI ain’t goin’ to no place un- less I know where the dog-goned place is! You can’t shanghai me into no sudden action like that!” ~“ We're goin’ to Devil’s Gorge—” Solemn began. “ Devil’s Gorge?” “We're goin’ to Devil’s Gorge,” Solemn repeated, “and we’re goin’ quick! We're goin’ to get there before eight thirty p. M. Sunday evening, before my forty eight hours to find them six dead mules has elapsed.” “Dead mules?” Dirty Shirt interrupted. “What about any dead mules?” “There’s dead mules over at Devil’s Gorge,” Solemn explained, “six of ’em—just waitin’—and you’re going to behold them six dead mules before my boiled pork and cabbage time comes!” “ Hell, it’s a two day trip to Devil’s Gorge!” Dirty Shirt protested, “ And my head aches to start with—” Go NOOK Come | (C@