Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 17, 1924 — page 38: what you’re looking at

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

188 And then Hardwick sprang forward, in- tending to interpose between the bully and his victim and at the same moment the scarecrow struck Smithers across the face with the sjambok, leaving a long purple wale. Cursing loudly at the pain, Smithers re- leased his hold of the bridle and clutched with both hands at the slim figure in the saddle. He would have lifted the scare- crow off, but at that moment Hardwick grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and, with a bellow of rage, Smithers released his hold of the rider and turned to face this new opponent. As he did so the scarecrow lashed the mule which, with a parting kick aimed in the general direction of Smithers, dashed off at a gallop—the sudden plunge sending its rider’s hat sailing to the ground. “ Lumme!” exclaimed Ginger Dick. “ It’s @ woman,” and then lost all interest in the fleeing girl and the rickety Scotch-cart which moved off slowly in her wake. Ginger Dick was something of a woman-hater and, besides, he was infinitely more interested in seeing how his new pal would “ shape »? He had not long to wait. Smithers and Hardwick wasted no breath in wordy warfare. The issue between them had already been set forth—had been set forth in the office of Isaacs a few hours previously. This affair was rather an ex- cuse than a reason for fighting. Previously the conventions of civilization had restrained the two men from flying at each other’s throats. But now! They eyed each other for a moment, their faces set, muscles tensed. Then, as Ginger Dick called out joy- fully, “A mill! A bleedin’ mill!” they closed, disdaining any attempt at science, and wrestling furiously, striking wild, body- jarring blows. Men came running out of the hotel— a fight was always preferable to sleep—and formed a ring about the two men; excitedly questioning Ginger Dick as to the cause of it all, betting on the outcome, cheering first one, then the other. One, a big, black-bearded man who ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. carried two revolvers stuck in his belt, after ordering the gaping natives, who had run over at the first sign of excitement, to ‘‘ Get to hell out of here,” separated the fighters. “ Strip,” he said. In silence both men obeyed him, stripping to the waist; Ginger Dick loudly and proud- ly proclaiming himself Hardwick’s second; several men nearly coming to blows over the honor of performing the same service for Smithers. “ Fight like men,” the black-bearded one ordered roughly, and drew a line in the dust with the toe of his boot. “ Toe that line, both of you, and you'll fight until one of you ain’t got the strength—or the guts—to come back and toe it after a knockdown. And I'll see you get fair play, Yank.” ‘ His hands dropped to the butts of his revolvers and he glared fiercely around the ring of faces. ‘““What odds?” cried one of the on- lookers. “No odds!” replied another. “ Even money—that’s fair enough. They’re well- matched. Man whoe’s got the most guts will win this mill.” It was true. It would have been difficult to find two men more evenly matched as to strength, weight, height and reach. Science hardly entered into the comparison! Luck and guts did, and they were, as yet, an unknown quantity. Warily the two men toed the line. Smithers held his hands in the orthodox fashion, left hand slightly advanced, his right close in across his body. He stood flat-footed, seemingly as solid and unshak- able as a rock. Hardwick, poised on his toes, swaying slightly and his hands moved in and out like pistons. For a moment they stood thus, then— Thud! Thud! The two blows were almost simultaneous and both men staggered back from the lme—blood pouring from Hardwick’s nose; an angry red blotch showing on Smithers’s ribs. : They came back to the line again. At the sight of blood the spectators seemed to cast off all restraint and howled madly—some calling for a knoekout, others CORMMICLOOOKS (C@