Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 17, 1924 — page 43: what you’re looking at

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

THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE. And then a big, lumbering Dutchman pushed his way through the crowd of drink- ers and came toward them, leering mali- clously. “°E’s a plain-clothes man,” Ginger Dick whispered hoarsely, ‘‘ an’ a damned dirty one. Come on!” Rising, they turned toward the door and stopped short. A man in the uniform of the mounted police blocked the way; one hand insolently twirling his waxed mus- tache, the other resting on his hips, near his revolver holster. Hardwick noticed that the flap of the latter was buttoned down—as is the custom in Africa. There was never very much gunplay in South Africa, even in the early days of the gold and diamond booms, and there were prac- tically no exponents of the art of the quick draw such as were produced during the win- ning of the great American West. Disputes were settled by fist fights; revolvers were only carried as threats, and hardly ever used except, perhaps, in ambush and against natives, ‘“‘ Better stay a little while,” the police- man said mockingly. “ Dutch Pete, there ” —he indicated the Dutchman with a wave of his hand—“ is thinking that you have some sparklers in your pocket that shouldn’t be there.” “Are you a good shot, Ginger?” Hard- wick whispered hoarsely. Ginger Dick nodded. “ All right, then. Cover that man at the door—quick!” Few men could have equaled the dex- terity with which Ginger Dick drew his re- volver and got the drop on the policeman and yelled happily: ~ “°Ands hup, cully!” Still fewer could have equaled the speed of Hardwick’s draw. The Dutchman froze in his tracks, star- ing goggle-eyed at the menace of Hard- wick’s revolver. Behind him, crowding for- ward at the urge of their curiosity, gathered the other occupants of the barroom, their hands raised high. Burke, lolling against the bar, smoking an enormous black cigar, ignored Hard- wick’s command to put up his hands, but changed his mind swiftly when that man, 3A 193 hardly seeming to take aim, fired. The bullet cut through Burke’s cigar barely an inch from his lips. “ ‘You—fool,”. Burke roared. “Sorry,” Hardwick said pleasantly. “I thought your ash was rather long, and meant to trim it. But I’ve never fired this gun before. I’d like to try it again.” He glanced searchingly at the men. “ Did any one speak ?” “Allehmahtig! Yes, I speak,” the big Dutchman spluttered. “ What game is this you play?” “This is no game. I’ve been warned that you wanted to find a diamond on me, and I don’t intend to be searched. That’s all!” “That’s straight talking, Yank,” one of the men cried. “I’m with you. These scoundrels have had their own way too long. A chap never knows when he’s go- ing to be framed and sent down to the Breakwater for a long term. I bet there’s not a man here who hasn’t paid dirty black- mail at some time or other.” Several others signified their agreement with the speaker’s sentiments: “You'd better leave the dorp for a while, Yank,” called another. ‘ They’ll get you sure for this: you and that Sydney rat, Ginger Dick.” “Wot did I tell yer,” moaned Ginger Dick at Hardwick’s elbow. ‘“ But wot do yer want me ter do with this cove?” “Line him up with the Dutchman.” “D’yer ’ere, Mister Bloomin’ Smart Aleck? Do wot Yank says.” The policeman sheepishly obeyed the suggestion. Reaching up, Hardwick turned out the light hanging above his head. Then: Crack — crack — crack! The reports followed each other so closely as to seem but one, and the place was plunged into darkness as suddenly as if a tornado had been loosed in the room, the lamps went cut—extinguished by bullets from Hard- wick’s revolver. Men cursed, Isaacs whimpered in fright, the barmaids screamed hysterically—and a door slammed. When order and lights were finally pro- cured, Hardwick and Ginger Dick had COMmMicloookKs Eom —