Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 18, 1925 — page 136: what you’re looking at

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

286 cision, he saw with amazement that all con- sternation had fled from Hazel’s face. She looked past him and laughed, then, wheel- ing, she set her pony at a mad gallop up the main street of Manford. ‘Turning in their saddles they saw what had elated her, and jostling one another they followed. Down the street slowly single-stepping after an agony of hard riding, approached a tall red mare. In the saddle was a youth who rode with tight clenched teeth and whose face was parchment pale. It was Cosgrove, and lying like an effigy across the mare before him was dead Cliff Lederer, a terrible thing of shattered bones and bloodstained clothing. Gaines. saw this figure of life and death and triumphant manhood as it approached, and summed up the meaning of it in a flash. Cosgrove had slain Lederer in the moun- tains. And it occurred to him that the fewer witnesses te this event would be the better. the men who followed him. “Get over to Sheerwater!” he cried. “TI can attend to this!” He saw them go, and resumed his gentle trot toward the queer group of figures which the dawn had brought out of the mountains. And as he did so, he saw Hazel Farley and - Bradley Cosgrove come together. She rode up beside him, and with scarcely a glance at the dead man across his saddie bow, she leaned from her own saddle to clasp that dauntless rider in*her arms. Gaines, immeasurably touched, drew his pony to a halt, and in the lonely street in the gray of morning, he was the only wit- ness of that meeting. It was a fantastic tableau against the dreary landscape, and for a space remained ynmovable, as though for all eternity. CHAPTER XXXVII. THE BREAKING POINT, name of the apathetic town mar- shal of Sheerwater was Neal, and in his dispassionate, collected manner, he was not unobliging. Farley, who had known him many years and used him as he had either used or fought with every man of an’ I can’t stand it! He turned on Christofferson and ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. his acquaintance, now approached him for the first time with a recognition of his of- ficial position. To Neal’s inordinate aston- ishment, Farley had a whine in his voice and a pitiful, furtive cowardice in his bleared eyes. “For Gawd’s sake, get me some licker, Neal,” he pleaded. “Im all shot to hell I can’t!” His voice’ arose to a hysteria on the verge of tears. “E can’t stand it!” Then his voice dropped again. “Gimme something to drink!” he whispered. With an incredulous sniff Neal assented. It was nothing to him that Farley desired liquor, It was nothing to him to provide it. He was the most efficient provider of red eye in three counties. When he returned with the bottle and a tin cup, Farley snatched it from him as the proverbial drowning man clutches the straw. He turned his back upon Neal to pour a cupful of the stuff and drain it in one draught. He choked and spluttered. Then, fondly clutching the bottle to him, he turned to his provider again. “ Are they down at the door?” he cried excitedly. “e Who rbd ' “Them. Slade! Webb!” Then he pounced on a new aberration. “ Why ain’t you there, too?” he cried. “Get down there! Get down to the door! They'll come an’ you won’t be there! They'll come—” The awful dilemma flared up ir his mind again. “My Gawd!” he cried. “They'll come an’ there’s only a handful of men to meet them!” He flung away to the back of his cell and sank to the narrow cot which furnished it. Sitting there in a huddle, he poured out with trembling hand another mighty draught of the fiery liquid and drank it down. Catching the sight of Neal at the bars of his cell, he flared up against him. “Get out there an’ do yore duty!” he screamed. ‘‘ Get out an’ guard this jail! You got to protect me now! [t’s up to you! Get out!” With an apathetic feeling that something was radically wrong with Wert Farley, Neal left the cell corridor to join the others. In his dull way Neal was right. Some- SS com + oe