Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 13, 1925 — page 107: what you’re looking at

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

HOPALONG up, and never had been any too good; and he was not as certain as he might have been that Lanky definitely had lost his trail, but he was pretty sure that Shanghai’s pursuer had been well shaken off; Shang- hai’s cunning was assurance as to that. Arizona had no love for Shanghai, and strongly doubted the reason for that person not having gone through with the plan that he himself had outlined for the am- bushing of the pursuing punchers. He sus- pected that Shanghai and Hoskins had left their hard-pressed friends as a bait to check pursuit and to clear a way for themselves; and he suspected the truth. ‘So they killed Hoskins, huh?” he said, scowling to mask any telltale sign of the plan forming in his head. ‘ Who was they?” he added curiously, hoping to trap the old fox into a lie. : ‘One of ’em was that Mesquite cub,” in- nocently answered Shanghai, becoming a little nervous by the way time was passing. That little dust streamer in the west was bothering him, for it would be growing rap- idly plainer. He flashed another glance at his companion’s horse, and it required no second sight to tell him why the animal had been run so hard. One of the per- sistent three had been keeping Arizona on the jump; and Shanghai had no way of knowing the identity of this pursuer. However, Arizona’s ease of mind was plainly revealed by the placidity of his ac- tions and demeanor: he undoubtedly had thrown the pursuer off his trail and now felt safe again. This was much more than Shanghai had done, despite his words. ‘Why, I didn’t get sight of th’ other fel- ler,” he said. “ Might ’a’ been Connors or it might ’a’ been Smith.” He chuckled softly. ‘Well, it’s a good thing we both can ease up a little. That cayuse of yourn looks like hell, an’ a good rest an’ feedin’ won't hurt it. Jt never was much good.” Arizona grunted something and tried to hide his determination. His plan had been completed. With a comparatively fresh horse, and almost any animal would have been comparatively fresh in contrast with his own, and with Lanky Smith somewhere to the north and circling like a damned hound in search of the trail he had lost, Ari- CASSIDY’S PAL Yk zona’s peace of mind would be greatly im- proved by leaving Shanghai a worn-out ani- mal and this pleasant little camp fire. He arose awkwardly, lost his balance for a moment, and managed to knock over the coffeepot while he struggled to regain his equilibrium. ‘“Darn my clumsy feet!” he growled, kicking at the pot and missing it in his simulated rage. ‘If you want any coffee, fill that damn thing an’ get back here pronto!” ‘ Shouldn’t lose yore temper over a little thing like that,” said Shanghai, pleasantly, and in no way showing that he saw through his companion’s strategy. His confidence in the other’s fairness was childlike and one could see that he was thinking only of the coffee. hillside fault, where water percolated through strata of rotten stone and collect- ed in a little pool on a ledge before trickling down the rocks to be blotted out by the sand at their base. The spring advertised its location by the vivid greenery about it and the old fox needed no directions for its finding. Reaching the spot he bent over to fill the pot without disturbing the sediment of the little pool, then glanced swiftly back toward the camp in time to see Arizona, lying low on the far side of the big roan, dash from sight into the brush and stunted timber. Smothering a chuckle, Shanghai threw the pot from him and ran at top speed toward the remaining animal, flung himself into the saddle, rode swiftly up the little divide and grinned at the tenuous dust cloud moving swiftly along the trail he had made. Wheeling, he pushed the horse over a long stretch of rocky ground, exultantly glad that it was unshod, and in a few minutes he had lost himself from the sight of any one who might ride over the top of the ridge. Using every trick he knew, he bent all his energies to masking his trail, and in this he was helped by the nature of the ground. When a mile from the camp he left his picketed mount and circled back to his trail on foot and crouched behind a bowlder, his rifle in his hands. CoOnniclooo@ He picked up the pot and started for the