Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 13, 1925 — page 111: what you’re looking at

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

HOPALONG CASSIDY’S PAL. O83 ing forward and up to end in a burst of powder smoke; the reports sounded almost as one. There were three of them, for Mesquite’s first shot had cut through the place where Arizona had stood before he leaped; but the second, fired with his left hand and the other gun, drove the fugitive halfway around and made him drop his weapon before he could fire it again. Arizona bent over and, his left hand hold- ing his wounded right arm, peered through the thinning smoke at the calm deputy, whose left hand held a smoking gun squarely on him. At the deputy’s feet lay a second gun, also smoking, and the de- puty’s right arm hung down at his side, the numbness of the shock slowly wearing off. “Tm arrestin’ you, like I said,” growled the deputy. ‘‘ Step away from that gun; Vl shoot straighter next time.” Arizona slowly complied and scowled at his captor, who now stooped, picked up the weapon at his feet, and sheathed it. Then he walked over to the fugitive’s gun, picked it up also with his right hand, emp- tied it, and threw it far into the brush, not a muscle of his face telling of the pain of that effort. Letting his right arm drop again to his side, Mesquite smiled coldly. ‘* Bandage up yore arm,” he said. “ Then you can fix mine. Funny we both was shot in th’ same place.” “Funny as hell!’ groaned Arizona. He remembered the unhesitating use of the deputy’s wounded arm, the force with which it threw away the captured weapon: he remembered that no grimace of pain had accompanied the action, and he sighed as he took his neckerchief and roughly bound up his wounded arm, working with one cood hand and his teeth. Then he shuffled forward toward the waiting deputy, trying to appear cowed, but he was nerving him- self for one final effort. While he slowly advanced he drew cigarette papers and tobacco sack from his pocket, and ke opened the sack with the aid of his teeth. Inwardly he smiled at how he had cursed the dry tobacco only the day before; now it promised to get him out of a tight place. He would take a gambler’s chance, and risk everything on one throw. * You win, boss,” he mumbled, looking down at the ground to hide the gleam in his eyes; but he saw the Colt moving forward to press against his side; and writhing from the contact and getting out of the line of fire, he swiftly moved his good right arm and threw the contents of the sack into Mesquite’s eyes and face. The roar of the Colt was useless, for Arizona was pressing tightly against the squirming man who held it. His good hand was fastened on Mesquite’s wrist in a desperate effort to keep the gun pointed away from himself while he sought to tear it from the fingers that gripped it. The whistling breath of pain in his ears was sweet music to him, and he felt the erip on the gun grow weaker. Exerting all his strength, Arizona at last tore the wea- pon Joose and, not having time to turn it and fire, he raised his arm to bring the heavy butt down on the deputy’s head, down on the head of a man who could not see; but the lesson of fortitude and grit he had seen only a few moments before had not been taken by him at its full value. As his hand arose for the blow that would free him, Mesquite’s wounded arm moved swiftly and there came a muffled roar, smoke spurting sideways from Arizona’s body. He crumpled and dropped, and at his side sank the victor, tears streaming from his blinded eyes and slowly washing them clean again. Time passed agonizingly; then Mesquite reached for the canteen close beside him and filled his hands with its water, bathing his burning eyes. His arm roughly bound up and his eyes still stinging, he slowly arose and looked down at the crumpled figure near the fire. For a moment he stood thus, cursing the idea of taking prisoners; then he gently shook his head and put the savage thought from him. ‘Luck, blind luck,” he muttered. ‘‘ How much more have I got to learn?” THE END OF No. 7 | NEXT WEEK: “A GAME OF WITS.” | comiclooolks @)