Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 13, 1925 — page 60: what you’re looking at

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

DOL ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. The old mountaineer glared at her. ‘“ Nothin’ ain’t right,” he complained in bit- ter tones. “ These yere beans’re scorched, and—look at this yere biscuit!” He thrust toward her the half of a bis- cuit. Its center was a soggy, doughy lump. She looked from the heart of the half baked biscuit to Friday’s glaring old eves. “Ya said ya could cook!” he shrilled. ‘““ And look at this yere biscuit! Oh! va cain’t fool me! I know vore game!” “* My game?” she whispered. “Yes!” he snapped. “ Youre game! Ya want t’ git rid 0’ me, that’s yore game. Ya want me t’ git acute indigestion, so ya c’n git me outa yore way!” “Oh, Mr. Pepper, how utterly ridic- ulous!” the girl cried. ‘ And it isn’t true that I cannot cook. I can cook. I’m an excellent cook, and I think I’ve done pretty well, considering that this is the first meal I've ever cooked over an open fire. Don’t you think I’ve done pretty well for a be- ginner, Larry?” she demanded, looking im- ploringly at Red Wilpin. “Well, Margie,” he said judiciously, ‘“‘ these biscuits are pretty terrible, and the beans are burned, and the coffee ain’t fit to drink. Aside from that I guess you’ve done pretty well.” “ But [’m only an inexperienced girl!” she cried. “Ef I had my way,” Friday grumbled, “T’d have every dumbed gal in America fossed t’ jine th’ Camp Fire Gals, so’s she could be ready fer jest sech an emergency as this.” Margery Corbin looked at him defiantly, through the tears that had started into her eyes. ‘Can't you think of anything that isn’t unkind and cruel to say about me?”’ “No, ma’am, I cain’t.” The girl buried her face in her hands and softly wept. Presently she lifted her head. ‘No one has a kind word for me,” she whimpered. “I’ve tried and tried, but at every turn I’m misunderstood. Oh, what have I ever done that everybody should be against me so! Is it because ’m a girl? Is it because I’m penniless? Why should I be persecuted wherever I turn? Why am I blamed for things that are not my fault?” ‘“ Ain’t them burned beans yore fault?” Friday said sternly. “Whut in Sam Hill,” Larry Wilpin burst out, ‘is the meanin’ of that?” He sprang to his feet and shaded his eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun. They had stopped for a late luncheon on the nar- row path beside a roaring mountain stream. Above them on either side, walls of rock rose sheerly to dizzy heights. Where the walls ended, thousands of feet above them, was only a narrow strip of sky. At this spot the gorge was straight, so straight that they could see for miles in the direction from which they had come. Friday had likewise leaped to his feet and was staring. ‘““ Hossmen!” he snapped. “‘ Must be nigh into a dozen of ’em, Red!”’ “Look like a posse to you, Friday?” “Tt shore does, Red. Do you reckon it’s that bunch from th’ coach?” As if in answer, a bullet hummed over their heads, struck a jutting rock behind them, whined angrily and rebounded into the roaring stream. Chips of rock rained down upon them. ‘“ Margie!” Larry snapped. ‘‘ Shove that stuff into the sack. We’ve got to be hittin’ the trail and hittin’ it fast. They’re after us. And [I surely thought we’d have till mornin!’” While Friday was rounding up their horses, Red helped Margie pack the uten- sils. Bullets whined overhead or splashed into the stream. A column of dust arose from the hoofs of the oncoming posse. The three outlaws leaped upon their horses just when it seemed that the posse would sweep down and annihilate them. Around the bend they galloped. Another long, straight vista of the gorge opened be- fore them. At first the outlaws gained, but inch by inch the gap closed. Bullets were striking closer and closer to the fugitives. “ Shall we start firing at them?” Margie cried to Red Wilpin. He shook his head vigorously. ‘ Got to conserve our ammunition.” Suddenly Friday Pepper’s sombrero leaped from his head and sailed out over the stream, riddled. conniclooolks CO