Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 13, 1925 — page 65: what you’re looking at

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

THROW are we a goin’ to paint the town, pard- ner?” “ Red!” the old man yelped happily. He jerked out his revolver, aimed it at the heavens, and pulled the ‘trigger six times rapidly. Margie jumped at the explosions, and from the sides of the streets arose hilarious cheers. Near by occurred a crashing and splin- tering of broken glass. She glanced in that direction in time to see a large man flying through a window, head and shoulders first, carrying with him the entire frame. He fell in a snarling heap on the ground, and a loud shrill voice cried: ‘“ Now, will ya stay out,” She shuddered. | “Here we are, Margie!” Red Wilpin cried jovially. ‘‘Get down, and [ll tie your hoss. This is the Grand Palace Ho- tel, Marge. Across the way is Hell’s De- light.” She glanced first at one structure, then the other. The Grand Palace Hotel was a tipsy clapboard structure of five stories,’ three of which were false. Lights burned wearily behind several windows. There was a spooky air about the place, a sense of evil. But the impression she gained in her glance across the road was otherwise. Hell’s Delight blazed with illumination. A jazz tune blared from its open doors. ‘The shouts and laughter of men and women poured from its windows. Here sorrow was drenched and hope renewed; here men fought and drank and gambled and made forceful love to painted creatures in span- gied dresses. This was obviously the center of Yumpa, the rotten core of a rotten town, where the scum and the offscouring of the deserts, the mines, and the ranches foregathered to carouse. There was viciousness in the throbbing air—a threat of knives and steel- jacketed lead in the very music banging and thrumming from the doorway. Yumpa! ‘Oh, please, please, let’s go on into the clean, wholesome mountains!” Margery Corbin begged. The red-haired bandit laughed harshly. UP YOUR HANDS. Dot “ This is life!” he cried. ‘ After spendin’ all my life on a farm that won’t grow nothin’ but false hopes, this suits me right down to the ground. Yip-ee!” They had dismounted. Red Wilpin growled: “Ya got the mail sack, Friday?” An answering mutter: “ Ayah. Rolled up yere under my arm. Whut ’re we a goin’ t’ do with it, pal?” “ Margie ‘Il look after it.” “ T won't!” “Aw, don’t be a spoil-sport, kid! You ain’t goin’ t’ welch on us, are you, honey?” ‘Don’t call me honey! I hate you! Oh —oh, why did you ever bring me here? I’m afraid. Don’t go away and leave me alone in this dreadful place! Oh, please, Larry!” She shrank against him as a man, curs- ing under his breath, brushed past her. “Vl find him,” the man had muttered. “Tl find him and Vll stick eight inches of cold steel into his stummick!”’ ‘Who was that?” she gasped. ‘Oh, just a desert rat. Come in and write your name in the book, Margie. Oh, my, what a night this is a goin’ to be! Here—where’s that mail sack, Iriday?” He pushed open the door of the Grand Palace Hotel, and they entered the dingy room, feebly lighted by flickering oil lamps in dirty glass chimneys. A number of red- faced men, with bandannas at their necks and heavy guns at their hips, were lounging or sleeping in chairs against the walls. A room clerk with drooping black mus- taches leered at her as she stumbled up to the desk. But he abandoned the leer when he glanced from her to the stern face of Red Wipin. ‘This girl is under my protection, Dick,” Red Wilpin said. ‘‘ You savvy that?” “Shore! Shore!” ‘““She wants a room with a strong lock, and a window that can’t be climbed into from outside, and no trapdoor in the ceiling. Savvy? This is my girl, and anybody who so much as looks slantwise at her has got Red Wilpin to deal with. Savvy? S’posin’ you just pass that rumor around. Write your name in the book, Margie.” With a trembling hand Margery Corbin COMmicbooa S C@