The Argosy, Vol. 76, No. 3 — page 87: what you’re looking at

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

GOLD GRABBERS. You'll never dispute it. If you try that, you'll know that I’m alive and camped on your trail. Pick up that pen and sign your name! ”’ Again Deane turned his ghastly face over his shoulder. The muzzle of a blued barrel was within a yard of him, and back of the barrel was a man primed with a reckless disregard of consequences. Deane’s hands trembled. He picked up the paper and bowed close to read it. It fell from his shaking fingers and dropped to the floor. “TiH—Tl sign under protest,” said Deane. ‘“ Pick it up for me.” “Get it yourself. I’m wise to your tricks.”’ Deane bent over, grunting and wheezing. The chair slipped from under him and he went to his knees. Then, reaching for the deed with his left hand, he brought his right to the front of the blue flannel shirt. The thick fingers caught at a hand-grip. The sharp-eyed Bremerton caught the move, but it was too late to inter- fere. The table was between him and Deane. «Oh, you cur!” cried Bremerton; “you shadow of the man that—” Deane pressed a trigger. A bullet tore its way through the front of his shirt and ranged upward over his left arm. Bremerton’s hands dropped, and he swayed a moment. “ Tricky to — the last!’’ he gasped. “ That gun—under the shirt—I didn’t know—” He fell sprawling backward with a force that made the adobe walls shiver and sent the lamp-flame flaring into the chimney. A scream came from some- where. Deane did not hear it. Ap- proaching footsteps crunched the gravel. And Deane did not hear them. Mechanically he picked up the deed and straightened erect. © Walking around the table, he stood looking down on Bremerton with staring, un- comprehending eyes. | O’Hara sprang furiously into the room out of the night. One look at the 567 form on the floor and he jumped at Deane. “TI thought it was you, not Bremer- ton!” he cried. “I'l kill you for this!” “No,” rasped Deane, lifting his re- volver and leveling it. ‘ You'll not kill me. Stand where you are!” The Irishman’s long body doubled forward, the muzzle looking him be- tween the eyes. He choked, and the fingers of his extended hands closed helplessly into the palms. Mariquita was in the room, but she seemed lost to what was passing be- tween the two men. Her concern was all for Bremerton. Kneeling, she took his head in her arms. Softly she pushed back the hair from his temples and kissed his brow, his cheek, his lips. “For me,” she whispered — “ for me! Oh, I want you to live so I can repay you for this! I want you—” She paused, her broken voice trailing off into quiet. Softly from Bremer- ton’s gripping fingers she removed the revolver. | “Look!” she said. ‘“ There are no loads in it!” O’Hara reached for the weapon, ex- amined it, and, with sneering con- tempt, exhibited it to Deane. “He was bluffing you,” said he; “ and, like a friend, like-an old partner, you called his bluff. Oh, if that can get under your skin, think of it now, carry it about in your head for years to come. But look for Mike O’Hara. You owe me something for this night’s work, Deane, and it’s a debt you’ll pay!” Deane backed away from the harm- less revolver as from a rattlesnake. He was staring at it as he reached the door; and he was still staring as he stepped backward into the night, the folded paper in one hand and the leveled re- volver in the other. Another moment and he was gone. He passed King in the doorway, and King whirled in a frenzy of consterna- tion and ran off toward the bunk-house. “Deane has killed Bremerton!” he shouted. COMicdoo S CO@