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Ebook has 136 lines and 5809 words, and 3 pages

Release date: August 26, 2023

Original publication: United States: The Ridgway Company, 1923

Credits: Roger Frank and Sue Clark

BROADCAST

Joe Teagler's dream of years was realized. He had struck pay dirt in his claim high on the scarred side of Old Tiptop. A rich vein of gold quartz had been uncovered, shouldering far back into the mountain, how far could only be guessed.

Another man would have been in ecstasy in contemplation of the fortune to be his. Teagler felt merely serene. He cast a glance over his shack of rough boards and logs, erected on the mountain side, to be handy to his claim.

"I'm goin' to miss that old shanty," he ruminated. "That bit of porch there is gettin' mighty rickety, I see. Right after lunch I've got to fix that middle prop. If I don't that company feller is likely to take a spill down the mountain. Scarcely seems a proper way to close a deal, even if he does try to 'gyp' me."

Teagler chuckled softly as he started into the shack to prepare lunch. But before he reached the door, he came to a sudden stop.

"Hello, old-timer."

The words were low, but something in the voice penetrated Teagler's consciousness like an electric shock. He had heard no sound of any man or thing approaching. Yet the voice came from just back of his left shoulder.

Teagler turned.

"Well?" he abruptly inquired.

The thought struck him that this might be the mining company man, come to deal for his property. He discarded this idea at once. Not only was the hour too early, but the stranger bore no appearance of a mining engineer.

"Nice place here."

In the tone, Teagler was almost certain he detected a subtle mockery. So he did not answer, waited for the other to say more.

The stranger had a flabby look. His beard was several days old, black and heavy. A pair of very dark eyes shifted from Teagler's face, roamed the mountainside and the shanty's exterior. The fellow was attired in a dark brown suit, shapeless now and caked with dirt about the shoe-tops, but the prospector was aware that the garment was of expensive cut. The man's felt hat retained dapper lines.

As Teagler eyed him, the newcomer whipped out a dirty handkerchief and dabbed with it at his perspiring face.

"That was some climb, old-timer," he asserted.

"Yeah?"

Teagler looked at the stranger's shoes. "Town" shoes. Rubber-soled. That was why they had given no sound as the man toiled up the trail. The fellow had a cat-like appearance, too.

"I'd give a lot for a bite to eat and something to drink. Anything. Water, even."

The stranger gave a short, sharp laugh. The laugh made plain a deep, white scar starting near the right temple and disappearing into the stubble of his beard.

"Come in," invited Teagler, and motioned to the steps, composed of two ends of logs.

Once inside, the stranger's shifty eyes rested on the picture of a slim, young girl in a velveteen gown and braids.

"My daughter," said Teagler, who had been following the fellow's roaming glance.

"Oh," remarked the stranger. "Good-looking kid. Where's she now?"

"School," replied the prospector, "back East."

"Fine."

The guest's gaze swerved to Teagler's preparation for lunch. He licked dry lips.

"Set in," invited Teagler.

Ravenously, the man partook of the food. After several mouthfuls of the meat he looked up inquiringly.

"Venison?" he asked.

Teagler nodded.

"Got him just back of the rimrock down Cincher Creek."

He looked at the battered alarm-clock on a shelf. The hands met at twelve o'clock.

"Excuse me," said Teagler. "Music with our meals."

He moved over to the wall, to the horn the stranger had observed and reached for a switch.

"Radio?" asked the stranger. "I noticed the fixings."

For answer, Teagler turned on the switch. A moment's manipulation and a raucous voice was heard closing an announcement. Then came a jazzy dance tune.

"Slick," said the stranger, "way up here back of nowhere."

Teagler grinned. He was proud of his radiophone.

The visitor washed down his venison with large gulps of coffee.

The jazz tune ended. The raucous voice began again. It was somewhat clearer by this time.

"I am asked," it said, "to make this announcement by the chief of police of Denver, Colorado. A reward of two thousand dollars--two thousand dollars--is offered for the capture of one "Snapper" Kirk, wanted for the theft of a diamond necklace the property of Ellsworth Coster, of Denver.

"Kirk is described as about five feet eight inches in height. He has dark complexion and dark eyes, stocky in build. He was dressed when last seen in a dark brown suit and brown felt hat. Kirk can be easily recognized by a deep, white scar on his right cheek, starting near the temple and ranging downward for more than two inches. Send any information to chief of police, Denver."

Teagler moved the platter of venison closer to his unexpected guest.

"Eat plenty," he bade.

Teagler attempted a casual conversation. His guest eyed him, but answered only in monosyllables. The radio program ended, with the giving of live stock quotations.

"Interested in mines?" asked the prospector.

"Gold?" demanded the stranger.

Teagler nodded.

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