Some town
Date: 2026-09-24T00:00:00+00:00

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Title: Some town

Author: Ray Humphreys

Release date: September 24, 2026 [eBook #79643]

Language: English

Original publication: New York, NY: Street & Smith Corporation, 1925

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79643

Credits: Prepared by volunteers at BookCove (bookcove.net)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME TOWN ***

SOME TOWN

By Ray Humphreys

Author of “No Shots,” etc.

“Shorty,” said Sheriff Joe Cook of Monte Vista to his deputy, Shorty McKay, as the hot August day began to cool with dusk, “I’ve had something on my mind to say to yuh fer a long time, an’ now I’m a-gonna say it. I wants yuh to spend more time around this office, at yuhr official duties, an’ less time up to the telephone exchange blabbing with that Haynes gal!”

Shorty, who was sitting back in a comfortable chair, feet cocked up on his desk, cleaning his revolver, brought feet and chair to the floor with a simultaneous thud.

“Says which, boss?”

“Yuh heard me the fust time, Shorty, but I’m obligin’ an’ willin’ to repeat—I says I wants yuh to spend less time up thar chinnin’ with that Belle Haynes operator an’ more time here where yuh is paid to be!”

“Why, what——” sputtered Shorty, flushing a bit, but the sheriff made haste to cut him short.

“What fer, yuh’re gonna say, eh? Waal, fer one thing, that gal doesn’t give no too good service up thar at the exchange nohow, an’ it ain’t helpin’ matters none to have yuh up thar disturbing her further, an’ fer another thing yuh ain’t givin’ the taxpayers o’ Monte Vista no good fer their money when yuh’re up thar instead o’ here. When I wants a subpœna served or a notice tacked up, yuh ain’t here to do it, an’ besides, I wants yuh hangin’ around this office when I’m out, so that in case o’ an’ emergency——”

“Yes, sir,” said Shorty respectfully.

“Now, this evenin’ I’m headin’ fer the depot an’ then to the Red Spruce Hotel,” said the sheriff, “where I goes into conference with a coupla big cattlemen from Denver, aimin’ to sell ’em that bunch o’ three-year-old white-faces I got back in the hills. Yuh stay here in case anything happens; mind, I mean here, not at the telephone exchange!”

“But, boss——” protested Shorty.

“She’ll just have to git used to bein’ lonesome up thar by herself ef that’s what yuh’re gonna say,” cut in the sheriff. “I’m plumb sick o’ yuhr sentimental nonsense, Shorty, an’ besides, that gal wouldn’t make nobody no wife. Now, ef it was Susie Kirk, the day operator, yuh was sparkin’——”

“Well, it ain’t,” said Shorty crisply.

The sheriff arose and put on his black hat and made for the door, turning to cast a last look at his unhappy deputy.

“Waal, I’m headin’ fer the depot,” he remarked. “The six forty is about due; I’ll be at the Red Spruce after that ef any one wants me, an’ yuh stay here, fer, while I don’t place much stock in them anny-nominous letters, still——”

The sheriff paused, drew his lips tight, turned and went out, banging the office door after him.

Shorty, again at the task of polishing up his gun, although only half-heartedly now, scowled as the banging door told him his peevish boss had departed. Shorty knew what Sheriff Cook had meant by his last unfinished remark. The sheriff had received an anonymous letter two days before, and it was worrying him a bit, evidently. The letter, unsigned and undated, had simply stated, tersely, that the writer had overheard the plans of several gunmen to make a cleaning in Monte Vista. That was all. There were no details. And while Sheriff Cook ordinarily, as he said, took small stock in such missives, still——

“He’s worrying about that,” moaned Shorty unhappily, “an’ that’s why he orders me to keep open house here in the office while he entertains his cattle buyers! Now how about Belle, up thar at that lonesome telephone exchange all alone like she is? Pore gal—an’ glory be, what eyes she has! Great big blue sparklers! An’ her hair—golden as a five-dollar gold piece just outten the mint—pore little gal.”

Shorty drew his big watch from his pocket and glanced at it. Six forty-five, almost time for Belle to go on duty. Just fifteen minutes more and she would be on duty. Shorty shrugged his shoulders and sighed. He’d call her up then. Maybe, too, if he could screw up sufficient courage, he’d disregard his orders and go up there. Belle would be lonesome, he knew. Besides, she was a pretty girl—and—well, Shorty was very fond of her.

Meantime the puffing narrow gauge had pulled in and disgorged its passengers into the arms of the town, for all of Monte Vista made it a point to be at the depot for the arrival of the six forty from Denver. The two cattle buyers whom the sheriff had been expecting swung off and Sheriff Cook spotted them and made them welcome. They all climbed into the creaking old bus from the Red Spruce and rattled up the street to the hotel, where the sheriff was host at supper. And after the meal, which was a good one, the sheriff and his guests retired to a secluded spot in the lobby, to talk over the proposed deal. The fate of more than a thousand head of prime white-faces, back in the timber, was to be decided. The sheriff produced three fat cigars.

Meantime, too, other train passengers had come straggling into the Red Spruce and registered. There was an extra large quota this evening, it appeared, and the cattle buyers, who had struck up an acquaintance with some of the passengers on the train en route, pointed out various comers to the sheriff.

“See that feller with the whiskers just registerin’?” asked Bill Grant, one of the cattle buyers. “Well, he’s a jewelry salesman from New York—says he’s got a small fortune in jewels on him. Shouldn’t think he’d be safe carryin’ stuff like that around this country. Told him so, but he laughed.”

The sheriff fixed a glassy eye on Grant. “He’s safe enough; I’m sheriff o’ this county, Mr. Grant, an’ that bird’s safer here than he’d be in New York City!”

The cattle buyers exchanged significant glances and changed the subject. The jewelry salesman went up to his room. Other guests scattered to the dining room and to the street, and the old-fashioned clock over the clerk’s desk boomed out the hour of eight o’clock. Old Jerry Curtis, the clerk, seated at the hotel telephone switchboard, munched an apple and glanced over The Clarion between calls from the various rooms for ice water, letter paper, envelopes, and other free donations. Sheriff Cook, expounding the cause of his good white-faces, glowed and grew eloquent, intending to say plenty before the buyers put in a bid. The sheriff had sold plenty of cattle before.

“Hullo,” yipped Jerry Curtis complainingly. “Ya, this is the clerk hisself talkin’. Our new safe ain’t been installed yet. Awful sorry. Just hide ’em somewhars in the room—under the carpet or back o’ the dresser—sure!”

The clerk clicked off.

“Huh,” said the sheriff, growing interested, “an’ who was that, Jerry, callin’ about valuables?”

“That New Yark salesman up in 308,” said Jerry, “wanted to store some jewelry in a safe overnight. I told him to hide it under the carpet or back o’ the dresser.”

“Sure, what is he afraid of in Monte Vista?” demanded the sheriff with pride. “I’m sheriff here, an’ ef I do say so, we ain’t got no thieves an’ robbers here—no, sirree, boys.”

“Well, sheriff,” said one of the cattle buyers, “let’s come to terms on those white-faces. We’ll take yuhr word that they’re all yuh say—prime—an’ now, delivered here, on the hoof, an’ loaded into cars, billed to us——”

The sheriff held his breath. The bid was coming.

“All right—go on,” he said.

“We figger, Grant and I, that the company can pay yuh——”

The cattle buyer paused, for effect, the sheriff instantly decided—and the sheriff waved him on.

“Yes—go on!”

But the buyer did not go on. He was staring with wide eyes and slightly opened mouth toward the sheriff. A full minute and still the fellow did not go on. Sheriff Cook blinked. The other buyer, Grant, was also staring. For a minute the sheriff was puzzled before he realized that both men were staring not at him but past him. He turned for a look.

In the doorway of the hotel, rifles leveled, stood a group of dusty men. Just as the sheriff saw them the leader, advancing gingerly into the lobby, bawled out a thunderous command.

“Hands up, everybody—good an’ high, too!”

There wasn’t a bit of doubt in the minds of all who heard him but that he meant it. Hands accordingly went up—and high. Sheriff Cook reached for the ceiling along with the rest, for he had been taken from behind, and by surprise as well. Old Jerry Curtis, the clerk, sprang from his chair at the switchboard and straightened up on his tiptoes, so as to be able to reach all the higher. The bell hops reached, too. The silence was ominous as the leader advanced farther into the lobby and the pack at his heels followed him, eyes and rifles sweeping to all sides.

“Nobody moves,” said the bandit leader loudly, “unless they are tired o’ livin’. Fust, we want whatever guns you——”

The leader didn’t finish. One of the men behind him darted out and quickly frisked the guests in the lobby, as well as the clerk and the bell boys. The guns were piled on the counter.

“Joe,” said the leader, “git on that telephone board an’ see no calls goes outta here while we’re workin’. Better start callin’ the rooms an’ tell ’em that the proprietor is comin’ up to inspect the rooms er something, so they’ll open up fer us.”

Joe obediently took his post. He plugged in a line and opened the plug. It was plain that he knew something of switchboards.

“Marty,” said the leader, “yuh an’ ‘Pug’ search these gents in the lobby here, an’ guard ’em, while me an’ ‘Blackie’ goes around to the rooms an’ collects. Remember, Joe, yuh watch that board, fer them bazoos will start yelpin’ as soon as we gits around past ’em—yuh kid ’em along gentle till we gits down.”

“Sure,” said Joe.

The bandit leader, followed by one assistant, strode for the stairs and vanished, while the two men left in the lobby began a systematic search of Sheriff Cook, Clerk Curtis, the cattle buyers, and a group of salesmen who had been chatting in an alcove.

Meanwhile the man at the switchboard did his stuff and kept up a running fire of talk.

“Yep . . . this is the Red Spruce Hotel . . . Mr. O’Neill, no, he ain’t in just now . . . call later . . . all right. Hello, room 312? Well, say, this is the clerk downstairs speakin’. The proprietor is comin’ up in a minute to see yuh; open up when he raps, will yuh? All right! Hello, yes, this is the clerk . . . ice water, 402 . . . right away! Hello, room 313 . . . this is the clerk downstairs . . . the proprietor is comin’ up to see yuh in a minute . . . open up when he raps, will ya? All right.”

“Well, well,” said the bandit who had been searching the sheriff, “looky this, gents—blamed ef this party ain’t got a badge on—purty one, too—sheriff, by gum. Well, ain’t this nice. How are yuh, sheriff? No, never mind shakin’ hands. Yuh keep yuhr hands up or yuh’ll be shakin’ hands with Saint Peter. We don’t mind sheriffs at all, mister. We robs them, too.”

“Hello,” the man at the switchboard was droning, “yes, this is the clerk. What’s that? Yuh was just robbed? Well, keep still an’ stay right thar until the sheriff gits up. What room . . . 211? All right . . . yes, the sheriff is right here in the lobby now . . . all right, all right . . . don’t get so excited! Hello! Yes, this is the Red Spruce Hotel. No, nobody here by that name. Nope . . . good-by! Hello, room 314 . . . say, this is the clerk speakin’ . . . the proprietor is comin’ up . . . will yuh open up, please?”

“Sufferin’ snakes,” groaned the sheriff weakly, as the perspiration stood out on his forehead, “yuh birds must be the Hollis band I got a letter about. I never thought yuh’d have the nerve—like this—in a big hotel.”

“We like ’em big, sheriff,” smiled one of the gunmen coolly. “So yuh got a letter about us, eh? How nice.”

“I didn’t put much stock in it,” gasped Sheriff Cook, and then, under his breath, to Grant, the cattle buyer, who was shivering at the sheriff’s left, he muttered—“now whar do yuh reckon that fool deputy o’ mine is, eh? Sparkin’ that phone gal I’ll bet a hat, an’ leavin’ us to be robbed an’ insulted!”

“Hello! Hello!” the man at the switchboard was rasping, as the little lights began to flash all over the board, signaling. “Room 218 . . . all right! Yuh say yuh just been robbed? All right, the sheriff will be right up! Yuh stay right thar. Hello, yes . . . this is the clerk. Yes . . . room 220 . . . all right . . . robbed? All right, wait thar. I’ll be right up . . . hello . . . hello . . . 221 . . . yes . . . just been held up . . . well, remain right there. Hello . . . yes, this is the Red Spruce . . . no, not here. Hello . . . room 221 . . . yes, I heard yuh . . . just been robbed . . . yes . . . stay right there!”

The bandits known as Marty and Pug, having searched the victims in the lobby and relieved them of all valuables, stood back now and grinned at their comrade, Joe, at the switchboard.

“Yuh is some operator, Joe,” cried Pug. “Yuh sure can talk fast ’n plenty, I’ll say!”

“Plenty, heck!” whooped Joe, jerking off his headpiece long enough to grin at his pals. “I’m losin’ ground. Thar’s forty people on here tryin’ to talk at once, reportin’ a robbery! Reckon the boss is makin’ fast work o’ it! Two or three hollerin’ in my ear at once—to say nuthin’ o’ outside calls comin’ in, too.”

“Quiet ’em down,” advised Pug softly. “Tell ’em to stay put in their rooms. We don’t want the buzzards swoopin’ inter the lobby. We could handle ’em, all right, but it might look bad from the street to see a lot o’ excited people crowdin’ around. Get talkin’ an’ tell ’em to be calm an’ stay put!”

“I’ll open the whole dog-gone board,” said Joe with sudden decision, “so that they can all hear me at one time. Hello, everybody! Yes . . . this is the clerk speakin’. We know thar’s been a robbery . . . everybody stay right in their rooms until the sheriff arrives. Remain quiet . . . fer a few minutes . . . yes . . . Hello! Yes, this is the Red Spruce Hotel. Yuh quit ringin’ in my ear. Who tol’ yuh to put in, anyhow. We ain’t got no Mr. O’Neill here. All right. Good-by . . . everybody stay quiet now . . . best thing.”

Joe ripped off the headpiece again.

“Somebody rung in from outside an’ near busted my eardrum,” wailed Joe. Dog-gone it, Pug, things is gettin’ hot upstairs. Thar goes the signal from 401—the boss has reached the top floor. Thar’s 402! He’s sweepin’ right along handsomelike!”

Meantime the sheriff was wilting with mortification, but there wasn’t a chance in a thousand that Shorty would happen along and be able to handle the situation—no, the bandits would soon finish their wholesale plundering and depart, leaving the sheriff to be shamed before the whole county.

“The money we was to pay yuh down on them steers,” whispered Grant, the cattle buyer, “it’s gone—and the deal’s off!”

“Hello!” shouted the bandit at the switchboard, and he held up a hand to attract the attention of Pug and Marty, the other outlaws, and he winked at them. “Yes . . . this is the clerk . . . oh, yes, 308 . . . oh, yes . . . yuh say yuh’re the man asked about the safe place fer yuhr jewelry? Oh, yes. I told yuh to hide it under the carpet . . . yes . . . an’ yuh did . . . yes . . . an’ the bandits never found it, yuh say? Well, well . . . that’s great . . . room 308, eh? Fine . . . leave it right thar under the carpet, mister. That’s right!”

The bandit operator whirled and yelled at Pug. “Beat it up to 308, Pug—gent thar phones down to thank me fer tellin’ him to hide his stuff under the carpet. He says the robbers missed it. Git yuh up thar an’ grab it. The boss overlooked a good haul. Hurry, Pug!”

“My gosh,” wailed Curtis, the clerk, “that’s that New Yark jewelry salesman that I told to hide his stuff!”

Pug, with a sneering look at Curtis, ran up the stairs.

“Great stuff,” chuckled the bandit at the switchboard, doubling up in mirth. “The boss overlooks a bet an’ the pore sucker calls down to brag about it an’ Pug goes right up an’ gits it!”

“Ain’t had so much fun in a year!” agreed Marty, shifting his rifle a bit, “and this is some killing, too.”

“Liable to be ef yuh move!” whooped a strange voice from the rear, and Marty and Joe felt their blood freeze in their veins. “Yuh, with the rifle—drop it. Thanks. An’ yuh, at the switchboard thar—hands up high. Now stand up—thanks!”

“Shorty!” whooped Sheriff Cook, and he swayed, only to start like he had been shot at the next words of the newcomer.

“Pick up that rifle, boss—and herd that pair o’ slickers one side. All right, fellers, come on in!”

The next minute a young army swarmed in—armed with pitchforks, rifles, shotguns, revolvers, and clubs. They were townsmen in various stages of dress and undress. A posse!

“Scatter behind chairs, er curtains—an’ the counter,” ordered Shorty. “The rest’ll be comin’ downstairs in a minute.”

Sure enough, grinning happily, Pug, a handful of jewelry clutched to his chest, came romping down the stairs.

“Elevate ’em, mister!” cried Shorty, rising from behind the counter with a pair of six-guns—and Pug did. The next minute the sheriff had another cowed gunman under the muzzle of his rifle.

“More comin’,” said Shorty, as running footfalls sounded immediately overhead, and the next minute he was popping up from behind the counter again, covering two surprised gunmen.

“That’s all, Shorty,” cried Sheriff Cook, quickly recovering his poise. “Thar was only five. We got ’em all!”

“Thar was six,” corrected Shorty tersely. “We nabbed the lookout outside as we come up!”

“I was hopin’ yuh’d come, deputy,” beamed the sheriff, as he collected the outlaws’ weapons from where they had dropped them. “Ef I could have gotten a phone call to yuh——”

“Huh!” sneered the bandit leader, still pretty cocky. “We thought o’ that—we took no chances—we cut the wires right outside yuhr office, sheriff, as we came in. We didn’t know yuh was here. Yuh couldn’t have gotten yuhr deputy nohow.”

“I was at the office, boss,” said Shorty, and he reddened a little, anticipating the bellow he knew would come. But before anything more could be said, a pajama-clad form bounded down the stairs, half a dozen at a time. It was the New York jewelry salesman. He saw his jewelry on the floor, where Pug had dropped it when Shorty had covered him. He pounced for it and clutched it tightly to him.

“Some town!” he howled sarcastically, as he glared around at Shorty, the sheriff, the clerk, the posse, and the captured bandits. “Fine town—where they ain’t no safes fer valuables an’ the clerk tells yuh where to hide ’em an’ yuh telephone down to tell the clerk everything is all right an’ thar’s a bandit on the switchboard who sends up another bandit to rob yuh before yuh has time to turn around.”

“I wasn’t at the office, boss,” repeated Shorty, ignoring the New Yorker. “I went up to the exchange to keep Belle company, she bein’ lonesome, an’ she wasn’t feelin’ very well, so I told her to go home an’ I’d handle the exchange, so she did, an’ I kept tryin’ to ring up the Red Spruce here, to tell yuh whar I was should yuh need me, an’ I couldn’t get no answer—until finally I does get in—and then I hears a strange voice shouting fer everybody to stay quiet in their rooms until the sheriff arrived—that doesn’t sound good, so I collects a posse in town——”

“Some town!” whooped the bandit leader crazily. “Some town—whar they have deputy sheriffs fer centrals. No wonder we got caught, fellers. Joe, yuh shouldn’t have answered any o’ them incomin’ calls.”

“Further,” broke in Shorty, “I suspected right off this was the birds yuh got the anonymous letter about, boss. It was from Belle, that letter. She overheard some talk on the wires. She didn’t dare sign her name because she figgered yuh didn’t like her and she didn’t want to give away the fact that she had listened in, fer fear I wouldn’t like it, but to-night she tol’ me. I put two an’ two together, boss, an’ when Belle went home an’ I heard——”

“Belle is a dandy fine gal, Shorty,” whooped the sheriff, and he patted Shorty on the back. “Wonderful gal—make some feller a splendid wife. Yuh better stick around close to her, Shorty—splendid gal, that Belle!”

Notes on the Text

This story appeared in Western Story Magazine, August 8, 1925. It is believed to be in the public domain in the United States; copyright status may differ in other countries.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME TOWN ***

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