Free Play a Lone Hand by Luke; Short

from the print shop at the sound of the door being closed. When she saw Giff, she halted, nodded, and then regarded Welling with a close curiosity.
    â€œGood afternoon, ma’am,” Welling said, and touched his hat. “I’d like to place an advertisement in next week’s issue.”
    â€œYou already have one in today’s and it isn’t paid for,” Mary said tartly. “Let’s get that settled first. It’ll be two dollars.”
    Her abruptness brought a startled look to Welling’s face. He looked blankly at her for a moment, then remembered, and said, “Oh, yes. I’d forgotten that.”
    He reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet and handed Mary two silver dollars. As he finished, the door opened behind him, and a puncher stepped into the office. He closed the door and put his back against the wall, as if waiting his turn.
    Mary gave him a glance as she went over to the desk and without sitting down, drew paper and pencil toward her, then looked expectantly at Welling. Welling quoted: “‘To whom it may concern, Gifford Dixon, formerly employed by the General Land Office, has been discharged. He has no authority to purchase supplies, sign vouchers or speak for the General Land Office in any capacity whatsoever.’ Sign that, please, ‘Vincent X. Welling, Special Agent, General Land Office.’”
    Welling glanced at Giff now and said mildly, “Your newspaper advertisement gave me the idea. Thanks.” He turned to Mary then and said, “How much will that be, Miss?”
    â€œNot a penny, because we won’t print it,” Mary said. As if to underline her words, she folded the paper, tore it in quarters, eighths, sixteenths, and then deposited it in the wastebasket.
    Welling regarded her with total amazement and for long seconds he did not speak. “Why won’t you print it?” he asked at last.
    â€œThat’s a right all newspapers reserve for themselves, isn’t it?”
    â€œAre you the publisher of this newspaper?”
    â€œNo. You’ll find him over at the billiard table in Henty’s saloon. Go tell him I wouldn’t print it. Then he’ll come to me and tell me to print it and I still won’t print it and I still won’t get fired.”
    Welling looked from Mary to Giff and back to Mary. “What’s going on between you two?” he demanded.
    â€œMostly hard words,” Mary said dryly.
    â€œThen why can’t I get that printed?”
    Mary gave him a searching, thorough stare as if she were examining something new and distasteful to her. “Just assume that I don’t like the color of your bloodshot eyes. That’s reason enough for me.”
    Welling’s face flushed and he glanced quickly at Giff whose face was expressionless. “Haul her up to the sheriff’s,” Giff jibed.
    Welling wheeled and tramped out of the office past the waiting puncher, slamming the door behind him with the petulance of a child.
    Mary said to the puncher, “Something for you?”
    â€œA paper.”
    â€œTry the hotel or any of the saloons. We’re out.”
    The puncher nodded, touching his hat and went out.
    Mary glanced at Giff, then, “Did I do right?”
    Giff was looking at the door, and now his glance shuttled to Mary. “Who’s that?”
    â€œI don’t know. Why?”
    Giff didn’t answer. I’ve seen him , he thought, and where? but he couldn’t place him. Then it came to him. The fellow who whistled and tossed the coin . He was the man who had dropped that same coin through the plankwalk. Remembering now, Giff knew that Welling’s voice had been raised in anger, so overhearing him would have been easy. He knew with sudden conviction that the puncher had heard every word of his argument with Welling. Furthermore, he had just heard Welling’s attempt to fire his chainman publicly.
    Standing there, scowling,