Cowboy Short Stories, November 1939 — page 88: what you’re looking at

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

by ROLLIN BROWN The Jinx was only an old wagon cook in a greasy apron... but when a range hellion called a six-gun showdown, the unarmed Jinx proved he was tougher than that greed- ridden land hog and his blazing Colts! ging homeward, raised thick waves of dust across the alkali flat lands. It stung the eyes of men and mounts. Heat devils shimmered across country and made false mirages under the horizon rim of far, ragged hills. The riders were tired and the monotony of things hung heavy on their nerves. Specks in the midst of wide desola- tion, it was not the time to expect drama, deeds of action, the proof or the proving of men. It was more the time when weary minds think up some practical joke on somebody, anything to liven things up. The A-Bar-1 outfit had shipped four hun- dred head of grass-fat beef and a hundred old cows and bulls, ‘“‘canners,’ from the Lone Bluff siding. Nine cowhands and the owner's son, Lew Springer, all men under the age of thirty, headed the home-bound procession in the form of a tight fan of sweating mounts and riders. Behind the riders, with four free-pulling mules needing no attention, rattled the cook wagon. The Jinx slept on the wagon seat. To the rear followed the cavvy of spate mounts, hazed along by a single rider. EF WAS hot. The little cavalcade, jog- Mark Larkin, astride a long-legged hack- amore colt at the peak of the fan of cow- boys, spoke to Lew Springer, on his right, gesturing backward with a thumb. “Look at him!” said Larkin. ‘“Disgustin’, ain’t it?” The lank, hard-faced Larkin referred to the Jinx, sleeping gn the jolting wagon seat. The hot sunlight blazed full on the Jinx’s crabbed, elderly features, dust settled over his skinny body, flies buzzed—but the Jinx slept. Lew Springer glanced back, took it all in and grinned. “Happy anyhow,” said Lew. “Jinx had a big night of it, last night. Stayed up till half-past ten, givin’ advice an’ recitin’ the long tale of his past record an’ woes to some of them new Windy Mesa boys that hadn’t got wise to him yet. You was his main trouble again, Larkin. I guess he never will forget the time you jipped him outa fifty-eight cents at penny-ante poker.” ARK LARKIN’S head gave a single, stiff nod. “A crook!’’ continued Lew Springer, imitating the shrill whine of the Jinx’s lOO Go