Adventure, August 3, 1919 — page 119: what you’re looking at

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

P| oe 3 ae leavin’ in just fifteen more days. What do you think of it? Can you hold it? “T can read and write and figger enough to keep the time-sheets,” Lonesome’ said softly, more to himself than to Bradshaw, perhaps. “Shore, I can hold it. I’m much obliged toye,Brad!”? Honest appreciation beamed from his eyes. To be the superintendent of a log- ging outfit, that was his fondest dream but one—and that one concerned Nancy Kirk- land, himself and a preacher! He had worked hard and for years in the attempt to fit himself for a superintendent’s place. Bradshaw was about to speak again when the door banged open to admit a miniature hurricane of cold air and the youthful figure of Billy Allison, the commissary clerk. Allison snapped the door shut be- hind him and turned nervously to the two men. “The commissary’s front door was broken open last night, Brad,” he announced in a low and somewhat shaky voice. ‘‘Whoever it was used a peavy spike which was left lying in the snow by the step. But the safe is all mght, and I didn’t notice that ~ anything was gone.” Bradshaw rose, and so did Bentley. Then the superintendent beckoned to the logger, and the three of them went toward the company’s general store. Dawn was just spreading its great, rose-colored fan upward from the crest of Little Brother Mountain; the new day promised to be clear and bright. Allison had already lighted the great oil lamp that hung in the center of the big, long room, and he and the other two quickly looked over the stock. .So far as they were able to see, nothing had been stolen. Brad- shaw walked back to the safe, which stood under the rear end of the counter; it was tightly locked. _ “Sure this is all right, Billy?” he asked. “T haven’t looked inside,” frowned young Allison. He hastened to the safe, knelt before it and within another minute swung open the irondoor. Then he shot to his feet. “It’s all gone—six hundred dollars!’? he exclaimed. He had spoken correctly. The six hun- dred dollars in cash was not there. Bentley pressed forward and leaned over the counter. _ “Funny how that happened,’ was his _ drawling, puzzled comment. “It must ha’ . oo My © 3 . é | 7 ‘i, ae : ‘ —s Re ia _ Howling Jim’s Pal 109 been somebody that knowed the combina- tion!” Billy Allison flashed a quick look toward the hillman, as at an accuser. Another second and he was staring anxiously into the superintendent’s bronzed face. “Brad, do you think—” he began. Bradshaw interrupted. “The lad didn’t do it, Lonesome,” he said a trifle sharply. ‘“‘And I didn’t do it, and only us two and Stapleton Haley knows the combination. There’s been a smooth job pulled off here, Lonesome. We'd better send to Jonesville for the sheriff as soon as possible. But first maybe we’d better see whether there’s any footprints leadin’ off from the commissary. Eh?” Bentley nodded, and Allison said eagerly: . “Yes; the snow had stopped falling when I closed last night, and the robber couldn’t have gone anywhere except to the boarding- house without his footprints giving him away.” It was now light enough for them to see even the track of a rabbit in the snow out- side. They walked a wide circle in the clearing, encompassing both the commissary and the boarding-house without coming upon a single footprint that couldn’t be easily accounted for. Which was con- clusive proof that both the thief and the money were still in camp. When they had come to the commissary’s front doorway again, Bradshaw turned to Bentley with this: “One of the lJoggin’-engines ought to have some fire in it from yesterday, Lone- some. Sneak over to the tracks and take one down to Jonesville and bring the sheriff. It’s down-grade nearly all the way, and you can raise steam as you go. flurry?” - = Bentley ran to the tracks, leaped aboard one of the geared locomotives and loosed the brakes. The wheels began to turn. The passing of an hour found him in the ~ foot-hills with a fair head of steam coming on. ‘Two hours after sunrise he was speak- ing hastily with Garrett Henry, the lanky and serious, blue-clad and broad-hatted Jonesville sheriff. | i IT WAS not far from noontime e=a@ when the thundering staccato of the small, geared engine’s laboring exhaust reached the ears of those who waited ‘ ae the Morgan-Haley camp on Big Brother av ‘ad Ji.