Adventure, August 3, 1919 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

8 Adventure hot granite pillar, and half-shoved, half- kicked him into the saddle, while Finch yelped with pain. When the job was com- pleted, Carlton, who had put the pistol into its holster, produced it again. “Travel!” he ordered sternly, “Git! Vamose! And if you ever start anything with me again, I'll shoot on sight! Now vanish!” Finch shook his doleful head, gathered the reins, clucked dismally and started down the rocky hillside toward the green valley below. Carlton stood and watched until the fgure was far down into the lower reaches. A dozen cleyer and snappy re- marks came to his head now, aot yet in Finch’s reproachful and nonresistant pres- ence he knew his brain had bogged down. as usual—and now he had let the cold-blooded old assassin go! The thought made him angry with himself. He turned his face away from the pitiless glare of the setting sun and looked down the eastern side of the ridge into his little garden of Eden. The western country was gaunt and godless, gray and yellow, -dancing in the blur of the purple heat-wave. The valley was different. Pines clustered in cool little groves under the side of the copper mountain, and their tiny springs gave verdure to the ground immediately beneath him. Far away the ranch-house and barns and coops of Ebenezer Finch stood like toys placed on a carpet of green, with yellow haystacks here and there and peace- ful animals grazing. But somehow the nearer lands at the lower end of the valley looked yellower, as if lacking something. A little verdant spot stood alongside Carlton’s tiny white house, almost beneath him, but that was from a trickling spring used mostly for drinking-water. He con- templated the place for a long time; then he turned away. “No water, little money and no friends except one rip-snorting old saloon-keeper. What am I going to do?” he asked of the vast silence that seemed to mock him from the treeless west. He looked downward to the gaunt foot- hills and their mystic purple ravines and » gulches, spread before him for miles, in- hospitable and inscrutable, as if enchanted by demons. This was the unmerciful world outside the gates of his home, and his fate seemed to be driving him toward it. into the sinister western lands, the engineer saw his problem as plainly as if it were written in two words: yes or no; “No!” he resolved. “Never! If I have to, Pl kill him! ‘This is my home, and mine she'll stay!” There was a new swing to Carlton's shoulders as he ambled down the mountain- side later. He trudged toward the low- lands and past a detached grove of pines, whistling in spite of the heat. The shad- ows of late afternoon were dimming the sunlight, and soon the air would be cooler. Supper seemed to be ready in the little white-painted, two-story cottage. A wisp of smoke curled from its chimney. Suddenly the man noticed a flash of blue and white coming around the corner of the house and running toward him. The figure seemed agitated. Slightly alarmed, he gained speed until he vaulted the little fence that bounded his truck-garden, where his. brown-eyed wife met him. “Harry!” she cried, clutching at him. “What's the matter?” “T don’t know. Whatis it? The horse galloped in a long time ago with an empty saddle!’’ She was almost breathless, and her eyes showed the strain she had under- gone. “I thought of all sorts of horrible things, Then Finch rode by with his leg bound up. I called, but he wouldn’t step; so I stopped him.” “How?” Her eyes snapped sternly. “I took down that rifle over the mantel! and pointed it at him!” “Great Scott! What did he do?” “Oh, he grinned like an old wolf and put up his hands. He said, ‘You're larnin’, ma’am,’ and I said he would, too. Then he said, ‘Birds of a feather flock together’ and chuckled. I'd forgotten to cock the ham- mer of the rifle; so I pulled it back with my thumb. The gun nearly went off. It was awful!” She took a long, shuddering breath. “I asked him where you. were, and he said he didn’t know. He seemed more polite. Maybe that clicking sound _ €omicbooks.com ~~ sak —s