Adventure, August 3, 1919 — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

“T don’t know,” said the informant. U “Bob Lange, he was ridin’ by the springs 5 when he——” > ‘“‘Where’s Lange?” “Guess he’s over at Toby’s place. He jest gotin-” “Go git him!” The informant jumped out. The boss, occupied with his own sulfuric thoughts, started walking up and down the one aisle of his store, forgetting Carlton and every- thing else. Dolan’s little clerk, who had been writing in a small cage, peered over his desk nervously. ; ~ “Geel” he gulped. ‘‘Somebody’s in for it!” Carlton and his wife turned toward him. “Somebody hurt one of the boss’s teams- ters before,” said the awestricken clerk. “The boss caught the feller that done it and broke him in two. With his hands!”’ Dolan happened to look around. The clerk ducked his head again just as two men came through the front door together. One was the informant, and the other was a short, stocky, round-faced man with the | bow legs of a seasoned rider. The boss seemed to shoot a question straight into his face: “Lange, who shot Snow?” “T dunno.” : | “Where'd you find him?” 3 “Right alongside the spring. Under the mesquite.” “Killed?” “He cashed in about an hour after I arrived.” . “‘When did you git there?” “This mornin’.” “Where was Aleck Jordan?” This ap» parently referred to Snow’s assistant. Some one usually accompanies every desert- freighter. “IT dunno. No trace of him.” “Ran away! Ioughtaknownit! White- livered skunk! me; if I ever see him again he’ll yun, all right! Where was the team?” “Right by the wagons, with feed-bags still on ’em. The harness was off. My pardner’s bringin’ ’em in. We rode up to the wells this mornin’, and there was that team with nobody tendin’ ’em. That looked queer; so I hollered. Somebody | gurgled from the well—you know that LP sige ete under the mesquite—and so I | a a hootin’ over there, Snow was lyin’ ; “ ,< ~ ’ ~ m.. * ." = he ® _desert-rat with shifty blue eyes and faded — on his side, with red under his chest. He said ‘Dolan.’ Then he stopped. After I’d washed him some, he said: “‘They come up behind me. Last ~~ night. Two of ’em. In masks. They a made Jordan hop into the desert. Then they took away my money and a letter in my hat.’ That was aboutall. He had a piece of red bandanna in his hand—here it is. From what I gather, they stopped and held him up. Prob’ly they took his gun away. Mebbe he had another under the wagon- seat. He made a break for the wagon, I guess, and then they tried to stop him. There was signs of a struggle by the wheels. Then he must ’a’ reached for the other fellow’s gun and got plugged. He got some of the mask, though. See it?” The stranger handed over a pieee of red bandanna with an exaggerated fleur-de-lis pattern, torn on two sides. The boss grabbed it savagely with a queer expres- sion on his face. Carlton saw something a was coming and turned to his wife. “Go back to the hotel!” he whispered. The girl looked curious but thought it best to accede. The boss was in a storming rage by now. He did.not notice her going. He did not notice anything except that piece of red bandanna. He looked at it closely, and then a cruel smile came to his face. “Where’s Tom Yager?’? he asked the informant suddenly. “Over at the hotel. Sleepin’ off last night’s drunk.” . “‘Where’s Axel Yager?” “I dunno.” The informant’s eyes turned toward the other man. ‘“Wasn’t he over at Looey Burns’?”’ he asked. ‘Seems like I seen him a short time ago.” “Yeh,” said the other. “Go over and git him!” ordered Dolan to Lange, the short man. “Tell him I want to see him about them samples from his minin’ claim.” ; _The messenger was apparently a trusted friend of Dolan’s and ran out willingly. The boss started pacing up and down the aisle again like an angry lion, shaking his shaggy head and clenching his great fists. Carlton kept out of his way. ee After a time the messenger returned with __ another man—a gangling, stoop-shouldered _ by one sweaty gallus. eka. tee 9 ae - = ooks.com