Adventure, July 1, 1928 — page 131: what you’re looking at

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

THE MAN WHO HATED HIMSELF theft. He was tempted a hundred times to share the burden of his guilt with Cot- ton Eye who was now hobbling about on crutches made of forked sticks wrapped and padded with deerskin. “Wish I could git word out to the ranch,” said Buck, ‘“This hay ain’t gonna last. The only shot, if this keeps up, is to drift south o’ the river where the shelter is better. _Mebbe train out from there. They could buy hay at Lewistown and Gilt Edge. I had to kill three more calves today. Cows didn’t have milk to feed the li’] beggars. Hear the cows a-bawlin’? Hell, ain’t it?” The haystacks were becoming fewer. Buck and his crippled partner found it hard to fill the long silences that fell over them. Cotton Eye hobbled about now, getting the;:meals and washing dishes. He scraped the thick frost from the win- dow and would sit there, smoking and watching Buck Bell pitch hay sparingly to the starving cattle. When Buck sad- dled his horse and rode back into the breaks to bring in more stumbling, gaunt steers and cows, Cotton Eye would curse with futile fury at his aching leg. “Brung in three more o’ Dick Powell’s steers today. Weak as hell. Three-four Circle Diamond cows, another Square steer, one er two Bear Paw Pool strays, and the Widder Brown’s Jersey milk cow. The widder sets a heap o’ store by that cow. It must be shore a-stormin’ up on the ridges, to drift that stuff into the breaks. If this keeps up, there won’t bea cow left in the country.” “You was:sayin’ something about get- tin’ word to the ranch, Buck. I kin make out to ride now. Id like to tackle it. Ain’t doin’ no good here.” “If you’re plumb sure you kin make it, pardner?”’ “Shore thing, I kin. [ll pull out in the > 99 mornin’. UCK wrapped the injured leg in a blanket and Cotton Eye rode away in the gray dawn. Buck grinneda farewell. When Cotton Eye was gone, Buck tried to whistle away the gnawing 125 loneliness. He worked feverishly, not even taking a few minutes off at noon for his usual coffee and beans and meat. Now and then, when his chores took him past the corner of the shed where the stolen money had been buried, he would quicken his pace, as a man afraid of ghosts might pass with haste by a grave. “Why did Horace lie?”’ he asked him- self a thousand and one times. ““Because Horace knowed who done the robbery!”’ came the still answer out of each night’s darkness. Cotton Eye had left his bed and his war- sack filled with a few clothes and knic- knacks. Delving into the sack for a needle and thread one day, a week or so after Cotton Eye’s departure, Buck came upon a large envelope of heavy paper. He emptied its contents of saddle wax and thread and harness needles and awl. He sat there, smiling softly, the worried frown momentarily gone from his fore- head. “Till doit. Dll use this envelope to hold the money. Else I’ll be plumb crazy before spring. Tl send the money to Horace, first man that passes along.” He spent an evening composing a laborious letter to the Circle C wagon boss. That night he slept without tossing and dreaming. And with the first streak of dawn he was out in the shed with pick and shovel, digging in the corner. With hands that shook with eagerness, he undid the slicker. A choking cry broke from his pulsing throat. The money was gone. All of it. The slicker held nothing but some scraps of old newspaper, rudely cut and bundled in imitation of the bank-notes. For a long time Buck squatted there on the ground, staring with dazed eyes at the slicker and its mocking contents. A rack- ing, horrible laugh rattled from his dry lips. Then he went on back to the cabin, his brain aching dully with milling thoughts. Cotton Eye had taken the money. Cot- ton Eye was a thief as well as a crooked card sharp. It was hard to take—after what he’d done fer Cotton Eye. “Well, the damn’ stuff is gone. Gone comicloooks.com