Adventure Magazine, March 1916 — page 116: what you’re looking at

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

II4 SUPERINTENDENT BARTON, | weary-eyed and saddle-worn, loped . his roan across the plain toward Chimney Rock. In his breast was a wallet with five thousand dollars in bills gathered eee from friends and sympathizers in ubio Back at the Curly O was the sheriff’s. posse, strongly disapproving of the pay- ment of the ransom, but persuaded to wait the twenty-four hours before commencing a universal search for the kidnapers, and Redding, endeavoring to comfort his dis- tracted wife, who counted the minutes that must pass before her baby was restored to her in a desperate effort at calmness, based in no small measure on confidence in Sandy Bourke, long since established. As Barton rode toward the column, the fingers of the rising sun, diffidently touch- ing the summits of the cliffs, crept down un- til the rose mantle covered the purple vest- ment of the night. Chimney Rock sent a long shadow westward as he laid the wallet with the money on the ledge that formed the base of the pillar, and, with a sigh, turned back to the ranch. Out from the cliffs, following the pointer of the column’s shadow, came a man on a calico pony, serape wrapped against the chilly dawn, smoking a cigarette as his dark eyes, beady and glittering as those of a rat- tlesnake, surveyed the plain. He smoked out one cigarette and replaced it, dropping his fingers again to the rifle he carried across the pommel of his saddle. “No signs of trouble,” he muttered to himself in Mexican. ‘And the gringo fool has left the money. Good!’ “Hands up!” The astounded Mexican reined in in- stinctively at the sharp- command that seemed to have fallen from the sky. “Buene diez, hombre,” said a smoothly mocking voice. “Here I am. Hoist yo’ hands!” Sancho Padilla turned his beady eyes up- ward to where the muzzle of a Winchester protruded from the parapet of Chimney Rock. It seemed to be targeted between his black brows. The morning light was clear and his eyesight good. He could distin- guish the unwavering sight, and, back of it, a pair of eyes that held a menacing gleam. “Madre de Dios!’ he muttered, started to cross himself involuntarily, and stopped the motion with a shudder. Adventure Out from the eastern cliffs raced three horses, two of them mounted, the third fol- lowing free, its reins behind the saddle- horn. Padilla’s eyes glanced rapidly from side to side as Mormon and Sam covered him on right and left. “Git down!” cried the voice from the top — of the rock. ‘‘Coveh him, Mormon! Sam, come oveh here an’ steady this rope.” Sandy swiftly descended the column and shook the loop of his lariat from the pro- jection about which he had snubbed it. Then he rolled a ‘cigarette and lit it, in- haling luxuriously, seated on the ledge be- side the wallet that Barton had left. “Didn’t dare to smoke one all night,’’ he said. “Tie him up good, Sam. Now hom- bre, you an’ me’s goin’ to hold a li’l con- versation.”’ Half an hour later, the disgruntled Pa- dilla, his arms tied behind him, rode re- luctantly toward the cliffs whence he had come, escorted by the three cowboys, who regaled him with threats of reprisal in case of treachery. “T’ve seen both of ’em,”’ summed up Sandy in a casual tone. “Afteh themen had cashed in, but I neveh officiated—yet. I don’t know which lasts the longest. ’Pends on the weather.”’ ‘We might sew him up in a green hide, that depends on the time of day as to how quick it dries up. Or we might find a rat- tler an’ leash him to a saddle-strip. You see,’ he addressed the shuddering Mexican directly, “‘we buries you, up to the neck, an’ pegs out the rattler just out of reach. At sight of yore ugly face he natcherly gits mad an’ tries to stick his fangs in it. Meb- be a cloudburst comes along an’ soaks the strip. Thenit’sovehinahurry. Ifit keeps dry, yo’re apt to be uncomf’t’ble a while longer. “Mebbe we can think up somethin’ bet- teh. The point is, if you don’t take us pronto to where Hammond and yore other skunk of a pardner’s hidin’ out with the kid, something’s goin’ to happen to you-all. Sabe?” “Madre de Dios! Madre de Dios!” repeat- ed Padilla, his face tallow-hued, his teeth chattering. “I show you. ‘Then you let me go?” Sandy looked at him with open contempt. “You seta heap mo’ value on yore hide than it’s worth,” he said. ““You can vamose Eomichoo (E@) <S