Adventure Magazine, March 1916 — page 142: what you’re looking at

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

ah $ a Se fA UP Bet of ttt A Se - SDN Dh Pt et ' VayePy w bie ify) TART BL Ne, i oat a wy ieak - fear Di AY 3 Wis hep yter ak Dy ON. ' re 4 yee t } “| 2 "Ao dd tees an Sa, a at Ra * : ive eras Be ei 140 it is well known that a gentleman lying in wait for another will often stay his hand when his intended victim is accompanied. Neither Loudon nor Ramsay made any mention of the true inwardness of his thoughts. They had been friends for a long time. CLIMBING the long slope of In- dian Ridge, they scanned the trail warily. But nowhere did the hoof- prints of Blakely’s horse leave the dust of the trail. On the reverse slope of the ridge they picked up the larger hoofprints of Block’s horse. Fair and plain the two sets of marks led southward. “Wonder who the other gent was,” hazarded Ramsay. ase “Block,” said Loudon. “I met him’ this mornin’. I was puttin’ holes in his notice, an’ he didn’t like it none.” “Did he chatter much?” “He talked a few, but nothin’ to hurt.” “The tinhorn!” laughed Ramsay. “Bet he’s goin’ to the 88.” “Tt’s some likely. We'll know when we reach Long Coulee.” They reached Long Coulee, where the trail to the 88 swung westward, as the sun was dropping behind the faraway peaks of the Three Sisters Moutains. Loudon slipped his feet from the stirrups and stretched luxuriously. But he did not feel luxurious. As he had expected, Block had turned into the 88 trail, but as he had not expected Blakely had ridden straight on toward the Bar-S. Which latter event was disquieting, not because Loudon feared an act of vio- lence on the part of Blakely, but because Kate’s evening would be preempted by his enemy. Loudon keenly desired to talk to Kate that evening. He had a great many things to tell her, and now the coming of Blakely spoiled it all. “The nerve o’ some folks,” remarked Johnny Ramsay, eying the tracks of Blakely’s horse with disfavor. ‘Better tell old Salt to lock up the silver an’ the cuckoo clock. No offense now, Tommy, but if I was you, I’d sleep in the corral tonight. Blakely might take a fancy to the goat.” “T sure hope he does,” grinned Loudon. “Tt would ease the strain some.”’ “Make it complete, old beanpole, when you do call the turn. Well, I got to be t Adventure skippin’, Give my love to old Salt. So- long.” “So-long.” Johnny Ramsay picked up his reins, wheeled his pony and fox-trotted away. He felt that further accompanying of Loudon was unnecessary. The danger of an am- bush was past. Riding with Loudon had taken Ramsay some fifteen miles out of his way, and twenty-five long miles lay be- tween his pony’s nose and the corral bars of the Cross-in-a-box ranch. But Ramsay wasted not a thought on his lengthened journey. He would have ridden cheerfully across the territory and back again in order to benefit a friend. “Come on, fellah,’’ said Loudon, when Ramsay had gone. The chestnut moved off at a walk. Lou- don did not hurry him. He took out his papers and tobacco and rolled a cigarette with neatness and despatch. ‘Tilting back his head, he blew the first lungful of smoke straight up into the air. “Tt wouldn’t be right for her to marry him,” he observed. girl. I wonder now if I have got any chance. She’s rich, an’ I ain’t, but I sure do love her a lot. Kate Loudon—that’s a right nice- soundin’ name.” He lowered his head and smoked silently for several minutes. The horse, reins on his neck, swung along steadily. “Ranger fellah,’’ said Loudon, “she’d ought to be willin’ to wait till we make a stake, oughtn’t she now? ‘That’s right. Wiggle one ear for yes. You know, don’t ye, old tiger-eye?”’ When the lights of the ranch sparked across the flat, Ranger pointed his ears, lifted his head and broke into a fox-trot. Passing the ranch-house, on his way to the corral, Loudon heard the merry tinkle of a guitar. saw the squat figure of Mr. Saltoun bent -over a desk. On the porch, in the corner where the hammock hung, flickered the glowing tip of a cigarette. With a double thrum of swept strings the guitar-player in the hammock swung from ‘The Kerry Dance” into “Loch Lomond.” Loudon swore under his breath, and rode on. Jimmy, the cook, and Chuck Morgan, one of the punchers, were lying in their bunks squabbling over the respective merits of Texas and New Mexico when Loudon 0X06) CS “She sure is one pretty — Through an open window Loudon (E(0)