Adventure Magazine, March 1916 — page 143: what you’re looking at

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

Paradise Bend entered the bunkhouse. Both men im- mediately ceased wrangling and demanded letters. “T ain’t read ’em all yet,” replied Loudon, dropping his saddle and bridle in a corner. “Wait till tomorrow.” “Timmy’s expectin’ one from a red-headed gal,” grinned Chuck Morgan. ‘“He’s been restless all day. ‘Will she write?’ says he, ‘an’ I wonder if she’s sick or somethin’.’ Don’t you worry none, cookie. headed gals live forever. They’re tough, same as a yaller hoss.”’ “You shut up!” exclaimed Jimmy. “‘Who’d write to you, you frazzled end of a misspent life? D’jever look at yoreself in the glass? You! Huh! Gimme my letter, Tommy.” “Letter? What letter? I didn’t say there was a letter for ye.” “Well, ain’t there?” “You gimme somethin’ to eat, an’ then we'll talk about letters.” “Vou got a nerve!” roared the cook i in- dignantly. ‘Comin’ rollickin’ in ’round midnight an’ want yore chuck! Well, there it is”— indicating Chuck Morgan—“go eat it.’ “You fry him an’ I will. Dll gamble he wouldn’t taste any worse than them steaks you’ve been dishin’ out lately.” : “You punchers gimme a pain,” growled the cook, swinging his legs out o’ the bunk. “Always eatin’, eatin’. I never seen noth- in’ like it nohow.”’ “He’s sore cause Buff put a little dead snake in his bunk,” explained Chuck Mor- gan placidly. “Just a little snake—not more’n three foot long at the outside. He sure is the most fault-findin’ feller, that Jimmy is.” “There ain’t anythin’ for ye, Chuck,” said Loudon. “‘Here’s yore letter, Jimmy.” The cook seized the grimy missive and retreated to his kitchen. Twenty minutes later Loudon was eating supper. He ate leisurely. He was in no hurry to go up to the ranch-house. “Got the makin’s!” voice was a roar. “Be careful,” said Loudon, turning a slow head. “Yo’re liable to strain yore throat, an’ for a fellah talkin’ as much as you do, that would sure be a calamity.” “Tt sure would,” agreed Morgan. “TI only asked ye for the makin’s three times before I hollered.” e P Chuck Morgan’s Them red- , I4I “Holler first next time,” advised Loudon, tossing paper and tobacco across to Morgan. “Have ye got matches? Per’aps ye’d like me to roll ye a pill an’ then light it for ye?” “Oh, that ain’t necessary; none whatever. I got matches. They’re all I got left. This aft’noon Jimmy says ‘gimme a pipeful,’ an’ I wants to say right here that any jigger that'll smoke a pipe will herd sheep. me a load,’ says Jimmy. ‘Sure,’ says I, an’ Jimmy bulges up holdin’ the father of all corncobs in his hand. I forks over my bag, an’ Jimmy wades in to fill the pipe. But that pipe don’t fill up for a plugged nickel. “He upends my bag, shakes her empty, an’ hands her back. ‘Thanks,’ says Jimmy. ‘That’s all right,’ I says, ‘keep the bag too. It'll fit in right handy to mend your shirt with maybe.’ Come to find out, that pipe o’ Jimmy’s hadn’t no bottom i in her, an’ all the tobacco run through an’ into a bag Jimmy was holdin’ underneath. A reg’lar Injun trick, that is. Ye can’t tell me Jim- my ain’t been a squaw-man. Diggee In- juns, too, I'll bet.” Jimmy, leaning against the door-jamb, laughed uproariously. “Yah,” he yelped. ‘“T’ll teach ye to steal my pies, I will. Two apple-pies, Tom. Bran’-new they was, an’ I was a coolin’ ’em behin’ the house, an’ along comes Chuck an’ glaums both of ’em, the hawg.” Leaving the two wrangling it out be- tween them, Loudon pushed back his chair and went to the door. For a time he stood looking out into the night. Then he went to his saddle, picked up the bag containing the mail for Mr. Saltoun, and left the bunk- house. On the way to the ranch-house he. took out of his shirt the parcel of ribbon and smoothed it out. Skirting the house on the side farthest from the porch-corner where sat Kate and Blakely, Loudon entered the kitchen and walked through the dining- room to the open doorway of the office. Mr. Saltoun half-turned at Loudon’s en- trance. “Hello,” said Mr. Saltoun, screwing up his eyes. ‘‘I was just wonderin’ when you’d pull in.” “Lo,” returned Loudon; “here’s the mail, an’ here’s a package for Miss Kate.” There was a rush of skirts, and handsome, black-haired Kate Saltoun, her dark eyes dancing, stood in the doorway. “Did you get my ribbon, Tom?” cried mn (E cS ‘Gim- (E(60) 00 (0) (E(9) wh ke en Mel Mina A Fai rr ‘s Vey Lk eee be eeu Pha} ot a