Adventure Magazine, March 1916 — page 146: what you’re looking at

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

y, 144 of the cow in the mud-hole, this single scratch would undoubtedly have escaped his attention. Loudon leaned over and scrutinized the scratch. It was about a foot long, a quarter of an inch broad at one end, tapering rough- ly toa point. Ordinarily such a mark would have interested Loudon not at all, but under the circumstances it might mean much. The side-slip of a horse’s iron-shod hoof had made it. This was plain enough. It was evident, too, that the horse had been ridden. . A riderless horse does not slip on gently sloping rocks. Other barely visible abrasions showed that the horse had entered the water. Why had some one elected to cross at this point? Pack-saddle Creek was fordable in many places. Below the mud-hole four feet and less was the depth. But opposite the rock ledge was a scour-hole fully ten feet deep, shallowing to eight in the middle of the stream. Here was no crossing for an honest man in his senses. But for one of question- able purpose, anxious to conceal his trail as ‘much as possible, no better could be chosen. é “Good thing his hoss slipped,” said Lou- don, and returned to the waiting Lemons. Mounting his horse he forded the creek and rode slowly along the bank. Opposite the lower end of the ledge he found that which he sought. In the narrow belt of bare ground between the water’s edge and the grass were the tracks of several cows and one pony. Straight up from the water the trail led, and vanished abruptly when it reached the grass. “Five cows,” said Loudon. ‘‘Nothin’ mean about that jigger.” | He bent down to examine the tracks more closely, and as he stooped a rifle cracked faintly, and a bullet whisped over his bowed back. Loudon jammed home both spurs, and jumped Lemons forward. Plying his quirt, he looked over his shoulder. A puff of smoke suddenly appeared above a rock a quarter of a mile downstream and on the other side of the creek. The bullet tucked into the ground close beside the pony’s drumming hoofs. Loudon jerked his Winchester from its scabbard under his leg, turned in the saddle, and fired five shots as rapidly as he could work the lever. He did not expect to score a hit, but earnestly hoped to shake the hid- Adventure den marksman’s aim. He succeeded but lamely. The enemy’s third shot cut through his shirt under the left armpit, missing the flesh by a hair’s-breadth. Loudon raced over the lip of a swell just as a fourth shot ripped through his hat. Hot and angry, Loudon jerked Lemons to a halt half-way down the reverse slope. Leaving his horse tied to the ground he ran back and lay down below the crest. He re- moved his hat and wriggled forward to the top Cautiously lifting his head he surveyed the position of his unknown opponent. A half-mile distant, on the Bar-S side of the Pack-saddle, was the rock which sheltered the marksman. A small dark dot appeared above it. Taking a long aim Loudon fired at the dot. As he jerked down the lever to reload; a gray smoke-puff mushroomed out at the lower right-hand corner of the rock, and a — shock at the elbow numbed his right and. . Loudon rolled swiftly backward, sat up, and stared wonderingly at his two hands. One held his Winchester, but gripped in the cramped fingers of the right hand was the bent and broken lever of the rifle. The bul- let of the sharpshooting citizen had struck the lever squarely on the upper end, snapped the pin, torn loose the lever, and hopelessly damaged the loading mechanism. “That jigger can sure handle a gun,” marked Loudon. “If this ain’t one Gee fix for a Christian! Winchester no good, only a six-shooter, and a fully organized miracle-worker a-layin’ for my hide. [’m a-goin’ somewhere, an’ I’m goin’ right now.” He droppec the broken lever and rubbed his numbed fingers till sensation returned. Then he put on his hat and hurried down to his horse. He jammed the rifle into the scabbard, mounted and rode swiftly southward, tak- ing great pains to keep to the low ground. A mile farther on he forded the creek and gained the shelter of an outflung shoulder of Box Hill. Near the top Loudon tied Lemons to a tree and went forward on foot. Cautiously as an Indian, Loudon traversed the flat top of the hill and squatted down in a bunch of tall grass between two pines. From this -vantage-point his field of view was wide. The rock ledge and the mud-hole were in Gomichooks (EO)