Adventure Magazine, March 1916 — page 151: what you’re looking at

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

Paradise Bend ing pine, the crumpled body of Johnny Ramsay. - Loudon dropped from the saddle and ran to his friend. Ramsay lay on his back, his left arm across his chest, his right arm ex- tended, fingers gripping the butt of his six- shooter. His face and neck and left arm were red with blood. His appearance was sufficiently ghastly and death-like, but his ~ flesh was warm. Respiration was imperceptible, however, and Loudon tore open Ramsay’s shirt and pressed his ear above the heart. It was beating, but the beat was pitifully slow and faint. Loudon set to work. Chuck Morgan was despatched to find water, and Mr. Saltoun found himself taking and obeying orders from one of his own cowpunchers. An hour later Ramsay, his wounds washed and bandaged, began to mutter, but his words were unintelligible. Within half an hour he was raving in delirium. Chuck Morgan had departed, bound for the Bar-S, and Loudon and Mr. Saltoun sat back on their heels and watched their moan- ing patient. “Tt’s a whipsaw whether he'll pull through or not,” remarked the bromidic Mr. Saltoun. “‘He’s got to pull through,” declared Lou- don grimly. “He ain’t goin’ to die. Don’t think it for a minute.” “T dunno. He’s got three holes in him.” “Two. Neck an’ arm, an’ the bone ain’t touched. That graze on the head ain’t nothin’. It looks bad, but it only scraped the skin. His neck’s the worst. A half inch over an’ he’d ’a’ bled to death. Ye can’t rub out Johnny so easy. There’s a heap 0’ life in him.” “His heart’s goin’ better now,” said Mr. Saltoun. Loudon nodded, his gray eyes fixed on the bandaged head of his friend. Conversation languished, and Mr. Saltoun began to roll and smoke cigarettes. After a time Loudon rose. “He'll do till the wagon comes,”’ he said. “Let’s go over an’-take a squint at that cow.” Loudon led Mr. Saltoun to the spot where lay the dead cow. When the puncher came in sight of the dead animal he halted ab- ruptly and observed that he would be ——. Mr. Saltoun whistled. The cow had been thoroughly skinned. Beside the cow lay 149 the calf, shot through the head. And from the little body every vestige of hide had been stripped. “T guess that settles the cat-hop,” said Mr. Saltoun, and began to comprehen- sively curse all rustlers and their works. It was not the skinning that disturbed Mr. Saltoun. It was the sight of his defunct property. The fact that he was losing cows had struck home at last. Inform aman that he is losing property, and he may or may not become concerned, but show him that same property rendered valueless, and he will become very much concerned. Ocular proof is a wonderful galvanizer. Yet, in the case of Mr. Saltoun, it was not quite won- derful enough. - “Oh, they’re slick!” exclaimed Loudon bitterly. “They don’t forget nothin’! No wonder Blakely’s a manager!”’ Mr. Saltoun ceased swearing abruptly. “Vo’re wrong, Tom,” he reproved. ‘““The 88’s got nothin’ to do with it. I know they ain’t, an’ that’s enough. I’m the loser, not you, an’ I’m the one to do the howlin’. An’ I don’t want to hear any more about the 88 or Blakely.” Loudon turned his back on Mr. Saltoun and returned to the wounded man. The cowboy yearned to take his employer by the collar and kick him into a reasonable frame of mind. Such blindness was mad- dening. Mr. Saltoun heaped fuel on the fire of Loudon’s anger by remarking that the rust- lers undoubtedly hailed from the Frying Pan Mountains, Loudon, writhing internally, was on the point of relieving his pent-up feelings when his eye glimpsed a horseman on the high ground above the draw. The puncher reached for his Winchester, but he laid the rifle down when the rider changed _ direction and came toward them. “Block, ain’t it?” inquired Mr. Saltoun. Loudon nodded. His eyes narrowed to slits, his lips set in a straight line. The sheriff rode up and halted, his little eyes shifting from side to side. He spoke to Mr. - Saltoun, nodded to Loudon, and then stared at the wounded man. “Got a rustler, I see,’”’ he observed dryly, his lips crinkled in a sneering smile. ~ “Ve see-wrong—as usual,” said Loudon. “Some friend 0’ yores shot Johnny.” “Friend 0’ mine?» Who?” .queried the sheriff, his manner one of mild interest. “Wish I knew. Thought ye might be able - Eomichboo (E <S (Efe) te tig ide. n ie ON Tay ie. "De Te MeeT 1" Aa. , i ; 3 7 oe t pire t oP weet. 9 7 Cpls ee 4) . | ¥ > Oe ODM A oe ee , 12 A ¥ nA we = “a ve “Nay A ae, iv Jee. ui! ; a yt oe eee SEO BS a eye Ate Utes) Sri pes > Pg | (\"s ‘ Aah s PF ‘ Fatt Caw: PNT Ola pale: Ppa 2a Nias vie ps ea wv: ie Ls, eee eh PACH i . Ma brie Maxell) DPE) POL hy wonumee eee oe a5 “Deel Py veal § if) te" yen PpTAt Te a rete Ake <8 Be aX aN 3) : . : bi; %; , ey ¥,, BC TIER A ek ed MLA Oe NR Pe) ROT TN bh Bhatt eat vee Fon, ae i