Adventure Magazine, March 1916 — page 162: what you’re looking at

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

‘Avek wp eae ae oP ‘ % Ms iy By Ge ih SRE aa Te oe Ree Gat NOS a, </temsy t 4 Y yf i3t . Vy } ie iin I ry Set aay 160 Street designated by the dilapidated an- ~ cient. As he loped past the corner he glanced over his shoulder. He noted that not only was Pete O’Leary watching him from the window of a dance-hall, but that the tattered old person, leaning against a hitching-rail, was observing him also. “T might be a hoss-thief or somethin’,”’ muttered Loudon with a frown. ‘This sure is a queer village o’ prairie dogs. The cigar’s good anyway.” Then, his horse having covered a hundred yards in the inter- val, he quoted, “ “Couldn’t Sam come?’ an’, ‘’'m Pete O’Leary.’ Sam, Sam, who’s Sam? Now if Johnny Ramsay was here he’d have it all figured out in no time.”’ Do wait!” a Loudon turned his head. In the doorway of a house stood a plump young woman waving a frantic dish-cloth. Ranger, hard held, slid to a halt, turned on a nickel and shot back to the beckoning young woman. ; _ “Well, ma’am,” said Loudon, removing his hat. “Don’t you remember me?” coquettishly pouted the plump lady. Loudon remembered her perfectly. She was Mrs. Mace, wife of Jim Mace, the Wells- Fargo agent. before when she was visiting Kate Saltoun _at the Bar-S. He had not once thought of Mrs. Mace since her departure from the ranch, and of course he had completely for- gotten that she lived in Paradise Bend. If he had recalled the fact, he would have sought the Burrs’ residence by some other route. One of Kate’s friends was the last person on earth he cared to meet. “Sure, I remember ye, Mrs. Mace,” said Loudon gravely. “I’m right glad to see ye,” he added, heavily polite. ‘Are your” said the lady somewhat sharply. ‘Try to look happy then. I ain’t a grizzly, an’ I don’t bite folks. I won’t stop you more’n a second.” “Why, ma’am, I am glad to see ye,” pro- tested Loudon, “‘an’ I ain’t in no hurry, honest.” oe “That’s all right. I ain’t offended. Say, how’s Kate an’ her pa?” “Fine, when I saw ’em last. pretty as ever.” “She ought to be. She ain’t married. Matrimony sure does rough up a woman’s “WHY, Mr. Loudon! Oh, wait! Kate’s as He had met her the year- _ ‘ Adventure figure an’ face. Lord, I’m a good thirty pounds heavier than I was when I saw you last. Say, do you know if Kate got that dress pattern I sent her last month?”’ “IT dunno, ma’am. I didn’t hear her say.” “T s’pose not. I guess you two had more important things to talk about. Say, how are you an’ Kate gettin’ along, anyway?” “Why, all right, I guess.” Loudon felt extremely unhappy. Mrs. Mace’s keen gaze was embarrassing. So was her next utterance. “Well, I guess Ill write to Kate,” re- marked the lady, “‘an’ find out about that dress pattern. She always was a poor writer, but she’d ought to have sent me a thank-you, anyway, an’ me her best friend. Pll tell her I saw ye, Mr. Loudon.” “Don’t tell her on my account,” said Loudon. Then, realizing his mistake, he continued hurriedly, ‘‘Sure, tell her. She’d enjoy hearin’, o’ course.” “Don’t tell me you two haven’t been quarrelin’,” chided Mrs. Mace, shaking a fat forefinger at Loudon. ‘“You’d ought to be ashamed o’ yourselves, rowin’ this way.” “Why, ma’am, yo’re mistaken. Me quarrel? I guess not! But I got to be goin’. Goodby, ma’am. I'll see ye again.” Loudon, raging, loped away. Meeting one of Kate’s friends was bad enough in itself. For the friend to wantonly flick him on the raw was intolerable. Loudon began to believe that women were put into the world for the purpose of annoy- ing men. But when he had dismounted in front of the best house on the street, and the door had been opened in response to his knock, he changed his mind, for a brown-haired young girl with a very pleas- ant smile was looking at him inquiringly. “Is this where Captain Burr lives?” queried Loudon. “Yes,” replied the girl, her smile broaden- ing. ee ‘“‘Then here’s a letter for Mis’ Burr. The Cap’n asked me to bring it up for him.”’ “A letter for me?” exclaimed a sharp voice, and the speaker, a tall, angular, harsh-featured woman appeared at the girl’s side with the suddenness of a Jack-in- ° the-box. ‘‘From Benjamin?” continued the harsh-featured woman, uttering her words with the rapidity of a machine-gun’s fire. “How is he?’ When d’you see him last? When’s he comin’ home?” comichbook co