Adventure Magazine Cover — page 135: what you’re looking at

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

i“ a“ a eee “Coming out?” yells the voice again. “You sap-headed takehestacl? “Talks like a cow-man,’’ opines Dirty. “Maybe he’s making us a visit.” and we gets a view of a feller on , a roan bronc. ‘Say, you ———”’ he begins, but he’s look- ing down the muzzle of eet gun, and his. voice fails him. “Speaking to me?” asks Dirty, soft-like. ‘You better put down that gun,” says he. “It might save you a lot of trouble.”’ “Ves,” says Dirty, “and if it went off amt DIRTY throws the tent-flap open, im and killed you, feller, it would likely save~ you a lot of trouble, if this is the way you’re in the habit of speaking to stran- gers. What seems to itch you?” “Your sheep!” he yelps. “Half your ~danged woollies are over my line! You agreed to keep them stinking sheep this side of the Mesquite, and this morning I finds. half of them across. “You get ’em out of there pretty danged sudden-like or I’ll massacree the bunch. Sabe?”’ “You don’t dare,’ opines Dirty. “The —— I don’t! Just about why?” “Against the law. Them sheep are within the law, mister.” -“Vah? Well, let me tell you some- thing, you lousy shepherd: I'll get my punchers and we'll show you! We'll chase em so far that és “Get off!” orders Dirty. “You're up so high I can’t hear your voice.” He had a gun, but I reckon he also had a weak heart, so he Pot and gave me his gun. I reckon he’d ’ ’ given us his weak heart, too, if we’d sakes for it, ‘cause Dirty has a nervous way of fingering a trigger. : “What in are you going to do now?” he asks. “‘Hoord ships,” grins Dirty. “I’m ship- hoorder.”’ : “Oh!” says he. “You’re the Swede herder that ‘Alcohol’ Adams spoke about.” “What did he say?” “Said you didn’t have brains enough to wad a shotgun with.” “What do you think?” I asks. “Well—"" he looks at Dirty’s gun, seri- ous-like—‘‘well, not to mean any offense, but Id say that Alcohol exaggerated a 3 littley he meant a ides Ba a | ‘Be | it known that Alcohol eS is: 20 a ornery that his own dog barks at him. — He’d steal money from his own kids, and — then lick thunder out of them for it. Mosquitoes, horse-flies and rattlesnakes _ turn him down like a white chip in a no- © limit stud game, and his soul is so small and elusive that he has to drink straight alcohol in order to exhilarate it. Yaller Rock got so disgusted with him that they sent him to the Legislature, where he collected all the loose money in sight, and showed his appreciation of things by passing a few laws favoring sheep. He orated his views in Piperock, the same of which was contrary to our religion, and—let me admit that some poor shoot- ing was done. When he hit Paradise there was three hunks of lead in’ the cantle of his saddle, which proved we held too low or the range was too great. We held a mass meeting that night, and Magpie Simpkins chided us over our lack of ability. We agreed to set aside six practise shots per day, against the time that Alcohol or any other lawmaker might appear in our midst. I hopes you hereby sabes some- thing of Alcohol’s nature. “You can’t run no blazer on me,’’ says this feller. “I’m ‘Sandy’ Sorenson. What you going to do?” “Borrow your bronc,” says Dirty. “We’ll- ride that roan double, Ike.” “Won’t ride double,” says he. “Maybe it never has,” corrects wirty, taking his foot out of the stirrup. “Come up, Ike.” Sandy sure diagnosed that bronc right. I’d trail my bet with his when he says it won’t ride double—not meek-like. A bronc can’t do its best with two hundred and ninety pounds on its back, but I hope to gosh I never ride that bronc single-handed when it’s riled. Man, that animal done everything ex- cept fly, and at that the danged thing went high enough to convince the most skeptical that all it needed was a short pair of wings to make good in that respect. First it gives a correct imitation of a post-hole digger, and then it goes down that gully, changing ends like a whirligig. I’ve got my wish-bone hooked over Dirty’s shoulder, — and every hop I can feel my finger slipping higher and higher up that cantle. Suey! rides a double-rig saddle, and when NEDOOK we s ‘ : Oe AN rv a OPT TViRG | Cs ASN Wo a2? ? re Pe Aas LENIN A ; ‘i . i, a voir Ni Ame, ‘+2 be TRV ere wy Pelt to ’ Ss) th tes wh LAS a, ey \ LMA bs aL aN! oP Sie pe Ath beg 4 ? Hf yb f t f Ay ¢ ¥ ‘ K ¥ Maen oH Aga Ley ‘oh 4 oe *