Adventure Magazine Cover — page 136: what you’re looking at

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

-a new style of bucking. - ee % 5 See Te —— Sage i as ~ = = a a ae -_ >’ ‘ - we hits the first turn_of the gully I feels the rear cinch bust. From that on it’s like riding a rocking-chair over sticks of dynamite. _ The roan bucks along the edge of the washout, the bottom of which is about ten feet below us, and I just starts to yelp, “Don’t get scared, Dirty; she won’t buck down there,” when we hit the bottom, and I bit my tongue over the first word. My vertebree comes together like a string of box-cars getting hit by a wild engine, and then we yanked out of there and went angling up the hill as fast as that brone can run. “Still alive?” I yelps. “From my chin on up!” he yells. ‘‘Won- der what this fool wants to climb the hill for, Ike?” “Can’t you stop her?” I asks. “Bridle’s gone, Ike. Ha-a-a-ang on!” We found out why the roan wanted to get a down-hill pull on us, ’cause as soon as we hit the grade the animal inagurates Was it effective? Oh, man, I’d rise to remark it was. I just hung on and prayed. I used up all the white man’s religion I ever heard about, and I’m just beginning to make medicine to the totem of the Alaskan Siwash when the cinch breaks. I feels myself float into space, and then Iegoes out in a blaze of bright lights. After while Old Man Misery seems to come along and runs hjs fingers all over my carcass, and then I opens my eyes. I’m laying on my back with my feet up the side of a rock, and a short distance from me is Dirty, hanging by the back of his shirt to an old mesquite-snag. gf of packed burros is the queerest- looking pair of pelicans I ever seen. They’re both wearing hard hats and black- rimmed specs, and what you might ex- pect such persons to wear in the line of shirts, collars and neckties, but from the waist on down they’re clad in chaps and boots. One of ’em is wearing a pair of Mexican spurs—the kind with rowels the size of a dollar and eighty-five cents. One of them has a belt draped around his waist, and in the holster is one’ of them single-shot twenty-two pistols. The other is pack- ing a pump shotgun. STANDING there beside a pair Sou IE eto hed ee eRe eee —) a a i ad ee Te & Ty ee Sa et ae en Ee Soil ane See em ee eRe pa oe - — > =. —* - a Se ee ee « fer = pe =o co ee a ee . Adventure of One of ’em removes his specs and pol- ~ishes ’em, careful-like. “Quite remarkable, my friend!’’ says he. “Quite remarkable. The—er—equine was no doubt desirous of removing its burden.” “One would be led to accept such a theory,” nods the other. “We have ob- served the effect, my dear Middleton, but of course we know nothing of the cause. It really was quite remarkable.” “Holee suffering scissorbills!’ grunts Dirty, leaving half his shirt on the snag and staggering to his feet. He stares at them and at me. “Ike, do you see the same thing I do?” he whispers. ! “T hope so,” says I, lowering my feet. “TI hope I do, Dirty, otherwise I’m a goner mentally. Is one of them apparitions wearing spurs?”’ “Thank ——!” gasps Dirty. the same little details, Ike.” “You see, Pettingill?” crows one of ’em. “You objected to the boots and spurs, but the customs of a country must be ob- served. It is well.” “Perhaps they will enlighten us to the best of their ability,” says Pettingill, ad- justing his specs. “It will do no harm to inquire.” “My dear gentlemen,” says the one called Middleton, “‘may we ask you a question?” “You can take a chance,” nods Dirty. “‘Well—er—before I ask the question it might be well to introduce ourselves. I am Professor Middleton of Boston, and the gentleman with me is Professor Pet- tingill of Philadelphia.” “We appreciates it considerable,” says Dirty, solemn-like. “I am of the Jones tribe, from here or hereabouts, and called Dirty Shirt. The person with me is a Harper offspring, called Ike. Where are you from, Ike?” “There or thereabouts,” says I. “Exactly,” says Professor Middleton. “Now the question is this: Pettingill and myself are dabbling in a few problems out- side of our regular work, and this one has come to our notice: Are sheepherders really insane? Do they acquire insanity from their occupation? Is there anything about a—er—sheep that would cause a normal man to lose his mind, as it were?” “Yes,” neds. Dirty. Teas. “Exactly,” says Middleton. following me?” 93 “We see “Vou are