Adventure Magazine Cover — page 167: what you’re looking at

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

The Weight of Reputation the two incendiaries had flung themselves _ stood in plain view. Behind the pile and extending above it was a high board fence. The quarry could not escape unseen. If they attempted a dash for the corner be- yond or tried scaling the fence they would make excellent targets. Randolph glanced back the way he had come. A tremor seized him at the sight of the two figures lying motionless in the street. He had never before shot a man; his nerves jumped perilously at the thought. Beyond the two figures he caught a glimpse of the Lone Star saloon. A score of faces appeared above and below the swinging doors. Farther up the street, where his horse stood, he saw Old Brant and Florence White watching from the door of _the Black Creek Mill office. He addressed his attention to the prob- lem at hand. Perhaps eighty yards sepa- rated him from the barricade of Red Cullum and his companion. From moment to mo- ment shots were exchanged, but without apparent result. The affair had achieved a deadlock. Randolph was disturbingly conscious of the scores of eyes across the street expec- tantly directed upon him. He roused him- self sharply and peered around the end of thetrough. Instantly a hail of lead greeted his appearance. He dropped flat on the ground, permitting one hand to extend past the trough’s end. He lay thus as if struck for a minute or more; then cautiously glanced out. Red -Cullum’s remaining companion had left the _hiding-place and was quickly approaching. As he reached a point opposite the door of _the general store Randolph opened fire. The revolver clattered to the ground from _the man’s hand as with an oath he sprang into the doorway. Through the glass show- window Randolph caught a fleeting glimpse of the proprietor and his clerk as they pounced upon the wounded man and drew him struggling to the rear of the store. Randolph was disappointed. He had hoped that the trick would net him both of them, or at least Red Cullum himself. That individual’s bullets in a futile access of rage were splintering the pine face of the trough. He surveyed with dismay the open space which lay between him and his quarry. He realized that the taking of Red Cullum meant now just one thing—he would have 153 to cross that space. Trickery had lost its effectiveness; the other would be thoroughly on guard for furtherruse. It was the show- down. His duty was plain enough; the Service demanded summary. methods of its men. But he stayed crouched behind the pro- tecting trough, his nerves twisting and writhing like so many agitated vipers. He visioned himself dashing toward the quar- ry’s barricade, the space whining with lead that was hot and stinging and that cut and rent the flesh of him. His imagination was fully at work; the madness of fore-fear was upon him. He glanced again over his shoulder to the faces in the doorway of the Lone Star. Those new and loyal friends were watching him eagerly, expecting some deed of valiance or mad boldness of him. Farther up the street he saw Florence White, her dress whipping in the breeze. At that distance he could not discern the expression of her face, yet he knew that she was expecting of him just the opposite of those friends: across the street. As she had said, she really knew him. Abruptly his attention was attracted by a moving cloud of dust that descended the trail across Cedar Hill, two miles away. After a moment he made out the progress of three horses, and as they raced upon a ~ rocky stretch of trail and the dust-cloud momentarily swept behind he was able to ae the plunging white animal in the ead. A quick sense of relief seized him. There could be no doubt that the cavalcade on Cedar Hill was the returning sheriff and his deputies. | But this feeling of relief was short-lived. _ He realized that he didn’t want help. The Service by all its limited traditions was zealously individualistic, sufficient unto it- self. He felt keenly the eyes upon him; what would be the wealth of their scorn if he should solicit the approaching help! Only for a moment did he sway peril- ously with indecision. Then fore-fear was lost in the immediate fear that hé would not measure up fo the ideal mirrored in the eyes behind him. The weight of reputa- tion smothered all else; the burden of great- ness was to be upheld. He sprang at once into the open. A bullet whined close by. He ran on, crouching low, and felt a jarring impact comicboo Py “a cS -com -