Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

The Law Comes Condon’s hand shook as he poured a glass full of liquor and tossed it off eagerly. He put down the empty glass with trembling fingers and looked askance at Grimes. “Oh, go ahead an’ take another; I don’t know what I’m doin’ tonight anyway,” said the saloonkeeper. ‘‘Where’d you hail from?” “Milk River,” said Condon, availing him- self of the invitation without delay. “Milk River, eh? ’Way up north. What was you doin’ up there?”’ “Homesteadin’, but couldn’t make it go. Free land! That caught me! But makin’ a livin’ on it’s another thing after you get it— unless you’ve got money.” “So it is, so it is,” agreed Grimes. ‘‘Went broke, eh? Where’d you come from there?” “Tllinois,” said Condon uneasily. “Been riding the line ever since, eh? Where you headed for?” “Great Falls. There oughta be work down there. Say, who was that lean sort of chap who was in here a while ago—the one who was sittin’ in the back room with the fellow with the mustache?” “You must mean Lang Rush; what d’ye know about him?” ‘Nothin’; just wonderin’ who he was. He wasn’t in very good company, I’d say.” “Look here, what d’ye mean by that?” demanded Grimes sternly. ‘“‘Nothin’,” said Condon sullenly; ‘‘only that fellow with the mustache was pointed out to me as a horse-thief up in Conrad.” ‘“‘What’s his name?” asked Grimes, inter- ested. ‘“Didn’t hear,” replied Condon; “and didn’t think to ask. Well, ll be hitting the trail. Much obliged for your treat.” Condon left before Grimes could ask more questions. He untied his horse from the hitch- ing-rail in front of a store and started south. He left the town behind and followed the trail toward the river. IV WHEN Lang awoke in the morning he once more felt the heartache of failure. Hitherto he -had arisen with # fresh hope every dawn to look out at the skies in search of telltale rain-clouds; but this new day he had not even that consolation. No rain, however generous or lasting, now could save the crops. The wind was blowing up with the sun again. Had he lost his ranch? He ground his teeth when he thought of the money he had borrowed to put into tempting land options. “Staked it all and lost,” he cried savagely as he whistled for Dandy. When he had saddled the horse he led him along the bank to a likely place for fording the to Singing River 9 river. Here he swung into the saddle and turned the animal into the stream. The water was barely two feet deep, thus attesting to the severity of the drought. On the farther bank he paused to look out over the long prairie country toward The Knees and home. Lang always had loved this country, but his father had preferred the range farther . east. When his father had died five years be- fore, and his affairs finally had been adjusted, Lang was left with nothing but the small ranch, almost bare of improvements. _ He whirled Dandy about and started at a wild lope in the cool dawn toward the town, which lay in a dip of the prairie a few miles southwest. This town was named Muddy, taking its monicker from a creek which flowed through it from the Gumbo Flats called Muddy Creek. As Lang rode down over the rim in the big dip in the plain he casually noted another rider approaching the town from the east. ‘This man apparently had ridden hard, for even at that distance his horse showed unmistakable signs of being spent. Lang absorbed these de- tails by force of habit acquired in long years on the range and not because he felt any interest in the rider. Lang proceeded at once to the little Blue Front saloon and restaurant which not only was one of the best appearing of the few build- ings in Muddy but also the common meeting- place for vistors. Here he ate a big portion of ham and eggs and drank two cups of strong, black coffee. He looked into the bar and then made the rounds of the other buildings. He was looking for a man who once had been employed by his father and whom he had expected to find in Muddy. But he could find no trace of him, nor could he obtain any word as to his where- abouts. ‘“‘Another wild-goose chase,” he told a man in the livery barn; “‘and I guess we can’t expect anything to come right this year. Lem Robbins worked for my dad for years, an’ I’d like to meet up with him today. We might be able to frame up a little deal.” The man looked at him curiously. “Lem don’t come in here much any more,” he drawled. ‘‘Guess he don’t like it much around here lately.” “Well, I can’t say as I blame him,” said Lang. “He never was a farming man.” There was a trace of bitterness in Lang’s tone, and again the man looked at him sharply but remained silent. With nothing else to do Lang turned into the Blue Front saloon. A sense of loneliness was upon him. The forced inactivity which the immediate future seemed to promise was mad- dening. He ordered a drink. As he raised his glass (EO) .OOKX (F@