Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

14 which stretched north and west—a desolate land, almost bare of vegetation, with a hard surface, baked and cracked, and seamed with shallow gullies. Taking advantage of the irregular depressions which marked the courses of the gullies, Lang struck due west toward the jagged purple out- lines of the towering mountains. He made rapid progress on the hard crust of the gumbo. The clouds in the northwest had gathered and now were flying almost overhead while the wind was blowing from the east. There were two currents of air—certain harbinger of a terrific prairie storm; the result of gathering electrical force following the long period of continued heat. And now Lang saw something which sent a wild thrill through his body. Far to the south a cloud of dust was riding upon the wind. It was moving ,swiftly, too swiftly for horsemen; coming along the one main road that cut through-that country from Great Falls at the big bend of the Missouri to Shelby in the north- ern sheep section. Lang surmised in a minute that it was an automobile. From where? There were no machines in Muddy nor in Bradley. It must be coming from Great Falls, or more likely from Choteau, the county seat. Which could mean but one thing—the swift-moving hand of the law. Lang urged his horses ahead in a wild lope, searching the scarred face of the flats for a de- pression deep enough to afford him conceal- ment. But he was not thoroughly familiar with the speed which could be developed by the small, sturdy cars that had been found best suited to. that country. The machine gained rapidly but appeared to be heading east of him. It had left the main road. The wind was now blowing a veritable gale from the east, and the hurrying cloud-bank above had blotted out the sun. Above the mountains in the west the sky was black as an inky void; and this curtain of darkness was creeping steadily eastward. Lang turned in the saddle with a glint of blue steel in his eyes and his lips compressed into a thin, white line as he noted that the flying car had veered again and was bearing straight for him from the southeast. They had seen He cursed softly without knowing he did so. He might better have waited until night before venturing out ‘upon the flats. But he had de- pended upon the gullies; and the lack of water and the wind biting away the ridges and filling up the bottoms had fooled him—they were too shallow to screen him from sight. Now it was too late to retrace his course. He patted the rifle-butt before him and smiled whimsically into the west, where the black bulk of the mountains and safety mocked him, Adventure ; / The car came on; now it was five miles away, now four, now three. It had reached the gumbo and a hard surface, which, except for cracks which meant a little jarring and dis- comfort for the occupants of the machine, was like a paved highway. Lang, his face grim and set and a bit pale under the tan, turned into a shallow wash and dismounted. The horses edged closely together with reins and halter rope dangling, snorting in the face of the impending storm. Lang took his rifle, spilled some cartridges upon the rim of the wash toward the approaching car, and crouched down behind the protecting bank of earth. As if at the touch of a wand by the master of the heavens the wind suddenly was stilled. High above, the two opposing air currents had clashed, and in the brief struggle there was a lull and the darkness settled down like a pall. Then the storm-wind leaped down with a roar and across the murky heavens shot a livid flash of forked lightning. There was a crashing, deafening thunderbolt, and the rain in sheets of gray swept across the flats. Lang, leveling his gun, slowly lowered it from his shoulder. He saw the rushing car swerve dangerously to the right, snap to the left, turn completely around twice and come to a standstill. “The gumbo!” he shrilled aloud to the storm as he turned his face up to the rain. Twice he saw the car slide forward a bit and stop. The surface of theeflats, which a mo- ment before had been so hard, now was shining in the rain—as slippery as a waxed dancing-. floor. No rubber-tired machine could make progress on that sliding, slimy surface, as smooth as glass. And by the time chains were adjusted or rope tied about the tires the mud would have thickened; and there is no mud so sticky, clinging and maddening as pure gumbo. Progress is possible on these flats only on horse- back. ‘The sharp shoes of a shod horse cut the mud and the flying hoofs throw it off. Lang laughed wildly in exultation as he replaced his rifle and cartridges and leaped into the saddle. He heard the faint boom of guns, but the distance and the wind were too great for bullets. He cut across a number of gullies and washes north and then headed west again. The rain was falling in torrents. Suddenly Lang glimpsed what appeared to be a long, narrow white ribbon ahead; it wound from the south and turned due west. Again he shouted in an excess of glee. In a few minutes his horses splashed into the water that covered a narrow indentation in the gumbo barely a foot wide. They surged forward with hoofs flying free of the treacherous mud for the narrow trail was as hard as solid rock. “We'll make time now,” sang Lang, looking CORICLOOLK< (E@)