Adventure Magazine Cover — page 152: what you’re looking at

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

142 battle cleared away, Marlin City and Sun- Dog County settled down to the humdrum existence of cow country and small cow town. It was all in a day’s work. Few men gave Brick credit for doing anything out of the ordinary. He was just Brick Davidson, cow-puncher; rather fast with a gun, and ready of wit. Brick lived to grin. He had an overdeveloped sense of humor, which, at times, grated on the sensibilities of slower thinkers. When it was announced that Brick had been appointed sheriff to suc- ceed Bunty Blair, many of the graybeards shook their heads. Sun-Dog County needed a wiser, cooler head. Brick’s hair was too red. He’d last quick. Brick heard some of: the mumblings, and confided to Silent Slade. “‘They’re scared of me, Silent, don’t yuh know it?”’ “Well,” Silent had replied, “well, hadn’t they ought to, Brick?” Sy of fact. Silent did not try to be funny. He worshiped Brick, and trailed him around like a great dog—a dog six feet six inches tall, built in proportion, with a long crooked nose and a big humorous mouth. His hands were big and ungainly, but they lost their clumsiness when called upon to reach for the big, black-handled Colt .44 which swung from their owner’s hip. In that respect they were very capable. Just now, Silent was perusing some old reward notices, while Brick spelled out a typewritten letter which Silent had brought from the post-office. Brick’s mouth drew down at the corners and his blue eyes twinkled as he looked up from the letter and glanced at Silent. “Goin’ to be rised and a chunk placed under its corners around here,” an- nounced Brick. SILENT’S reply was very matter Adventure Silent looked up quickly. He had been bemoaning the lack of action just a few min- utes before. “For gosh sakes, Brick, whatcha mean?” he demanded anxiously. “Letter from the cattle association.” Brick snapped his finger against the sheet of paper and glanced’ up at the ceiling, puffing vainly at an unlit cigaret. “Oh? said Silent, relaxing: back in his chair. ‘“‘What’s eatin’ ’em now?” ‘“*’Member me writing ’em about makin’ a maverick law?” “Heard yuh say yuh was goin’ to, Brick, but didn’t pay no ’tention at the time. What was it?” “Billy Slavin, the secretary, and me are friends. Me and him punched cows down on the Little Missouri six years ago. Silent, did yuh ever stop to think what mavericks mean to a cow-man?”’ Silent half-nodded and waited for Brick’to continue. “Them danged unbranded animals are to blame for half the cattle stealin’ in this country, Silent. Mebbe she’s a even break, you'll say. It ain’t. I know some honest cow-men which this maverick stuff hurts. I spoke to Billy about it. He took it up. This here letter—” Brick opened it up again and held it up for Silent’s inspection—“‘this letter says that from now on all mavericks are to be held, subject to disposal by the association. The cattlemen own and run the association, Silent; and these mavericks belong to the cattlemen. What is fairer than to let ’em dispose of these critters and use the money in the interests of the cattle- men? I kinda like it myself.” Silent bit his lip reflectively and nodded slowly. “There will be rised, Brick, y’betcha, and I sure hope that your carcass and mine won't be used to bolster up none of the corners.” A maverick is an unbranded animal— usually a calf, which had been born in a se- cluded part of the range, or accidently over- looked by the cowboys. This calf, weaned away from its mother, after which no brand may claim ownership, becomes a prey to the first cattleman who can burn on a brand. Hundreds of mavericks were branded every year on the ranges; many cowboys acquiring a herd in this manner. Brick Davidson new that this practise was all wrong, as it gave a dishonest DOOKS C@ inn