Adventure Magazine Cover — page 157: what you’re looking at

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

The Sheriff of Sun-Dog You’d think they’d all be strong for this new order, wouldn’t yuh?” “YT dunno.” Silent wrinkled his long nose over the manufacture of a cigaret. “TI reckon they all mavericks a little. Did yuh ever buy a watermelon, Brick? Didja ever notice that it ain’t sweet and juicy like the ones yuh stole when vuh was a kid? I reckon that cow-men never grow up—not that- away.” “Tt ain’t right,” argued Brick. Silent squinted at Brick’s serious expres- sion. “Tt ain’t,” agreed Silent. ‘Far as I’m concerned I don’t give a whoop-galoo how much they steal from each other, but this is your play, Brick, and I’m backin’ yuh from my belt both ways. If you say she’s wrong —she sure as is wrong, as far as I’m concerned.” “Much obliged, Silent,” absently. “No, yuh ain’t,” grinned Silent, ‘‘ cause yuh never heard what I said. “YT think T’ll ride out to the Weeping Tree,”’ said Brick, paying no attention to Silent’s statement. “Vou ain’t seen Scott Martin for almost an hour,” grinned Silent. ‘‘He’ll wonder if you’re mad at him—or somethin’, - said Brick , BRICK picked up his hat and walked out the rear door. At the “ame’e rear of the office stood the small stable. Brick saddled his horse and swung into the street. He noticed that Lafe Freeman’s team and buckboard were still at the hitch-rack, along with three saddle- horses. Brick rode a single-footer, which ate up distance, and Brick, deep in thought, sud- denly realized that he had swung off the main road and was within two miles of the Weeping Tree. He looped his reins around the horn of the saddle and gave a little attention to the manufacture of a cigaret. Suddenly his horse checked it’s stride and threw up its head. Brick instinctively reached for his reins and glanced up. Com- ing up out of the ravine, traveling towards the road was Scott Martin’s bav horse, still saddled and with reins dragging. Brick spurred ahead and crowded the _ horse against a sharp bank, where he got hold of the reins. Brick’s first thought was that perhaps the horse had thrown Scott, but the horse was 147 too well broken and gentle to throw an average rider. Perhaps Scott had cut across the hills and the horse had fallen with him. Brick rode down the ravine, leading the bay. The horse showed no signs of having fallen. Brick rode down the twisting ravine for perhaps an eighth of a mile, when he suddenly heard the bawling of a calf. He swung his horse through the thick mesquite and came out into a small valley. Just beyond him a tiny trickle of smoke, like a blue thread faded into the soft breeze. That fire could only mean one thing —somebody was branding in the open range. Brick started to get off his horse, when out of the brush came a big spotted cow. There was no question but what that cow was angry. She emitted a blood-curdling bawl and came straight at Brick, who dropped the reins of the bay horse and spurred into the open. He whirled his horse, around, untying his rope. The cow seemed undecided whether to chase the loose horse or the one with the rider. Brick swung his loop and rode slowly in a circle. The cow, instead of rush- ing at Brick, whirled suddenly and started across the little valley on a lope. Brick spurred in behind her, belaboring her with the heavy metal hondo on his lariat. With a bellow of alarm the cow turned and went down the ravine, seemingly anxious to get away. Brick drew up and turned his horse. Within twenty feet of him smoldered the tiny fire, and not over ten feet from the fire lav a calf, hog-tied. It was a young calf— too young to brand. Brick swung down from his saddle and walked over to the calf. ‘“‘No wonder the old lady went on the prod,” he muttered. ‘Some son of a gun couldn’t wait for it to get weaned?’ Suddenly Brick’s eyes centered on an object just beyond the fire and almost con- cealed from his view behind a mesquite tangle. Brick’s hand flashed to his gun, and he walked slowly forward, the butt of his Colt resting against his thigh. It was a man, lying on his face, with arms outspread. Brick did not have to turn him over to know it was Scott Martin. After -the first shock, Brick’s eyes swept the sur- rounding country. A hundred yards away, outlined against the sky stood the spotted cow, watching for her baby, but the cow was the only living thing in sight. CoOmiclook S (CO@ inn