Adventure Magazine Cover — page 161: what you’re looking at

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

The Sheriff of Sun-Dog Brick nodded his head. Lafe had said “everybody,” which included Jean Martin. Silent and Harp had asked no questions. If Brick had shot Scott Martin, according to their ideas, Scott Martin deserved the shot. Brick turned to Lafe. ‘‘Want to show yuh somethin’, Lafe.”’ They walked back to the little corral, where Lafe looked at the brands. The old cattleman shook his head. “Was Scott Martin loco, Brick?” CNG. ivi! Where Lafe turned and put his hand = on Brick’s shoulder. “Brick, I know vou didn’t shoot Scott Martin. I could swear it by and high- water, but—ain’t you got no alibi a-tall?”’ “Martin would know who shot him, Lafe?” “Not unless he’s got eyes in the back of his head, which he ain’t. ‘“‘Go and find ’em,son. I told Doc Meyers; to get hold of Doc Winchell, down at Silver ton. Mebbe the two of ’em can fix him up.” Lafe went back to his buckboafd and drove out of town, while Brick went back to the office and sat down to think calmly. Was Scott Martin branding that calf when he was shot? If he wasn’t, what was he doing that far off the road? Did he maverick that Lazy H calf, which Harp brought inP Would any man—any sane man, brand a sucking-calf, whose ownership was unquestioned? Who had reasons for killing Martin? The questions seethed through Brick’s mind, but he could grasp no solutions to any of them. He wrote out the questions, but was unable to think calmly, because the thought, ‘““Everybody thinks you shot him,” kept hammering his brain. He stared at the ages-old reward notices, with which most of the walls had been papered, but his thoughts were far from the “‘Wanted”’ ones, whose faces stared down at him. Silent came in softly and threw his hat on the table. ‘Jeff Selden’s up in the Dollar Down, faunchin’ to beat ,’ he announced. “‘What’s eatin’ him?” asked Brick ab- sently. ‘Says he found two of his Hereford calves branded with the Weepin’ Tree. He says they was mavericks, which he was intendin’ to slap brands onto right away. Seems that 151 Frank Fellows found ’em up near the head of Piney creek. Frank brings ’em in and throws ’em into a bunch near the Star Dot, and today they finds ’em both mavericked. ‘Seldon’s the only one around here that owns any Herefords. He rides into town, mad as , and opines he’s goin’ out to the Weepin’ Tree and jump on Martin all spraddled out. Bunty tells him what hap- pened # Scott Martin, and now Seldon’s ore at you. He was goin’ to claw Martin to a fare-thee-well, and then he gets Sore at you for—for ee “For shootin’ Martin,’ prompted Brick. “He didn’t just say that, Brick. He said this country was tryin’ to reform too fast.” ‘“‘Well,’’ drawled Brick, “‘well, maybe he’s right, at that.” Silent nodded over the manufacture of a cigaret, while Brick watched him closely. “Did you know I shot Scott Martin?” asked Brick. Silent scratched a match and squinted at Brick through the smoke of his cigaret. “Uh-huh. Sure, I knowed it, Brick.” Silent pinched out the glowing match and grinned at Brick. Now that we've both lied—what next?” “Prove it?’? queried Silent, when Brick did not answer. “No.” Brick shook his head. ‘‘Provin’ that I didn’t do it is goin’ to take time. I reckon it’s up to us to prove who did do it, Silent.” Silent walked to the door and looked up the street. “Here comes your friend Seldon,” he remarked. Seldon lost no time in idle gossip. He brushed past Silent and walked over to Brick. | “Well, yore maverick law kinda started somethin’, didn’t it?’’ Seldon’s tone of voice was like pouring vinegar into a raw sore. Brick leaned on the edge of his desk and tried to control his temper. He knew there was no use in arguing with Seldon. “Til fight m’ own battles,”’ declared Sel- don. “If Scott Martin wants to steal all my cattle it’s none of your business, sabe? I'll settle with the thief In my own way.” Still Brick made no move; made no attempt to reply. This emboldened Seldon. His overbearing temper had found a target, and his little round eyes snapped. “I’ve handled a lot of rustlers,’’ said Seldon, and GOMIIGHOO S (© inn