Adventure Magazine Cover — page 79: what you’re looking at

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

Lost Diggings “Then you’re crazy even if you do pack so many guns,” snorted the old man. ‘‘Folks in Payette Valley will tell you ‘Old Idaho’ is queer for growing vegetables instead of hunting gold; but even he knows better’n to try to git back stolen property once the thieves have cached it south of the Boise. They got a horse from me early this Spring. I kept my trap shet. If you can overtake the cuss in the open and you can use that rifle—yes. But to poke into town and try to git the critter back—well, you might as well try to locate a rich quartz lode in a sheet of Snake River lava.” “Huh! So, you’re Old Idaho? Heard about you up North. You came out to Oregon with the year of ‘forty-five immi- grants. You was one of the first to prowl around the Boise Basin.” Old Idaho did not relish this. replied: “That’s a name some derned fools tucked onto me. My real name’s Prescott. I didn’t do any prowling round this basin.” Seeing the old man was displeased, Hale maliciously continued— “Up in the Coeur d’Alene country they reckon you’re the man that found the ‘Lost Diggings’ in ’Forty-five.”’ “Tarnation lie!’ passionately cried Old Idaho.. “Some joking feller started that mess of talk. ‘I don’t know nothing about mining. Don’t have to. Don’t want to. I make money raising vegetables. With flour a dollar a pound in Idaho City this last Spring—and causing a mob to fire the town—I reckon my lost diggings is right here. There ain’t no ‘Lost Diggings’. Never was.” “Oh, it’s no disgrace to you even if you did prospect a bit. No need of having a fit over it. I was just saying what folks up North are saying.”’ “They ain’t no call to hitch my name to any ‘Lost Diggings, >” grunted Old Idaho. “Your mare’s in Boise City if they ain t run her down to the Owyhee and sold her.”’ “And I’d better be hurrying along, eh? You're a hospitable old cuss. Bet you make friends with every starving man you see.” The old man’s irritation vanished. “T hail from New England, where they’re just as free with grub as they be anywhere in the world. My heart’s all right; but I have my troubles. I have to size folks up before asking ’em to light and squat. Got He warmly 69 a granddarter living with me. Too many rough-looking men round these parts for me to be promiscus with free grub. Most of ’em are all right, but you can’t tell when the wrong one will come along. Three different times some fellers from Buena Vista Bar come snooping down here this Spring, and I had to throw some lead from my old gun before they’d take the hint and dust out. But I reckon you’re all right. You’re after a stolen mare. You ain’t got any time to stop and visit. Come in and eat. What be you called?” “Hale. Maybe I’d best be moving on.” “‘Not Shoshoni Hale?” eagerly asked Old Idaho. “T’ve been called that up North. Fool notion of fool people.” “T’ll use only the last part of your handle, but I always want to admire the Injun part of it. You’ve got to come in. We'll grub and talk.” Hale, known from Walla Walla to the Beaver Head country as “‘Shoshoni Hale”’ because of his reputed influence among the Indians of that tribe, could have explained that he already had eaten, but the glimpse of a face at the window aroused his curiosity; and he followed his eccentric host into the cabin. “<—~x AS HE halted inside the door a slim young fellow in buckskin trousers : and flannel shirt advanced to meet him. While he was glancing about to behold the granddaughter Old Idaho was saying— ‘This is my granddarter, Harry Idaho.” “Harriet Prescott,’ she quickly corrected. And Hale knew that a glance at the small beaded moccasins should have proclaimed her sex. She took his hand and permitted him to retain it while she scrutinized him searchingly. He was embarrassed by the intensity of her gaze and considerably abashed by the continued presence of the small hand in his big palm. It was almost as if she hoped to find in him some one she had been looking for. He felt relieved when she withdrew her hand. He was nonplussed when she gravely announced— “T reckon you’re all right.” “T hope so, miss,”’ he meekly replied. ‘But why do you pack two revolvers and that rifle? When I sized you up from the window I reckoned you was one of Jem Helm’s gang. While you was talking with GOMIGoOO S (© iin