Adventure Magazine Cover — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

sun-Dog Trails ‘mother had been Scotch—and she had sung this same song to him. It had been years since Brick had heard it, and it brought back a rush of memories—memories of a sweet-faced woman who used to cuddle him in her arms and call him “laddie o’ mine.” Brick was not sentimental, but just now he found himself, hat in hand, staring down at the ground. He glanced at his com- panions. Harp was staring at the open door, mouth open. Silent had stepped back against his horse and was standing with his arms folded and eyes closed. Brick’s eyes switched back to the door just as the owner of the voice appeared. For a moment she did not see them—her eyes seemingly looking far away. Then she gave a start of surprize. She was not beautiful. Her face was tanned, her hair a tumbled brown mass, and a-smudge of black discolored one of her cheeks. The faded blue-calico dress, the dejected attitude, might have made her a pathetic figure; but she was too tall, too visibly healthy to be pathetic. ““Ma’am,” said Brick softly, “yuh got a beauty-spot.” Her hand went slowly to her cheek and a smile flashed across her face. “T’ve been trving to fix that darned stove-pipe. When I get it level the stove won’t stand up, and when I get the stove level the pipe won’t fit. Know anything about stoves?” “I’m a expert on ’em,” stated Silent. “Not saggin’ ones,” corrected Brick. *¥’m the sag expert.” There was a three-cornered rush for the doorway, but Brick was the first one inside. Some time, in the dim and distant past, this stove might have had four legs; but now it rested its four corners on a stone, - two bricks, an old kettle and a block of wood. The rusty pipe, of odd lengths, made several angles before entering the tin-protected hole in the roof. The three cowboys surrounded the stove and examined it carefully. The section of pipe which connected to the top of the stove had been freshly cut, but Silent did not note _ this trifling detail. “The —— fool that cut this must ’a’ been cross-eyed,” he declared. ‘‘No wonder it won’t fit when the stove’s level.” “T’m not much of a mechanic,” admitted the girl soberly. “Aw-w-w,” choked Silent, coloring to the roots of his hair. “Aw, I can see where yuh made the mistake, ma’am; one of the corners was saggin’. Anybody’d make the same mistake.” Brick removed the offending section of pipe and proceeded to ruin his pet pocket- knife in cutting the pipe square across, while Silent and Harp shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “She’s a small world, ma’am,” declared Silent, “but I ain’t never met yuh before. I’m Melville Slade. Folks calls me Silent ‘cause I never have much tosay. Thisone here is Harp Harris. The pipe-cutter over there is named Brick Davidson.”’ “Harp ain’t my right name, ma’am.” Harp said that much and then took a deep breath, like a man who had been under water a long time—or was getting ready to go under. Then he finished breathlessly— “I was christened Cadwallader Jones Harris, ma’am.”’ Harp beamed with joy over his disclosure. “T’d stick to Harp if I was you,” grunted Brick. ‘Sayin’ your full name sounds like fallin’ over a door-step and hitting your head on a chair.” =o you christened Brick?”’ asked the girl. “His name’s Donald Campbell David- son,” chanted Harp. “I know, ’cause I seen it on a letter.” Brick grinned at her. “T am Jean Martin,” said the girl simply. . “Jean Martin?” Brick almost dropped the pipe. “How do yuh spell it—with a GP?” “No, with a J. J-e-a-n.” Brick came back to the stove and fitted the pipe, while Silent and Harp watched him. It fitted. Brick wiped his hands on his chaps and smiled at her. “T reckon she’ll work now, ma’am.” “Thank you so very much. I never could have fixed it, because I am such a poor mechanic.” She looked at Silent as she finished; but Silent was looking at a Winchester hanging on a pair of deer-horns on the wall. “You and your dad goin’ to run the ranch?” asked Brick. ““We—we hope to, Mr. Davidson.” “Kinda hard for one man to run a place,” observed Harp. 13 “There will be three of us. Jack Oliver has been with us a long time, but he isn’t cComichooksicom