Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 113: what you’re looking at

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

Paradise Bend “T’ll remember ye,” said the cook with dignity. ‘‘I’ll remember you too,”’ he added, looking at Loudon. ‘Doubleday, I’d like my time. I ain’t a-goin’ to cook for this bunch no longer. An’ if it’s all the same to you I’ll take a hoss for part o’ my pay.” “Well, by !? exclaimed Doubleday, hugely annoyed at being thus forestalled. ‘“You’ve got a nerve. You ought to be hung!’ ‘“‘Any gent does who works for the Flying M,” countered the cook. “But I’m—quit- tin’. Do I get the hoss?” “Ye bet ye do. An’ yo’re hittin’ the trail tonight.” ‘“‘The sooner the quicker.’’ Within half an hour Rufe Cutting, erst- while cook at the Flying M,. a bandage under his hat, mounted his horse and rode away toward Paradise Bend. As he van- ished in the gathering dusk, Swing Tunstall laughed harshly. “All yaller an’ a yard wide!” observed Giant Morton, and spat contemptuously. Loudon made no comment. He was working out a puzzle, and he was making very little headway. if ger and started for the Bend. He followed the trail for a mile or two, then, fording the Dogsoldier, he struck across the flats where a few of Mackenzie’s horses grazed. He did not turn his horse’s head toward Paradise Bend till the Dog- soldier was well out of rifle-range. Lou- don’s caution was pardonable. Rufe Cut- ting knew that he was to ride to the Bend, and Rufe had a rifle. Loudon had marked him tying it in his saddle-strings. It was quite within the bounds of pos- sibility that the cunning Rufe was at that very moment lying in wait somewhere among the cottonwoods on the bank of the Dogsoldier, for the trail in many places swung close to the creek. Decidedly, the trail was no fit route for any one at odds with a citizen of the Cutting stamp. Loudon, when he drew near the Bend, circled back to the creek and entered the town by the Farewell trail. He dismounted in front of the Three Card, anchored Ranger to the ground and went into the saloon. Several men were standing at the bar. They ceased talking at his entrance. Loudon leaned both elbows on the bar IN THE morning he saddled Ran- II! and demanded liquor. He sensed a certain tenseness, a vague chill in the atmosphere. The bartender, his eyes looking anywhere but at Loudon, served him hastily. The bartender seemed nervous. Bottle and glass rattled as he placed them on the bar. “Scotty Mackenzie come in yet?” in- quired Loudon of the bartender, setting down his empty glass. ‘“‘N-no,’”? quavered the bartender shrilly. “T ain’t seen him.” Loudon stared at the bartender. What was the matter with the man? His face was the color of gray wrapping-paper. Loudon turned and glanced along the bar at the other customers. ‘Two of them were regarding him, a rapt fascination in their expressions. Swiftly the two men averted their eyes. : Loudon hesitated an instant, then he wheeled and walked out of the saloon. As he crossed the sidewalk he noticed a group of men standing near by. He stooped to pick up his reins. When he straightened there was a sudden rustle and a whisk in his rear. Something settled over his shoul- ders and drew taut, pinning his arms to his sides. “What in ’? swore Loudon, and be- gan to struggle furiously. He was at once jerked over on his back. He fell heavily. The shock partially stunned him. Dazedly he gazed upward into a ring of faces. The features of all save one were blurred. And that face was the face of Block, the Sheriff of Fort Creek County. - Loudon felt a tugging at his belt and knew that one was removing his six-shoot- er. He was pulled upright, his hands were wrenched together, and before he was aware of what-was taking place, his wrists were in handcuffs. Now his faculties re- turned with a rush. ‘“What seems to be the trouble, anyway?” he demanded of the crowd in general. “Tt seems yo’re a hoss-thief,”’ replied a brown-bearded man wearing a star on the left lapel of his vest. ‘Who says so?” “This gent.”” The brown-bearded man pointed at Block. “Tt’s no good talkin’, Loudon,’ said Block, grinning after the fashion of the cat which has just eaten the canary. “I know ye. Ye stole that hoss yo’re ridin’ from the 88 ranch. There’s the brand to prove CoOMmichoooks CO