Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 123: what you’re looking at

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

Paradise Bend dished down at Lew’s Gully, an’ she come in on three wheels an’ half a cottonwood. Passengers had to stay over till Whisky Jim rustled him a new wheel. ,Whisky’ll pull out in the mornin’, I reckon.” ‘““‘Who’s the gent?” “Drummer. Dunno his name.” “Didn’t Block—you know, Sheriff Block o’ Fort Creek—didn’t he stop here a day or two ago? He must ’a’ come through Rock- et.” ‘Sure he did. But he ain’t no stranger. I see him as many as two or three times a year. Sure he come through Rocket. He had a drink here day before RSE SPE Goin’ to the Bend, he said.” ‘Well, if he stops on his way back tell him Tom Loudon was askin’ for him. Old friend o’ mine, the Sheriff is. Just tell him ye know me, an’ he'll set ’em up for the whole town.” “I expect,”’ grinned the landlord. “Was you wantin’ beds, gents?” “That’s us,” grunted Scotty. “Me, I’m asleep from the neck down. Show me that bed, Mister.” Loudon, sitting on the edge of his sway- backed cot, pulled off his boots, dropped them clattering on the floor, and looked across at Scotty Mackenzie. “Block didn’t send that letter—or write it,” he said, sliding his long body under the blanket. “How do ye know?” came in muffled tones from Scotty. ‘““He ain’t got the brains. No sir, some gent in Paradise Bend sent that letter, an’ I think I know his name.”’ ‘Who is he?” Scotty was plainly striv- ing to keep awake, and making a poor job of it. “T’ll tell ye after we get back to the Bend.” Be yet lemon and gray, the thunderous clamor of a beaten dish-pan rever- berated through the hotel. The hideous din ceased abruptly, and the voice of the landlord became audible. “Ye half-witted idjit! Don’t ye know better’n to beat that pan when there’s a lady in the house? Dish-pans is for com- mon folks, an’ don’t ye forget it! Now you hump yourself up-stairs an’ bang on her door right gentle, an’ tell her the stage is due to pull out in a hour.” NEXT morning, while the east was I2I ‘““Must be a real lady,” commented Lou- don, when a door at the other end of the corridor had been duly rapped upon. ‘““Must be,” said Scotty in a singularly joyless tone. ‘“‘Ye couldn’t hear what she said to the feller. Reg’lar female ladies al- ways talk so ye got to ask ’em to Say it again, they carry fancy-colored umbrellas when the sun shines, an’ they pack their gold specs on the end of a stick: They watch ye eat, too. I know ’em. Ye bet I do. “T met a pair of ’em once when they was visitin’ at the Seven Lazy Seven. They made me so nervous a-lookin’ at me that I cut the roof o’ my mouth three times with my knife. Reg’lar ladies don’t make me feel to home nohow. I’m goin’ down now an’ eat before this one scampers in an’ spoils my appetite.” So saying, Scotty almost ran from the room, buckling on his cartridge-belt as he went. The drummer was at the table when the two Flying M men sat down. An impres- sive person was the drummer. He was known in his own circle as a “perfectly ele- gant dresser.” If the tightest of tight-fit- ting suits, the gaudiest of shirts, the high- est of collars, an explosive cravat, two watch-chains, a bartender’s curl, and a per- petual leer make for elegance, that drum- mer was elegant to a degree. The three had nearly finished breaitast when there came a tapping of quick heels on the stairs. Scotty Mackenzie groaned. The drummer hastily patted his curl and broadened his leer. Loudon raised his eyes and gasped audibly. His knife and fork rattled on the plate. For the woman en- tering the room was Kate Saltoun. “Good morning, Tom,” said Kate bright- ly, quite as if she and he, the best of friends, had parted the previous evening. The nonplused Loudon mumbled unin- telligibly, but accomplished a_ passable greeting by the time Kate had seated her- self directly opposite. The drummer glanc- ed contemptuously at Loudon and, with a flourish and a killing ogle, handed the bread to Kate. Miss Saltoun helped herself, nod- ded casual thanks, and bestowed a ravishing smile on Loudon. “‘T’m awfully glad to see you again, Tom,” she declared, buttering her bread. ‘‘It’s just like old times, isn’t it?”’ Could this smiling young girl be Kate CoOMmichoooks CO