Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 131: what you’re looking at

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

Paradise Bend gratitude for ye! Well, it’s like I always said: Old folks is never appreciated, no mat- ter what they do. Yes, sir, I might ’a’ saved my breath. Dorothy, she talked just like you do, only worse.’ “What — why, you ain’t been talkin’ about this to Dor—Miss Burr, have ye?” demanded Loudon in horror. “Why, sure, I did,” said Scotty placidly. “T feel like a father to her, so why not? I didn’t say much. I just told her O’Leary was a pup an’ a sheepman an’ not fit for her to wipe her feet on, an’ why didn’t she take a shine to some other gent for a change? She says, ‘Who, for instance?’ An’ I says, ‘Tom Loudon,’ an’ that’s as far as I got. She goes up in the air like a pony, instanter.”’ “Which I should say she might. You had yore nerve, ringin’ me into it! ye got no sense at all?”’ “Lots. Yo’re the witless one. any brains ye’d take my advice.” “T can’t now, even if I wanted to.”’ ‘Sure ye can. She spoke to ye all right this aft’noon, didn’ t she?” “Ves, but “Well, I’d given her my opinion o’ things just about twenty minutes before ye met me at the corral. So, ye see, she wasn’t mad at you. She wasn’t really mad at me. [ seen the twinkle in her eye all the time she was givin’ me fits. Why, look here, Tom, when she says, couldn’t think o’ nobody but you. It was impulse, it was, an’ impulses are always right. Wouldn’t be impulses if they wasn’t. ‘So there y’are. Ye don’t have to marry each other, if ye don’t want to. Sure not. But ye’d ought to give each other a whirl anyway. Ye might hit it off amazin’. I’m bettin’ ye will, I don’t care what either o’ ye say.” Loudon, divided between anger and hor- rified amazement, was speechless. Scotty Mackenzie was more than astounding. He was hopelessly impossible. ‘Well,’ remarked Loudon, when he was able to speak, “‘ye sure are three kings an’ an ace when it comes to other people’s busi- ness. Some day, Scotty, ye’ll go bulgin’ into the affairs o’ some party who don’t un- derstand yore funny little ways, an’ he’ll hang yore hide on the fence.”’ “TI s’pose likely,” said Scotty glumly. “It sure is a ungrateful world. But,’ he added, brightening, “‘ye’ll do what I say, won’t ye, Tom? I tell ye I know best. I’ve sort 0’ If ye had Ain’t . ‘Who, for instance?’ I 129 cottoned to ye ever since I found out who ye was an’ all, an’ I always did like Dorothy Burr. Here’s you, an’ there she is. Why, it’s Providence, Tom, Providence; an’ no- body has a right to fly in the face o’ Provi- dence. Ye won’t never have no luck if ye do. I ask ye like a friend, Tom—an’ I hadn’t ought to have to ask ye, not with such a good-looker as Dorothy—I ask ye like a friend to go see this little girl, an’ 3) “‘An’ prove yo’re right,” interrupted Lou- don. “Well, yes. Though I know I’m right, an’ I tell ye plain if you two don’t hook up for keeps ye’ll be sorry. Yes, sir, ye will. Now don’t say nothin’, Tom. Just think it over, an’ if ye want any help come to me.” ““Ye make me sick. Ye sure do.” “Think it over. Think it over.” “Think nothin’ over! I ain’t in love with Miss Burr, an’ I ain’t a-goin’ to be. Ye can gamble on that, old-timer. As a wo- man-wrangler I’m a good hoss an’ cowman, an’ hereafter from now on I’m a-stickin’ to what I know best.” Loudon relapsed into sulky silence. Yet for the life of him he could not be wholly angry with Scotty Mackenzie. No one could. Scotty was Scotty, and, where an- other man would have been shot, Scotty went scatheless. i “SLICK!”’ said Scotty, ten minutes WS yy after arriving at the Flying M— “Slick, I guess yes. The feller that wrote that letter knowed my writin’ better’n I do myself. Don’t blame ye a mite, Doubleday, for bein’ fooled. Don’t blame ye a mite. “T’ll fix this trick for good and all. Here- after I don’t write no more letters to ye, see? Then if our forgin’ brother takes his pen in hand agin it won’t do him no good. What? No, I’m too sleepy. You go down an’ ask Loudon. He was the center o’ cu- riosity, an’ he knows more about that riot at the Bend than I do.” When Doubleday had gone Scotty Mac- kenzie did not act like a person overcome by sleep. He lit a cigarette, slid down in his chair and put his feet on the desk. ““Yo’re a great man, Scotty,” he chuckled. “Yes, sir, I dunno as IJ ever seen yore like. I didn’t know ye was such a deeplomat. No, sir, I sure didn’t.” But Mr. Mackenzie did not realize that SK CoMmichoooks (CO