Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 137: what you’re looking at

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

Paradise Bend meadow. In the middle of the meadow was an ancient shack, doorless, the roof fallen in, flanked by a corral which gave evidence of having been recently, repaired. *“‘Somethin’ movin’ in that corral,” said Loudon, and dragged out his gun. Then, in half a watch-tick, a man on a chestnut horse flashed across the open space between the corral and the shack. Loudon and Laguerre swung to one side, but the man did not immediately reappear on the other side of the shack. A few steps farther and they saw him. He was riding directly away from them and was within fifty yards of the forest. The fugitive was a long two hundred yards distant, but they recognized his back without any difficulty. He was the dusty man from Hatchet Creek, and his horse was Loudon’s Ranger. ‘Look out for the hoss!”’ cried Loudon, as Laguerre flung up his rifle. The rifle cracked spitefully once and again. The rider, with a derisive yell, dis- appeared among the trees. Laguerre drop- ped his rifle-butt, and began to utter strange and awful oaths in a polyglot of French and English. Loudon sheathed his six-shooter, kicked his feet out of the stirrups and calm- ly rolled a cigarette. ‘“‘No use a-cussin’, Telescope,’’ he ob- served. ‘“He’s done gone.”’ Pht-bang! a rifle spat from the distant wood. Loudon’s horse gave a convulsive sidewise leap, dropped with a groan and rolled half over, pinning Loudon to the ground. Laguerre, flat on his stomach, was firing at the thinning smoke-cloud un- der the trees. But there were no more shots from the forest. ‘Say, Telescope,” called Loudon, ‘“‘when ye get plumb through would ye mind pull- in’ this cayuse off 0’ my legs?”’ Still cursing, Laguerre levered up the body of the dead pony with the barrel of his rifle, and Loudon wriggled free. He en- deavored to stand on his feet, but sat down abruptly. ‘““‘What’s de matter?” inquired Laguerre. “Bullet hit you too?” “No,” replied Loudon, gingerly feeling his right ankle, ‘“‘my foot feels funny.” “‘Mabbeso de leg broke,”’ suggested La- guerre. ‘“‘Mabbeso dat feller she try anud- der shot. Better you be behin’ de log- house.” He picked up his rifle, helped Loudon to -yo’re goin’ for the hoss. 135 stand erect and passed an arm ’round his waist. So, hopping on one foot, Loudon reached the shelter of the shack wall. La- guerre eased him to the ground and skipped nimbly down past the corral. ‘“‘Mabbeso I geet dat feller,”’ he called over his shoulder. ‘‘Be back soon.”’ Laguerre returned in five minutes. “Dat feller she geet clean away,” he said disconsolately. ‘‘Nevair touch heem. By Gar! Eef I not have run so hard, I shoot better. Geet heem sure den.” “Pull my boot off, will ye, Telescope?” requested Loudon, extending his leg. Laguerre pulled. Loudon gritted his teeth. The pain was sharp, nauseating. “Tt’s no good,” said Loudon thickly. “Got to cut the boot off.” Laguerre whipped out his knife and slit the leather from instep to top. Gently he removed the boot. Loudon peeled off the sock. The ankle was badly swollen. ‘“‘Wiggle de toe,’’ commanded Laguerre. Loudon wriggled his toes and was able to move his ankle slightly, not without a deal of pain however. . He noted with thankful- ness that the pain was continuous, and not stabbing as it is when a bone is involved. ‘“‘Bone’s all right,”’ he observed cheerful- ly. ‘Only a sprain, I guess.” “Dat ees good,” said Laguerre. “TI geet de odder hoss.”’ _ He strode to the dead horse and stripped off saddle and bridle. ‘Say,’ said Loudon, “‘I can do that while We'll have to leave ’em here anyway.” ‘“‘No, not dees treep, my frien’,’”’ Laguerre said, carrying saddle and bridle toward the corral. ‘‘Dat feller she leave Dan Smeet’s hoss on de odder side de corral. Hoss she pretty tire’, but she carry you all right.” | On his hands and knees Loudon crawled to the corral and peered between the bars. The corral was a large one. ‘Till recently the grass had grown thickly within it. But that grass had been nibbled to the roots, and the marks of shed hoofs were every- where. From a spring near the shack a small stream ran through one corner of the corral. *‘Slick,”’ said Loudon. been better, could it?” “No eet could not,” agreed Laguerre. “She feex up dees ole corral fine. Dat Ranger hoss she been here mabbeso four “Couldn’t have day. She have de grass. She have de Connicloolkks.corn