Adventure Magazine, Mid-September 1917 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

Longhorns night in the big cottonwood grove on the Lazy. No, they won’t know it, y’ betcha, an’ what they don’t know won’t hurt ’em.”’ ‘‘But what I know hurts me, an’ that’s whatever,” groaned Chuck. ‘You got it easy. Yourun off an’ leave me to doall the thinkin’, Oh, fine. ‘Scratch yore head an’ think, Chuck,’ says you, an’ that settles it. Whadda yuh think I am—Solomon?”’ “T’ve been wonderin’ what yuh was ever since I knowed yuh,” chirped the Twin. ‘Sometimes I guess yo’re one thing, some- times another. Hey! lookout with that quirt! Quit, will yuh! Ugh—now yuhdone it—ugh— He’ll buck—ugh—till he’s tired!”’ “T almost busted the mainspring when I was talkin’ to her,” observed Chuck, when the Twin, on a now thoroughly chastened pony, ranged alongside. ‘“Meanin’ how?” “‘T told her the Bar-S had bought out the C-Y.” “Vuh fool!’ “I was all o’ that. Bein’ she was from the East I’d oughta knowed she wouldn’t understand it only meant the cattle an’ hosses. But I explained it to her all right. She understands now the ranch-house could be took by anybody. I told her the Lazy River country was all free range, an’ so she is—free to any outfit strong enough to lock horns with the Bar-S an’ the 88 an’ the Cross-in-a-Box an’ the Hawgpen an’ the Double-Diamond-A. Well, I’m tellin’ yuh, cowboy, this deal ain’t a-goin’ to be no cinch, not any, but it’ll be a blame sight easier’n it would ’a’ been two year ago when Sam Blakely was managin’ the 88.” ‘“‘An’ that’s whatever,” agreed the Twin. “If Sam was alive he’d try to run ’em out quicker’n scat. An’ then you an’ me an’ the 88 would go to war prompt an’ proper. But the manager they got now, this here Lanpher jigger, I guess we can bluff him if he gets to jumpin’ sidewise. If we can’t T’ll spit in his eye an’ drownd him. He’s small enough.”’ “Don’t be too sure o’ puttin’ it all over him,”’ advised Chuck, who had seen life on many ranges. ‘“O’ course I’m in on any play if this Lanpher picks up a hand, but if she’s a war-jig don’t go rampagin’ round too careless.” “You watch my smoke!” boasted the Twin. “If I get on the prod with Lanpher I’Jl shore make him hard to find.” ““Here’s luck,” said the dubious Chuck. But the latter did not fire again. II AN HOUR later the Twin left Chuck to ride his own trail. Chuck watched him go over the hill, and rolled a meticulous cigaret. “The Twin is shore an idjit nine ways from the Jack,” he observed thoughtfully. “Think o’ rustlin’ all them clo’es an’ spurs an’ Dave’s gun just to shine in the eyes 0’ that li'l sawed-off Molly girl, Huh! Love is shore blind a lot, y’ betcha. If it had been Jane now, I could ’a’ understood him doin’ what he done. She’s worth doin’ anythin’ for. Myself I’d rustle hosses in a minute ifsheasked me. Jane. Ja-a-a-ane. Kind o’ pretty name, ain’t it, Peppermint? Huh?e What’s that? Yo’re sayin’ forty a month ain’t yore idea o’ somethin’ to marry on. Is that whatjyuh think, old wet blan- ket? Why, hoss, I’d marry that girl an’ her willin’, if I didn’t have nothin’ besides my clo’es but a thin dime. An’ that’s the kind o’ hairpin I am.” Steadily reflecting on feminine beauty as exemplified in the person of Jane Dale, Chuck Morgan pursued his homeward way. He gave barely a thought to the unpleasant subject of Mr. Saltoun and what the latter would undoubtedly say and in all probabil- ity do in the matter of the nesters. What was the use? It was a thing that must be faced, but there was no need of facing it till he stood before his employer. To be sure. Why worry? For something might turn up to alter the ugly face of things. Not that Chuck resembled in the slightest de- gree the immortal Micawber, but he did believe in luck—his own particular luck. In all the more important events of his life luck had been with him. Why not then in this, the most important one of all? His luck was due to stand him in good stead sooner than he expected. While r.d- ing through a draw some ten miles from the Bar-S_ ranch-house a rifle roared among some bushes fringing the left-hand bank of the draw and Chuck’s hat jerked on his head. Chuck went after his gun and flung himself from the saddle simultaneously. Holding his frightened and sidling horse by the bit and aiming across the saddle he fanned his six-shooter into the center of the gray smoke-cloud above him. Even as he did so he expected each shot to be his last. For the odds were all with the ambusher. Chuck, fmding himself still alive, was snatching out his rifle prior to climbing the bank and COmicloo C©