Adventure Magazine, Mid-September 1917 — page 27: what you’re looking at

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

Longhorns ‘but what I don’t see is why Cutnose wants to make his cayuse lame. Unless’’—a slight chin-rubbing pause—“‘unless he wants an excuse to stay there all night.”’ “Dat eet,” nodded the Indian, and climbed into the saddle. Chuck swung up, and they rode off. Straight down the hillside they galloped without any attempt at concealment, and headed across the flat toward the ranch- house. Cutnose Canter was exhibiting and ex- patiating upon the lameness of his mount to Jane Dale when Chuck and the Indian came round the corner of the house. “Well, well, here we are again,” cried Cutnose, displaying his yellow teeth in the familiar twisted grin. ‘I shore didn’t ex- pect to see yuh again so soon, Chuck. I’m just sayin’ to the lady I got one lame hoss here, an’ I gotta wait till he’s better ’fore I can hit the trail. Id ask to borry a pony o’ yuh, ma’am, only I’d kind o’ like to stay an’ rub the li’l hoss’s leg, an’ see if I can’t cure him up. If it’s all the same to you, ma’am.”’ ‘‘Lemme look at this lame hoss,”’ cut in Chuck, before Jane could speak. ‘“‘Didn’t know I was somethin’ of a hoss-doctor, didja, Cutnose? Well, Iam. I can cure most anythin’ thataway but a broken leg.” He dismounted and approached Canter’s animal. He reached for the bridle. Cut- nose made as though to Jerk it away, but thought better of the impulse and allowed Chuck to do as he wished. The latter led the pony forward a few steps. ‘It’s the near fore,’”? went on Chuck, in loud, cheerful tones, ‘‘an’ from the way he’s holdin’ that hoof it’s below the knee. Les- see, feller, what a li’l rubbin’ll do. Huh? What’s this here? Well, if it ain’t a hoss- hair ’at’s got all tangled up round the leg over the fetlock! Why, she’s wound round three times an’ tied in a good old hard knot. Now that’s what I call remarkable. It shore beats all what a pony’ll do with his feet, don’t it, Cutnose?”’ Cutnose Canter made no reply. But his eyes were murderous. Chuck, watching the other for a hostile movement, led the pony round in a circle. ‘‘See, he don’t limp none now,” he ob- served brightly. ‘‘Not a smidgin o’ lame- ness. I told yuh I was a hoss-doctor, Cut- nose. Here he is, yore hoss, fit to carry yuh anywhere. Did I hear yuh say yuh was 25 ridin’ to Marysville—or Farewell maybe? Not that it makes any real difference, just so it’s somewhere prompt an’ right away.” With his left hand Chuck tossed the reins to Cutnose. The latter let them fall. While a man might draw three breaths he stared steadily at Chuck. The puncher ‘smiled back—with his mouth. There was no mirth in his eyes. Jane caught her breath. She tried to speak, but she found difficulty in moving her stiff lips. She did not know what she was trying to say, but she did know that her knees were shaking and she could not stir from the spot where she stood. Then Cutnose stooped suddenly for his reins, flipped them round his pony’s neck, seized the horn and vaulted into the saddle without touching the stirrup. Jane found herself whispering, “Oh! Oh! Oh!” over and over as Cutnose Canter vanished be- hind the cottonwoods at the spring. The thudding drum of the gallopmg hoofs dwindled and died away in the distance. Jane looked at Chuck with a very pale face. Her hands crept upward to her breast. She sighed deeply, and gradually her color re- turned. “T thu-thu-thought he was going to shoot,” stuttered Jane. ‘‘So did I,”’ concurred Chuck. “But he didn’t and I didn’t, an’ everythin’s saloo- brious, ’ceptin’ I don’t guess Cutnose’ll like me any more.” LATE in the afternoon Chuck rode in among the buildings of the Bar-S. From the bunkhouse kitchen floated the sprightly lit of “The Zebra Dun.” | “Dried apple pies!’’ exclaimed Chuck, and smacked ecstatic lips at the recollection of previous pies. Jimmy the cook was a methodical person in some ways. He always bawled “The Zebra Dun’’ when baking pies, kneaded dough to the tune of ‘“The Mormon Bishop’s Lament,” and washed dishes with the help of ‘Dan Taylor.” Chuck stuck his head into the kitchen on his way to the ranch-house from the corral. “I knowed it!” he cried, sniffing loudly. “Got one to spare?”’ “Got h !”’ barked Jimmy, who was swiftly peeling potatoes. ‘‘Whadda yuh think this is—a restaurow? Huh? Well, it ain’t! Pll tell yuh those! You lazy jiggers think I got nothin’ to do but fill yore old oO cCoMmiclbooks ©