Adventure Magazine, Mid-September 1917 — page 49: what you’re looking at

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

Longhorns round to Cutnose that I’m grazin’ my best cows down on the Buffler Flats. My best cows, y’understand. Maybe that’ll wake up the chunker an’ his friends.”’ ‘“‘Ain’t they started in to help ’emselves yet?” queried Chuck with well-simulated innocence. “No,” grumbled Mr. Saltoun irritably. “Yuh’d ’a’ heard of it if they had, wouldn’t yuh? It makes me sick! Here I’ve went to the trouble o’ drivin’ six hundred cows onto the Buffler Flats, an’ Cutnose holds off. An’ them cows eatin’ up the Winter feedin’ just as fast as they can. You talk up strong about them cattle, Chuck. I wanta get this business over with quick an’ sud- den.” That evening Chuck asked the Kid’s Twin to lend him one of his two six-shooters. “I always knowed yuh’d come round to usin’ a real six-shooter some day,’’ said the Twin. ‘“‘What’sa matter with yore ato- mizer?” “My gun’s all right,” retorted Chuck, “an’ she’s better today than yores ever thought o’ bein’ when she was new. Dol get the gun?” “If yores is so good whatcha want one 0’ mine for?” “To pick my teeth with. What do yuh guessP” “Yuh might tell a man.” “IT might tell a man.”’ “Well, you frazzled end of a misspent life!’ Indignantly. “Do I get the gun?” “Shore. Take anythin’ I’ve got. D’juh want cartridges? Yo’re gettin’ as bad as Sam.” “Is that so?” cut in Sam the borrower. “IT wouldn’t talk if I was you. Yo’re the jigger swiped all our clo’es.”’ “T shore forgot about that,” chuckled the unabashed Twin. ‘‘Here’s the gun, Chuck. Hey, fellers, Chuck’s turned a two-gun man. Betcha he’s goin’ to hold up the Marysville Stage: =" _ ‘‘Massacree Lanpher more likely,” said Dave Contrell. ‘“‘But whatcha want two guns for with that little runt, Chuck? Goin’ to shoot him all to li’l pieces.” “Don’t yuh fret none about what I’m a- goin’ to do,” advised Chuck, making sure that the hammer of the borrowed gun rested on an empty cylinder. ‘I’m a-goin’ to bed right now an’ that’s all you gents need to know.” 47 In the morning Chuck drove away in the buckboard. Under the seat, wedged be- tween the nosebags and his left heel, lay his rifle. Stuffed into the waistband of his trousers, the butt hidden beneath his vest, the Twin’s gun rubbed his abdomen. The weapon was in precisely the position where a hovering hand ostensibly fingering a vest-pocket for cigaret papers could draw it with ease and dispatch. With a gentleman of Canter’s kidney an honest man must take every precaution and be prepared to deal death at half a split sec- ond’s notice. Chuck realized perfectly that a meeting with Cutnose meant a fight, and he did not purpose to be the loser. The prospect did not depress him nor did it elate him. It was simply something that had to be done—a pitcher to be ridden, a calf to be thrown, a task pertaining to his job, as it were. Chuck had known ever since his meeting with Cutnose at the C-Y that he must shoot it out with the man. In view both of what Rattles had said and the incident of the two 88 horses the sooner matters reached a climax the better. Mr. Saltoun of course was unaware of the true state of affairs, else he would have sent a comrade with Chuck. Naturally the puncher had not mentioned it, for that would have implied a certain reluctance to face the issue. A contingency to be avoid- ed, if a man is to maintain his standing in a censorious world. Indian Ridge was in sight when the buck- board, rounding a bend, swayed up out ofa - hollow, struck a rock with the off front wheel and tossed Chuck to the near side of the seat at the instant that a rifle cracked somewhere in the rear. Hence it was that the bullet whisped past Chuck’s body with six inches to spare and bored the off mule between the ears. The mule dropped to his knees and rolled over on his side without even a grunt. His mate promptly lost his head and inciden- tally his life. For, rearing and pawing the air with his fore feet, he stopped the three bullets which had nicked the back and scored the cushion of the seat on the side where Chuck had been flung. The puncher had gone over the double- tree as the front mule dropped, and nearly had his brains kicked out by the hysterical remainder of the team. Zing-g-g/ a bullet splintered a wheel-spoke. Whang! an- other glanced from a tire. Two more oO Comiclooks C©