Adventure Magazine, Mid-September 1917 — page 52: what you’re looking at

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

50 “The hosses ain’t real harness-broke,” warned Bill. “TI only got ’em in a trade las’ week, an’ J ain’t had time to take the bronc out of ’em yet.” | “That’s all right,’’ Chuck cheerfully as- sured him. “It’s yore wagon. Seen Cut- nose round lately” “T seen him ridin’ out o’ town a coupla days ago. Ain’t seen him since. He may be here. Yuh can’t tell.” “T’ll sort o’ look.” Chuck, his eyes on the lookout for his enemy, walked down the street to tue Happy Heart Saloon. Here he found Tom Dowling in a fair way to become plastered. While drinking with Dowling and two citi- zens whom he knew to be on friendly if not intimate terms with Cutnose Canter, he contrived to casually mention the subject of the Buffalo Flats and the cattle grazing thereon. 7 Having dropped the seed he went forth to sow elsewhere, in which business he was aided by Dowling who, with maudlin per- tinacity, insisted upon accompanying him whithersoever he went. Being drunk, Dowling perceived nothing strange in the repeated allusions to the Buffalo Flats. Likewise, Dowling’s curiosity—the persis- tent curiosity of the intoxicated that is gratified only to promptly forget that it has been—was a card Chuck played to the limit. Even that cranky person, Mr. Sal- toun, could have found no fault with the manner in which Chuck spread it abroad that there were on the Flats many cows, un- guarded, practically waiting to be rustled. From the last of the Farewell saloons the hard-working Chuck escorted the reeling and vociferous Dowling to the hotel. The evening was not a complete success for Chuck had not encountered Cutnose Can- ter. Nor had Chuck been able to make a party of it for himself. He had been much too busy, and although he had bought many drinks, his adroit shifting of glasses had caused a majority of them to be gulped down by the thirsty Dowling. Chuck, driving out of town in the morn- ing, immediately found that Lainey had told the truth concerning the horses. They were excessively bronco. When they weren’t snapping at each other and kicking the doubletree they were trying to jump through their collars. Luckily, the wagon and harness were both new and strong. When Indian Ridge was passed: Chuck Adventure left the trail. For it might be that his enemies had prepared a fresh ambush. In which event following the trail would be suicide. They would not botch their work a second time. Chuck, sticking religiously to the lowest ground he could find, drove through one draw after another. He experienced no difficulty in keeping the ponies up to their work. They had lost none of their enthusi- astic energy. The wagon bounded at their heels like a frisky rabbit. It was not equipped with springs and Chuck suffered. Ten miles from the Bar-S he slowed the team to a walk. The ponies were willing. So was Chuck. He could not have endured the bouncing and jarring another ten minutes. “Ooh!” he groaned, tenderly moving his legs and his shoulder-blades. ‘“‘I’ll bet every one o’ my teeth are loose, an’ I know my neck’s broke. them bushwhackers! H of a note when a feller can’t drive peaceable an’ free along the trail without gettin’ shot up.” A sudden scurry of hoofs in the rear caused him to simultaneously hang his chin on his shoulder and reach for his rifle. But it was only the Rainbow galloping toward him. Chuck sheepishly let the rifle slide down on the floor-boards and straightened. The Rainbow drew alongside and flashed him a quizzical smile. ‘“‘Why so suspicious?” she asked with twinkling eyes. ‘“‘Whom are you afraid of?” “There was no tellin’ who yuh might be,” defended Chuck. “I’m only a young feller, an’ my nerves ain’t growed out yet. Yuh’ll have to excuse me. How’s yore uncle?” ‘‘Madder than a bee-stung bear. He vows he’ll have somebody’s hair for drilling him.”’ | “Then he’s all right.” ‘‘He’ll pull through. Uncle’s tough. All our family are. I see your razor slipped this morning.” ‘“‘She did, for a fact.”’ He fingered the courtplaster covering the graze on his cheek-bone. “Or else somebody’s done some ragged shooting— Oh, you needn’t begin to whistle, old-timer. Tell sister about it— Oh, they did, and you did, and then they ran away, huh? A likely story. A likely story. But I suppose it’s as true as any of your lies. Here, pull up, Chuck, and let me CoOmiclsoo (©