Adventure Magazine Cover, April 3, 1918 — page 135: what you’re looking at

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

Hidden Trails Racey Dawson. Racey was not due for two days, and here he was on the heels of Telescope. Johnny yearned to tell Racey what he thought of him. AS RACEY came through the door- way he slapped his side with a full sweep of both arms. Dust flew from him in a gray cloud. His face was ashen with it. Grinning widely, he crossed the floor straight to where Johnny stood at the bar, and Johnny saw that there was dust inside his ears and down his neck. “Thought you’d get away from me, huh?” cried Racey, teetering on his heels in front of Johnny. “Tried to give me the slip, huh? Just ’cause I had a li’l business over on the Two Deer an’ was maybe now a day late, yuh run off an’ left me.” Racey in his teetering apparently lost his balance and fell forward against the dis- mayed Johnny, who foresaw the crumbling of his plans under Racey’s blundering. But Racey’s hand, flung out to save himself, gripped Johnny’s arm, and Johnny felt that member squeezed three times before Racey regained his equilibrium. ‘“‘Aw, yuh’d oughta come sooner,” Johnny said instantly. “Djuh think I got nothin’ to do but wait for yuh while yo’re hellin’ ‘round all over the country?” Their voices were not pitched low, but Laguerre, facing them at his table across the room, gave no sign that he heard. “Well, yuh might ’a’ waited,’ grumbled Racey. “Le’s irrigate.” While they stood in silence, the bottle between them, a man slouched in from the street and halted inside the doorway. He was a stocky citizen with a sandy mustache and an aggressive chin. He pushed’back his hat and one perceived that his head was curiously pinched-in at the temples. This characteristic, combined as it was with total absence of eyebrows, and a wall-eye, did not make for attractiveness. stocky man surveyed the roomful with a cold and fishy stare. His oblique gaze passed over Johnny and Racey and appar- ently fixed itself on a corner of -the bar. Still looking at the corner of the bar, Wall-eye swaggered bow-leggedly up to Racey Dawson and suggested drinks. He likewise smiled amiably, revealing the lack of two upper front teeth. “This here’s my friend, Johnny Ram- ¢ The ' 133 say,” said Racey, flicking a tactful thumb at Johnny. ‘What might I call you?” “Now I shore did forget to tell yuh my name, didn’t I?” smiled the stranger, his crooked eye missing Racey by four feet. ‘Which she’s ‘Bale’ Harper. Barkeep, got a lame arm? I’m waitin’ for a glass.” The bartender hastily slid a bottle and a glass across the bar. As the newcomer tilted the bottle Johnny noticed that the third finger of his right hand was cut off at the second joint. Bale Harper downed his liquor at a gulp, and instantly poured out another glassful. Two or three fingers were not for Harper. He filled his glass a-brim and slopping over. ‘Nothin’ like good measure,” said he with a leer, and added with emphasis, “that’s somethin’ I always aim to get.” Johnny made no comment. He did not like this Bale Harper. “Got a brother ’round here some’ers,”’ remarked Mr. Harper with his gap-toothed grin. “Been lookin’ for him ever since I drifted in. You ain’t seen him, have yuh, Mister Ramsay—feller about my size he is, sandy hair an’ face likewise, called Spill?” “‘Ain’t seen him today,” answered the puncher, shaking an indifferent head. “‘Yes’- day he was ’round. Him an’ Tom Keen was together. There’s Tom over there. Maybe he’ll know.”’ But Johnny’s hint did not bear fruit. Bale Harper frowned in the general direc- tion of Tom Keen and said he guessed he’d wait and see Spill later. = good whisky,” he declared, and had another. “T’m tired,’’ announced Racey. ‘Guess now I’ll give an imitation of a young feller rollin’ in. How about the hotel, Johnny— got a bed?” “Shore. C’mon.” They departed, despite strong urging to the contrary by Bale Harper. But they did not go to the hotel. For privacy in conversation was impossible in that hos- telry. The partitions were too thin and there were many cracks. Hence it was that Johnny and his friend, walking without haste, slid silently between Soapy Rags- dale’s house and his corral and felt their cautious way In among Soapy Ragsdale’s neatly corded stacks of Winter firewood. “What’s up?” demanded Johnny, when they were squatting on their heels between two stacks. COnnicloookxs (C@