Adventure Magazine Cover — page 96: what you’re looking at

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

82 | ~ Adventure - suspicious for as long as ten minutes. Then she began to wonder out loud where Andy’s at. From wondering she went to looking at me kind of hard. I stepped back out of arm-reach. She jerked the whip out of the socket and allowed plenty decisive she’s a-going to search the bunk-house. There’s no stopping her. She searched that bunk-house, searched it thorough, and when she didn’t turn up Andy she’s wild. To hear her take on you’d think she’d lost a gold watch. And all the time Ole was step-laddering up and down in front the bunk-house a-talking to Heaven about what’s he’s aim- ing to do to the skinny shoe-string that’s addled the affections of his girl Susy. He didn’t leave much unsaid, Ole didn’t, and every now and then he’d flick open his breech-cover half-way and see was the car- tridge still in the chamber. Also he kept that rifle cocked. Me personal, I was behind the woodpile and only an eye peeking up now and then. The rest of the boys was engaged similar wherever there’s cover. Not that we're afraid of Ole, y’understand, but we couldn’t lock horns with him without crowding li’l Susy. Say ran down final and shooed Ole into the buckboard and drove off, so I went over to the flat rock in the box-elders where Andy’s a-sitting, both ears on the stretch. a “WHAT a relief,” he says, easing up luxurious when I told him they’d gone. ‘But look here, Bill, didn’t I hear Susy screaming and carrying on a while back? I sure hope you didn’t try to argue with her.’’ “No,” I says, solemn as a coffin, “I didn’t try to argue with her and I won’t— not while I got my health. And if you wan- na keep yours and stay a bachelor you fork your horse instanter and drag it full split. Nemmine your broad acres and them plump cows. Nemmine nothing but how soon you can punch the breeze. You hear me whistling, cowboy?” Andy’s property thataway was the one temptation to last it out, but when he’d thought twice of Susy and her survigorous pa, that half-section sort of dwindled down and petered out, and distance lent enchant- ment to the view—and the farther away the view was the better pleased he’d be to see it close. After he’d decided to flit he spent the rest of the night fixing it up with the Old Man to sell his land and cattle for him. It was graying to dawn when Andy and me—I was a withess—come out of the office, and the first thing we ran into outside the door was Susy Svenson and her pa! Which them two reptyles had outguessed Andy once more. As I found out later, they’d switched back after leaving the bunk- house, cached their buckboard down the creek a mile and laywayed for their prey the best part of seven hours. There’s nothing to do—nothing—abso- lutely nothing. Andy Ball was a spent shell, a busted flush and a plugged nickel from the second Susy ballooned up from the log she’s sitting on and lolloped down on his neck with a glad and joyful cry of— “Oh, my Andy!” He got his sentence in less’n five minutes. Susy says they’ll drive over to Torpedo that very morning and be married by Judge Jackman. She wasn’t taking any more chances, so she wasn’t. Poor Andy! He didn’t have no spirit left. He agreed to everything she said without a peep. He was so discouraged and downhearted I cinched up and rode over with ’em to Torpedo just to be sort o’ friend-at-the-deathbed-to-the-last like. At Torpedo there’s a hitch. Judge Jackman, who issued marriage licenses as a side line, was out of town. He’s coming back on No. 3. So Susy herded Andy down to the railroad station to wait for No. 3. Ole started to take in the saloons immedi- ate, but I trailed along with Andy and his keeper. Lordy! Lordy! I don’t believe Susy hobbled her tongue once them three hours. She got Andy’s future mapped out fourteen years in advance by the time No. 3 rolled in. The first citizen off was Judge Jackman. The second was a two-by-tamarack runt of a squarehead with pop-eyes, a cowhide bag and a tin trunk. He was so short he’d have to climb up to sit down, and he stood there a-mopping his flat face and blinking in the sunlight. “Axel! Axel!’ squealed Susy, stamped- ing down on him. “Mein Susy! Mein Susy!” cried the squarehead, fending her off with the tin trunk and giving her just one quick-action kiss. “I ban glad for find you, Susy. I ban hunt you tree—four year. How you Eomichbooks:.¢o nm