Adventure Magazine Cover — page 154: what you’re looking at

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

144 “What!” yelled the Weasel, “A dollar? Why, man, that’s worth a thousand, an’ you know it.” “You’re crazy. No gray fox is worth more’n a dollar.” “Gray? That’s silver. -Szlver! Ain’t it?” Wethers suddenly leaned forward and thrust a drawn, startled face at the factor. “‘Ain’t that a silver?” “Naw, that ain’t no silver,” answered Barrett, contemptuously. Wethers gasped. He shriveled, held his. head in his hands, moaned and was silent for a second. Conroy stepped forward, was about to speak, when Wethers turned like a flash, his mouth, below the heavy muffler, distorted with rage. “Conroy!” he shrieked. ‘‘By ——, Con- roy, I never thought you’d do that. Take a man when he’s blind and rob him. My own partner, that I trusted. Boys,” he went on, and his voice broke as a wave of self-pity swept over him—a cunning actor, was the Weasel, acting desperately for high stakes— “boys, he robbed me. An’ [ trusted him. My own pard, boys. Why didn’t he kill me? He didn’t dare to, I guess. But he had the nerve to bring me here, right after he’d robbed me, relyin’ on his reputation an’ my blindness an’ hump- backed unpopularity to git away with it. “Ah,” he cried in triumph, “I know. I’d told him I was goin’ to keep the silver dark until I went out to Cobalt in the Spring, so’s I’d git a higher price. He thought I was plumb blind, an’ he’d be safe. But I fooled him. You won’t stand there, fellers, an’ let that big thief rob a poor ol’ blind man of all he’s got in the world, will ye? I can’t see, or I’d kill him myself. He robbed me in my sleep an’ put a gray skin in place o’ the silver, thinkin’ I’d never know. I never thought there was such dirty people in the world!” He broke off and sobbed, head in hands. He almost believed his story himself now, so intent was he on putting it across. _ Conroy was stunned. He could not be- lieve his ears. He turned his bewildered face to the crowd. “Pete,” he began slowly. , “Sheriff!” cried the Weasel suddenly, “Search him. I demand you to search him!” As McMurtry hesitated, Conroy fumbled at his shirt and slowly dragged forth the shining silver pelt. Adventure “‘Here she is,” he mumbled, staring at it. He held it almost gingerly, as if it too might suddenly have become unreal along with the rest of his world. McMurtry stepped for- ward and took the skin. “Barrett,” he said, ‘“‘put that in your safe for a while. Now—’’turning to the Weasel— “‘let’s hear your story straight.” The Weasel’s eyes, could McMurtry have seen them, shone with a furtive triumph. His whole plan had depended, for its suc- cess, on getting the crowd with him before Conroy’s slower mind could grasp the situa- tion. He seemed to be succeeding. The men stood in a silent circle. They had been ready to sympathize with Wethers, because he seemed to be desperately in earnest, and men instinctively side with the under-dog. Woodsmen, though apparently phlegmatic, are in reality very emotional, and their emotions are primitive. Having decided in favor of Wethers, their, sympa- thies went to him with a rush. It looked bad for Conroy. The Weasel told a coherent and straight story. He had caught the fox and in an unguarded moment had shown it to Conroy. Yesterday he went snow-blind. He carried the silver skin in his shirt-front, and, waking up this morning, had felt it still there. But he had dreamed a dream, in which he lost the pelt. (This was cunningly thrown in for the benefit of the Indians.) It worried him, so he thought he’d better sell out: He never suspected Conroy for a second. But he had been mistaken in his partner. Conroy had done him dirt, and changed the pelt for agray. Thank God, he had not told Conroy of his decision to sell immediately. That was all. His eyes would be well in a day or two, but where would he go? He couldn’t go back with Conroy. Here he launched forth again in invective accusations, tears and self-pity. Leaning against the counter, he clutched fiercely the gray pelt that had almost been his ruin. He wound up his outburst with another dis- mal question as to where he could go, what he could do. The men stirred uneasily. To violate a partnership, was a heinous crime. ‘To do it moreover in this cowardly, sneak-thief manner, was worthy of death. Law was primitive in the region of Trois Lacs, and its action was swift. The eyes of one of the Indians glowed. “‘Ah t’ink shoot,” he said quietly, gazing DOOLK (C©