Adventure Magazine, April 10, 1924 — page 78: what you’re looking at

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

76 Adventure | he knocked out a hundred and eighty-eight. The next day he only got one seventy-five, an’ in a big effort to make it back the next day he struck his two hundred—an’ had to lay off all the next day. When he started in again he started in right—a hundred an’ a quarter the first day an’ increased it twenty-five each day till he hit his stride an’ was toughened into it. But by that time Chris Jensen had a hun- dred an’ fifty fleeces to the good. Then, just when it looked like Owen was goin’ to ‘begin to gain, the Sanpeters handed us another jolt that come near bein’ a knock-out. For some days we noticed that our combs an’ cutters came back from the grinder in poor condition. We both knew it was hard to keep the cutters from bein’ burned on the emery wheel, but Larsen was drawin’ fifteen dollars a day an’ was supposed to be an expert. At first we only asked the Dane to be more careful but he only grinned, an’ the grindin’ got worse. You simply have to have sharp tools to cut through a lot o’ dirty, gummy wool. When you start a long sweep around a sheep’s ribs an’ your machine sings through with a sweet little purr you feel like humpin’ yourself. But when it goes a few inches an’ clogs, an’ a few more an’ clogs, an’ the pullin’ makes your animal begin to fight an’ kick——well, you can imagine it. Owen goes to Larsen once more. “Me an’ Bill will grind our own tools aiter this,’’ he says. It would mean the loss of half an hour each day an’ he knew it. “Yuh can’t use this wheel, yuh big stiff,”’ savs Larsen. I looked for Owen to land on him, but the big feller just walked away with a hopeless droop to his shoulders. We went to Dad Shipman about it, an’ I'll tell the world we had to swaller a whole lot o’ pride to do it, but even that didn’t do no good. Corral bosses ain’t in the habit 0’ interferin’ with shearers’ quarrels. “Tf yuh don’t like the kind o’ grindin’ yuh git yuh can quit,” he says bluntly. We went back to work with our dull tools an’ said nothin’. At first mine were a bit better than Owen’s till the Sanpeters learned I was exchangin’ with Owen. Then there was no difference. Except for that third day’s shearin’ Owen never got his two hun- dred while big Chris went over the line every day. Sanpeters never ceased. When they knew Owen wouldn’t fight they carried it on in the cook-shack an’ the bunk tents. It got so we had to slink around like a pair 0’ coyotes. Our only hope was that our ways would soon part. The run at Dad Ship- man’s only lasted three weeks, an’ we hoped our trails an’ the Sanpeters wouldn’t cross again. When we got through big Chris had a mighty fat lead, but Owen was tickled as a boy with a new saddle when he found we was done with the Sanpeters for a while. They went to a corral near St. George in southern Utah, an’ we headed into southern Nevada for a long run of desert sheep that were mostly bare-bellies. “Tf you’d took time to licked Chris Jensen at the start you’d have been ahead of him now,’’ I said. “What if he has got a lead of three hun- dred head. It’s only a day an’ a half’s shearin’. It’s better this way. Even if I’d licked Chris I’d have likely got laid out by Pete Jensen an’ Larsen an’ the others. All I’m askin’ for is that we ain’t booked at any other corral where they shear,” Owen says. I shut up. It was somethin’ of a slam on me, but then I knew I stood no chance against any of them big Danes. | WE WERE at that corral till nearly | the first o’ May, an’ how we did sh shear! It was a wonderful Spring; scarcely any storm, an’ no dew on the wool to hold us back an hour or two in the mornin’ as sometimes happened farther north. Owen was scratchin’ ’em out at an average o’ two-twenty-five a day, which is some shearin’ if you ask me. Three dif- ferent days he went over his own record without hurtin’ himself. Once he hit two- hfty-nine, an’ was too dog tired to git the one more that would make an even number. Our next job was in Utah, an’ Owen was ima state o’ nerves till he found the Sanpete bunch wasn’t there. But they were at an- other corral not ten miles away, an’ we were loomed to see a lot more of ’em. At our corral was another longstriker, a man named Riggins, a clean-cut shearer who was runnin’ strong for that prize money. The first day we checked up an’ Owen had a lead over Riggins of just four sheep. Riggins got a pen on the other side of Owen COMICLOOCKS. CO The persecution from the