Adventure Magazine, April 10, 1924 — page 81: what you’re looking at

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

The Longstriker 79 was a fast thinker, but it finally leaked into his mind that there was somethin’ in it. Furthermore, him an’ the whole Sanpete bunch had bet a lot o’ money that he’d pull down the prize. An’ Owen, as he stood there smilin’ across the table wasn’t easy-lookin’ to tackle. He was a different looker to the man who’d been drug off the wool sacks by his heels. Then big Pete, who was realiy the brains o’ the bunch, nudged Chris an’ he started to set down. Owen speaks again: “Buyin’ Riggins’ job has set me back some, an’ I need the money. [I'll bet you five hundred dollars I shear more sheep for the season’s run than you do.”’ Again Peter give Chris a nudge.an’ the bet was made. In one way it looked like a good bet for Owen considerin’ that lead of ninety-eight he had to start with. But when you considered that sullen lookin’ bunch o’ Sanpeters that lead looked less than nothin’. That was the fact of it, Owen had the whole bunch of ’em to beat. ' | FIGGERED that what Owen got PF at Dad Shipman’s wouldn’t be feast more’n to what he’d git here, an’ | figgered correct. The very first bunch Owen got in his pen were culls, an’ big Chris’s were almost exclusively bare-bellies. The first batch o’ cutters sent to Larsen to grind come back to Owen in worse shape than when he sent ’em. But for once Owen was prepared. He simply laid the dull ones aside an’ produced a fresh package. He’d simply bought up all the combs an’ cutters at the other corral when Brown finished up, and had paid the grinder up there to put ’em in razor shape. He was heeled for tools for the three days. It started out to be a real race. Both of ’em were tough as whale-bone, an Chris had quit layin’ on the wool sacks. The way those two big boys humped over an’ sheared was a sight to watch. It seemed that they would no more than ketch a biddy by the leg than they were turnin’ her loose with the wool off. It looked like the first day would tell the story; whether Jensen, with the aid of his crooked wranglers could cut down Owen’s lead in the three days left to shear. For all his hurry Owen was careful. He seldom cut a sheep, while Jensen was turnin’ ’em loose drippin’ blood. No seri- ous cuts you understand, but just patches o’ hide ripped off where he’d got a mite too deep. Finally the owner made a complaint an’ George Buell told the big Sanpeter straight out he had to do better or quit. He could take no chances on gittin’ fired at that stage o’ the. game, an’ it slowed him up. The finish o’ the ors day showed Owen with a tally of two hundred an’ twelve an’ Jensen with one-ninety-five. That put it squarely up to the Sanpeters to pull some- thing crooked if they beat Owen. As arule the shearers an’ the wranglers were left strictly alone, but there were limits they dassn’t go over. They dassn’t keep a shearer waitin’ for sheep, nor a shearer dassn’t git too rough on his sheep. __ The next day saw the Sanpete wranglers under Pete Jensen pullin’ every single thing they could pull without gittin’ themselves fired, an’ still big Chris couldn’t lessen that gap much between ’em. I never saw Owen shear so before. He swung that old Stewart back an’ forth as steady an’ as reg’lar as a pendulum on a clock. Sweat rolled off him in streams. He had put on a new under- shirt to shear in that morning, an’ by nine o’clock it was so stiff with sweat an’ grease that it crackled like broken pasteboard with every move. “Tf he holds the pace,” said Riggins, who had stayed to see the finish, “he'll have two-twenty-five by night, an’ Jensen can’t beat that even with the bare-bellies he’s a drawin’.” - At noon big Chris had only gained two fleeces. Before they went back to work I saw the Sanpeters talkin’ together an’ I knew somethin’ was sure to happen. Everybody was watchin’ the shearers an’ the wranglers, for Pete wasn’t even makin’ a pretense to be fair. George Buell was watchin’ like a hawk to see that Owen’s pen was kept full o’ somethin’ with wool on, but everybody’d neglected the other chute where the clipped ones went out. Even Fox, the owner, and his men were watchin’ the shearin’ until a small bunch pen was filled up. Finally Fox an’ his camp-mover strolled over to the bunch pen with their brandin’ sticks an’ pots o’ paint to daub a green “TF” on the sheared sheep. An’ a minute later Fox let out a yell, an’ come carryin’ a fine young ewe with one hind leg all but cut off. The whole flank had been ripped open an’ the cut went on around the hip joint as connicbhooks.co S|