Adventure Magazine Cover — page 157: what you’re looking at

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

The Grub-Line down the draw and a moment later ap- peared again with Dunlap. Together they rode across the ridge on the far side of the creek. | “T’ll git him some day,” growled the Slash R boss. “And that land-grabbin’, water-stealin’ gal will wish she’d treated Ribs Austin better when she had the chanct. J’ll kill every hoof uh cattle he 9 “Shh,” cautioned Frenchy as he rode alongside his boss. ‘By gar, you better not say so much. Dem words she don’ do you no good, Reebs.”’ Ribs swung to face the half-breed, an ugly look in his bloodshot eyes. Frenchy merely grinned and shook his head. The Slash R boss regained his composure with an effort and turned to watch Shorty who had mended his bridle rein and had again mounted the Paint. The outlaw horse seemed docile enough now. “I’m askin’ fer that sack uh terbaccer, Ribs,” grinned Tad. “You'll git a whole caddie uh the stuff when we git to camp, big feller. And yore pardner kin have that Paint critter. He earned him fair.” “Be as good as he is, Shorty,”’ laughed Tad. “Give that hoss back to the Slash R afor he kills yuh.” “‘Reckon not, Taddie. I’m goin’ to make a cow horse outa him afore I’m done.” Shorty leaned over and patted the sweaty neck of the big pinto. ‘“‘She’s one good rider, dat Shorty,” Frenchy put in. The half-breed had voiced the verdict of the entire Slash R outfit. To a man, in- cluding the boss, they respected the little cow-puncher. Shorty had won his spurs. gegen BUT it takes more than a spectacu- ohn lar ride to clog the wheels of a round- ea up and the group of riders were presently under weigh once more. The circle was a long one but Shorty and Tad, being new to the range, were the first to be dropped. “Foller on down that draw,” Ribs told them. ‘‘Gather what yuh find and drift ’em towards the flat below camp. We’ll work the herd there. Take yore time because we won’t be in with the last drives afore ten o’clock. Watch out fer any stuff in the Bar B iron.” “Bar Be” echoed Tad. 155 “Veah. On the left ribs. Belongs to that bald-faced kid that lives across Mud Crick.”’ 3 “This Dunlap feller?”’ “Yeah. We're gatherin’ his stuff fer him, savvy?” Ribs winked broadly. Frenchy grinned and the two partners started at a trot down the draw. ‘é “Tade” “TTh-huhP”’ “Tf I didn’t know you was the gamest fel- ler that ever looked down the wrong end of a six-gun, I’d say you was scared uh this here Ribs pole-cat. There we was, behold- in’ to this here Steve boy and we sits back in the shadder while this Ribs bulldozer rawhides the kid and runs him off like he was a Sheepherder. When I rears up to de- clare myse’f yuh shuts me up. Tad, I’m plumb ashamed uh yuh, danged if I ain’t. Why the three of us could ’a’ gone through that Slash R gang like a pack uh wolves goin’ into a band uh woolies. " Shorty spat disgustedly and reached for his tobacco. The movement startled the pinto and the little cow-puncher spent the next few minutes quieting his mount. “Looks like yuh gotta steal yore terbac- cer when yuh fork that Paint hoss,”’ grinned the unruffled Tad as he rolled and lighted a cigaret. ‘“This smoke shore tastes good. Shore white uh that cook tuh stake us tuh terbaccer yesterday. Only yours ain’t doin’ yuh much good. Nothin’ like a after- breakfast smoke tuh quiet a man’s nerves.”’ “Dry up, yuh big ox,” growled Shorty as he watched the Paint’s ears for indications of trouble. ‘“Yo’re dodgin’ the question. I jest insulted yuh a few minutes ago and yuh ain’t takin’ it up like a man orter. How come yuh set back on yore haunches when that nester boy needed. usP”’ ‘‘There was one time in yore varied and sundry career when I was dang nigh sure you’d got human intelligence,” said Tad solemnly. ‘It was when that bronc throwed yuh at Phoenix and you was outa yore head fer two days. I'll allers remember them two days as bein’ the one time in yore life when yuh acted almost sane.” “I’m still waitin’ fer that there answer, feller.”’ : ‘An’ you'll get it,son. I shore hates to tromp on a gent when he’s put up as purty a ride as you did this mornin’, but I reckon I gotta. To begin, the Steve boy wasn’t lookin’ fer fight. He ain’t cravin’ none to NOOK C© inn