Adventure Magazine Cover — page 168: what you’re looking at

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

166 blocked the entrance to the upper end of the cafion. Beyond the fence were cattle, all yearlings and each yearling wore a fresh Bar B on his left ribs. Feed and water in abundance made the cafion an ideal pas- ture. “Them critters is shore puttin’ taller on their ribs, Tad,’’ smiled Shorty. ‘‘They— What’s wrong, Tad?” Tad had dismounted and picked some- thing up from the ground. The object was a home-made quirt. “Looks like we’d had a visitor, Shorty.” “Ribs Austin?” ‘‘Him er the breed, most likely. Only I don’t remember seein’ either of ’em use a quirt.”’ ‘“Ner me, Tad. But then a man ain’t l’ble to notice a thing like that, noways. When d’yuh reckon this hombre was here?” “Hmm. Lemme see,”’ Tad mused aloud. *“We got into camp about dark yesterday evenin’, didn’t we? Mind how the Paint hoss nickered as we come up the crick and somethin’ kicked gravel loose on the trail that rims out the east slope uh the cafion above camp? I bet a new hat that it was yesterday evenin’ that the gent was here. Paint smelled his hoss and nickered. He kicked loose the gravel when he went up the trail. Shorty, ole timer, it looks like me and you had shore shoved our hoofs into a trap. All they gotta do is bring the sheriff down here and grab us. And we ain’t got a foot to stand on if they bring us to trial.” ‘“‘What’ll we do about it, Tad?” “We'll move camp,” decided the big puncher. ‘‘Move camp to that deserted cabin across the ridge.” ~ “How about these cattle, Tad?” “Leave ’em here. You move camp, then come back and watch the trail, savvy? T’ll be back about sundown.” ‘“‘Where you goin’, Tad?” “I’m goin’ over toward the Bar B ranch to kinda look around. I seen that Darcey gal ridin’ the ridges the other day. She was all alone. The Slash R wagon moved in on the upper crossin’ on Mud Crick yesterday and I ain’t puttin’ it past Ribs Austin to deal the gal some trouble. She’d orter stay in town while the Steve boy is in jail. It ain’t noways safe fer a female woman to go prancin’ around alone.” “Uh-huh,” grunted Shorty. “Tsavvy now why yuh set up half the night trimmin’ Adventure yore whiskers with yore pocket-knife and mendin’ yore shirt. It ain’t the fust time yuh acted loco thataway. The last time yuh took to slickin’ yore mane down with axle-grease and usin’ up all the taller in camp tuh shine yore boots, it was a cross- eyed book agent from New Jersey. Yuh drawed a month’s wages in advance to buy a set uh books that told about the history os Rome and only had one pitcher in each ook.” Tad shifted his weight to the other stirrup and mumbled something. “Yuh wa’n’t man enough to tell her yuh couldn’t read. She called yuh her dashin’ cowboy.” Shorty chuckled reminiscently. Tad, red to his ears, whirled his horse and started up the trail. ‘Mind what I told yuh about watchin’ the trail, bonehead,” he called over his shoulder. “Better not git offen yore hoss, big ’un,”’ replied Shorty. ‘“‘Remember the seat’s wore outa yore overalls. And don’t bog down over there and fergit to come back.” Tad merely grinned good-naturedly and kept on up the steep slope. As his horse climbed the trail, the cow-puncher examined the quirt, frowning. “It’s hers, no two ways about it,” hé mused half-aloud. “It’s the Patsy gal’s quirt. And it was her that I seen three- four times, settin’ on pinnacles a-watchin’ me ’n’ Shorty. Shorty figgers that it’s some Slash R waddie that’s a-ridin’ herd on us occasional, but I’m bunchin’ my . bets that it was the gal that’s been cold- trailin’ us. Lemme see. She seen them yearlin’s yesterday evenin’, didn’t she? And she figgers that me and my pardner is backin’ Ribs Austin’s play. She’ll think we’re framin’ up on Steve again. Dang it all. She’ll be sendin’ the sheriff out here and jest nacherally raisin’ all around. That’s a woman fer yuh. Goin’ off half- cocked, stirrin’ up a hornet’s nest. This ain’t no country fer a woman, dang it! Why didn’t she stay home and sew and mend the Steve boy’s socks instead uh gallivantin’ around these hills. as Tad spat disgustedly and frowned at the quirt. Then the frown slowly gave way to a grin of admiration. “Smart. Dangedifsheain’t. The Slash R thinks me and Shorty has quit the coun- try. But this short-horn’ gal has brains. Brains and nerve to boot. Stayin’ all —_—_—_————. MICLOOOK (C@