Adventure Magazine Cover, March 20, 1925 — page 156: what you’re looking at

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

138 He pauses, his hand on the saddle horn. With that twisted smile a-pullin’ the nigh corner uh his mouth, he shakes his head. ‘T ain’t in no position tuh take chances,” says he quiet like. “And I ain’t aimin’ tuh let yuh, son. You'll trust me?”’ “Till ——’s a ice cake,” says he. “Then lead yore pony into that brush patch and wait till I come back. I’m goin’ tuh take a look at that stranger’s brand.” Seein’ I mean what I say, and knowin’ that he ain’t a-listenin’ to no danged pil- grim, he does as I asks him. Bill Wagner and the stranger is still talkin’ when I busts into the tent, casual like as if I’d jest come outa the blankets. “Anything wrong, Bill?” I asks, steppin’ over the bed in which the biscuit builder is doin’ ten men’s share uh snorin’. “Poco plenty,’ says Bill, solemn as a hoot-owl; and I savvies by the way he says it that there’s somethin’ on his mind. He borries a match from me and gits the load off his chest. “Pancho’s got us surrounded. This is Pete McCloud, a Texas Ranger. Pete was on his way to the T O outfit and stopped tuh warn us. He’s pullin’ out in a few minutes fer the border. He’ll get word to the Federal troops that Pancho’s here. We got grub and ca’tridges fer three-four days. The Federals orter git here by that time.” “How many men yuh got?” asks the Ranger. “Twelve,” says Bill. ‘“There ain’t more’n a hundred peons follerin’ Cordero, is there?”’ “About that many,” says the Pete gent. “Then we're settin’ purty as long as the ca’tridges and smokin’ terbacker holds out. But I’m scared we'll mebbyso have tuh turn the cattle loose, —— the luck.” ' That was Bill all over. A cow hand from his foretop to his hocks. It was gallin’ him like a raw cinch-sore tuh turn them dogies loose, and I can’t say that I blamed him none. We'd worked hard gatherin’ them critters. THE Pete boy stays long enough tuh put away a few more sour- dough biscuits and wash the bait down with what coffee was left. Then he high-tails it. “Better tell Wyoming tuh go back to bed,” grins Bill when the Ranger had pulled out. Adventure “You knowed he’d took to the brush?” I | asks. “Shore thing. I talked loud enough so’s he’d hear me and git the drift that I was powwowin’ with a law officer. I weren’t shore jest what Pete was ridin’ thisaway fer.” “How'd yuh know the Wyoming boy wouldn’t drag it fer keeps?” I asks. “Because,” chuckles Bill, “I knowed a old hand like you wouldn’t let the boy do nothin’ foolish.” And with that he waves me off to the brush tuh tell Wyoming that the time tuh run hadn’t come yet. Don’t never let no- body tell yuh that ol’ Bill Wagner ain’t a white man, mister. Come daylight, Bill hisse’f rides to the herd. He’s humped in the saddle like a dogy in a norther, and he’s solemn as ——. Half an hour, and he’s back with the boys that was on last guard. ‘“T done turned the herd loose, boys,” he tells us, and he looks plumb beat. ‘“Can’t afford to take chances uh ary boy gettin’ killed jest fer the sake uh a few dogy cattle which is all horns and tail anyhow. We'll close-herd the remuda, stay under cover and save our shells till we’re sure uh down- in’ a peon every time we tightens the trig- ger. By playin’ the game clost tuh our bel- lies we kin stick it out till he’p comes. Boys, she shore looks like we’re du tuh earn that fightin’ pay we draws from the Lazy Y.” It was a shore solemn-lookin’ crowd that sets squatted around in the mess tent. We all of us knowed that she must be a tight place that we’d got into, er Bill ’ud never uh turned the herd loose. Yeah, we was shore solemn. That is, all but Wyoming. He’s settin’ there, his gray eyes a-shinin’ and a-lookin’ happier than I’ve ever seen him look. You’d ’a’ thought he’d jest been elected queen uh the May poles er somethin’. Then somewhere off in the hills comes the pop-poppin’ uh guns, and every man in the tent jumps like he’d sat on a rattler. Then, as quick as she’d begun, the shootin’ quits. I looks at Bill. The ol’ cuss is kinda hunched like some ol’ timber wolf that’s standin’ off the hound pack. And from the look in his eyes I knows he’s thinkin’ the same thing as I am. Them greasers has stopped the Texas Ranger! Bill’s lips is movin’, but he don’t make COnNICLOe (©