Adventure Magazine Cover — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

16 Earlier residents had planted oaks, pepper trees and flowering eucalyptus, which had grown into big trees, shading the patio, where grape-vines clambered over the old walls, tangled with the climbing roses. From afar it appeared an oasis in the gray and purple of the hills. It was the following day after the train robbery. Marion Taylor lifted a bucket of water from the old well and poured it into 4Z W/Z _= wy 2 aN ARS ra \) \y \ — \\ SS “\\ y'l) 4 4 ™ WT} Gt 4 4 Ze Zh. 2/ Pd WN 47, 5 \ Welee Me “6, AY x a a trough, while she held the lead-rope of a blue-black horse, a tall, rangy animal, a few degrees better bred than the average range animal. The girl was bareheaded, the sleeves of her white waist rolled to her elbows. She wore a divided skirt of brown material, and a serviceable pair of tan riding-boots. Her hair was twisted in braids around her well- shaped head, and held in place with a ham- mered silver comb set with turquoise. She was of average height and rather slim, with the olive tint from the desert sun. Her eyes were wide and blue, and her well- shaped lips parted in a smile, showing a flash of white teeth, when the horse snorted at the splash of water in the trough. “Somebody must ’a’ pinned yore ears back, Spike,”’ she said softly. ‘Or are yuh tryin’ to make me think yo’re a bad horse?”’ The ears of the blue-black snapped ahead, as if he understood, and he plunged his muzzle into the clear water, drinking gustily, while the girl drew another bucket and gently poured it into the trough. A burro came poking in through the patio W. C. TUTTLE gate, an old ancient of the Arizona hills. His right ear had been broken and looped down over his eye, and his long, scraggly gray hair carried an accumulation of almost everything that grew and wore spines. “Hello, Apollo,’ called the girl. The burro lifted his one good ear, thrust out his whiskered muzzle and sniffed like a pointer dog. Then he brayed raucously, shook himself violently and came slowly up to the trough. The horse drew aside, being either through drinking or too proud to drink with such an object. The burro looked at the horse, decided not to be particular, and proceeded to drink deeply. Marion leaned against the curbing and laughed at the burro. That was the one reason the ancient was tolerated around the ranch—to make them laugh. His goat- like appetite was a constant provoker of profanity. Shirts, boots, straps, bedding, anything eatable or uneatable went into his maw. And as a result the inhabitants of the Double Bar 8 were careful not to leave anything lying around loose. And Apollo was not to be tampered with. In spite of his age he was quick to resent any familiarity, and to feel the caress of his heels left nothing to be desired in the way of shocks. At one time Buck Taylor and Peel- er had roped Apollo and clipped him closely, and so heavy was his coat that he almost died from chills, with the thermometer at 115 degrees in the shade. As Marion turned away from the well and started leading the horse back toward the gate, three horsemen rode up. They were Apostle Paul, Buck and Peeler, who had left the ranch the morning previous to search for Double Bar 8 cattle, which had been re- ported thirty miles away on the Yellow Horn mesa. Marion continued out of the patio and met them just outside the gate. With them was a strange dog, which came up to her, acting very friendly. It was the miss- ing Geronimo. “Where did you get the dog?” asked Marion, after greetings had been exchanged. “He picked us up,” smiled her father. “T dunno who owns him. There was a piece of rope draggin’, and we took it off, cause it was always gettin’ hung up on somethin’. Friendly cuss, ain’t he.” Geronimo danced around, as if he knew what was being said about him. Apostle MICLOOO© SS (©