Adventure Magazine Cover — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

THE BUCKAROO Paul Taylor was a tall, skinny, lean-faced man, with a hooked nose, wide mouth and deep-set gray eyes. His hair was fast turn- ing gray, and he stooped a trifle. Buck Taylor was almost replica of his father, except that he was bow-legged, had a mop of brown hair, and did not stoop. The half-breed, Peeler, was heavy-set, deep- chested, typically Indian in features, and showing little of his white blood. The two Taylors were dressed in blue calico shirts, overalls, chaps, high-heeled boots and som- breros. The half-breed’s raiment was prac- tically the same, except that he wore a faded red shirt, scarlet muffler, and his hat-band was a riot of colored beads. All three men wore belts and holstered guns, and in addition to this the two Taylors had rifles hung to their saddles. They were dusty, weary from their long ride. The Apostle Paul dismounted and handed his reins to Peeler. “Did yuh find any stock on the mesa?” asked Marion. “About thirty head,’ replied her father. “Wild as hawks, too. We brought ’em in as far as Buzzard Springs. Anythin’ new?” “Not a thing, Dad.” “You ain’t tried ridin’ Spike, have yuh?” Marion shook her head and looked at the blue-black. “Then yuh better let Buck or Peeler fork him first. He ain’t been saddled for three months.” “Yeah, and the last time I climbed him he piled me quick,” laughed Buck. “Let Peeler do it.”’ ‘After pay-day,” grinned Peeler. “I don’t want to die with money comin’ to me.” “Pshaw, Ill ride him myself,” said Marion. Her father laughed and turned toward the gate when two men rode around from be- hind the bunk-house and came up to them. It was Scotty Olson, the sheriff, and Al Porter, the deputy. Porter was a big man, dark-featured, with a nose entirely too large for the rest of his face, and very flat cheek- bones. “Hyah, Sheriff,” greeted Taylor. “Howdy.” The sheriff removed his hat and bowed awkwardly to Marion— “Howdy, Miss Taylor.” “Hello, Sheriff,”’ replied the girl. Olson rubbed a huge hand across his big mustaches. There was still a lump on his OF BLUE WELLS 17 forehead, where he had bumped himself on the floor in the Oasis. ‘Just gettin’ in?” queried Porter, glanc- ing at the horses. Apostle Paul nodded quickly. “Yeah. Been back on Yellow Horn mesa, lookin’ for cattle.”’ ‘““‘Way up there, eh?” said the sheriff. “Quite a ride.” “Went up yesterday,” offered Buck. “Uh-huh,” the sheriff eased himself in the saddle. ‘Then yuh wasn’t around here last night, eh?” ‘Nope. Why?” ‘“Didn’t yuh hear about the hold-up?” “Hold-up?” Taylor shook his head. ‘““Where?”’ “Last night,” said Porter, ‘“‘the train was robbed between Broken Cafion and Blue Wells. They got the Santa Rita pay-roll.”’ “Well, I’ll be darned!” exclaimed Taylor. “Anybody hurt?” ““Nope.”’ “They must ’a’ got close to thirty thou- sand,’ said Buck. Porter turned quickly. “What do you know about it, Buck?” Buck stared back at him, his eyes harden- ing at the implication in the deputy’s ques- tion. “IT don’t reckon the amount of the Santa Rita pay-roll is any secret, Porter.” ‘“‘Thasso?”’ Porter shrugged his shoulders. “Yes, that’s so,” Buck dropped his reins and walked over to Porter, who squinted narrowly at him. “TI don’t like the way yuh said that, Porter.” “The way I said what?” queried Porter. “You know what I mean,” declared Buck, angrily. “Drop it, Buck,” advised his father, and turned to Olson. “Flow many men in the gang, Scotty?” “Three that we know of—possibly a fourth. A man got on the express car when the train stopped at Encinas, and him and the express messenger had a fight. They fell out of the door and rolled into the ditch. It kinda looks as though this feller was one of the gang. Anyway, there was three that stopped the train, cut off the engine and express car, and blowed the safe.” *‘Are you just startin’ out after ’em?” asked Buck, squinting at the sun. ‘Not very early, it seems to me.” CoOnmiclboool (C@