Adventure Magazine Cover — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

THE BUCKAROO OF BLUE WELLS Peeler smiled softly. “T think it is ‘convenient.’ ”’ “Convenient? What for?” “For the robbers, Buck. That he is locked in his cell.”’ Buck stared at Peeler for a moment. Then— ““Yea-a-a-a, that might be true. But it’s nothin’ to us; so we will forget it, eh?” “T forget,” smiled Peeler. Porter was very angry when he and the sheriff rode away from the Taylor ranch, heading for the AK. He was inclined to do a lot of talking, once he was far enough away to conceal his language from the Taylor family. ‘T tell yuh they know somethin’, Scotty.” “Do yuh think so, Al?” ‘“Yo’re —— right. Didn’t Buck speak right up and tell how much money was in that pay-roll? And didn’t he get right on the prod when I picked him up on it? Don’t tell me that he don’t know somethin’ about it. They’ve been to Yaller Horn mesa, have they? That’sa of a good excuse.” “Do yuh think that’s enough evidence to arrest ’°em on, Al?” “Well, mebbe not. But it’s sure as —— enough to suspect ’em on. I wouldn’t trust any of ’em as far as I could throw a bull by the tail. Buck’s a bad hombre, Scotty. The old man is pretty salty, and that —— breed fits in well with the bunch.” Scotty nodded. He was in the habit of agreeing with Porter, which saved him many an argument. ‘“We’ve got to watch ’em,”’ continued Porter. ‘‘They’re slick.” ‘Slick,”? agreed Scotty absently. ‘I’m jist wonderin’ what to say to them slick- ears at the AK.” ““Give ’em ——,” advised Porter. shore need a good curryin’, Scotty.” “T know they do, Al. But —— it, they won’t listen to reason. I dunno why they locked me in that jail last night.”’ Porter grinned sarcastically, but sobered suddenly. “Say, Scotty, here’s somethin’ to think about. They locked yuh in yore cell, and in about an hour the train was held up. Does that mean anythin’ to you?” Scotty shook his head. “My , yo redense. Listen:” Porter re- peated his statement. ‘‘Now do yuh get it?” “You mean—they locked me up and robbed the train?” “They 19 ‘They locked yuh up—and the train was robbed, wasn’t it?” “Yeah, I know that, Al; but they was too drunk.” ‘Acted too drunk, yuh mean.” “Well, they acted—say, Al,’’ the sheriff grinned slowly, “you sure can see things. I wonder if that ain’t right? But it ain’t enough evidence to arrest ’em on, is it?”’ “Well, mebbe not enough to arrest ’em on, but it’s enough for us to suspect ’em real hard, and to keep an eye on ’em, Scotty.” “Yo’re sure gittin’ evidence,’ applauded the sheriff. “Al, I’d be lost without yuh. You think faster than I do. I’d prob’ly think of these things after while, yuh see. And they prob’ly turned our broncs loose; so’s we couldn’t foller ’em, even if I got loose.”’ “T was jist goin’ to mention that part of it, Scotty. Yuh see how things work out.” “Yeah. You’d make a good sheriff, Al.” ‘Sure. Mebby I will be. Unless some- thin’ happens I’ll take a crack at the office next election.” “Will yuh? I dunno what I’ll do. A feller gits kinda ’tached to a job like this, don’tcha know it? Yo’re prob’ly a better deputy than you’d ever be a sheriff. A feller has to have certain qualifications to be a sheriff, and it ain’t as easy as it looks. Buck was kinda sore at yuh, wasn’t he?” “Yeah, and he’ll get smart jist once too often. One of these days I’m goin’ to bend him plumb shut and rub his nose off agin’ his knee. [J’ll jist stand so much from a hombre like him.” “You sure hang on to yore temper well, Al.” “Feller’s got to, when he’s a deputy. Yuh can’t go fightin’ every whippoorwill that wants a fight. It don’t look well, Scotty.” The AK ranch was located well away from the hills, and about three miles southeast of Blue Wells. It was a typical Arizona ranch; the buildings were part adobe, but more elaborate and larger than those of the Double Bar 8. There was no patio to the AK, but the group of buildings were fenced in with barbed wire. The sheriff and deputy rode in through the gate and up to the ranch-house, where they met old George Bonnette, owner of the outfit. He was a pudgy little man, almost bald, almost toothless, one cheek bulged from a huge chew of tobacco. He spat COMIGIOO SS (©