Adventure Magazine Cover — page 29: what you’re looking at

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

THE BUCKAROO OF BLUE WELLS Jimmy seriously. “It’s something I can’t explain right now. I appreciate you trying to save me. I’ve been thrown five times since I came here, and I’m still able to hobble around.” “Yeah, [know. But thisisa horse. He’s plumb bad. If there’s any slip in the boys bem’ able to herd him away after he’s spilled yuh, he might tromp yuh.” “But,” Jim Legg spoke softly, “I’ve got confidence in Oyster and Eskimo. They’ll do their part. If I can ride Cowcatcher, will you admit that I can ride?” Johnny smiled softly. “T’'ll admit that yo’re the best rider in the Blue Wells country.”’ “All set!” called Eskimo. “Johnny, you pull the blind, after me and Oyster get all set, will yuh?” Johnny held Cowcatcher while Jim Legg mounted. The rough-coated gray outlaw, which had defied the best riders of the Blue Wells ranges, stiffened slightly, but did not move. Oyster and Eskimo mounted and rode in on each side of him, prepared to block the bucker from heading into ob- stacles, and to herd him away from the rider, in case of a spill. They did not see the sheriff, deputy and another rider swing around the corner of the corral and come toward them. Jim Legg straightened up in his saddle, grasped the reins tightly and nodded to Johnny Grant. Johnny reached up and grasped the band- age. “Pull leather, Jimmy,” he said softly. “Don’t be ashamed to doit. It’s only —— fools and contest riders that don’t, when they feel themselves goin’.”’ But Jim Legg shut his lips tightly and looked straight ahead. He had asked to ride Cowcatcher, after every half-way bucker on the AK had thrown him, and he was going to ride him, or get thrown clean. -Then the bandage was jerked off, and Cowcatcher was moving as he caught his first flash of sunlight, but not ahead, as they expected. Veteran of many battles, he hated the horses and riders which crowded him too closely; so he had whirled free of them, catching them flat-flooted, headed the wrong way. Although Jim Legg was not unseated, he was flung sidewise, and his right spur hooked wickedly into Cowcatcher’s flank; hooked in while the outlaw was still in the 27 air, heading, for the three riders which were not over a hundred feet away, just drawing up to witness the sport. There was no chance for Oyster and Eskimo to ride herd on Cowcatcher. The gray outlaw churned into the dust, fairly screaming with rage, head down, running like a streak, forgetting to buck, because of that spur, socked to the full limit of the rowels into his flank. Johnny Grant ran toward the corral, try- ing to see through the cloud of dust. Jim Legg was still in the same position, hands flung up, as if fearful of making a mistake and pulling leather. The sheriff’s party tried to spur their horses aside, but their slow-moving mounts failed to move quickly enough. Came the crash of impact, the scream of a horse. Aman yelled. Eskimo and Oyster were riding toward them as fast as possible, while Johnny Grant ran through the dust, trying to see what had happened. He saw one horse and rider heading to- ward the ranch-house, and a moment later he heard something crash into the corral fence. ‘Two horses were down. A gust of wind blew the dust aside and he saw Scotty Olson on his hands and knees about twenty feet away from his horse, going around and around, like a pup trying to lie down. Al Porter was flat on his back just beyond the two horses, which were trying to get up, and up by the house was the third member of the sheriff’s party, trying to recover his reins, which he had dropped. And there was Cowcatcher, standing in an angle of the corral fence, head hanging down, a most dejected-looking outlaw, while still on his back was Jimmy Legg, his hands resting on the saddle-horn, apparently ob- livious to everything. He slowly climbed down and staggered toward Johnny Grant, his lips parting in a foolish smile, as he whispered— “My , wasn’t that a wreck!”’ Oyster and Eskimo had helped Al Porter to his feet, and he was clinging to them, puffing heavily. The sheriff managed to get up without further difficulty, and they waited for him to recover his speech. The two horses scrambled to their feet and moved toward the ranch-house, still frightened. The sheriff was mad; so much so, in fact, that he almost yanked one side of his mus- tache off, trying to find words with which to express his feelings. DOOLK C@