Adventure Magazine Cover — page 57: what you’re looking at

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

THE BUCKAROO OF BLUE WELLS “Betcha oddsh. Betcha anythin’—” Goode waved his arm, as if to encompass everything, and sat down on the bar-rail, where he began snoring. “Can’t stand much,”’ said the bartender. “Give him ten drinks of hooch, and he’s plumb gone. Know anythin’ about Hart- ley and Stevens?” Le Moyne smiled and his brows lifted slightly. “You knew the Santa Rita had detec- tives on the case, didn’t you?” “Oh, I did hear they was goin’ to. What’ll yuh drink, Chet?”’ “Same thing. I wonder where Goode found out so much about those two men?”’ “T don’t know. He’s been out to the Double Bar 8 to see ’em, and when he came back he met Al Porter here. They had a few shots of hooch, and Goode told Al all about ’em. The more drinks he took, the more he told. After Al went away, Barn- hardt came in, and Goode told it all over again. When Barnhardt went out, I was the victim. You’re lucky he went to sleep.”’ “I suppose I am,” laughed Le Moyne. “Tt appears that the Double Bar 8 is well taken care of right now. Did any one find out who shot that tenderfoot kid the other night?” ‘“‘Never tried to, I reckon. The kid went back to the AK.” “‘He’s over at the Taylor place now.”’ “Ts that so?” “That’s what I heard.” “Oh, sure; I heard that too. You heard about somebody takin’ a shot at the gang at the Double Bar 8, didn’t yuh?”’ Le Moyne hadn’t; so the bartender told him what he had heard Goode tell Barn- hardt. It was interesting to Le Moyne, in- asmuch as the bullet nearly struck Marion. “That sure beats !? snorted Le Moyne. ‘What kind of a country is this getting to be? I wonder,” he squinted thoughtfully, “if that shot was fired at Legg, the tenderfoot?” “Might have been. What’ll yuh have, Chet?” “Nothing; I’ve had enough.” Le Moyne turned his back to the bar, while he rolled and lighted a cigaret, his eyes thoughtful. Scotty Olson came in and spoke to Le Moyne as he walked past, but the handsome paymaster of the Santa Rita did not reply. Finally he walked out, mounted his horse and rode away. J The sheriff came back to the bar. ““What’s the matter with Le Moyne?” he asked of the bartender. ‘“T dunno.” The bartender rested his el- bows on the bar, chewing on his cigar. “I told him about the bushwhacker out at the Double Bar 8 almost killin’ Marion Taylor, and I suppose Le Moyne is sore about it.” “Al Porter was tellin’ me about it,” nodded the sheriff. ‘I don’t sabe it.” “You’d be a wonder if yuh did, Scotty. This country is getting pretty salty, don’t- cha know it? First a train robbery, then an attempted murder on the main street, and now they’re shootin’ from the hills.” “And what for?” wailed the sheriff. “My , | do hate a mystery!”’ “Sure yuh do, Scotty. What’ll yuh drink? See-gar? Sure. These ought to be good. Paid five dollars for that box of ’em three years ago. Pretty dry? Well, my ——, you'd be dry, too, if yuh was kept in a box in Arizona for three years. What- cha suppose anybody’s tryin’ to kill off Legg for?” ‘T didn’t know they was.” ‘Somebody shot at him the other night, didn’t they? And Goode says that shot was fired at him today.” ‘He ought to go away,” said Scotty, look- ing gloomily at his cigar, which seemed to be trying to expand into a rose, or a cabbage. He flung it in a cuspidor, and smoothed his huge mustache. ‘‘We never had no trouble around here until he came,’”’ said Scotty. ‘He’s a hoo- doo, that —— tenderfoot!”’ ‘“‘How’s that dog comin’ along, Scotty?” “First class. It bit me once, and Al Porter twice.” “Ha, ha, ha, ha! Don’t like officers, eh?” ‘Takes after his owner, I reckon. Gimme somethin’ to take the taste of that cigar out of my mouth.” The sheriff drank a glass of liquor and scowled at Plenty Goode, who still sat on the bar-rail, snoring blissfully. “Don’t wake him up,” pleaded the bar- tender. ‘When that jigger gets on one sub- ject, he never knows when to quit.” “IT ain’t goin’ to wake him up,” wearily. “T suppose I’d better go out to the Double Bar 8 and investigate that shooting. It won’t do no good, though. I’ve got more prisoners now than I know what to do with. Three of ’em—and a —— dog! I wish I wasn’t the sheriff.” DOOLK (C@