Adventure Magazine Cover — page 78: what you’re looking at

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

76 the ranch. They conferred together for a moment, and one of them came toward Hashknife, stopping on the ruins of the bunk-house, while the other man swung up on the wall near the corner of the ranch- house and scanned the country. Slowly Hashknife slid back across the floor, until he reached the ladder, which led down from the loft. He went down the ladder and walked softly to the door, where he peered around the edge. He could hear the sound of some one digging; the dull thud of adobe bricks being thrown aside, but he could not see either of the men now. Drawing his six-shooter Hashknife went slowly and carefully across the space be- tween the stable door and the patio wall. He could hear the digging plainly now. Then he heard one of the men snap out a curse. It was evidently the man on the wall, because the answering voice was just beyond— ‘‘What’s the matter?” “That ——— posse must ’a’ seen us! They’re comin’!”’ The two men were running now, and Hashknife expected them to come through the broken wall past him, but instead they went out the south entrance of the patio, possibly with the intention of keeping the ranch buildings between them and the ap- proaching posse, and circling back to their horses. Disregarding the fact that the odds were two to one, Hashknife ran swiftly along the wall, coming out within fifty feet of the two men, who were humped over, running as low as possible. There was no time for them to turn; nothing to do but fight or surrender. It was still a hundred feet to the cover of the brush, and Hashknife was be- tween them and the stable. But neither of them thought of surrender. Hashknife fired, as the two men whirled to a stop and drew their guns. One of them went to his knees, and his bullet tore up a spurt of dust half-way between him and Hashknife, and the other man’s bullet sang wide of its target. He fired again, but his bullet went skyward, because the shock of Hashknife’s next bullet threw him backward. The man who was on his knees fired again, but so wildly that Hashknife did not even hear the bullet. Then he tried to get to his feet, pitched forward on his face and lay still. The other man did not move, except that he half W. C. TUTTLE turned over. Hashknife went slowly up to them, his jaw shut grimly. He had shot deliberately, slowly—only twice. Even with the two-to-one odds, the advantage had been with him, because he had been ready for the battle. Hashknife did not make any examination of the men. He heard the drumming of hoofs, as the posse rode up, and in a few moments they were surrounded by excited men—the nine men who had ridden out of Blue Wells with Sleepy. “My ——, it’s Al Porter and Chet Le Moyne!” exclaimed the sheriff, tearing the masks off the two men. ‘Hartley, what does this mean?”’ He came to Hashknife, gripping his arm. “Tt means that an officer of the law went wrong,’ said Hashknife coldly. “But how?” demanded the excited sheriff. “My , this needs more explanation than that, Hartley.” “Go easy,” advised Sleepy, who turned to Hashknife. ‘‘We wasn’t quite to the Broken Cafion, when we spotted these two riders. They were headin’ this way, fog- gin’ to beat : so we follered.” “‘Good thing yuh did, Sleepy.”’ Questions volleyed at Hashknife, while others examined Le Moyne and Porter, but Hashknife brushed them all aside. ‘“‘They’re both as dead as herrin’,”’ Johnny Grant. Two more riders came—Antelope Neal and Lee Barnhardt. ““‘We missed the posse; so came here to see what we could do to help,” said Neal. Barnhardt squinted at the dead men, but said nothing. ‘Will yuh please tell us what it means?” asked the sheriff. ‘‘You ain’t told anythin’ yet, yuh know, Hartley.” Hashknife smiled grimly. “There ain’t much to tell, Scotty. These men came here, wearin’ masks. They tried to get away when they saw yuh comin’, but I blocked ’em, and we shot it out.” “Oh, I can see that! But—” ““Good ! Here comes some more Johnny Grant’s yell turned all interest away from Hashknife. It was Marion and Jimmy on one horse, leading another horse, on which was roped a swaying figure of a man, his body slouched forward until his face was almost buried in his chest. Jimmy was riding behind Marion, clinging to her, while he swayed said 19 COMICOooOoks C (©