Adventure Magazine Cover — page 182: what you’re looking at

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

180 But he made no mention of this son of Jack Manton’s and the cook was too old a hand to voice a question. They talked of everything else under the sun. Presently there came the thud of hoofs, voices, careless laughter, and the jingle of spurs. The men were in for din- ner. The cook shoved a head from the tent door. “Come an’ git it, er I th’ow it away!” They came. A dusty, good-natured lot, reeking with the odor of horse sweat and exchanging banter of incidents that had come up during the morning’s drive. A slow, drawling, even-toned jumble of con- versation sprinkled with mild profanity. “T don’t mind a hoss,’”’ some cowpuncher was saying, “that’ll bow up on a man of a mornin’, hog acrost the flats, then act like a honest tuh gosh cow pony the rest uh the day. But that there Ginger Snap waits till a man’s quit ridin’ tight. When that steer broke back from the cut, I gigs ol’ Ginger Snap pony, aimin’ tuh head mister steer. I loses my right stirrup the fust jump, my hat the second, and when that pony lands spread out like a week’s washin’ that third jump, he jest nacherally gits hisse’f a cowboy.” ‘An’ what does the ol’ man say?” “Well, I’m kinda occupied with my mind set on derobin’ myse’f outa some prickly- pear cactus which I set on after my deepar- ture from my hull which is goin’ toward the Canadian border on top ol’ Ginger Snap. I’m diggin’ myself outa the cactus with my Barlow knife when up comes the boss. “« ‘Son,’ says the dad-burned ol’ son of a gun, rollin’ of his off eye like a bronc, ‘you'll spoil that hoss, lettin’ him run off thataway. What’s the idee in lettin’ him stampede off through the herd, spoilin’ a mornin’s work. When yuh git tuh camp, ketch out suthin’ that’s woman-broke an’ go on out to the day herd. Since yo’re so — set on layin roun’ on the ground, a week uh day herdin’ orter ketch yuh up on round-sidin’.’ ” “Kinda ringy, wa’n’t he?” “Had a horn drooped an’ no mistake. The next time I hire out to a outfit, ’m gonna ask some pers’nal questions regardin’ the early mornin’ habits uh the gent that’s roddin’ the lay. If he’s one uh these ol’ varmints that makes out breakfast on a cup uh coffee an’ a cigareet, I’m gonna keep 99) a-movin’. WALTER J. COBURN ‘“‘Forty-mile circles,’ added another voice amid the splashing and snorting that be- trayed the fact that the speaker was wash- ing up. ‘An’ a man needs two relays uh stout hosses to bring in a drive uh these know-nothin’ doggies to the hold-up ground. I got three half-broke knot-headed broncs in my string. All of ’em contest hosses that’d bother a bronc-peeler tuh set when they break in two. Long circles, mean hosses an’ bad water makes a man old- ern ——.”’ ‘Swap yore bedroll fer a lantern, Trade yore top hoss fer a mule, You'll never put on taller workin’ Ter the Bear Paw Cattle Pool.” The singer, a giant of a man with mud colored hair and sunny blue eyes, kicked off a pair of service-scarred angora chaps and grinned widely. This was Tom Mc- Donald, the ‘old man” of the Pool outfit. He quit singing as he stepped into the mess tent and saw Faro sitting on the cook’s bed. “H’are yuh, Faro? Hear them roarin’, bellyachin’ mail-order young’ns a-bellerin’ out yonder? Reminds me ofali’l’ ol’ wind- bellied bull I onct seen. No bigger’n a pint uh beer, harmless as a sheep, but bawlin’ an’ pawin’ of dirt like he was growed up. A man’s gotta either knock ’em between the horns with a brandin’ iron er else pay no never mind to ’em. How’s tricks, Faro?” *‘So-so, Tom. Gatherin’ much stuff?” “Not half as much as Id orter,”’ he spoke, looking meaningly at the cowpunchers who were straggling into the tent. “A man can’t do much with a crew uh hay shovelers. Gimme one good honest tuh Gawd cow- hand an’ I’d fire this whole lot uh wind- jammin’, round-sidin’ excuses fer cowboys.”’ Faro grinned. He knew most of the crew and knew them to be as fine a lot of cowpunchers as you could find in a day’s ride. This was Tom’s way of showing his affection. Likewise he was covering up his surprize at seeing Faro Furnell and was making a rough attempt to put the old wagon-boss at ease. Tom had seen and recognized that saddle that lay alongside the rope corral. The name ‘‘Faro” was stamped behind the cantle. And as the men unsaddled, he gave them orders in an undertone to avoid all mention of Jack Manton. The Pool men had gamely risen to the occasion, cComicloo S CO