Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

BTA that showed in his eyes drew his ashen face fo a dreadful tensity and upheld him against the poisons of exhaustion which ~ weighed his body down. He left his pony to droop in the shade of the cypress tree and charged into the bunk house to awaken the tired men with & voice that was high pitched and strained to the yerge ef cracking. A strange scene followed: as several of the number set about preparing a meal in the kitchen of the ranch house, which, al- ‘though long abandoned as a_ habitation, had been often used for the ranch work of which old Parmelee made it occasionally: the headquarters. It had become, as 2 “matter of fact, an outpost of the old man’s - dominion, and the cow-punchers of his out-. fit were as familiar with it as with the ‘buildings of their home ranch. They bus- tled about now, occupied with their do- mestic duties, blithely unconscious of the ‘imcongruous spectacle which they. pro- ‘vided. They were a motley crew, and composed as many different types of manhood as any group of its size in any part of. the world would possess. But this much they had in common: a sun tanned leanness of counte- mance and an awkward twist of the legs which severally had been bestowed by the hot sun and an undeviating devotion to the saddle; also, while each countenance might differ, each countenance was rough in that sense of the word which denotes an excess of masculinity untempered by a woman’s influence, and unsoftened by solicitude for feminine regard. The group that filled the ranch house had the barbarous aspect of a pirate crew—and, like a pirate crew, they ‘placed upon the life of a man no value save that which the man himself imposed. While the rude breakfast was prepared, Dasent sat silent, or silently strode like a nervous cat about the room rolling and smoking innumerable cigarettes. His dark _ eyes, glittering from the hollows of fatigue, and his haggard face, bore out grotesquely his likeness to some beast of prey waiting for the bars to fall which caged him from the hunt. He met their questions with monosyllables of protest, and they revealed ‘another characteristic of their kind when ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, they resigned themselves to patience with good humor. They ignored him as they bustled un- handily about their absurd housework, and when all present fell to the wretched fare upon the rough board table few words were spoken. ‘The unclean coffeepot had been drained to the dregs and the last canned bean devoured when Dasent inter- rupted the coarse pleasantries that passed across the board with a terse disclosure of his purpose. * They’re hidin’ out!”’ he announced ab- ruptly. “We still out to get ’em?’’ asked one. Dasent glowered at the man for a second and then answered with a ferocity that brought their. eyes upon him in a narrow, appraising gaze. “We herd them in, if it takes a yeatl he snapped. “You didn’t get no whiff of his trail last night?” Tansey: was. scarcely less weary than his leader. “TY tell yer he’s hidin’ out. I want you punchers should git out to the hills and comb them like you was lookin’ fer ticks. You an’ me, Snuff, we’re ridin’ the range. Y don’t want to think them hombres is sittin’ easy in any ranch around.” He sat with his elbows on the table and glowered moodily into the distances which the walls seemed to open to his gaze. “* We will root ’em out if they’re dug in as deep as hell!” he cried suddenly, and then Japsed into a silence that had the singular effect of seeming as sudden as his speech. The rest were silent, too. Then one pushed. back his chair, and the others, excepting Tansey, followed. The sun was now high, gleaming ruthlessly on the rock littered country without, and the men turned to that sun baked exterior with an apparent reluctance, as if they were unaccustomed to facing the rigors of the heat in their work of every: day. As they grouped in the doorway, Dasent suddenly leaped to his feet and hurled a storm of words upon them. ““'Dead or alive!” he cried in his high, strained voice. “That’s what the old man said. Yo’re to bring them in dead or alive, and there ain’t to be no foclin’ Ahet Jl let