Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 63: what you’re looking at

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

VALOR. - His body leaped in the man’s strong grasp as the body of a colt leaps at the touch of the branding iron. His smooth cheek - planched, and having yielded to the shock | which wracked his body, he stood rigid, gaz- ing with hurt eyes into those of his friend. He—said—that?” A low, unbelieving voice that came out of the boy’s hurt soul. “ That’s what he said, Dave.” Aleck might have been a mother then, soothing her troubled child. There was that infinite tenderness in his voice; that note of sym- pathy which revealed that he, too, suffered. “Then I must go!” cried David. “I must go to him, Aleck. I must.” “You can’t do nothin’, Dave.” “T can!” David exclaimed. ‘* What can you do?” “fT can bring back that little dawg she gave me!” And without further speech David disappeared into the maze of rocky passages which led from the cave to the ‘place where their ponies were. Aleck stood, stricken with amazement. The boy’s last cry had been so astoundingly unexpected; had revealed a hidden current of thought in his mind of which Aleck had had no suspicion. “ The little dawg,” he whispered to. him- self. “‘ The kid’s loco,” growled Preest. “ Shut up!” snapped David’s friend. CHAPTER XII. VANISHING DIVIDENDS. ANK JIM HENDRY had established the Monkey-wrench brand in the val- ley of the Pajaritos in a day when the cow-punchers were all dark faced vaqueros, the horse herd a caballado, and the limpid patois of the Mexican peon was the lan- guage of the range. So the Monkey-wrench outfit was among the oldest of the country. Young James Hendry, having inherited that outfit, took advantage of the prosperity which Lank Jim, his. father, had wrung from it, to play the cattle baron in the stockyard district of a great city and leave the sun-baked spaces of his native range for what men he could employ to ride them. It had been several years since his last visit 219 to the range, and now he had rolled out of the East by roads of steel and in the comfort of a soft cushioned motor car be-. cause the prosperity of his ranch had. seemed to wane. He was a shrewd business man, was Jim Hendry, and under the suave and polished manner he had acquired in the disposal of fat dividends, was hidden an instinct that brought him quickly to a personal investi- gation of this, the least of his enterprises, when the balance sheet syunded its alarm. Madge had accompanied him, because the West had appealed to her sense of the romantic—and she had decided to come. A. respect for the decisions of one’s daughter develops amazingly with the prosperity; of one’s affairs. So de her decisions. They had been here six days, now. Hendry, far too wise to “ raise dust ” as he knew the ranch employes would expect him to, had spent that time in genially making the acquaintance of his men, studying the country, and sending many fears for his intentions fast to sleep. Madge had learned what it is to ride the ponies of the range in a huge stock saddle, and had further gone afield to fish in the clear green waters of the Rie Felix, and te fetch from White Oak the litter of puppies which her favorite dog had sired. She had: promised herself another adventure soon, for surely it was only right that she should keep an eye on the puppy that had gone to the boy on the trail. Frank, the kennel man, would want to know about them all.. It was a part of the business of owning thoroughbred dogs. ‘Where is Dasent?” Her father asked the question quite amiably at the luncheon table, and Madge listened for the reply; she had heard that name before. Lew Brady, whose appear- ance was made remarkable by the fact that he had hair the color of tow and no chin whatever, assumed his famous worried look. Lew was a kitchen hand and chore boy at the Hendry ranch, and he was often wor- ried. “'He’s out on the range, I reckon,” he ventured. Hendry frowned. “T thought the men ncame coo iat