Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 4, 1925 — page 77: what you’re looking at

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

IN “ You know, I’m not any tenderfoot, real- ly. I've got the range in my blood: the love of it and the !eel of it. A horse isn't an animal to me. [t never has been. It’s as much a companion, as much a part of my social life as any human friend I’ve had in the world. Anyway, I knew the range. ‘“And I knew that the men of the range are largely—half-baked, that’s the word. I knew it by instinct. 1 knew that the best buckaroos aren’t really borsemen, don’t really understand the build and action of the animal, or its mind; they’re just riders. And I knew that the gunmen aren’t really marksmen; they're just blundering fire eaters.” He was speaking in a low, earnest voice, and as he paused his eyes eagerly put the question which she answered without wait- ing for his words. ‘“ T understand,” she murmured. ‘“ I know I’ve thought that myself. Since you came here.” He smiled. ‘“T knew you’d understand.” he said, gratifed. ‘‘So I set out to acquire all that they haven’t got; to excel them at their own game, do you see? I learmed horse- manship; not merely how to stick in the saddle as these men do, but the art of equi- tation. I could tell you more about flex- ions, coordinations and conformation than you knew had anything to do with a horse. ‘‘ And I added that to the knowledge and feeling for horses that’s bom in me. And I added ali that to riding, riding, riding, all kinds of riding on all kinds of horses. I've played groom, trainer, jockey and riding teacher. “T did trick riding in circuses for three summers. I can tum somersaults on a horse’s back and jump through hoops. I’ve put devils of horses over jumps that no man present would try. I’ve ridden every bad horse, mustang, thoroughbred, hack or hunter that I could reach and beg, borrow or steal permission to ride. I know there’s no horse that can’t be ridden, just as there’s no man that can’t be thrown. But Thun- derbolt is a horse I can understand. ‘“ And then shooting! It’s all a matter of practice. With most of the men out here it’s a matter of bluff. And the practice THE EVENT OF DEATH. 867 I’ve had is the queerest practice you ever dreamed of. In the heart of civilization I did it. Not merely firing at targets, you know, that’s the simplest part of it. “Tl contract to hit anything any size, standing or moving, that I can see and that’s in range of my gun. But gunplay! Do you know how I practiced that?” he laughed gleefully at the complex emotion in her eyes. * You said it yourself. It was vou sav- Ing it that set me off. Magician, you said. And that’s the fact. I learned to draw, aim and fire a gun from a professional juggler and sleight of hand man. It’s not only that I can draw fast and shoot straight, but I can keep four guns in the air at once and fire each one as it passes through my hand. J can make a gun appear or dis- appear just like the rabbit in the hat. “But it takes practice. That’s how weve got ’em, Hazel. Nine hundred and ninety-nine out of a thousand men know that practice is needed to become expert in anything, but only one in a million has the concentration and determination to practice regularly and monotonously day after day on every detail which will perfect him. I couldn’t have done it myself if I hadn’t known.” ‘Known what?” she asked. ‘That when I returned ere #t would mean success or failure, life or death,” be replied. And in a strange way his words seemed to shut a door. It was as if a cur- tain had fallen on an act. , She turned and walked over to the win- dow, where she stood, looking out into the street. To her amazement she saw Thun- derbolt standing restless beneath a cotton- wood tree which grew before the house. The glistening red mare was hitched to the lowest branch of the tree like any ordinary horse. Hazel turned quickly to Cosgrove who stood leaning over the books upon the table. To him, as to her, the moment following his self-revealing speech had been a moment of supreme delicacy. He was conscious that he had wholly stripped from himself the veil of mystery which was half his strength, but he did not know that by his verv reve- lation a new and deeper mystery had been Conn GIOok