Argosy All-Story Weekly, December 4, 1926 — page 149: what you’re looking at

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

THE DEVIL’S SADDLE. “The Big Mesas! A lie! They’re the Sangre de Cristo. We’re in Mexico as soon as we reach those foothills.” “You mean you're back again in the Big Mesas, where a posse is hunting for you!” “Are you trying to tell me we’ve been riding north all this while?” “You got twisted in that canyon back there.” There was little doubt about his being twisted. He had no conception of where he was—except by_that sun. “ How can we be riding north with that sun on our right side?” » “Well, it’s morning, isn’t it?” she asked blandly. “ Morning! For God’s sake! You're as daft asl am. We’ve been trailing for hours —all day long.” “Tt’s morning just the same,” she re- torted. “ You only think it’s afternoon. As for me, it seems as if we’ve been riding a week—but I know perfectly well it’s still morning.”’ She felt his hand falter again, and he let out a string of maddened, hysterical oaths. “ We’ve been riding for eternity through hell!” he cried. ‘“ And the sun’s -still down halfway to the horizon—’”’ ‘From where it started,’ she added craftily. “The sun starts in the east, doesn’t it? Or maybe down here it rises in the west. I’ve heard prospectors tell me that. If it rises in the west then you're headed all right.” . “ For God’s sake shut up!” he cried. “ That’s east over there—where the sun is!”’ He pointed to the sun which, at four o’clock, was well down toward the western horizon. “ All right, then,” she admitted gently. “ Turn around and head in the right direc- tion.” He obeyed. From then on the girl was assured she was safe. If she could convince her captor that he was riding south to Mexico when he was now actually heading back for the Big Mesas, there was no necessity of her playing any more tricks. Ladley was done for. They rode on, the girl anxious only that 459 the little bronc—her bronc—would keep its strength. She herself urged it at a faster gait. Ladley, sitting behind the cantle, was no longer holding her. Her back was as hot as fire. He stayed well behind, still holding the reins, but keeping as much space as pos- sible between himself and the girl. But she could hear his hot breath coming in labored gasps. She could feel his weight riding dead back there, as if her mount were carrying a heavy food-pack. The end was coming. Concha felt that if she could not steal an- other swig from her flask she herself must fall to the sand. As yet the sun had lost none of its ferocity. It beat aslant underneath their sombrero brims, burning their cheeks. And added to its heat was the parched ground, the glinting sand throwing back the heat of the whole day. The girl’s mouth burned with the salt mist. Every nerve in her body yearned for water. Even the sturdy, desert bred bronc slowed down to a shuffling walk, its head hanging, its legs rickety and exhausted by the long trailing and the double weight. Finally it stopped altogether. But it had stopped because of a slight, uncertain pres- sure of Ladley’s hands on the reins. “What’s wrong now, pard?” the girl asked. | “ There’s water over there,” he said in a dull voice. She looked across to a row of low orange-red mesas. She saw a small sim- mering mirage, with bisnaga cactus stand- ing in the middle and reflected perfectly. “Water!” she exclaimed with a disgust- ed grunt. She only wished now that it was water. She began to doubt if she could stand the two hours before sunset unless she had a drink. She was going to taunt her captor at making so obvious a mistake, but suddenly she checked herself. Here was a chance to play one last trick. “Go on, pard! Head for it—quick! That’s water! I know it! I can tell. Thank Heaven for it—we’re saved!” With an exultant yell he turned the horse and headed for the low mesa. He Ghooks (E) com