Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine, Vol. 107 No. 3 — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

~~ s — 7 =, _ THE DUKE OF CHIMNEY BUTTE. 363 still floated like the wake of a swift boat, showing the way he had gone. “Yes, you will!” said Taterleg. Meaningless, irrelevant, as that fragmen- tary ejaculation seemed, the others under- stood. They grinned, and twisted wise heads, spat out their tobacco, and. went back to dinner. CHAPTER III. AN EMPTY SADDLE. THE duke was seen coming back before the meal was over, across the little plain between camp and hills. A quarter of a mile behind him Jim Wilder rode, whether seen or unseen by the man in the lead they-did not know. Jim had fallen behind somewhat by the time the duke reached camp. The admira- tion of all hands over this triumph against horseflesh and the devil within it was so great that they got up to welcome the duke, - and shake hands with him as he left the saddle. He was as fresh and nimble, un- shaken and serene, as when he mounted old Whetstone more than an hour before. Whetstone was a conquered beast, be- yond any man’s doubt. He stood with flaring nostrils, scooping in his breath, not a dry hair on him, not a dash of vinegar in his veins. ‘“‘Where’s Jim?” the duke inquired. “ Comin’,” Taterleg replied, waving his hand afield. _ “ What’s he doin’ out there—where’s he been?” the duke inquired, a puzzled look in his face, searching their sober countenances for his answer. “He thought you—” “ Let him do his own talkin’, kid,” said — Siwash, cutting off the cowboy’s expla- nation. Siwash looked at the duke shrewdly, his head cocked to one side like a robin listen- ing for a worm. ‘““ What outfit was you with before you started out sellin’ them tooth-puller-can- opener machines, son?” he inquired. “Outfit? What kind of an outfit?” “ Ranch, innercence; what range was you ridin’ on?” ‘““T never rode any range, I’m sorry to say.” ‘Well, where in the name of mustard did you learn to ride?” ‘““T used to break range horses for five dollars a head at the Kansas City stock yards. That was a good while ago; I’m all out of practise now.’ “Yes, and I bet you can throw a rope, too.” ‘“ Nothing to speak of.” “Nothing to speak of! Yes, I'll bet you nothing to speak of!” Jim didn’t stop at the corral to turn in his horse, but came clattering into camp, madder for the race that the duke had led him in ignorance of his pursuit, as every man could see. He flung himself out of the saddle with a flip like a bird taking to the wing, his spurs cutting the ground as he . came over to where Lambert stood. ‘““Maybe you can ride my horse, you damn granger, but you can’t ride me!”’ he said. He threw off his vest as he spoke, that being his only superfluous garment, and bowed his back for a fight. Lambert looked - at him with a flush of indignant contempt spreading in his face. “You don’t need to get sore about it; I only took you. up at your own game,” he said. ‘“ No circus-ringer’s goin’ to come in here and beat me out of my horse. You'll either put him back in that corral or you'll chaw leather with me!” “T’ll put him back in the corral when I’m ready, but I’ll put him back as mine. I won him on your own bet, and it’ll take a whole lot: better man than you to take him away from me.” In the manner of youth and independ- ence, Lambert got hotter with every word, and after that there wa$n’t much room for anything else to be said on either side. They mixed it, and they mixed it briskly, for Jim’s contempt for a man who wore a hat like that supplied the courage that had been drained from him when he was dis- armed. There was nothing epic in that fight, nothing heroic at all. It was a wildcat struggle in the dust, no more science on DOOKS = A CO Co mM