The Argosy, Vol. 75, No. 4 — page 109: what you’re looking at

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

MESQUITE RANCH, grown to a manhood as strong in body and finely open in character as Rad- ford, stirred him, too. At any rate, he strode out of Ted’s shack determined to call his punchers together and give chase to whoever had taken the deed or captured its rightful owner. He ran to the porch of the ranch- house. He picked up a big conch-shell that was rarely disturbed from its place on the broad sill of the window. Standing out from under the small roof that sheltered the front door, he blew. Punchers sitting on the corral fence —why they chose a perch of such in- conceivable discomfort they could never have told—almost fell off. The next moment they leaped from the height of the top board and ran like prairie-dogs. From their hooks on the fence-posts, from the sides of the stables, from all the places where they hung, the punch- ers seized the galvanized buckets. In two minutes there was a rapidly mov- ing line of men beside the big wind- mill. As each bucket was filled the puncher who held it turned and ran at top speed, with careful concern for his water supply, toward the ranch-house. Still the conch breathed its menacing roar over the plateau. The boys looked to see the first puff of smoke which would tell them that the ranch-house was afire. But none rose. The first punchers reached the porch. But Silsby did not stop blowing. The hoarse sound of the shell bellowed on till the men not yet arrived at the spot thought the ranch-house must be in the most immediate danger. Another and another and another, with bucket slopping water, rushed up, grabbed the bottom of the bucket to be ready for a command to empty it in the most effective spot, then stood, like a big image in browns and bronze, staring at the madly blowing ranch- man. Still Silsby blew. The boys from all over the place came tearing. There 811 were fifty amazed men gazing at the boss and suspecting his sanity when he finally lowered the shell from his lips. He glanced over them with practised eye. “Say, boys, somebuddy’s bin robbin’ Radford, an’ he’s disappeared. I don’t know whether he’s bin made way with ur whut. But we've got to find out. Listen here! ”’ The punchers crowded closer, un- mindful of the tipping buckets that were wetting high-heeled boots. “Him an’ Tom Sykes has both got a crush on that thar niece uv Frenchy’s. Sykes has been a tryin’ to git him. T’other night Gill himself come into his room when he was a layin’ sick at the Stone House an’ held a gun ’g’inst his heart. Ef Mlle. le Fevre hadn’t ’a’ got the drop on him, he’d ’a’ finished him. Ef Gill’s goin’ to butt in an’ he’p Sykes in his court- in’, it’s up to me to look after the in- terests uv Radford, ain’t it?” A prolonged roar of -agreement voiced the sentiments of the Mesquite punchers. The enmity of years was behind their acquiescence. All the small quarrels of the range and the sa- loons influenced them to become advo- cates of Ted Radford’s cause. “Who's the gal favorin’?” some one shouted. “Search me!” Silsby replied, seeing that he had stirred in his men the en- thusiasm which would enlist them in the search for Ted. = We could carry her off, keerful like, an’ find out,” another suggested. “ Say, lookee here!” Silsby ex- claimed, seeing that enthusiasm might take spurts into directions for which he could not be responsible. “‘ Whut’s the good uv findin’ out bout how the gal feels ef we ain’t got Radford? I tell ye they’ve got him!” “Who? The Double X-ers?” the boys yelled. “ He started back here four days ago an’ he ain’t got here yit! I jes’ went to his shack an’ seen the door busted “S' GEomichoo (E@)