Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 5, 1921 — page 133: what you’re looking at

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

THE BUSTER. 419 Light Laurie resumed their journeying, Tim Osborne rode with them. His ranch lay between Dogrib and Surry Side, and he de- sired company on the way. To Osborne, that discreet gentleman of seventeen killings, Coryell gave a con- densed history of the rustling epidemic in Hatchet County.’ His plans for the imme- diate future he detailed in full. “Tl go with yuh to Surry Side,” said Osborne without comment. “ That is, if you ain’t got no objections.” ‘‘ Shore not, but—”’ ‘That’s all right. Yuh see, they know me there pretty well. The secretary's a personal friend o’ mine, an—” CHAPTER XXAVII. THE FELARE-BACK. R. RUDY ORISON, driving three cows and three calves before him through a notch in the southern rim of the Kettle, was disagreeably surprised ‘by the sudden appearance at the bottom of the declivity of six horsemen. Mr. Orison abandened his cattle and fled rear- ward. Bursting pell-mell through the cotton- woods and aspens at the foot of the re- verse slope, he ran plump in among five wmore riders. He knew them all. “Lo, gents,” he called, striving to pre- sent a semblance of assured ease while proceeding northward at his horse’s best gait. ‘See you later.” Somehow this struck the five as doubt- ful. They purposed to see him sooner than that. ‘“ Hey; wait a minute, Rudy!” shouted Hawk-Face. ‘TF can’t stop!” Mr. Orison yelled back, spurring amain. “You stop!” bawled practical Sam, dragging the Winchester from under his left leg. But Mr. Orison merely waved his hand, shook an uncemprehending head, and con- tinued to retreat rapidly. The practical- minded Sam tucked his, chew into his cheek, dismounted quickly, dropped on one knee and planted a bullet in the vitals of 6 Mr, Orison’s horse. The horse slid sprawl- mg. Mr. Orison, by the greatest of luck, landed on his feet. Without a moment’s delay Mr.:Orison started to wun. ‘He shore must ’a’ done somethin’,” practical Sam averred to himself while he clicked a fresh cartridg@ through the load- ing-gate and his four comrades pursued the speeding Mr. Orison. When Sam came up with them Mr. Ori- son had been surrounded, halted and de- prived of his weapons. Bitter were the words of Mr. Orison. ‘ T dunno why you fellers gotta cut down on me this way,” snarled he, tenderly feel- ing his neck, for Hawk-Face had had the temerity to employ his rope. ‘“T dunno either,” said Hawk-Face, coil- ing his rope. ‘But we hope to find out,” nodded Tobe Haskins. ‘‘ What didja run for?” ‘IT was goin’ somewhere,” explained Mr. Orison. ‘“ Where?” “ Buck Snort.’ ‘But why the rush?” “My Gawd! Can’t a feller ride faster than a walk now an’ then without gettin’ his hoss shot by five idjits?”’ ‘“Why didn’tcha stop when I told you to?” Hawk-Face demanded. “You ain’t my keeper,” snapped Mr. Orison. “ No, but—”’ ‘“ Whatcha lookin’ south for so nervous like, Rudy?” asked the inquisitive Piggy Question. ‘““ Maybe that’s why,” suggested practi- cal Sam, cocking a listening ear. The others heard the horses, too. Mr. Orison’s eyelids. flickered. Practical Sam happened to be looking at Mr. Orison. Sam rubbed his chin. He was not so astonished as he thought he ought to have been. Qut from the patch of cottonwoods and aspens four horsemen came galloping— Buck Snort men. The leader was Fatty Larkin, ‘“F thought I recognized yore hoss, Rudy,” said Fatty Larkin, folding fat hands across the saddle-horn while his. horse spread his legs and breathed hard. ‘“ What of it?” brazened Mr. Prison, CONMUICWIOOKS 1c