Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 5, 1921 — page 134: what you’re looking at

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

420 ‘’ Nothin’ much, only you might explain how you happened to be drivin’ two Staple Box cows with two calves branded Slash K, an’ another cow branded L Up-and-Down an’ her calf branded Slash K.” Fairly stumped, Mr. Orison became pro- fane. But there was little spontaneity in his curses. “ Andy Ball an’ Butter Nelson are bring- in’ along the cows an’ calves,” Tatty Lar- kin went on for the benefit of the others. “T don’t understand it myself,” he adced candidly, staring in puzzled fashion at Mr. Orison. ‘ Are you workin’ for the Slash K by any chance, Rudy?” “You go to hell!” ‘“Veah, but if you are workin’ for the Slash K, why didn’tcha burn or cut the cows’ feet an’ run off only the calves? An’ why was you headin’ south?”’ Mr. Orison was understood to repeat his former remark. “ The notion 0’ keepin’ cows 0’ one brand an’ calves of another together gets my time,” persisted Fatty Larkin. “It don’t seem sensible somehow.” “ He ain’t workin’ for the Slash K,”’ de- cided Hawk-Face. ‘ The Slash K has al- ways been straight.”’ “So is a road agent till he holds up his first stage,” countered Fatty Larkin. ‘T dunno—” began practical Sam doubt- fully, and stopped. He recalled that Fatty Larkin rarely made a statement without some justification. When Andy Ball and Butter Nelson ar- rived with the cattle the animals were all roped, thrown and hogtied, and the brands and earmarks sat upon after the fashion of a coroner’s jury. “These three calves may ’a’ been sleep- ers,” offered Andy Ball. “What difference docs it make?” asked practical Sam. “None,” said Butter Nelson, “ Sleepers or mavericks, their brands don’t agree with their mas’.” “They ain’t only one thing to do,” Hawk-Face declared briskly. ‘“‘ They’s cot- tonwoods yonder, an’—” “ You ain’t gonna hang me?” cried Mr. Orison. “Why not?” Thus practical Sam. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “| didn’t blot them brands,” Mr. Orison denied desperately. . ‘Kind o’ late to say so,” Hawk-I*ace told him. ‘“] found them cows an’—” “Who's a-comin’?” interrupted Andy Ball. ‘Ten men," replied practical Sam, squinting northwestward toward Rising Creek. ‘’ Maybe they’re some o’ the Slash K out- fit,” sugeested Piggy Question. But the newcomers were none of the Slash K. They were Bill Coryell, Light Lauric, Smoky Nivette, Timmy Osborne, a black-avised citizen, a red-faced one, and four obvious punchers. Coryell spoke to his friends and greeted the Buck Snorters quite as if his late meet- ing at Dogrib with the latter had not been a painful occasion. He glanced gravely at the weaponless Mr. Orison and the dead horse lying to leeward. “When you caught him,” said Coryell to Fatty Larkin, ‘‘ was he with them three cows an’ calves?”’ “He was with ’em just before he was caught,” answered Fatty Larkin. Coryell nodded. ‘‘ We cut his trail—him an’ the cows—this mornin’. We kind 0’ thought he was farther ahead. I dunno as [ expected—” He broke off, his eye skim- ming Mr. Orison and coming to rest on the earmarks of the nearest calf. “What didja reverse them Slash K ear- marks for, Rudy?” he asked dispassionately. ‘I didn’t reverse ’em! J dunno nothin’ about ’em.” But Mr, Orison’s eyes were uneasy. ‘ Yore right hand sort 0’ mace a dive for yore hip-pocket just then. Lessee whether you got a hideout there or what. Hold still! Ugh!” With a twist and a trip Coryell slammed Mr. Orison to his disgraced knees and twitched from Mr. Orison’s hip-pockct a limp, rectangular book. “TI thought so,” continued Coryell. “You got a brand book now. You ain’l makin’ no more mistakes like you done when, you switched them brands an’ ear- marks over near Buck Snort.” Fatty Larkin looked at Hawk-Face. The latter reddened. Each remembered thaktheao