Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 146 No. 4 — page 140: what you’re looking at

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

_ At Table Top, where Dillon stopped for lunch, the only talk of the race seemed to concern “ that little roan horse.” The men- weakened from the terrific pace set by Jones and his little mustang. It was almost twilight, and both horse and rider were growing tired when they reached the town of Wanderer, yet Dillon resolved to push a bit farther. Crested Ridge was only twelve miles away, but dark- mess had settled over the country when Sagamore trotted into the place and Dillen ‘learned the same disappointing news Laramie Jones had passed through thirty minutes before without stopping. Dillon had hoped to overtake Jones at that place, yet the news increased his admiration for the little roan horse. Dillon was back in the saddle by sunup the next morning, galloping on toward Raw- Tins, which he reached slightly before noon. After a brief stop he swung back to the road. Two hours later he rode through Fort Settler and sent Sagamore pounding across the long bridge that spans the Platte River. Ahead of him loomed the Medicine Bow range, and the road began to ascend a short distance from the river. In spite of the grade he allowed Sagamore to travel as ase wed reaig tht for he | ¢ of the trip the horse could be de- teen oe da’ eee uy soaedes 2 ture te et >< * er5 oo - ee - s € = = : * : "ie * 4 7 on a oo Sieger of ie igh of Er ea - heard the rat-c-tat of hoofs on the : rc + A mile slipped by before the stallion over- took the other horse and a wave of gladness — swept over Dillon as he recognized Jones and Patsy. “ You running son of a gun!” he greeted in the manner that Jones liked best. “I had begun to doubt that I was ever going to catch you. How the deuce do you man age to hold that little horse up?” Both horses, as if understanding the friendship of their riders, had slowed to a walk, and neither man urged them faster. “It's Patsy that’s holdin’ me up,” Jones laughed. “I told you he was dead game but I'm leery about startin’ him as early as Buckley wants me to each morning. A horse is only capable of doing so much, but Buck- ley is the kind of owner that every nder hates. All he’s thinkin’ about is the money he’s got bet on this race.” “ What became of him after we leit Sound City?” “ He’s trailin’ along in that big car of his, and expectin’ this horse to make the same time. He'll be waitin’ for us mn EE Mountain, and I can imagine his feelin'’s when he sees that you've finally caught up with me.” That prediction was true, and Buckley appeared at the livery stable while both men “What's the matter?” he demanded of Jones. * They tell me you walked your horse into town just now.” : “I did. Dillon, here, overtook ee ee own time comin’ in.” i as ee oe wrx LOS comicbooks.com