The Argosy, November 1908 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

THE ARGOSY Vol. LVIII NOVEMBER, 1908. No. 4 BY BULLET PERSUASION. By SEWARD W. HOPKINS, Author of “ Taking Big Chances, ” ‘The Tail of the Lumberbeast,”” “ The Hoodoo Ranch,” etc. The thrilling break that came into the life of a peaceful fig planter, with an account of the forceful means he afterward took to assert his rights. (COMPLETE IN THIS ISSUE.) GEA PEE Re A’PLEA FOR HELP. RAW a line from the southeastern spur of the San Jacinto range of mountains, straight to the southwest for twenty-five miles, and your pencil will stop at my fig plantation, You won't find it on the map—my plantation, I mean. Nor do 1 think you will find even a crooked little black streak to designate the tortuous path of Burro Creek, which is a small branch of the Carriso. Anyway, it is not necessary to be too particular in locating my plantation, be- cause I am not inviting anybody there to visit me. I doubt if I could even give them figs to eat. In the beginning I knew about as much concerning figs as I did about the growth of cabbages on the planet Mars. But, then, I knew very little about any- thing else except rifles and horses and dogs, and when the time came for me to settle down and make something of myself I believed the southern part of California held out good promises for a return on the money I-had to invest— which wasn’t much. The railroad books all said it was a lovely country all along the Southern Pacific, and the books sent out by land companies all had beautiful pictures of great trees in full bearing and well-fed looking planters holding up laden limbs for inspection. 1A And I had a liking for outdoor life, » despising with my whole soul anything like a clerkship, either counting-house, bank, or ribbon-counter brand. In fact, I didn’t care for any pursuit where you had to look through a window to see the beauties of nature and wait for a certain hour before you could go outside and get a breath of God’s pure air. But I am not going into the history of fig raising. Merely a word to ex- plain how I met Consuelo. I read government books on the sub- ject of best fruits for that region. An im- portation of young cuttings of Smyrna figs had been received by the Depart- ment of Agriculture at Washington, which could be had for the asking, pro- vided certain obligations in the way of care and regular reports were not for- gotten. So I invested, and now, when my story opens, this was my outfit. I had twenty-five acres of young fig- trees doing fairly well, but I had not yet seen any figs. I had, however, man- aged to make my little farm of one hun- dred acres pay in quicker crops, and was pretty well satisfied. I lived in an adobe house of five rooms. One of these was my bedroom. Another was the 'dining-room. A _ third was the kitchen. Another, the largest of all, was the general sitting and living room. And the fifth was the bedroom of Sam Tamarko and his wife, Namona. Sam Tamarko was a half-breed, and 577 conmicloooks.comn