Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

6 THER ARGOSY. man from whom I hired my pony told me the country was sparsely settled, but I ought to sight two or three moun- taineers’ cabins before night closed in. He added that the people were mighty suspicious of strangers and that I was undertaking a risky business in going among them—a piece of infor- mation that was in the nature of a su- perfluity. It still lacked a couple of hours of nightfall, when I came to a small, clear spring that, bubbling from the ground at the side of the road, disappeared a few paces away among the rocks and undergrowth. I was thirsty and so was my horse. Swinging out of the saddle, I knelt down and quaffed of the refreshing fluid, while the animal thrust in his silken nose alongside of my face and drank his fill. I love an intelligent horse, and had already formed an ai- fection for the one that had brought me thus far on the road whose termination I could not guess. When his thirst was satisfied, he raised his head, the cool water dripping from his mouth, looked at me with an almost human expression and sighed with enjoyment. I[ patted his warm, moist neck to his evident pleasure. “Good boy, Jack,” I said, repeating the name I had heard his owner use; “it has been a pretty hard tramp, up hill all the way, and I hope we haven't much further to go.” Just then he threw his small ears for- ward, looked partly behind him and uttered the faintest possible whinny. I understood his kind well enough to know what this meant. He had heard something suspicious. Its nature was not left long in doubt. An. answering neigh came from the road, a short distance below me, fol- lowed by the unmistakable sound of a horse’s hoofs, walking over the same course that I had come. “Some one is following me,” was my thought, as I laid my hand on the butt of my revolver; “ but for this stop- page, he would have shot me from the rear before I suspected my danger.” The thought was scarcely formed when a man rode into sight around a sharp turn im the highway. Hardly a dozen yards separated us when we caught sight of each other. .1 was a moment quicker than he, so it was impossible for him to get the drop on me. Had I chosen, I could have shot him from his horse, but such action would have been indefensible, nor did I yield to the impulse to order him to throw up his hands. Instead, I called cheerily : “Howdy, pardner! Glad to see you.” He was a massive fellow, fully six feet in height, of herculean frame, dressed in coarse, half hunting cos- tume, with a slouch hat, heavy spiky hair that dangled about his shoulders, and a face covered almost to the tem- ples with a long, bushy black beard. His hat being pulled down to his brows, left just enough room for the large piercing jet eyes to glare like those of a wild beast watching its prey through a matted hedge. His horse was a powerful, bony ani- nal, well fitted to carry such a rider, who held a Winchester resting across the saddle in front in a way that con- firmed my belief that had he been able to come upon me unawares, his first act would have been to send a bullet. be- tween my shoulders. Although so little of the man’s coun- tenance was visible, it was evident he was surprised at his failure to catch me off my guard. There was one pro- longed stare of those terrible black eyes, and then he nodded and_ sullenly growled: “ How’dy? Who might you be?” ‘Joseph McIntyre,” I replied, “ just from Chicago ; who are you?” “Tom Auckland; I live a little way up the road.” As he spoke, he indicated the direc- tion by a flirt of his head. Ss eco “Good; I'll go with you.” ClO