Argosy, Vol. 85, No. 3 — page 154: what you’re looking at

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

496 it was from the nose up, and Miss Kate, believe it or not, it was the image of Jake here. So wher I got home I just made up my mind to ask him if, by any chance, he happened to be next of kin or otherwise related to the road agent.” “ You mean,” corrected Miss Kate, “that you thought Jake might be Dave Crasson himself?” Her question made it easier. I nodded. Again she turned to Jake, studied him several minutes and asked: ‘“Are you Dave Crasson?” He was serious now. An accusation like mine was enough to make any one Serious. He returned her gaze without a flicker as he said: | ‘“Miss Kate, my name’s Jake Hark- ness. I never saw Dave Crasson and, if luck’s with mé, I never will. Do you believe me?” She studied him again before commit- ting herself. Then she nodded. “Yes, Jake,” she said. “I do.’’ Then, to me, “ Pete, it was horrid of you :to think such an awful thing of him.” ~ ‘““T know it,” I answered, ‘‘ and I’m awfully sorry.” I stuck out my hand, Jake grabbed it and the incident was closed without blood- shed. But somehow. or other I couldn’t get that picture of Dave Crasson out of my head. I’d lay awake nights thinking- of it and, at times, I’d almost make up my mind to talk it over with the old man. But I never did. Jake Harkness proved to be too much of an asset to the Bar D. Before the summer was over he had be- come an absolute necessity to the outfit, and when I told the old man as much, he said he’d known it himself for some weeks. So things drifted along. Miss Kate and Harkness became thicker and thick- er, and before cold weather set in it was generally understood around the Bar D that Jake was about to také unto himself a wife, and Old Man Martin a son-in- law. And the boys were tickled to death. Harkness was a popular cuss. Yes, sir, THE ARGOSY. even I, who still entertained a sneaking notion that he had some sort of a past that wasn’t in his family Bible, was look- ing forward to that wedding. Then things occurred. First, a Ken- tucky thoroughbred arrived as a sort of preliminary wedding gift from the old man to the blushing bride. And he was some horse. Speed? He went over the trail like a German torpedo, and I ought to know. I tried him out. And after I’d pronounced him safe and sane Jake Harkness hopped astride. I’d never seen Jake on a spirited horse before. He was a stickler for easy-gaited mounts, the kind that don’t go in for the fancy steps. But, Hercules, how he did ride that thoroughbred! Say, there wasn’t a man on the place that didn’t wonder how he’d kept his ac- complishments under cover, and Miss Kate laughed in sheer pride. As for me, my mind reverted to that torn picture of Dave Crasson, and I looked over toward Steamboat’s corral. It gave me an idea. ““ Jake,” said I, after he’d circled the house a couple of times and then hopped down, “‘ you’re the only man hereabouts, outside the boss, that’s never had a try at Steamboat. I’m thinking you could make the critter go some.” > “Sam Bransford couldn’t,” he says, easy like, as he’ helped Miss Kate to mount her preliminary wedding gift. She looked down at him and smiled. Maybe she had thoughts something like mine. Maybe she was thinking of the story about no man but Dave Crasson ever riding Steamboat. Anyhow, she said: “Why don’t you try him, Jake?” What could he do? The boys had the dynamo under.saddle and out in the open before you could say Daniel Boone. And Jake, looking as if he was about to enter the electric chair, stepped forward. Fight? Well, some. Harkness started it with an Indian yell and a savage slap on the flank. Up went the pinto, and comicloool C©