Western Story Magazine, May 12, 1934 — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

Cowboy Samson Soo dled and turned his -horse leose to graze when, stooping to drink at the spring, his eye was caught iby some- thing bright lying on the bushes above. Bascom forgot the drink. He stared a moment, then reached up and plucked the bright object from the bush where it had caught. It was a torn piece of a red-and-yellow bandanna, and the cowboy was ready to swear that he knew where it had come from. The ranch wag at the Crosstree had brought a red- and-yellow ‘bandanna from town one day and presented it with great solemnity to Lafe Hunt, to match his plaid shirt. Hunt was sensitive about that shirt, but he was stubborn about wearing it. He also wore the ban- danna, just to show everybody how little he cared for their opinion of his taste. A few days ago the donor of the handkerchief had demanded - to know what had become of his gift. Hunt had replied, to the vast hilarity of the other cowboys, that he had lost it. Bascom sat cross-legged on the ground, looking at the thing. The sight of it seemed to have turned a switch in his brain. Numerous, re- mote items flashed across his mem- ory. Scattered and fragmentary items they were, and yet they had a curious order, now that his mind had struck their track. A man had been following Duke Jones, maybe aman who had met Lafe Hunt here at this spring. Hunt had made a trip over into Indio County a few days ago, “to look at some year- lings.” Indio County lay next to Natchez County. There had been other times when Hunt was absent from the ranch, all plausibly ex- plained. And all those hints of his about the stealing being an inside job, that there was some snake on the Crosstree. “By golly,” thought Bascom, “I. wonder who that snake is? I’m be- ginning to think that Hunt has likely got the answer behind his vest. Wonder why I never thought of these things before? I never did cotton much to Hunt, but the Old Man seemed to think he was all right, and I guess I don’t look very close at what the Old Man approves. Hunt’s a crackin’ good cowhand, and he has a way with him, when he wants to use it. Then, too, I may be all wrong. But I wish Duke was goin’ to stay there with that money to-night. Maybe I’d oughta go back, like he said. I could be there, just in case.” Bascom pondered the question while he consumed two hard bis- cults and a can of. beans by the flickering light of a sagebrush fire. He didn’t want to go back. And this was all just guesswork, and hkely a mile off the right track, any- way. Stil, he could lie up on the hillside above the bunk house and not show himself, unless something happened. Bascom, because of the size and strength which kept him out of fights, had never been suspected of » a deep aversion to battle in any form. He didn’t think it. was fear— he hoped that it wasn’t fear—but the cowboy had a stronge distaste for contention and angry words. His was a peace-loving soul. He liked . to be friendly with people, and when he could not be, he wanted to get clear out of their vicinity. RONE on the ground, half doz- ing, Bascom suddenly lifted his head. A door had creaked. The lights in both bunk house and ranch house had been out for an hour. For a few mime: he beard.