Adventure Magazine, March 1916 — page 119: what you’re looking at

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

Li’l Son-of-a-Gun Padilla nodded southward to the plain and the distant Rio Grande. “No other way out, sefor,”’ he said. “Only through the cave to the next cafion, and so to the plain.” “Come on!” cried Sandy. ‘‘Git him on his hawss, Mormon. We’ll cut ’em off. Tie the greaser’s laigs under him. Give him one hand. He’s got to ride some.” “Thought you said we couldn’t git down thataway,” said Mormon, lashing the Mexi- can’s ankles. _ Sandy, leading Sam’s horse by the bridle, looked at his chum with raised eyebrows. “We got to,”’ he said. VI , THEY hit the trail of the first cafion p where it led from the rim close to “A where Sandy had first located the cave and galloped furiously around the loop . Of the U. At the mouth of the cave Sandy halted the little cavalcade. “You stay here, case they double back, Mormon,” he ordered. ‘An’ keep that greaser with you. If nothin’ breaks inside a couple of hours, take him back to the ranch.” ‘Senor,’ protested Padilla, ‘‘you said that “T played square with you as long as you did with me,” said Sandy. ‘‘That’s all. If they zs any trouble stahts, Mormon, shoot him first.” “T shore hate to miss all the fun,” said Mormon ruefully. “Some one’s got to stay,” said Sandy. ““Yo’re too heavy, Mormon, for the kind of ridin’ we’ve got ahead of us. Come on, Sam.” The two plunged down the almost-effaced trail, Sandy in the lead, on Pete. The horses snorted as they scrambled across piles of loose débris and rotten gran- ite that went pounding and crashing into the depths of the ravine, leaping across water-worn fissures with treacherous take- off and recover, led here and there by their masters ’round or above great threatening boulders, sliding a-squat on their haunches, clambering, hurrying, galloping at last to the plain and racing, hard-pressed but game, along the cliffs to the entrance of the next cafion from which the kidnapers must emerge, if the Mexican’s confession was a 3 117 true one, which Sandy believed it was’ A-creek, still full from the Winter supply’ ran close to one wall of the cafion, fringed by willows and pines that climbed the slope. Between the stream: and the opposing cliff, cactus blocked any direct passage from the ravine, and there were no signs of a regular trail. Sandy dismounted. Pete stood, blown, on wide-planted, trembling legs, his flanks heaving. *Po’ li’l hawss,” said Sandy, reaching up one hand from where he knelt on the ground, to rub Pete’s nose. ‘“Yo’resome mile-eater an’ cliff-climbeh, Petie. ‘Clim’ up a ways, Sam,” he said, ‘‘an’ see if you can sight ’em. They haven’t come out yet.” He set his ear close to the earth. A dull thudding sounded. Sam came hurrying down the sidehill. 7 ““Two of ’em, ridin’ like the devil!” he an- nounced, “One of ’em’s got the kid in his arms.” “All right,” said Sandy. ‘We'll handle ‘7em as they come out. Take that cactus, Sam. I'll take this. Betteh mount.” They took up their places either side of the opening which presented the only out- let from the cafion through the maze of chapparal and cactus. Sandy stood by the side of his horse, taking his lariat from the saddle-strips and uncoiling it. Pete rubbed his head against his master’s chest and Sandy dropped the rope for a. moment to scratch him behind the ears with one hand, while the other caressed the soft muzzle. Po’ li'l hawss!” said Sandy. ‘Prit’ nigh tuckehed out, ain’t ye? An’ it’s a long ways home. I'm jest askin’ you fo’ one mo’ li’l bu’st of speed, Pete. An’ when we git back, they’s goin’ to be pantry-food for you for supper, you ol’ Piute, pie-eatin’ Pete, you!” | “What you-all doing with the rope, Sandy?” called across Sam in a low voice. “Goin’ to stretch it?” “No,” answered Sandy, carefully over- hauling the lariat. ‘‘When they come out we'll throw down the rifles on ’em. If they don’t stop, plug the one without the kid. T’ll handle Hammond.” He remounted and sat like a statue on Pete while the drumming of flying hoofs | sounded closer and closer. In his head the thoughts were swiftly ranging. Hammond, Eomicbooks Gom ~~