Adventure Magazine, March 1916 — page 137: what you’re looking at

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

Paradise Bend “T heard ye the first time, Sheriff,’’ re- plied Loudon placidly. “TI was just figurin’ whether to tell ye I was shoein’ a horse or catchin’ butterflies. Which answer would ye like best?” “Ye think yo’re mighty funny, Tom Loudon, but I tell ye flat if ye don’t go slow ’round here I’ll find a quick way o’ knockin’ your horns off.” “Ye don’t say. When be gin?’ Loudon beamed upon the sheriff, his gun held with studied carelessness. Sheriff Block walked from behind his breastworks, his eyes watchful, his thumbs carefully hooked in the armholes of his vest. “That notice ain’t no target,” he grunted, halting beside the pine-tree. “It is now,” remarked Loudon genially. “Tt won’t be no more.” ““O’ course not, Sheriff. I wouldn’t think 0’ shootin’ at it if you say no. It’s a right pretty piece o’ readin’. Did ye write it all yourself?” : The sheriff’s eyes became suddenly blank and fixed. His right thumb slowly un- hooked. “T only fired three shots, ” observed Lou- don, the muzzle of his six-shooter bearing on the pit of the sheriff’s stomach. The sheriff’s right thumb rehooked itself hurriedly. His frame relaxed. “Ye shouldn’t get mad over a joke,” con- tinued Loudon. “It’s plumb foolish. Been hidin’ behind that rock long?”’ “T wasn’t hidin’ behind it. I was down in the draw, an’ I seen you a-readin’ the notice, an’ I come up.”’ Loudon’s gray eyes twinkled. He knew that the sheriff lied. He knew that Block had heard his comments on Blakely and his own worshipful person, but evidently the sheriff did not consider this an opportune time for taking umbrage. “So ye come up, did ye? Guess ye thought it was one o’ the rustlers driftin’ in to see what reward was out for him, didn’t ye? But don’t get downhearted. Maybe one’ll come siftin’ along yet. Why don’t ye camp here, SheriffP It’ll be easier than ridin’ the range for ’em, an’ a heap healthier. Now, Sheriff, remember what I said ’bout gettin’ redheaded. Say, between friends, an’ I won’t tell even the little hoss, who do you guess is doin’ the rustlin’?”’ “Tf I knowed,” growled the sheriff, “his name’d be wrote on the notice.” ye goin’ to “Vou said ‘rustlers.’ 135 “Would it? Iwas just wonderin’. Hab- it I got.” “Don’t you fret none ’bout them rustlers. I'll get ’em if it takes ten years.” “Make it twenty, Sheriff. They’ll keep right on electin’ ye.” “Do ye mean to say the rustlers elected me?’ exploded the sheriff. “Q’ course not,” chided Loudon gently. “Now what made ye think I meant that? “Well, ye said—” began the sheriff. “T said ‘they,’” interrupted Loudon. Stay in the saddle, Sheriff. Ye’ll stub your toe sometime if ye es on a-travelin’ one jump ahead o’ the oss.”’ ““Yo’re —— smart for a cow-punch.”’ “It is a cinch to fool most of ’em, ain’t it— especially when you’re a sheriff?” Loudon’s eyes were wide open and child- like in their gray blandness» But the sheriff did not mistake hisman. Block knew that if his hand dropped, a bullet would neatly perforate his abdomen. The sheriff was not a coward, but he had sense enough not to force an issue. He could afford to wait. “T'll see ye again,” said the sheriff harsh- ly, and strode diagonally,down the slope. gp vanished among the pines a hundred yards below. Then Loudon touched his horse with the spur and rode on, chin on shoulder, hands busy reloading his six- shooter. Three minutes later Loudon saw the sheriff, mounted on his big black stallion issue from the wood. The great horse scrambled up the hillside, gained the trail, and headed south. , “Bet he’s goin’ to the 88,”’ said Loudon. “T’d give ten dollars to know what Block was roostin’ behind that rock for. ——! I sure would admire to be Sheriff o’ Fort Creek County for thirty days!’ Eleven miles from Indian Ridge he topped a rise and saw below him Farewell’s straggly street, flanked by several false-fronted sa- loons, two stores, one hotel leaning slightly askew, and a few unkempt houses, the whole encircled by the twinkling pickets of innu- merable bottles and tin cans. He rode along the street, fetlock-deep in dust, and stopped at the hotel corral. Free- ing Ranger of the saddle and bridle, he opened the gate and slapped the chestnut on the hip. LOUDON “watched him: -untito he a cComicbooks com —