Adventure Magazine, March 1916 — page 140: what you’re looking at

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

$ Gd eat a! ER a Bie OP Aas NSA ee ee MAPPER 11% . i ¥ \ i Sit ae ¢ . 74ihay 3 ra Hat eta as oF \ ut ae P : . . Wart? } BW sib D4 hs. Baked ba Sak oh ube et: ‘ - : "hy \ > i ; bbe) 2 et I a 1. his me wea! G4.) “ea ees . 2 Nes ~ bet nad reed ‘ “9 AV Re Os Tek a res ? ‘Waris As 59 Bisa @ DEAE See RIN. ae : a oh £%, t ‘. cy at mo ‘ , yi / ids. a yy PA eee EL Eh Atty rales y - ee “at . ty * iV ‘ ti Sek . AY -¥, ' = 138 “Let’s irrigate,” he said to Ramsay. “In a minute,” replied his friend. “T want some cartiridges my own self.” The two sat down on the counter to wait. Blakely strolled across to the open boxes of neckties. “Cravats,”’ he sneered, fingering them. *“‘An’ —— fine ones!” exclaimed Mike Flynn, slamming down the coil of rope on the counter. ‘“Thim yaller ones wit’ vi’let spots now, ye couldn’t beat ’em in New York. An’ the grand grane ones. Ain’t they the little beauts? I just sold one to Tom Loudon.” “Green sure does suit some people,” the 88 manager coldly. Loudon felt Johnny Ramsay stiffen be- side him. But Loudon merely smiled a slow, pleasant smile. “Ffirin’ any new men, Sam?” he inquired py his right hand cuddling close to his elt. said “What do ye want to know for?” de- manded Blakely wheeling. « “Why, ye see, I was thinkin’ o’ quittin’ the Bar-S, an’ I’d sort o’ like to get with a good, progressive outfit, one that don’t miss any chances.” Loudon’s voice was clear and incisive. Each word fell with the precision of a peb- . ble falling into a well. Mike Flynn backed swiftly out of range. “What do ye mean by that?” demanded _~ Blakely, his gaze level. “What I said,” replied Loudon, staring into the other’s sinister black eyes. “TI sure do hate to translate my words.” For a long minute the two men gazed steadily at each other. Neither made a move. Blakely’s hand hung at his side. Loudon’s hand had not yet touched his gun- butt. But Blakely could not know that, for Loudon’s crossed knees concealed the position of his hand. Loudon was giving Blakely an even chance. He knew that Blakely was quick on the draw, but he believed that he him- self was quicker. Blakely evidently thought so too, for suddenly he grunted and turned. his back on Loudon. “What’s that?” inquired Blakely, point- ing a finger at one end of the rope. “What!—oh that!’ exclaimed Mike. “Sure, that’s what a seaman calls whippin’. The holdfast was missin’, an’ the rope was beginnin’ to unlay, so I whipped the end of it. *Twill keep the rope from frayin’ out, Adventure do yemind. An’ it’s the last rope I have in stock, too.” Loudon, watching Blakely’s hands, saw that what Mike Flynn called whipping was whip-cord lapped tightly a dozen turns or so round the end of the rope. Blakely, with- out another word, paid for the rope, picked it up, and departed, head high, sublimely indifferent to the presence of Loudon. Mike Flynn heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief. “Praise be!” he ejaculated. “TI’d thought to lose a customer a minute back.”” Then, recollecting himself, he added quickly, ‘What was that ye said about cartridges, Johnny?” CHAPTER II AT THE BAR-S HAT’S a good-lookin’ goat,’’ observed cheerful Johnny Ramsay, watching Loudon throw the saddle on the tripdeaeed chestnut. “All he needs is horns an’ a ma-a-a.” “What particular tune can you play on: it?’ retorted Loudon, passing the cinch- strap. “On what?” inquired Ramsay incau- tiously. “On _that four-legged accordeon ye’re strad. “T wouldn’t say nothin’ about no accor- deons—not if I was abusin’ a poor billy by cinchin a hull on his back. Honest, Tom- my, don’t ye like ridin’ a hoss? ’Fraid he’ll throw ye or somethin’?”’ “Don’t ye worry none about this little cayuse. He’s all hoss, he is, an’ if ye don’t mind, Johnny, I’d be a heap obliged if ye’d follow’ behind when we ride out 0’ town, Somebody might see us together an’ take ye for a friend o’ mine, an’ that wouldn’t do nohow.” “Please, mister,” whined Johnny Ram- say, “let me go with ye. I know where there’s a pile o’ nice tomatter cans for the goat’s supper. Red Rose tomatter cans too. There’s more nourishment in them kind than there is in the Blue Star brand. Hey, quit!” Loudon had suddenly flipped a broken horseshoe at the hindquarters of Ramsay’s pony, that surprised animal going into the air immediately. When Ramsay had quiet- ed his wild-eyed mount, the two friends rode away together. “T wonder why Blakely didn’t go to it,” Eomichbooks (EO) mm