Adventure Magazine, March 1916 — page 148: what you’re looking at

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

ce Me re [+4 . : 1 alah A tp At Fe, Wia & Ny TAN eit ‘ta ’ 146 -Tife for his mistake did not lesson the smart, rather it aggravated it. : Late in the afternoon he returned to the line-camp. Hockling and Red Kane, the two punchers, had not yet ridden in. So Loudon sliced bacon and set the coffee on to boil. Half an hour after sunset Hockling and Kane galloped up and fell upon Loudon with joy. Neither relished the labor, insig- nificant as it was, of cooking. “Company,” remarked Red Kane, a fork- ful of bacon poised in the air. The faraway patter of hoofs swelled to a drumming crescendo. Then inside the circle of firelight, a pony slid to a halt, and the voice of cheerful Johnny Ramsay bawled a greeting. -“That’s right, Tom!’’ shouted the irre- pressible Johnny. ‘Always have chuck ready for your uncle. He likes his meals hot. This is sure real gayful. I wasn’t expectin’ to find any folks here.” “T s’pose not,” said Red Kane. ‘You was figurin’ on romancin’ in while we was away an’ stockin’ up on our grub. I know you. Hock, you better cache the extry bacon an’ dobies. Don’t let Johnny see 2em.”’ “Well, o’ course,’ observed Ramsay su- perciliously, ‘I’ve got the appetite o’ youth an’ a feller with teeth. I don’t have to get my nourishment out of soup.” “He must mean you, Hock,” said Red Kane calmly. ‘‘You’ve done lost eight.” ‘The rest of ’em all hit,” asserted Hock- ling, grinning. ‘But what Johnny wants with teeth, I dunno. By rights he’d ought to stick to milk. Meat ain’t healthy for young ones. Ain’t we got a nursin’-bottle kickin’ round some’ers, Red?” “Sure, Red owns one,” drawled Loudon. “T seen him buyin’ one once over to Fare- well at Mike Flynn’s.” “©O’ course,” said Johnny, heaping his plate with bacon and beans. “I remember now I seen him, too. Said he was buyin’ it for a friend. Why not admit yo’re mar- ried, Red?” “Ye know I bought it for Mis’ Shaner 0’ the Three Bars!” shouted the indignant Kane. “She done asked me to get it for her. It was for. her baby to drink out 0o’.” “Ve don’t mean it,” said Johnny seri- ously. “Fora baby, ye say. Well now, if that ain’t surprisin’. I always thought nursin’-bottles was to drive nails with.” In this wise the meal progressed pleas- Adventure antly enough. After supper, when the four were sprawled comfortably on their saddle- _blankets, Loudon launched his bombshell. “Had a small brush. this mornin’,” re- marked Loudon, “with a gent over by the mud-hole north o’ Box Hill.” The three others sat up, gaping expect- antly. “D’ye get him?” demanded Johnny Ram- say, his blue eyes glittering in the firelight. Loudon shook his head. He raised his left arm, revealing the rent in his shirt. Then he removed his hat and stuck his finger through the hole in the crown. ‘Souvenirs,’ said Loudon. “He busted the lever off’n my Winchester an’ gormed up the action.” ‘An’ he got away?” queried Red Kane. “The last I seen of him he was workin’ in behind where he thought I was.” “Where was you?” “T was watchin’ him from the top o’ Box - Hill. What did ye think I’d be doin’? Waitin’ for him to surround me an’ plug me full o’ holes? I come here some hurried after he crossed the creek. I was hopin’ you'd have left a rifle behind.” “Wish’t we had,” lamented Hockling. “Say, you was lucky to pull out of it with- out reapin’ no lead.” “T’ll gamble you started the fracas, Tommy,” said Johnny Ramsay. “Not this trip. I was lookin’ at some mighty interestin’ cow an’ pony tracks op- posite the rock ledge when this gent cuts down on me an’ misses by two inches.” “Tracks?” “VY ep. Some sport drove five cows on to the ledge an’ chased ’em over the creek. That’s how they work the trick. They throw the cows across where there’s hard ground or rocks on our side. ’Course the rustlers didn’t count none on us nosyin’ along the opposite bank.” “Ain’t they the pups?” ejaculated Hock- ling. “They’re wise owls,” commented Johnny Ramsay. “Say, Tom, did this shootin’ party look anyways familiar?” “The color of his hoss was—some,” re- plied Loudon. “Blakely was at the ranch last night, an’ his hoss was a sorrel.”’ “What d’I tell ye?” exclaimed Johnny Ramsay. ‘‘What d’T tell ye? That Blake- ly tinhorn is one bad actor.” ot ain ’*t none sure it was him. There’s herds o’ sorrel cayuses.”’ Eomichoo (Q) ON Ss (E(0)