Adventure Magazine, March 1916 — page 164: what you’re looking at

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

atts ita os 5, ot Sa La: ee an: 4 URS he Ne eg i en Pa ad a , " 7 A) +e o - : - ' - SON Ms 4 162 to glance at the mirror. In it he saw re- flected the face of Scotty Mackenzie. The features were twisted into an almost demoniac expression of hate. Slowly Lou- don turned his head. Mackenzie, his eyes on the floor, was smoking, his expression one of serene well-being. “He don’t like me any,” decided Loudon, and pondered the advisability of asking Mackenzie for a job. It was not Mackenzie’s lack of friendli- ness that gave Loudon pause. It was the man’s appearance. Even for the West, where attire does not make the man, Mac- kenzie had not an inspiring presence. His trousers showed several patches and a rip or two. His vest was in a worse state than his trousers. His blue flannel shirt had turned green in spots, and the left sleeve had once belonged to a red flannel undershirt. Two holes yawned in the corner of his flappy- brimmed hat, and his boots, run over at the _ heels, would have shamed a tramp. That this economically garbed individual could prove a good employer seemed doubt- ful. Yet he had been recommended by Jack Richie. MACKENZIE suddenly mumbled that he guessed he’d better be go- ing, and rose to his feet. Loudon followed him into the street. Mackenzie halted and half-turned as Loudon caught up with him. Loudon noted that the ancient’s hand was closer to his gun-butt than politeness and the circumstances war- ranted. “Hirin’ any men?” inquired Loudon. “T might,” replied Mackenzie, the pupils of his blue eyes shrunk to pin-points. ‘Who, for instance?” “Me for one.” Mackenzie continued to stare. Loudon, who never lowered his eyes to any man, steadily returned the ancient’s gaze. “‘Yo’re hired,” said Mackenzie suddenly. “Git yore hoss. I’ll meet ye at the corner o’ Main Street.” Mackenzie walked rapidly away, and Loudon returned to the house of the Burrs. He took his leave of the two engaging women, the elder of whom pressed him re- peatedly to come again, and went out to the corral. While Loudon awaited his employer’s arrival at the corner of Main Street, he saw Pete O’Leary emerge from the doorway of Adventure the Three Card Saloon and walk toward him. But the young man of the knowing brown eye did not cross the street. He nodded to Loudon and swung round the corner. The Lazy River man shifted sidewise in the saddle and followed him with his eyes, Pete O’Leary interested Loudon. Folk that are mysterious will bear watching, and O’Leary’s manner during his conversation with Loudon had been perplexingly vague. ‘“‘Now I wonder where that nice-lookin’ young fellah is goin’? debated Loudon. ~ “Burrs’, for a plugged nickel! Yep, there he goes in the door. Well, Mis’ Burr ain’t a fool, but if I owned a good-lookin’ daugh- ter, that Pete O’Leary ain’t just the right brand o’ party I’d want should come a- skirmishin’ round.” Loudon’s mental soliloquy was cut short by the arrival of Mackenzie. The ancient’s appalling disregard for his personal appear- - ance did not extend to his mount and sad- dlery. His horse was a handsome bay. The saddle he sat in was a swell-fork tree, with a silver horn, silver conchas, carved leather skirts and cantle, and snowflake leather strings. The bridle was a split-ear, with a nose-band even more marvelously carved than the saddle, and it sported a blue steel bit, silver inlaid, and eighteen-inch rein- chains. The most exacting dandy in cow- land could not have obtained better equip- ment.. Beyond a momentless sentence or two Mackenzie said nothing as he and his new hand rode out into the valley of the Dog- soldier. He maintained his silence till Loudon, muttering that his cinches re- quired tightening, checked Ranger and dis- mounted. “Throw up yore hands!” was the harsh order that fell on Loudon’s astonished ears. Hands above his head, Loudon turned slowly and stared into the muzzle of a well- kept six-shooter. Behind the gun gleamed the frosty blue eye of Scotty Mackenzie. “Got anythin’ to say before I leave ye?”’ inquired Mackenzie. “That depends on how ye leave me,” countered Loudon. “If yo’re just aimin’ to say, ‘So-long,’ ye can’t go too quick. Yo’rea mite too abrupt to suit me. But if yore intention is hostile, then I got a whole lot to say.” < “Hostile it is, young feller. Trot out yore speech.” Gomichbooks (E(0)