Adventure Magazine Cover, December 18, 1919 — page 179: what you’re looking at

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

Number Ten Boots = officer, “‘there’s the same foot-prints of aman who wears number ten boots!” Bill Maddon stiffened perceptibly at the insinuation against his ability as an officer, for it amounted to exactly that, as he saw it. He had tried, and tried with diligence, to catch the mysterious rustler, the marr of the number ten boots, and he had failed miserably. He didn’t speak. Tom Alden continued: “Suppose you authorize me, deputize me to catch the thief, eh, Bill? Ill lay - you a bet that I can do it!’ “You'll lay me a bet that you can catch the thief?” rumbled Maddon. He frowned hard. His blood was up now. “Just what are you willin’ to. bet, Rancher? How big a sport are you, anyhow ?” ‘Alden straightened. His blood, too, was up. It was up so high that it almost made him dizzy. “All I’ve got in the world is my ranch,” said he. “I'll bet you that!” It was rather staggering. Maddon sank an inch or two, studied the floor at his feet, rubbed his somewhat stubbly brown chin thoughtfully, then looked back to his visitor. “You know, Tom,” he muttered, “that I ain’t got anything much except my house and the sheriff’s job. bet you the job, 0’ course. The little house ain’t wo’th anywhere near as much as your ranch, You wouldn’t want my right arm—though if you won it, you'd sure get it. What have I got that you'd like to see me put up against your pre- ~~ eious palmetto land, Rancher ?” Something in the tones of his voice made Alden a little ashamed that he had been hasty and more or less unwise. It was true, and he knew it, that Maddon owned no property except his cottage home across the sandy street. Then a brilliant thought rose to the surface of the brain of Rancher Tom and he put it. into words forthwith. “Look here, Bill, ve asked you a dozen times for your girl, and you’ve al- ways refused me—for no reason on earth that I could see. She’d marry me, Bill, if you'd let her. Jd be good to her. You know that. [ll put up my ranch and all there is on it, cows and horses and houses and everything else, against her, in a bet that I can stick iron brace- I couldn’t 165 lets on the big rustler that’s been takin’ my cattle, and do it in thirty days! On honor. No papers and no publicity... I’m a gentleman and so'are_you.. Not a soul but you and me, Bill, shall know any- thing about it. What do you say?” Connie the crook had not missed: a word of any of it. He winked inwardly at himself, so to speak, and smiled. Maddon was silent. Alden pursued: “Come across with the answer, Bill. I want to see how much of the game-cock there is in you!” Suddenly Bill Maddon shot out his hand and Rancher Tom gripped it. “On honor and no papers,” sheriff. “Also, no publicity. I wouldn’t have it talked for anything. If you win my girl, Tom, you sure can have her, and if you don’t, you sure cain’t. If I win your ranch, I’m goin’ to takeit and I’m goin’ to keep it, too. Do you understand me, Tom?” “My understandin’ is perfect,” smiled Rancher Tom. “Pina deputy’s badge on my shirt, put a .45 gun on me and swear me in, and after that you can go to gettin’ ready, to give the bride away !”” Connie smirked a long smirk while the little swearing-in ceremony was taking place. S Rancher Tom turned for the door-. way he caught sight of that pale, half-emaciated face just above the win- dow-ledge. Connie’s smirk faded and his eyes sharpened. Alden took three quick steps across the floor, seized little Switser -by a shoulder and drew him through the window. ‘““Eavesdropper!” he snapped, shaking Connie and facing Maddon at the same time. “It’s no secret, Bill; this tramp heard everything!” Maddon’s brows knitted; he bit his lower lip. Switser sneered wickedly. Alden shook Switser again. “What are we goin’ to do with him, Bill? By George, he sure knows! Could we jail him for a month and pay him: for his time? -, “That wouldn’t keep his mouth shut,” growled Maddon, “and. I’ve got no grounds for jailin’ him, Tom. Handle the matter yourself. You made the trade —no publicity, you know. It ain’t so awful important; still, everybody’s busi- EOPMICLOO S said the — Com