Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

6 Adventure of his saddle mount, a rangy. sure-footed cow- pony, dark bay in color, named Dandy. Then he went to the house, took some papers from the little safe and crammed them into his coat pockets. He locked the doors and stood for a time on the little front stoop looking toward The Knees, which wavered in blue outlines in the heat. But Lang was not the sort to spend much time bemoaning his ill luck. He would forget it in action. He ran down to the corrals and flung the saddle on Dandy. In a moment he had cinched it and tied a yellow slicker on behind. “Slim chance to have any use for you,” he addressed the oiled slicker; and then he laughed. The reaction from his worry and brooding had begun to set in now that all hope had been lost. From a peg in the barn Lang took down his gun and cartridge-belt. “This is still a long, long ways from bein’ a tame country,” he observed aloud as he spun the cylinder of his forty-five and slipped in the loads. “I guess a man can find trouble if he wants it, an’ I sure need a little now for what ails me.” He leaped into the saddle and started at a fast pace for Bradley, eleven miles away.~ It was late afternoon when he dismounted in the dust of the little main street and tied his horse. He went first to the bank. “See what you can make out of them,” he said to Ferguson the banker as he dropped the papers upon the desk in the imner office. ‘““There’s my options and a list of the stuff out on the ranch; maybe your crowd’ll lump what I owe you in the mortgage on my place. The hot winds have fixed things for fair—put us all in the same boat. Do what you can and I’ll be satisfied.” “Tl see what can be done,” said the banker; but his tone was far from encouraging. Lang left the bank with a quick step. He stung himself back into the saddle and rode to a livery barn on a back street. ' “Put him up, Joe, until I need him again,” he told the boy temporarily in charge. Leaving the barn, Lang walked back to Main Street. Clouds of dust, gathered and propelled by the scorching winds, were whirling along the roads leading into town. Lang hesitated but a moment and then turned to- ward Hal Grimes’ saloon. II A WILD burst of laughter came from a little group before the bar-as Lang entered. But what attracted Lang’s eaten most was the typical cow-puncher attire of the men—chaps and spurs, leather cuffs embellished with silver buttons, blue and red bandannas that hung low on their breasts, knotted behind. Beneath their coats he caught sight of cartridge-belts and guns. These men were not homesteaders. One of the men was speaking in a loud, boisterous voice. ‘“This’ll teach ’em a lesson,” he roared. “Let ’em have a good taste of drought an’ they’ll clear out an’ leave this country fer cattle an’ sheep, which is all it’s fit fer; eh, now?” He-banged a great fist on the bar with a force which made the glasses jump. Then he caught sight of Lang. “Welcome, old-timer; have. a little snort?” he invited. Lang’s decision wavered. He was afraid of drink; but he wanted excitement, and he wanted to forget _the burned fields and his ruined prospects. ~ He wanted a temporary counter- irritant to offset the worry and fill in the interval while he was deciding upon the best method of getting a new start. He nodded to Hall Grimes, who promptly set out a bottle and glasses. The man who had invited him to drink took up a position beside him. ‘These winds’ll fix ’em,” continued the man. “They’re startin’ to get out already. Comin’ in with their little bundles to beat it back to Iowa to papa’s farm where they belong.” Lang’s eyes glinted as he raised his glass. “Here’s a go,” he said; “but go slow on the papa’s-farm talk. Some of us staked every- thing we had on this deal.” Several of the men looked at him with new interest but the man who appeared to be the leader barely nodded. ‘And it ain’t hardly been a square deal,” said this man in lower tones, ‘‘to have the rain hold off like this; tough luck I call it.” The liquor seemed to fill some vague, craving need in Lang’s mind. He ordered another drink, including all present in his invitation, and soon he was one with the group, laughing, singing, talking. But the talk now was not of crops or farming, but of the open range—the range that Lang had known and loved in his youth before the death of his mother, and later of his father. “The old days—the good old ridin’ days— are comin’ back,” thundered the leader of the men with whom Lang Rush was drinking. Deep down in his heart Lang knew that this wasn’t true; he knew the open range was doomed; but the bold statement thrilled him just the same. “T hope so,”’ he said in spite of his conviction to the contrary. “Well now them’s good words to hear comin’ from a Rush, partner,” said the leader of the convivial party. ‘Come on in this back room a minute while you and I have a little talk, will yer?” Lang, his brain afire with the liquor he had ECOPMICLMOOOKS (C@)