Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 39: what you’re looking at

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

~ The Law Comes to Singing River But no cartridge was ejected by the mechan- ism. He worked the lever again before he realized that the magazine was empty. “Dry as a bone!” he exclaimed to himself. He replaced the rifle and looked out the door and windows to make sure that Lang was not returning. Then he explored Lang’s effects, searched about his bunk and looked every- where about the cabin where there might be a hiding-place. But he could find no trace of any, rifle cart- tridges, Meanwhile Taue had climbed the high ridge on the south of the draw to the shoulder of the main divide. Far below him a thin ribbon of silver, Singing River, wound through the fertile little upper valley and disappeared in a narrow cleft in a rocky barrier at its southern end. Above him to the north a faulted range led off from the divide at his back and joined with the western ridge. Thus the upper valley was shut in, cupped in the hills, with the great, glistening peaks standing sentinel. When he had familiarized himself with the lay of the land he started for the top of the divide. Perhaps from the high, rugged, bare backbone of the Rockies he could catch a glimpse of the prairie country far to the north- east from which he had been driven. But he changed his mind and went down the south side of the ridge toward the lower end of the valley. In this way he came upon,a little fink: house nestling at the base of some high cliffs at the edge of the timber. He started to circle, entered a grove of young spruce, emerged into” a small clearing, and came face to face with Alice Thornton, who was petting a beautiful horse. The girl, although startled, nodded to him in greeting. “Good morning, Miss Alice; I’ve been up on the ridge taking a look around an’ thought I would walk down this way to the river an’ back home. I didn’t know there was a ranch here.” “This is our place,” she said gravely. *“Y’m sure I don’t want to trespass,” smiled Lang, who now remembered to remove his hat. He looked almost boyish with his smile and the sun shining in his hair. “Friends do not trespass,” she answered, stroking the nose of the horse and regarding him. seriqusly. “You consider me a friend then?” asked Lang eagerly. “One has to prove himself a friend before he is entitled to such consideration, doesn’t he?” she countered. “T see. But won’t you believe me when I say that I would welcome the chance to prove a—friend—of yours?” “People who wish to be friendly ordinarily 29 do not draw dead-lines and threaten gun- play if they should have visitors, do they?” Lang stepped back. Who had told her of that? The man who had learned his assumed name from her? Bransom? Lang’s brow clouded and she took note of the fact, for with a patting caress for the horse- she turned away. “Miss Alice!” called Lang. She turned, and the questioning look upon her face made her more exquisitely beautiful than he had imagined any woman could be. She was dressed in plain blue; but the garment she wore showed to rare advantage her charm of form, even though it lacked the finesse of lines and workmanship which might have been accomplished by an_ experienced modiste. Somehow Lang knew that she had made the dress herself. “Miss Alice, we said something about cir- cumstances the other day,” said Lang in a low voice, vibrant with feeling; “and there are circumstances _in my case which I can not ex-_ plain to you. That—that—dead-line—is the result. We do not draw lines to ward off our friends.”’ ‘Then you mean you have enemies here?” She appeared surprized “T didn’t know you were acquainted around Singing River.” “T have reason to believe I have one enemy, at least Lang was sorry the moment the words were out. Her eyes were wide with questioning. “But I am not worying about enemies,” said Lang hastily.. “I merely would like powerful well to have you believe a little in me—which I agree seems hard the way things stand.” “There seems to be a geat deal of mystery about you, Mr. Langworth.” Lang squirmed; and then humor—the humor of the roundup camp and the open range— came to his rescue. He laughed heartily. “Yes, I reckon there is, Miss Alice,” he said. She found it hard to resist that laugh. It seemed impossible that a man who could laugh like that in the face of the suspicions which he evoked could be very bad. “T’ll tell you what, Miss Alice; you just pretend that you’ve known me a long time— that you know who I am, where I come from, and all about me—and that you know nothing worse about me than that I’ve made a mistake or two.” “What kind of mistakes?” she asked doubt- fully, smiling nevertheless. “The worst you can imagine,” gaily. “That might be doing you an injustice,” the girl reflected. “An’ you saying that is a compliment,” said Lang Gomichbooks (C@