Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

‘ 38 The gap between the two riders widened, and when Lang, alone, reached a point below the Thornton ranch-house he looked up hungrily and wistfully at the light in the windows. Once he paused for a moment and then urged his horse rapidly up the valley trail. - - When he arrived at the cabin in the draw he found the candle lit and Condon DEEpaTing the belated supper. “Funny you’ve never asked me my name,’ said Lang as he hung up his saddle and dropped 7 into a chair. “I was waitin’ for you to mention it,” an- swered Condon. “I heard one of the men this afternoon call you Langworth.” “Yes,” said Lang dryly; “but if you want you can call me Lang for short.” Condon’s start of surprize was not lost on Lang. He rose and remarked casually— “J don’t know who or why you are, Condon, but you seem to be a friend.” He took soap and towel from the bench near the door while Condon regarded him with a fixed gaze in which a mixture of emotions conflicted. “‘T see you’ve washed up a bit,” Lang yawned; “T think Vl do the same. The broken glass from that lamp-chimney nicked me in a lot of places.” When Lang returned the men ate their supper in silence. Neither mentioned the fight. Finally Condon spoke. ‘“Did you hear what that old prospector chap said this afternoon? About the mine showing up valuable?” “Silver, wasn’t it?” asked Lang. “Yes. He said it might develop into some- thing big.” “Oh, —— the mine,” said Lang laconical- ly. He rose and went out into the night. Condon had cleared away the supper dishes when Lang returned, bringing a small salt-sack which appeared to be heavily weighted in the matter-of contents. He threw the sack down in the corner by the rifle and it banged against the floor with a dull rattle. Condon looked at him ‘nquiringly. “Rifle-cartridges,” said Lang simply. fit that gun.” Condon dropped upon the edge of the bunk and stared into Lang’s eyes. The candle, burning low, sputtered and drowned" its flame in its own hot grease. ‘The light from the moon slanted through a window and across the rough floor. The coals in the hearth gleamed faintly. Lang removed his clothes and rolled himself up in his blanket. “Good night,” he said sleepily. Still Condon sat and stared, first at the ghostly white sheen of the sack by the rifle in “They Adventure the corner, then at Lang’s form rolled in the blanket upon the opposite bunk. The coals in the fire died and the chill of the cool starlit mountain night descended. An owl moaned in the whispering forest and from a bridge across the vaHey came the mournful howl of a wolf. Condon listened instinctively to these sounds as he sat on his bunk. And gradually he be- came aware of another vibration in the sensi- tive air of the altitudes; a vibration which car- ried a familiar sugg estion of regularity—czp- clip, click-click, against gravel and rock. He stole silently to thé door and listened. A breath of wind drowned the sound for a mo- ment; then he heard it again. Clip-clip, click- click—plainer; more and more distinct. He took the rifle, untied the sack and slipped some of the cartridges in his pocket, and leaving the cabin, made his way down to the mouth of the draw, filling the magazine of the carbine as he went. He waited behind the screen of silver firs. . It was past midnight and the soft moonlight flooded the valley. In a short space of time a rider appeared on the trail leading down from the divide above the head of the valley. He was walking his horse, and sagged in the saddle as if weary from long hours spent upon the trail. He passed the mouth of the draw with his hat-brim pulled ~ down low over his eyes, and Condon could catch no glimpse of his face. Condon scaled the ridge on the south side of the draw and watched the lone rider as he made his way slowly down toward Singing River. Finally he was lost to sight. “Somebody from the lower end of the valley probably,” said Condon to himself. He emptied the gun and returned to the cabin. Lang had long since fallen asleep. Con- don replaced the cartridges in the sack and stood the rifle in its place in the corner. ‘Then he sought his bunk. But if Condon could have kept the rider in sight he would have seen him come to life sud- denly about a mile south of the Thornton ranch. Here he pulled up his horse, and with quick glances right and left got his directions. He turned west, crossed the river by fording, and continued up the west slope of the valley to the edge of the timber. He then swung south and followed close to the pine growth, swallowed in shadow. He crossed gulches and ravines and came at last to a dark, deep, narrow canon behind the cluster of cabins which marked the site of Sing- ing River. He turned up this cafion and spurred his horse to a swift trot. Soon he came in sight of a cabin back under a ledge of shelving rock. He reined in his mount and whistled—a peculiar signal with a sharp, rising inflection. (E@) .OO (C@