Adventure Magazine Cover — page 175: what you’re looking at

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

Law Rustlers “T hope he’s got more guts than Lem,” says Hashknife. “I like to do my own killin’.” ‘ Just then that little kid kinda sneaks up beside Hashknife, and Hashknife looks down at him. The little feller looks up at Hashknife with them big eyes, and then he just slips in closer, like a pup does when he likes yuh. “Come here, Buddy,” says Glory, but Buddy’s hanging on to a rosette on Hash- knife’s chaps and don’t even look at her. “Buddy kinda inherits this ranch, don’t he?” I asks. “That’s a question,’ says Sol Vane. ‘“‘A question for the council to decide.” “And they’ve already decided,” says Glory. Hashknife looks down at Buddy and then at the bunch of men. “The kid’s goin’ to get a square deal, ain’t he, Silman? WHe’s your grandson.” The men all looked at Sillman, but Sill- man don’t speak. “Your grandpaw’s goin’ to see that you gets a square deal, Buddy,” says Hash- knife, patting the kid on the head. One of the men kinda snickers and then turns sway. ‘““Who’s-goin’ to keep the kid now?” I asks. “His family ain’t in no shape to take care of him.” Sol Vane clears his throat. The son of a gun looks hke a gobbler with something stuck in his neck. “Well that’s a question. He ain’t a Silman and he ain’t nothin’ else—much. It’s a question, I reckon. Nobody on the Crick is beholdin’ to his folks that I knows on.” Sol Vane swallers hard and begins to chaw again. “He’s your kid, Sillman,” says Hash- knife soft-like. “T’d like to—” begins Glory, but Sillman stops her. Then he says to Hashknife: e “Hartley, you ain’t got no business hornin’ in like this. Willer Crick can handle its own affairs, and Willer Crick will decide what is to become of the kid.”’ “And you’re his gran’paw,” says Hash- knife, “‘gran’-paw to a nice little harm- less kid like this. And you say that Willer Crick will tend to hm. Why—” Hashknife teeters on his toes and hooks his thumb over the belt above p] 169 his gun—“why, you herd of mangy curs! You pack of gutter pups! Go ahead, you chinless maverick—reach for your gun! No? Then listen to me, you lousy cowards! You, Sillman! I thought you was an inch or two above this carrion, but you ain’t. Youre all alike. You’ve married your own relations until your brains are warped and shrunk so badly that you ain’t above eatin’ your own kind. The cannibal will protect it’s own blood, but you coyotes won’t.” Them Willer Crickers never made a false move. Maybe they’d ’a’ nailed us, bein’ about five to one and all armed, but we’d. ’a’ sure give the buzzards a feed, and them men knowed we would. “TY wish,” says Hashknife, ‘I wish I had education enough to tell folks what I think of yuh. There’s a lot of words I don’t know, dang the luck.” The old man steps down from the door- way and moves in beside Hashknife, 4 “Brother,” says he, “you’ve done well, If I can help yuh out in any way, I’d be plumb willin’. I’ma preacher of the gospel, but there is times when a good cuss word does come in handy.”’ “Are yuh through?” asks Sillman meek-like. “No, I ain’t!’ snaps Hashknife. “I’ve got to think of somethin’ new to call yuh. Ain’t there nothin’ I can say that will make yuh mad? Ain’t yuh got enough decency left to accept a insult?” ‘““Mebbe,”’ says Sol Vane, “‘mebbe you'll find out—later.”’ “Thanks,” says Hashknife dry-like. “I’m glad to have somethin’ to look forward to. I had a open, runnin’ shot at you once, Sol, and I was fool enough to shoot low. Next time I’m goin’ to cut you off above the collar.” “You cain’t threaten me, Hartley “T ain’t threatenin’ yuh. No, you buz- zard, I’m statin’ a fact.”’ “There’s fifty men on Willer Crick,” states another one of the bunch. r .““Pass the word,’ says MHashknife. ‘“‘There’s just that much difference between us and you. Me and Sleepy are square shooters and we’d love to have yuh come and bring all your friends. Only twenty- five apiece. Sleepy, there don’t seem to be much chance for us to get action here.” ‘““‘Who’s goin’ to take the kid?” I asks. “Tam,” says Hashknife. ‘‘He’s too good to live with Willer Crickers.” }?? CORMNICLOOKS (E@)