Adventure Magazine Cover — page 177: what you’re looking at

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

Law Rustlers sure handicapped. Think of these hom- bres spyin’ on her to see if she ever comes to see her sister-in-law. Ain’t they the meanest, sneakinest bunch of pariah dogs yuh ever seen? It ain’t hard to see who slammed that bullet into Tug Wilson. Too bad she shot high.” I’m leaning against one of the front win- dows, looking down the road, and I sees a man coming.. It’s almost dark, but I sabe that pelican. ‘‘Here comes Sol Vane,” says I. He rides up to the front gate, gets off his horse, takes out a white rag. I opens the front door. ~ ‘Can yuh see me?” he asks, waving the rag. “Come ahead,” I yells back at him, and he shuffles up to the door. “T packed a flag,” says he, masticating real fast and looking at Hashknife with the kid on his lap, ‘I ain’t got no gun on me.” “¥ uh didn’t need to deprive yourself of a gun, ’ says Hashknite. ‘“T ain’t comin’ to talk mean,” explains Sol. “We held a council uptown, and I just comes down here to let yuh know some of the things we argued out. “Some was in favor of bustin’ down here and puttin’ yuh on the run, but I’m plumb in favor of goin’ kinda soft’ Sol grins and takes a fresh chew. “They wasn’t hard to convince that your way was the best, was they?” I asks. “T does the lawin’ fer Willer Crick, and they accepts my judgment—mostly. I comes to talk to yuh about th’ brat.” “Boy, yuh mean,” says Hashknife. ‘In speakin’ of this offspring, Sol, use the boy’s name or just speak of him as ‘the boy.’ ” The little jigger knows that Hashknife is sticking up for him, I can see that, and he kinda leans back against Hashknife. ‘This here ranch,” says Sol, “belongs to— well, I reckon it’s a question. Jim Sillman owns part of it and the rest of it’s to be settled by the council.”’ ‘““Meanin’ that Buddy gets gipped out of his ranch, eh?” asks Hashknife. ‘Under * the circumstances, the br— Buddy don’t own nothin’. His folks.was just suffered to kinda live here.” ‘“Suffered,’’ nods Hashknife. ‘‘Go ahead.”’ “T reckon that’s all.” “All for you,’ amends Hashknife, “but I ain’t started yet. For one thing, Sol Vane, I’m goin’ to do this: I’m goin’ to 171 the county seat, find a regular lawyer and make Willer Crick jump over the moon. I’m goin’ to see that this here baby gets a square deal and I’m goin’ to ss “Now, now,” grunts Sol Vane. ‘Don’t git excited. Willer Crick ain’t goin’ to beat nobody out of nothin’—not if they owns anythin’, y’understand.”’ “This here ‘Buddy is exhibit A,” says Hashknife. “Willer Crick took away his folks but they don’t take away nothin’ more. This ranch ain’t much, but it’ll be somethin’ for him to live on.” Hashknife gets up and steps over beside Sol Vane. “Vou tell your council that Buddy owns this ranch, will yuh?” ‘““*Pears to me,” says Sol, “‘that you’re kinda anxious to—the kid bein’ a minor and you grabbin’ him thataway, it kinda looks like you was sort of ——” Sol Vane made one awful mistake when he hinted that Hashknife was trying to feather his own nest. I seen Hashknife swing his body sideways, and Sol Vane landed flat on his face on the little dirt walk. It was a beautiful smash. We stands there and watches him twitch back to life, like one of them animated toy things. He managed to get to his feet and start for the gate, but ran into a tree and fell down again. Then he got up and found his horse, but he didn’t take time to mount; just went staggering down the road, horse. ‘““Good!” says Buddy, and his eyes were like saucers. “Sol Vane bad mans, my daddy says.”’ “My gosh!” gasps Hashknife. ‘‘Did yuh hear that? He said it was good. This feller ain’t no Willer Cricker, y’betcha.” NOT bein’ chances of a night attack, “= _~_three of us slept in the open. We took bedding from the house and rolled up under the trees. Buddy thought it was a picnic. The next morning we finds a notice on the front door, which reads: GIT OUT THIS IS THE LAST WARNIN “Well,” observes Hashknife, ‘‘we’ll just about take that advice. Not that Willer Crick is runnin’ any whizzer on us, Sleepy, wishful to take any the but we’ve got to kinda look out for this little Buddy, eh, Bud?” COPMICGLOOOKS leading the ~ (F@