Adventure Magazine Cover — page 178: what you’re looking at

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

172 “Betcha,” nods Buddy. “But we ain’t scared, are we?” “Tt’s a wonder to me that this here kid - ain’t cleaned up on that bunch before this, /Sleepy. He’s got plenty of nerve. Did yuh ever shoot a gun, Buddy?” “No, but I betcha I could.” “He’s got it, Sleepy,’ grins Hashknife. “Natcheral born terrier. Iset’s pack up.” We saddled our broncs and packed up all the clothes we can for the kid, which ain’t much. We took a little grub and then pulled out, with the kid riding in front of Hashknife. We took Glory’s rifle and belt with us, figuring on going past Sillman’s place and leaving it there. There’s another road angling off the one to town, and the kid tells us that it goes past Glory’s place. We ain’t got nothin’ to take us through town; so we swings off onto this road. About a mile farther on Hashknife pulls up his horse and squints off down into a brushy coulee. “Sleepy, there’s the old man’s mule there, ain’t it?” “Tt’s the mule all right; feeding around in the brush.” We swings our horses around and rides along the edge of the coulee, which leads down a deeper ravine. “Anybody live around here—close, Bud- dy?” asks Hashknife. “Mitch Ames lives down there,” says Buddy, pointing down the ravine. “Fine!” grins Hashknife. “I dunno Mitch, but we’ll go down and see him.” “You seen him yesterday,” says Buddy. “He was to my house with them men.” “Oh, is that a fact? Well, he called on us, Buddy, and it ain’t no more than fair that we calls on him. Sleepy, did yuh notice that the mule was wearin’ a piece of pocket-rope. Likely broke loose.” Mitch Ames’ cabin was cached away in that ravine, like he was scared somebody would find it, but Buddy knowed right where it was. We swung down the hill above it. Setting beside the cabin, tilted back in a chair, is two men. One of the horses steps on a round rock and sends it bumping down the hill and it hops into the bushes right near ’em. Jump? ManTId say they jumped! One of ’em had a rifle across his knee, and when he seen us he started to throw it to his shoulder, but the other feller grabbed him and yanked him around the corner. Adventure Me and Hashknife drops out of our sad- dles and slips gur rifles loose. We didn’t come there hunting for trouble, but if it showed up we’d be ready. “Buddy, you get down in the brush,” orders Hashknife, pointing to a thick clump. us.”’ “Betcha,” says Buddy. ‘Me wait.” The little jigger dives down into the brush like a rabbit and then me and Hash- knife separates a few feet apart and slips down to the cabin—or rather toward the cabin, ’cause just about the time we hit the*flat ground a hunk of lead whispers so close to my head that I heard what it said. We flops down and waits awhile. The brush is kinda thick and we can only see one side of the cabin. We lay there quite a while, but there ain’t no more shots. We kinda snakes along until we works up beside the cabin, where we listens for a while, but can’t hear a thing. Hashknife gets to his feet, takes out his six-shooter for close work and walks to the door end of the cabin, with me on his heels. The door is shut. Hashknife gives it a kick and it swings open. Inside it is dark, being as there’s only one window, and that dirty. We steps inside, and looks around, and as soon as our eyes gets used to the dusk we sees that there’s a man laying on the bed. It’s the old preacher that rode the mule, and he’s sure hog-tied to a fare-thee-well, and has a rag shoved between his teeth. Hashknife takes out his knife and starts to cut the ropes, but stops and listens. Then he jumps for the door, with. me behind him. “The horses!” gasps Hashknife. “TI heard them rollin’ rocks. There they go!” Up over the peak of a hogback goes our two horses, with a man in each saddle, and one of ’em is packing Buddy. MHashknife throws up his .45-70 Winchester. “Buddy’s on that bay!’ I yelps. out, Hashknife!” “Look @ THE rifle cracked and the gray horse swung sideways as the bullet aie fanned past its ear and the rider throws himself kinda sideways. It’s only a jump more to get out of sight and the range is about two hundred yards. I glances at Hashknife just as he shoots again. I seen the rider of the gray horse slump “You get down low and wait for’ sideways and go down on the left side of . COPMICGLOOOKS eon