Adventure Magazine Cover — page 180: what you’re looking at

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

174 Hashknife looked at me and I looks at him, but neither of us says a word. Then Glory Says: “What do you reckon they'll do with poor Buddy? What did they steal him for? Nobody wanted the little feller.” “They want to get him away from me so there won’t be no heir to that ranch,” says Hashknife. ‘“They’re goin’ to hoodle that poor little kid out of the way, Glory.” Hashknife eases himself in his saddle and looks off across the hills. ‘I never had nothin’ like him—nothin’ in my life. The little jigger liked me, and kinda depended on me, I reckon. I said I was goin’ to keep him, didn’t I?” Hashknife turns and looks at us. “T said that, didn’t I? Well, that goes as she lays. Somebody on Willer Crick has got Buddy, and [’m goin’ to start in at the foot and work my way up, and I’m goin’ to git that kid if I have to fill —— with Willer Crickers.” Glory nods like she knowed Hashknife meant it. ‘T.oan me a horse and saddle?” I asks. “No,” says Glory, “I won’t loan you a horse, but there’s several out in the corral, and there’s a couple of saddles hanging in the shed. I can’t stop you from taking what you want, can [?” Me and Hashknife starts for the corral. “That roan out there can run all day,” yells Glory. “He don’t look it, but he’s the best bronc in this country.” Jo | hate to take things like this by force,’ says Hashknife serious-like. “It ain’t right to intimidate a lady thataway.” “Vou’re a pair of @rutes,” says Glory. “Pick on somebody your own size.” kidding about that bronc or not. P| It bucked over the corral fence with me, bucked for half a mile faster than Hashknife’s animal could run. After that it was a pretty good animal. We headed ’ straight for town. “Willer Crick will be looking for us, Hashknife,” says I. “TY hope so, Sleepy. I hopes they forms a holler square and hauls out their canrion. “Mebbe,” says I, *‘mebbe we ought to let Willer Crick dispose of their own busi- ness. They ain’t got no sense, but maybe they’ll give the kid a square deal, if we give "em a chance.” I DON’T know whether Glory was Adventure “Maybe the devil could skate—if he had ice—but we know he ain’t.”’ There’s at least twenty-five saddled horses in town, but not a person in sight as we swung down the street, but as we - swung past the store a man came out. He gave us one look and then started for the outside stairs of the town hall. He showed speed, but not enough. his bronc across the sidewalk and into that feller, just short of the bottom step. The bronc’s shoulder hit that feller, "nd he went spinning away like a tumble- weed in a wind; then Hashknife’s bronc hit the flimsy railing-of the stairs and went down. Out of the tangle comes Hashknife and he’s got his Winchester. The bronc gets to its feet and limps away, while Hash- knife runs along the side of the building and around to the front. “Get off and under cover, you danged fool!’ he yelps at me. ‘‘Willer Crick is all upstairs!” I jumps my horse out of line with the windows and gets off. I hears somebody yelp a question, and then I follers Hash- knife across the street, where we ducks in behind that old shed. I reckon that Willer Crick was too excited to take a shot at us when we went across the street. Extending out from the side of the shed is a pile of old lumber, which we proceeds to get behind. It’s about three feet high and ten feet long. Between us and the other side sof the street is the tie-rack, full of saddle-horses. The feller who got knocked down is crawling out of sight behind the saloon, and Hashknife’s bronc is just wandering around between the saloon and the store. “There’s our bay horse,” says I, pointing at the tie-rack. Then a bullet dusted the top of the lumber- pile and sent some splinters into my face. “Keep low,” advises Hashknife. ““They’re a-shooting from the windows. We’ve got to be careful that we don’t hit Buddy.” ts . 2 make a lead mine out of our lum- ber-pile, but them old boards sure do stop bullets. One feller gets cocky and looks out of the door. TI lifts his, hat and I think a part of his scalp, cause he yelps like a bee had stung him. “Don’t shoot until you’re sure,” THEN Willer Crick starts in to COMMICOOO KS Hashknife jumped - grins . CO