Adventure Magazine Cover — page 155: what you’re looking at

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

The Sheriff of Sun-Dog quivering with anger, unable to find words for a fitting reply. “Tf you’re all through—vamoose!”’ said Kane, jerking his thumb toward the road. “Next time yuh come here bring a warrant; otherwise—not. We don’t ask no favors of the sheriff’s office, and we ain’t interested in the cattle association.” Rc 42, the horn of his saddle and leaned back, but made no move to go. ‘Whatcha stayin’ around here for?’’ Sel- don seemed to get his breath back. “I’m the sheriff,” said Brick slowly. “T came out here to deliver an order. I’ve done my duty, as far as the sheriff end of it is concerned. You know what I told you concernin’ mavericks. That gees as she lays— And now,” Brick slid a few inches sidewise in“his saddle, ‘‘now +’m just plain Brick Davidson, and I want one of your crowin’ roosters to start herdin’ me away from here.” 2 ‘Whatcha mean by that?” asked Kane. “Y’m through bein’ joshed, Kane.” “T own this here ranch,” stated Seldcn, rather inanely. “Ownership unquestioned,” said Brick; “but that don’t give yuh no license to:act like yuh did. I may be a penny-ante sher- iff, but my game ts too big for you or your punchers to set into.” For a space of ten seconds Brick’s eyes bored into Kane’s. Brick felt that Malone would be slow to draw, and Seldon was apparently unarmed. Kane had all the ear-marks of a gun-fighter, and wore his gun handy. Then Kane’s eyes fell. Brick shifted his gaze to Seldon. “T hope you’ll see your way clear to abide by that maverick proposition, Seldon. I’m passin’ the word to every cattleman in this county. Ireckon that the association men are in the majority.” “You're hopin’ quite a lot for a young feller.’ Seldon was trying to keep his voice cool. “I was runnin’ cows when you was ridin’ a stick-horse, Davidson, and if you think for a minute that I’m payin’ any at- tention to such a —— fool order, you’re crazy as ! You better resign and get a job herdin’ sheep.” “When I can’t enforce the law—I will.” Brick turned his horse and rode slowly away, taking a chance that few men would take under the circumstances. 10 BRICK dropped the right hand off 145 “You better put in your application!”’ Sel- don’s voice was a mirthful squeak, but Brick did not turn his head. From behind him came the laughter of the three men, but Brick could not trust himself to turn his head. “You’re sheriff, Brick,” he told himself. “You're paid to enforce the law—not to smoke up folks. Hang onto yourself, you danged fool! Nice thing for a sheriff to throw lead at cheap cow-comedians.”’ Brick shook his head and rode to a high point in the road before he allowed himself to look back at the Star Dot. He shook his head, glanced at the star on the lapel of his vest. c¢ 1) such a job!” he exclaimed aloud. “Cripples a feller all up.” At the forks of the road, where the road led up to Weeping Tree ranch, a buckboard and two restive horses pulled up, the driver waiting for Brick to arrive. At first glance the driver appeared to bea man, but a closer view proved her to be a big, raw-boned woman, middle aged, her face tanned to a deep bronze. Her hair was done up under a floppy sombrero and a well-worn duster covered her calico dress. She grinned at Brick, and jerked back on the lines, as the restive broncs surged forward. “Howdy, Brickie,” she called. ‘““°Lo, Mrs. Wesson. How’s everything?” ‘She was fine when I left.”” Mrs. Wesson, wife of the general store-keeper at Marlin City, threw back her head and laughed heartily. Mrs. Wesson was rough of speech and jest, but her heart was pure gold. She loved Brick Davidson like a mother and deviled him at every opportunity. Brick reddened, and grinned down at her. ‘Just breakin’ them horses?” he asked. Mrs. Wesson glanced at the team and then up at Brick. “Brick Davidson, you ain’t interested in brones, are yuh? I’ve been drivin’ them covote baits for a year and you sets there and asks me if I’m breakin’’em. You sure observes things, cowboy.” “Oh, yeah,” murmured Brick, ‘I knowed. ?em when yuh used to curry ’em, but they’re so shaggy and ragged lookin’ = ‘Hol’ on! Cale Wesson curried ’em this mornin’.”’ “Went out to,” corrected Brick, “‘and then went to sleep on the stable door- step.” Mrs. Wesson chuckled. Her husband C@ DOOKS (© in