Adventure Magazine Cover — page 159: what you’re looking at

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

The Sheriff of Sun-Dog Doc Meyers used no extra words. Mrs. Wesson had said that a diagnosis by Doc Meyers sounded like a telegram prepaid by a stingy man. “Goin’ to take him home, ain’t we?” asked Lafe. Brick nodded. “Yeah, I reckon it’s best, Lafe.”’ Bunch Thornton released the calf, and headed it down the ravine. Brick rode on the rear of the buckboard, helping the doc- tor hold Martin in an easy position, while Lynn Barnhardt led Brick’s horse. Jean Martin was standing in the doorway when they swung into the quadrangle of the old Weeping Tree ranch-house. She gazed at them, wide-eyed and then ran out to the buckboard. Jean Martin was a tall, cap- able looking girl, with serious brown eyes and a tumbled mass of brown hair, which never seemed to stay “‘put”’ as she expressed it. Jean was barely past eighteen. Scott Martin had married her mother, a widow, when Jean was barely ten years of age, and less than a year later her mother had been killed by a misdirected bullet. Her love for her foster-father was as strong as it would have been for her own father. Although her name was not Martin, she had adopted her step-father’s name,’ and was known to every one as Scott Martin’s daughter. Lafe Freeman tried to break it gently to her, but Jean only needed to be told the nature of the wound. Brick tried to tell her how he found her father, but she ran past him into the house to fix a bed. Brick helped Barnhardt carry him into the house, and then the men stood around silently and -watched Doc Meyers prepare to try to find the bullet. Jean’s face was gray with the horror of it all, but she did not break down nor whim- per. Jean was built of stern stuff, and the men watched her with a mixture of pity and admiration. Suddenly a figure dark- ened the door and they turned to see Mrs. Wesson dressed in her slouch hat and worn duster. She went straight to Jean and put her arm around the girl’s waist. “‘Honey, I came just as quick as I heard.” Jean smiled wanly, and looked back at the doctor. ‘““____ that maverick law Bunch Thornton. . Brick raised his eyes and stared at him. For the first time it came to Brick that folks would think he had done it. He had found ? muttered 149 the tied calf, the branding fire. Doc Meyers had spoken of the wound being made by a .41 caliber bullet. Brick carried a .41. He remembered the queer look that Barnhardt had given him. Brick switched his gaze to Jean, and found her looking straight at him, a look full of sorrow. Then she turned away. Brick’s soul cried out against these sus- picions, but his lips tightened. It was damnable for any one to think he had done this, but how could he prove his innocence? Right now, his pistol was filled with empty .41 cartridges and the gun was foul with burned powder. Brick glanced at Lafe Freeman. Lafe’s lips were shut tight, but his glance seemed to be a warning. “They all think I done it,” thought Brick. His eyes swept the group near the bed, and he turned and walked outside to his horse, where he mounted and rode swiftly awav. His mind was reaching out for a possible proof that he did not shoot Martin, but there was nothing. He rode swiftly to where he had inter- cepted Martin’s horse, and dismounted. In the dust of the road he found a footprint, partly obliterated by a wagon wheel. He searched up and down the road. Then he found another track, like the track of a monster bird. He studied this. “Five toed bird!’ he grunted. Five toed ——! That’s the print of a man’s hand!” Just the one print. Beyond it was a mark where something had been dragged through the dust. On the yellowed grass, near the edge of the road he found a spatter of blood. It was almost dried in .the sun, but was undeniably fresh blood. Brick ranged like a hunting dog. Sud- denly he found another track—the track of a horse. He examined it closely. The horse had crossed the road, headed toward the ravine. Across the road was the ruins of an old log and dobie cabin, almost concealed by brush. Between the road and the ruin he found two more prints from the same horse. Brick went back to his horse. There was nothing unusual about finding the tracks of a shod horse, but Brick had never known a horse to be shod in this manner. The tracks showed that the toe-calks had been left entirely off the shoes, but the heel-calks were very pronounced. GOMIIGHOO S (© inn