Adventure, January 20, 1922 — page 83: what you’re looking at

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

a A > sy , be <. MI ff Author of “Tombstone Cancels a Debt”’ HE old man slid the huge revolver back into the worn holster at his hip and spat contemptuously at the writhing rattler at his feet. “That’s a sign o’ luck, Old Slob,” he observed to the ragged horse he was leading down the narrow trail. “You an’ I may need it when we hit Canto. I’ve heard that Canto has got real delicate-like since we was there last. They may want us to get a haircut an’ shave ’fore they’ll let us wander around the landscape.” At the sound of the old man’s voice the horse nudged closer, and he patted its dust- caked neck. It was a tall, raw-boned animal with a long, patient face. The deep chest and easy stride hinted of strength and en- durance. In back of the heavy Spanish saddle was a small pack, from one end of which dangled a battered coffee-pot. The old man, in many respects, was not unlike the horse. He was tall, raw-boned and ragged. His hair, crowding from beneath a flapping hat, was white, as was also his long beard. His face, what httle of it protruded from the beard, was a leather- brown. The eyes were a calm baby-blue. “Well, we can’t stand here an’ gab,” he said after a moment, kicking the dead snake aside and pulling upon the halter. “It'll be dark ’fore we sift into Canto, as it is.” The narrow trail they were following sud- denly twisted around an out-jutting wall of the cafion and dipped sharply downward. Far below, in a widened spot in the cafion bed, lay a cluster of buildings. “There’s Canto, Old Slob,” the old man said to the horse. ‘Better blink the dust 6 out o’ your eyes an’ shake out your tail a Bits” Man and horse paused at the pomt where the trail dipped and gazed down at the town. The man drew a canvas pouch from a pocket of his much mended overalls and extracted a handful of scrap tobacco. “Might as well finish her up,” he grunted as he divided the tobacco into two parts, one of which the horse nosed for eagerly. After the horse had swallowed one of the portions the old man tucked the remainder inside his own cheek. “T could never rightly figure out what satisfaction you get out o’ rushin’ through a chew that way,” he snorted at the horse. “Why don’t you drag it out a little?” After a short time he lifted himself into the deep saddle and they descended toward the town. For a long time they moved in silence, the old man’s eyes Half-closed. The descending trail abruptly left the sunlight and plunged into shadow. The change from bright daylight to twilight was in- stantaneous, like plunging into a pool of cool water. The old man lifted his eyes slowly to the peaks above him, still flooded with sunlight, and then broke into slow speech: “Now, Old Slob, I ain’t goin’ to make any promises this time—you know dang well I never keeps ’em anyway. The chances are I’ll be a tryin’ to make a two- legged whisky jug out o’ myself ’fore I’ve been there an hour. But there’s one thing we will do! We’ll do all our dry shoppin’ first. I ain’t goin’ to be stranded without plenty of ’baccy an’ grub—not this time!”’ SI COmiclboooks C@