Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 119: what you’re looking at

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

Paradise Bend Through the house and out of the front door they dashed. Drifting clouds of dust marked Cutting’s line of flight. He was a quarter of a mile distant, racing for the ford of the Dogsoldier and the Farewell trail. The marshal fired a futile shot. Loudon laughed and holstered his six-shooter. _ “Look at him go!” he chuckled. ‘Scared stiff.” “Get yore hosses!’? commanded the mar- shal. “Don’t stand here gassin’! We'll go after him right away!”’ “Oh, let him go,” drawled Loudon. ‘He ain’t worth chasin’.”’ “But he’s a road-agent, ain’t he?” said Jim Mace. ‘“‘No, I just said he was,” grinned Lou- don. ‘He ain’t nothin’ but a right good cook, so far as I know.” *“‘Ain’t he done nothin’?” inquired the perplexed marshal. “Only jerked a glass of whisky at me,” replied Loudon. “Yesee, I ain’t right popu- lar with him.” ‘“‘From the way he’s splittin’ the breeze,”’ said Jim Mace, ‘“‘it looks like he don’t care for yore society none.” “Td ought to go after him,” grunted the marshal vengefully, tenderly feeling a skinned elbow. “I don’t mind a reg’lar gun-play, but this here chuckin’ glasses round promiscuous an’ bumpin’ folks over ain’t right. It’s agin’ lawan’ order. He’d ought to be arrested. The calaboose’s been empty for a week, too.” Loudon left Jim Mace and Dan Smith explaining matters to the gathering crowd, and walked back to where he had left his horse. Ranger was not behind the freight- er’s wagon. Loudon ran into the Chicago Store. “Sure,” said the proprietor. “I seen a feller climbin’ aboard that hoss a few min- utes ago. Seemed in a hurry, too. What? Yore hoss!”’ The proprietor ducked under the counter for his spurs and his rifle, and Loudon hur- ried out. Cutting’s mount, the bay he had bought from Doubleday, was of course standing where he had been left among the other horses. Loudon threw the dropped reins over the bay’s head and swung up. ‘““He’s a hoss-thief!”’ he shouted to Dan Smith and Jim Mace. ‘He got away on my hoss!”’ Quirting and spurring, Loudon tore down the street. Before his horse’s hoofs ) 117 spattered the water of the ford the pro- prietor of the Chicago Store and the mar- shal were galloping in his wake. Jim Mace and a score of others followed at intervals. A horse was not stolen in Paradise Bend every day. The inhabitants were bent on making the most of their opportunity. The bay was a good horse, but Ranger was the better, and Loudon knew it—knew too that, unless Ranger fell down, Cutting would escape. 7 ‘“Ranger’s good for all day,’ groaned Loudon. ‘All day, an’ not strain himself a little bit.” As the bay flashed across the top of a rise two miles beyond the Dogsoldier, Loudon glimpsed two specks four miles ahead. “Block! He’s with Block!” exclaimed Loudon, and drove in the spurs. The bay leaped madly forward and rocketed down the long slope. A _ high- lipped swell concealed the two specks, and for a long ten minutes Loudon rode be- tween the sides of the draw. The bay charged at the high-lipped swell with un- diminished vigor. He was doing his level best, but his gait was tied in. It bore not the remotest resemblance to Ranger’s free- swinging stride. When Loudon reached the crest of the swell the specks had van- ished. He put the reins between his teeth and drew the Winchester from the scabbard under his right leg. He threw down the lever a trifle. There was a cartridge in the chamber. The loading gate resisted the pressure of. his thumb. There was at least one cart- ridge in the magazine, but by the weight of the rifle he judged it to be fully loaded. Loudon returned the Winchester to its scabbard and slowed the willing little bay to a lope. “Yo’re all right, old hoss,’’ he said, ‘“‘but ye can’t never catch that hoss 0’ mine. Not in a million years. We just got to wait till he stops.” Rufe Cutting could have devised no better revenge than the stealing pf Lou- don’s horse. Since Loudon had owned Ranger no one save himself and Kate Sal- toun had ridden him. Ranger’s legs were frequently hand-rubbed. Ranger was cur- ried. With his fingers—no true horseman would dream of using the comb of commerce— Loudon frequently combed Ranger’s mane CoMmichoooks CO