Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 125: what you’re looking at

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

Paradise Bend mean what I said, boy. Truly I didn’t.” Loudon was looking at Kate, but he did not see her as she sat there in her chair, her black eyes imploring. Instead, he saw her as she appeared that day in the kitchen of the Bar-S, when she wiped his kiss from her mouth and ordered him to leave her. ‘““Yo’re too many for me,” he said at last. “TI dunno what yo’re drivin’ at. But if ye want to be friends, why, I’m the last fellah in the world to be yore enemy. Ye know I never have exactly disliked ye, Kate. Well, I got to be weavin’ along. Glad to have seen ye, Kate. I’ll see ye later, maybe.” “Of course you will, Tom. I’ll be at Lil’s —Mrs. Mace, you know, at the Bend. You will come and see me, won’t your” “Sure I will, an’ glad to.” Loudon dropped the lady’s hand as if it had been a hot iron, and departed. He had no intention of going near the house of Mrs. Mace. He never wanted to see Kate Sal- toun again. In the street he found Scotty nervously awaiting him. “Git yore hoss,” said Scotty, ‘‘an’ let’s git out o’ here.” *““What’s all the hurry?” queried Loudon. “That female girl in the hotel. She’ll be out in a minute, an’ then ye’ll have to in- troduce me.” “‘She’s Kate Saltoun, Scotty.” “Old Salt’s daughter! It don’t sound possible. An’ him with a face like a griz- zly. She’s surely four aces, Tom, an’ as pretty as a little red wagon. But I ain’t aimin’ to make her acquaintance, an’ ye can gamble on that.” Happily for Scotty’s peace of mind he and Loudon left Rocket twenty minutes ahead of the stage. The drummer watched the departure of the stage with brooding eyes. When the dust in the street had settled he had an- other drink at the bar and ensconced him- self in a corner of the barroom where he could glower unobserved at the landlord. The latter had gone to the corral, but the drummer was still sitting in his chair, when, toward noon, two men entered. They were unprepossessing individuals, both of them, though one, the tall man with the black beard, had obviously just washed. himself thoroughly. Even his clothing had been scrubbed. The drummer sniffed inquiringly. What was that elusive odor—that strange smell 123 or rather mixture of smells? The drummer sniffed again. “Got a cold?” growled the black-bearded man. “No,” said the drummer sulkily. ‘Then don’t snuffle. I don’t like snufflin’, I don’t. It makes me jumpy, snufilin’ does. Breathe through yore mouth if ye got to.” The look which the black-avised indi- vidual bent upon the drummer was not re- assuring. The wretched drummer shrank into himself and took care to breathe in an inoffensive manner. The black - bearded man was extremely sensitive about that odor, for it emanated from his own person and habiliments. ‘Tobacco smoke had no effect upon it. It clung after the fashion of loving relations. Strong soap, scorched mo- lasses, and singed feathers, had given birth to that odor. No wonder he was sensitive! His companion, whose face bore numer- ous scratches, stared round the barroom. ‘““Where’s the barkeep?” he grunted. “Don’t need no barkeep,”’ announced the black-bearded man, and started to walk round the bar. “Don’t ye?” inquired the voice of the landlord. “Ye got another guess comin’. Ye can’t run no blazers in this shack, Block, an’ that goes.” The eyes of the black - bearded man glowed evilly. He stopped in his tracks, his raised hand halted in the act of reaching for a bottle. He stared at the landlord stand- ing in the doorway. The landlord stared back, his thumbs hooked in his belt. “Get us a drink then,” snarled Block, and he joined his friend in front of the bar. “That’s what I’m here for,” rejoined the landlord cheerfully. ‘I don’t care who I serve. Why, I give that a drink a while ago.’ He flicked a contemptuous thumb at the drummer. ‘Hurry up!’ admonished Block. “No hurry,” chirruped the landlord in- sultingly. “I never was in a hurry, an’ I ain’t goin’ to begin now. What’ll ye have —milk?” “Say,” exclaimed the man with the scratched face, ‘‘are you lookin’ for trouble?” “Stranger,” replied the landlord, turning a pair of calm brown eyes on his questioner —stranger, a gent don’t never look for trouble. It comes to him unexpected-like. But none ain’t comin’ to me today. Soon as I seen you two tin-horns in here I told a CoOMmichoooks CO