Adventure Magazine Cover — page 174: what you’re looking at

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

172 being taken care of by one of the deputies.: “And you shoot rotten bad, Injun.”’ “Out. Alway’, ?m bad shot like dat.” “What started this row? Whisky?” growled the sheriff. Nobody answered. The sheriff looked from one man to the next, frowning in a puzzled manner. Then with a shrug of resignation, he marshaled his forces and got the party started for town. and bullet wounds were to be expected in an outfit that kept a keg of whisky in the mess wagon. Had Tad Ladd been a bit more observ- ing, he might have noticed that Frenchy kept peering about as if he expected to see some one ride out of the darkness from the direction of Larbe Hills. And had he known that two Slash R cow punchers were mysteriously absent from camp, he might have had food for further speculation. But Tad’s brooding thoughts flitted from the scene at the soap-hole to the vision of Patsy Darcey, then back. again to ponder on the fate that had bet«llen his missing partner. Caught in the throes of the cold, merciless hate that enveloped him he formu- lated plan after plan for avenging Shorty. With Ribs, Frenchy and himself all un- armed and virtually prisoners of the law, Tad was helpless to act until after Steve Dunlap’s trial. Then he would reclaim his gun, now in the sheriff’s possession, and shoot it out with these two men whom he hated. What if he did get arrested and sentenced for killing them? That did not matter, so long as Shorty and Billy Jacobs were avenged. Let them do whatever they pleased with him. It did not matter. Noth- ing mattered now that his little partner was dead. “Y’m keepin’ you three gents in jail till after the trial,” the sheriff cut into his musing. Tad nodded absently. It mattered little to the big cow-puncher where he slept or ate. With Shorty gone, life held nothing but memories and that cold hate. AN HOUR before the time set for the trial, Ribs Austin and Frenchy were allowed their freedom. Tad, however, remained in his cell. A good-natured deputy had trimmed the big puncher’s hair, and a shave, hot bath and clean clothes had changed Tad from a ragged, unkempt tramp to a respecta- Broken heads - Adventure ble looking cow-puncher. Solemn visaged, hard-eyed, brooding, Tad sat on the edge of his bunk. At nine-thirty, the sheriff ushered Patsy Darcey into Tad’s cell. The girl looked fresh and lovely as some flower found blooming in the desert. Tad momentarily forgot the bitterness that gnawed at his heart as he rose to welcome her. “The sheriff told me—about your partner. I’m sorry.” Tad nodded. He dared not trust himself to speak for some moments. “It’s—it’s ma’am,” he finally blurted. ‘Beggin’ yore pardon fer cussin’ thataway. That lil ole feller was more’n jest kin-folks. We gone through a heap together, me ’n’ Shorty has.” “T understand,” she told him softly, laying a small tanned hand on his sleeve. They sat for some moments in silence. “Yuh told the Steve boy and his law sharp that he was to plead not guilty?” “Indeed I did. And Steve is taking your advice, much.against the attorney’s wishes.”’ “Good. The boy’ll come clear, don’t worry, ma’am.”’ “Here is a note and a package for you. A disreputable looking old man with his shoulder all bandaged gave this to me a few minutes ago, and said to be sure no one but you saw it.” “The Slash R cook,” guessed Tad. “It was him that sent over the clean clothes to me.” Curiously he undid the package. In- side a thick bundle of newspapers was an old .44 six-shooter and a box of shells. The note was almost illegible and smeared with finger-prints. Tad read: Here’s my gun. She shoots like a rifle. Ribs and the injun is gettin’ drunk and makin’ fight talk. They’ll be packin’ guns at court. If yuh git ina tight and gotta run fer it, I’m at the barn and I got yore hoss ready. Good luck, big ’un. “The danged ole cuss,” grimmed Tad as he shoved the gun inside his shirt and de- stroyed the note. “Why did Dee f ‘‘All set, folks,” called the sheriff who had come down the corridor and was unlocking the door. ‘Time to go to court.” Every seat in the courtroom was taken; every available foot of space filled by the shifting, whispering crowd that constantly ‘maneuvered to better their position so that DOOK nn C© in