Adventure Magazine Cover, October 30, 1924 — page 164: what you’re looking at

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

154 farm where Uncle Johnny had stopped the night before last. It was on the edge of the knobs, a region thinly inhabited and most of whose people, scourings from both the lowlands and the mountains proper, were mental degenerates. From there the colporter had started southwestward, in the general direction of where his body was found. The sheriff went no farther, but struck through the hills toward the cabin at the forks. He must not trail too closely or the murderer would get wind of him and flee the county. If Dave Arnett had done his full duty, with the results that Clint antic- ipated, the house of Uncle Johnny’s death would be one of five within a section some three miles square. | ‘“‘Narry a soul in them parts had seen the ole feller this year,” reported the grizzled deputy, when he met his chief at the cabin shortly before sunset. ‘‘Several had heerd o’ him bein’ in the county, but nobody t’other side o’ Slate Fork could tell more than that. I ’low they were speakin’ the truth, Clint, too.” V4) had put Uncle Johnny’s remains in << a handmade pine box, painted black, and placed the rude coffin on two small logs before the fireplace. No one but the under- taker and his assistant had come near the cabin, Andy said, although many persons had passed along the roads during the day. The murder was still an official secret. Clint Hawkins, standing just inside the door with his two deputies, glanced upward at the sky. Thunderheads were gathering beyond the western knobs, and the air was motionless and stiffling. ‘““There’ll be a right smart storm by mid- night,” he predicted, ‘‘and that wont hurt my plan a bit.” He pushed back his grav slouch hat and wiped his forehead with a red bandana. ‘“‘Dave,” he said, turning to the deputy, “T know you and your horse are purty well wore out, but I’ve got another job for you now. I want you to get me a posse of seven men,” he continued. ‘Sam Tabor, Mitch Robertson, Gus and Reuben Skaggs, Bud Kash, and Elcaney Smith and his brother Tom. ‘Don’t take any excuses for a single feller of ’em not serving. Tell ’em they’ll be awav from home all night, but not a word more. GEORGE DUFF, the undertaker, Adventure Let ’em fetch a blanket apiece, if they want to, and a snack of victuals. Pick ’em up one at a time, keep ’em together and bring em right here to me.”’ Both Dave and Andy looked at the sheriff In surprize. “Hit ‘pears to me,’’ commented young Spurlock, dryly, “‘that ye’ve more deputies now than ye have outlaws to ketch. Yo’ and Dave been a-beatin’ the bresh all day, and we aint any nearer to findin’ who kilt Uncle Johnny than when we started.”’ Clint twisted the tips of his long mus- tache and lifted his eyebrows archly. ‘““We’ve found several hundred who didn’t kill him,” he replied, ‘‘and that’s getting close to learning who did. You don’t figger on catching all the vermints in the country when you set a trap that’ll just hold one.” Dave Arnett began to understand. ‘““Yo’ mean ye’re aimin’ fer the colporter to pick out his own murderer?” he asked, glancing sidewise at the covered casket. The sheriff nodded. “Ex-actly,”’ he said. ‘‘Ask each of them seven fellers p’intblank if he’s guilty, and of course they’ll all deny it. You can’t count on questioning to get the truth. A murderer is naturally a master liar. ‘““Howsomever—” he winked a cunning eye—“‘it’s one thing to kill a man and leave his corpse, but another to have to stay in the same room with that corpse during a dark stormy night. It’s my idea that nobody who’s a-tall human can do that without breaking.”’ Deputy Arnett chuckled his appreciation of the scheme and immediately started for his horse. “Borrow a couple of lanterns on your way,” Clint called after him. ‘I haven’t nothing but one of them new-fangled flash- lights and Ill need it myself.” “Andy,” he resumed a moment later, taking the bundle of search warrants from his pocket, ‘‘now’s your time to prowl. Wait an hour, then start for the houses where them seven men live. They’ll each be gone with Dave when you reach their homes; so you won’t have nobody to con- trary you but women and children. Treat them kindly—but don’t let anything stop you from searching every room from floor to ceiling and wall to wall. “Somewhere,” he added confidently, ‘‘are them split-toed brown shoes, and maybe a bloody bedtick and sheet. I’m counting ) micloool (© inn