Adventure Magazine, December 10, 1924 — page 81: what you’re looking at

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

Stark of Auburn make an example of. Otherwise I’m the owner and the man you want to see.” I was plumb groggy, but I didn’t let on. It looked like I couldn’t be too sparin’ of words. “TI want a job,” says I. “Name?” ‘Nicholas Wilson,” I answers. “Humh,” says the major, and changed the subject. “What did you think of that fall just now?” he asks. “Vour fault,” says I. “If you’d kept your saddle he’d made it and to spare.” The major’s eyes flashed, but when he spoke his voice was as cold and even as ‘before. 3 “T differ with you,” says he. “A good horse would have made it anyhow. Have you a pistol on your”’, I pulled my old .45. “Good,” says the major. “If you want a job, you can begin by shooting that horse.”’ I never said a word. [I didn’t even give him a look. I just climbed out of the ditch and grabbed the horse’s bridle. “Steady boy,” says I under my breath. “T ain’t goin’ to hurt you. Youll see.” Then I cocked the gun slow and careful so the click would sound its loudest. “All right,” says the major. “You needn’t go any further. I'll give him an- other chance.” He climbed up himself and raked me with a look that seemed to start at my belt and travel both ways at once. “Well,” he asks, ‘what sort of job are you after?” “Field overseer,’ I answers. The major thought a second and then got on his horse. “If you’re suited with seventy-five a month, I’ll try you,” says he. “Report at my office at noon.” ein place, which was the queerest com- bination of care and neglect Id ever run across. Mostly things was all right, with the fields as clean as a flower garden and the gear in good trim. And then you’d run across a cut that wasn’t even half worked or some new and expen- sive machine lyin’ out in the weather. It sure had me guessin’. At noon I went to the major’s office, I PUT in the time, lookin’ over the 39 which was in a little brick buildin’ on the big house lawn. There was just one room with maps and plats fastened all over the walls, and I found the major with a young man dressed in field clothes. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and he had one of those good, honest faces that make you feel like shakin’ hands. “My son, John,” says the major. Then he waits a moment and goes on: “John has the ambition to be a modern planter, Mr. Wilson.” It wasn’t so much what he said as the way he said it. There was a sneer in his voice that was like a slap in the face. The son turned red and reached for his hat. “lf that’s all, father, I think -I’ll go,” says he, and the major grunted and turned to the maps on the wall. ‘“‘Here’s the place on paper, Mr. Wilson,” he explains. ‘Follow me, and I'll give you the lie of the land. But first I want to tell you something. When I give an order I want it carried out at once and without argument. Never try to instruct me. When I need advice I’ll ask for it. That’s all there is to getting on with me. Do you understand?” “Yes, sir,” says I, “especially as it’s your place.”’ “One thing more,” he goes on. ‘“‘Would you have shot that horse this morning if I hadn’t stopped you?” “Speakin’ truthfully, and not meanin’ any offense, I’d never done it as long as there was a chance of shootin’ you first,” says I. The major give a short, cracklin’ laugh that sounded like he’d trod on a stick. “T thought so,” says he. ‘“That’s why I took you on. But if you had held_back an instant, you would never have landed the job.” That was the major, if you can under- stand him. I did, though it would plumb beat me to tell you how. z sey out why people couldn’t stay at Auburn. The place was all right, but the way it was run was sure dis- couragin’. The major was supposed to look after everything in general, and his son, Mr. John, the field in particular, but it didn’t II IT DIDN’T take me long to find CoMmicboook Wh) C© 5}