Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 165: what you’re looking at

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

By EARL WAYLAND HIS ain’t no story of a thoroughbred, a-prancin’ ’round in a tanbark ring, with ribbons decoratin’ his shapely head, while ‘lectric lights glimmer on every- thing. No, indeedy, this ain’t no story of a Horse Show Hero, or Kentucky King of a turf-fringed track. It’s just about a little old bronec I used to know, a little old bronc called Captain Jack. When I think of that little old horse my eyes get dim. Let’s see. It’s mighty nigh thirty years since I rode him the first time he ever was rode. How old was he? Well, nobody knowed, but he’d been bossin’ his string of wild brood mares a full half dozen years and dodgin’ the snares the punchers had been layin’ to get his head in ropin’ throw. And it seemed like the game little devil would always know when a human animal, his natural enemy, was anyways near; and he’d lead his bunch in the get-away. BOWMAN He was such a general, and worked so slick to keep his herd of outlaws free from every trick to box-canon them or ride them down by swift relays, that the boys all knowed him, and ’count of his wise old ways, ‘fore he’d ever felt a man on his back, they’d up and christened him Captain Jack. Bert Lily, Charley Saunders and me got him to goin’ one day, up on the East Mesa, without ever knowin’ at the time that some of Old Man Lily’s mares was with Captain Jack. And one of them fillies was a hand- some black that was raised on the ranch— gentle, a kind of pet. If she hadn’t been there, I guess he’d have been a wild horse yet. All of our mounts were good and fresh, nifty and keen, and the minute Bert and Charley and me all seen the tame young mare with the outlaw’s bunch we just had a sort of three-cornered hunch that if once we could get them over the mesa’s rim 635 (E(0) DOOKS ANIC (E@)