Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 23, 1924 — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

238 “Then, why don’t you persuade your fa- ther to sell this place, get rid. of his dirty little bunch of sheep, and then we'll get married? What do you say?” The girl sobered. She shook her head. “It isn’t so easy, Owen. You see, daddy is all wrapped up in this place. He’s spent so much of his life here. And he loves those sheep in spite of what you say about them.” The man laughed. They went on toward the back yard, where old Masterson was propped up in the shade, smoking his pipe and reading the county newspaper. He laid down the paper when he heard foot- steps, and began knocking out his pipe. “Hi, there, Owen, young feller,” he called out. “Glad to see you. How’s everything on the old Oliver ranch? Pros- perous?” “ Can’t complain, Mr. Masterson. ‘The cattle are looking mighty good tome. But I do wish it would rain.” The old man’s face clouded. Well, he may as well have it out. “Yes, Owen, we need rain, especially on this little ranch 0’ mine. I was goin’ to ask you what you thought about lettin’ me run my sheep over on the piece. of land in the bluffs. Just till it rains, Owen.” “ But now, Mr. Masterson—” began the young rancher; then he glanced at the girl. Something he saw in her face decided the question for him. “Why didn’t you ask me before?” he demanded of the old man. “ Of course you can run your sheep over there. Long as you want to. But you want to keep a close watch on ’em or the wolves will give you trouble.” Masterson laughed and pulled’at his dust colored gray beard. “ [ve got a hired hand now. First sheep- herder I ever had. But I guess I’m gettin’ old and deserve a little help now: I can’t chase after the sheep like I used to.” ‘“‘ Who is it?” asked Owen Oliver. “ Not - that little shrimp I passed out in the shed a while ago?” “Yep,” said the old man. “ That’s the boy. He plays a banjo mighty pretty. He’s gonna teach Nan how to play it—and herd sheep for me between times.” ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Owen was amused at the arrangement. He was far too big hearted and jovial a person, and too confident of himself, to object to the Weasel being near the old man and the girl. But he pretended just a trifle that he was jealous. “Why, Nan, if you want to play the banjo, why not let me teach you?” “ But you can’t play as well as my new teacher. You ought to hear him.” “Don’t care to,” said Oliver. ‘I’ve heard some bad tales about that boy. He’s been over at my place for three days. Ross Maguire hired him because he was sorry for him and then had to fire him.” “What did he do?” asked Nan. “Oh, I don’t exactly know. Maguire told me some rigamarole about his being afraid of a horse. The boys were all laughing about how Maguire bawled him out when he fired him. Called him yel- low, and a weasel, and then told him to beat it.” “ But,” she defended him, “ he’s not a regular man, that little fellow is not. He must be a half breed of some sort, and he’s sick. Anybody could tell that. He’s go- ing to stay here as long as he wants to— long as I need banjo lessons, anyhow.” ‘* All right, Nan, have it your own way.” V. THOSE were happy days for the Weasel. His only trouble seemed to be that he wouldn’t “work. Even the banjo lessons - seemed too much for him. Often during the evenings, while the old man sat and smoked and said nothing, the Weasel tried to teach Nan to play, but always, after a little while, Old Man Masterson would break in— “You play, Weasel. Id like to hear you. Nan can’t play.” And then the Weasel would lean back and pick the banjo and lift up his whiny voice in a mournful song. And most of his concerts ended with “Oh, I wish the stars were dollars, And the thunder was shakin’ ’em down.” And herding the sheep, he found, was the easiest work he ever had been asked to do. ie EOMIC MOO KS (E@)