Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 23, 1924 — page 81: what you’re looking at

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

THE WEASEL. 209 The sheep ranged across the bluff pasture, eating leaves and nibbling at the green grass that sprouted from the crevices. The Weasel always sat on a rock, from which he could see the whole herd, while he played his banjo and hummed his melancholy tunes. . And every day as the sun went down the big bellwether, Dan, would turn his head toward the pens a mile and a half away and start his stately march, with the brass bell tinkling. He understood why old Mas- terson said he would know the sound of that bell anywhere. It was loud and clear, and in its notes was a call to follow. As soon as big Dan turned his noble head toward home, and the bell started its regular beat, the other sheep, even though scattered through the thickets, immediately followed. Behind the herd every day rode the Weasel. He was contented. Sometimes he was in such good spirits that he would amuse himself out in his shed by imitating the animals, and bleating like sheep, so that old Masterson, hearing him, would turn to Nan and say: “Listen to that! devil’s happy.” But Masterson never knew that the rack- ing in the Weasel’s right side grew worse ‘every day, and that on many nights he groped about on the floor of the shed, in such pain that the tears came to his eyes. I believe the little VI. Otp MAN MAsTERSON was sick. There was no doubt of it. For two days he had been complaining, and had stuck close to the house. And on this morning «he could not leave his bed. Nan found him, gazing at her pathetically. “T guess I’m pretty bad,” came the old man’s weak voice. Nan felt his forehead. It was very hot. She went to the cupboard, poured out a stiff drink of whisky and held it to her father’s lips while he gulped it down. Then she put wet towels about his head. “Tl be back right away, emis she said. “ Try to rest easy.” Nan ran out to the corral, caught the bony old buggy mare that had been in the family nearly as long as big Dan, the bell- wether, and leaped to his back. She kicked the mare into a fast gallop and set out across the ranges toward the Oliver ranch house, five miles away. She galloped across the river, now dry except for the little pools that stood in the deep holes here and there, across the stretch of brush along the river banks, and then over the plateau country beyond. Soon the big white Oliver ranch house loomed up across the rolling prairie. Fortunately Owen was at home. He met her at the front gate and, as soon as he heard of her errand, ran in and telephoned © to Dr. Gibson, who was twenty miles away in Lamapesa. “Thank God we’ve got a_ telephone here,” he said. ‘It’s a shame you never could get your father to put one in over at his place.” “Daddy said he couldn’t afford it,” laughed the girl, and then, anxiously, she went on, ‘‘ Come, Owen, let’s hurry; he’s mighty sick.” Owen Oliver ran to the long red barn, disappeared toward the stables, and five minutes later rode out on his big bay. He joined the girl and together they galloped back to the house where Masterson lay. They found that the Weasel had beaten them there. He was bathing the old man’s forehead, looking pathetic in his helpless- ness. ‘““T saw you riding off in a hurry, Miss Nan,” he said, “ and I rode the burfo on in to see what was wrong.” They doctored the sick man, trying to keep up his strength and allay the fever until Dr. Gibson arrived. The roads were bad and he undoubtedly would be slow in coming. He was always slow. The afternoon was half gone when the doctor came rattling up in his dilapidated flivver and got out stiffly. He came in, carrying his little black bag, and hurriedly made his way to the bed of the sick man. After an examination he ordered the bed moved over close to the window, from which point it was possible to see all along the little valley ranch, with the river bluffs seeming suddenly to shoot up in the dis- tance. (E00) vOOK (E©)