Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 18, 1925 — page 159: what you’re looking at

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

BILL OF THE WILD STREAK. —caught the vivid reflection in the sky. A dead tree on the near horizon burst sud- denly into flames. The man was stunned for a moment. Then understanding came to him. ; Bill had not turned killer. Instead, he had saved the sheep. And that, too, strange to say, in the face of the fire, But now— he was dead. A lump rose in the man’s throat. Re- morse filled his heart. The flames were now raging along the ridge top in plain sight and in the sudden glare he made out the big dog hitching painfully along the ground toward the cabin. The man was glad. He cried out happily, Waved his gun. Called encouragingly, Once in the cabin the dog would be safe. Of this he was certain. The flames would split on either side of the cliff, thus avoiding the cabin altogether. Most of the sheep were already in the water urged by Stub’s lumbering efforts. By the time Hardin had thrust the last re- luctant lamb into the pond the flames were sweeping up from the swamp, accompanied by flame shot billows of acrid smoke. The heat was stifling. The man sprawled close to the ground. ‘The blistering heat waves seared his body like hot irons. And then—as a smoke cloud lifted—he saw— the unexpected had happened. The cabin was in flames. And—the injured dog was in the cabin. Without an instant’s hesitation the man sprang into action. He scrambled into the pool, drenched his few clothes thoroughly, then, bending low, ran toward the cabin. Before the door he fell, gasping and cough- ing. Dropped face down in the sand and with his first full breath, called out encour- agingly: “Stay put, old times—I’m a comin’.”’ The cabin door had blown shut and as he kicked it open a gust of flame envel- oped him. Again he dropped to the ground and rolled over and over in frantic effort to extinguish his burning clothing. Ignor- ing his many burns the man pushed on into the cabin. Bill lay behind the big Yukon stove on his old bed of burlap bags. His beautiful THE body was smeared with blood from his battle with the cougar and the man’s bul- lets. His eyes were half closed. He was breathing with difficulty in short, choking gasps. The man crawled to him over the dirt floor. Sank exhausted. Roused as the hungry flames licked his smoke blackened face, lifted the dog in his arms and stum- bled out almost exhausted, through the flame filled doorway. Crouching in the pool, the big dog still in his arms, with no thought of his own hurts Hardin took stock of Bill’s injuries. One of the bullets had broken a foreleg, the other had torn a ragged hole through the thick muscles of the neck. Painful, not necessarily fatal. Hardin was well versed in rough surgery. While the roaring of the fire diminished in the distance and the sheep one by one floundered out of the steaming pool, he prepared splints for the broken leg, and as he worked he talked: ‘“T didn’t mean t’ do it, ol’ pup. Honest. Don’t know whut I was thinkin’ of—wy, doggone, if I had a mite o’ sense I would of known. But you know me, Bill—I ain’t got no more brains that a—than a—than one o’ them sheep. Yeah, that’s right—I ain’t got no more sense than a sheep—an’ you an’ me knows as how that ain’t much. But this is whut I was goin’ t’ tell you— me an’ you is goin’ away. Yeah, sure enough. I sold these here sheep t’ Sam Dodd. You remember Sam. Kinda wisht I’d sold t’ them lumber fellers now—the skunks—wouldn’t we have the laugh on em, after this; serve ’em right, too. Any- how, you an’ me is goin’ away, like I said— away up yender some place—where they ain’t no sheep. Jest you an’ me—that’s the life, eh, pup—jest you an’ me—” Some things the man said were a bit con- fusing. Never before had he made such a long speech; but his words were kind. The gist of it was quite clear. All was for- given. All was well. And despite his many hurts, Bill was very happy. To show that he was in sympathetic agreement with whatever the master had in mind, he wig- gled his tail feebly and reached for the man’s smoke blackened face with his tongue. END v_OOK (E@) 309. (E@)