Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 13, 1925 — page 103: what you’re looking at

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

HOPALONG CASSIDY’S PAL. He had remembered, and given full force and credit to, certain signs which had made him smile when he had locked upon them; at several places, high up under the summit of a ridge, Shanghai had left his horse, crept on hands and knees to the top, and lay barely under the apex, the sign of his rifle plain in the dust. Why had this commonplace action of a cautious and hunted man made Mesquite react to it so strangely? It was only the sign of a hunted fugitive looking back along his trail in hope of a shot at his pursuer: but to an imaginative mind it was more than that. In the first place there was no real need for it; a tenderfoot, or a man pursued for the first time, might be urged to do it from sheer overcaution or from timidity arising out of his own inexperience; but this was not Shanghai’s first flight, and neither was he inexperienced. He had not been a tenderfoot for forty years, and it was doubt- ful it he ever had been. He had fled at speed, which his trail plainly showed; he had made no attempt to mask it, to double and turn, to seek out hard ground or to follow running water; there the line of tracks lay, plain to the most amateurish eyes; and yet, he had wasted time in slow riding behind the ridge tops and in leaving his horse in order to climb the steep slopes on foot. At the first of these significant signs Mes- quite had found two cigarette butts, indi- cating that some time had been spent there by the man who was showing a trail which otherwise indicated almost a panicky flight. Furthermore, Shanghai’s reputation was that of a man who never stood and fought while he could escape. The coming of night had permitted him to ride on and put addi- tional miles between himself and his pur- suet, who had to stop and wait for daylight to show the trail again; and he had ridden on for several hours before dismounting and picketing his horse to graze in a rich patch of bunchgrass. Mesquite laughed aloud again, and there came to him some of that grudged admira- tion which Hopalong and the others felt for the old fox. At the thought of that word “old” Mesquite’s eyes danced; the old B75 fox knew that he was being followed by a mere youth, and in most cases youth is synonymous with ignorance and reckless- ness. Plainly marking out a class of danger spots, and emphasizing them by the dumb show of lying in wait, Shanghai was pre- paring the mind of his pursuer to discount the real danger, the hidden danger of the in- nocent flats between the hills, where an oc- casional dry wash cut across like a weil de- signed rifie trench, and afforded excellent cover for a marksman. Having by this time roughly estimated the trend of the fugitive’s course, and bear- ing in mind the position of Split Top “oun- tain, Mesquite left the trail and struck due south on a route calculated to make a chord across the arc of Shanghai’s riding. While he still remembered to keep a long rifle range away from the ridges, bowlders and other possible cover, he pushed his horse at speed, safe for the while, since any ambush would be sprung along the actual trail. For a little while this would be true; after that he would have to use more cau- tion, in case the pursued had marked his change of direction, and attempted to make use of it. To outguess a fox is an achieve- ment which even another fox may take a pardonable pride in. Noon came and passed, and the miles behind Mesquite had assumed a sizable total. Knowing approximately how many hours the fugitive had been ahead of him when he had left the trail, Mesquite felt that he was nearly even with the other; but to strengthen his assurance, he pressed on until mid-afternoon, and then © struck Straight toward the west to relocate the tracks or, failing in this, to learn that he was ahead of the maker of them. He followed his new course until night- fall without sight of anything which told of Shanghai’s passing, and he built his supper fire in the sharp bend of a deep dry wash, whose perpendicular banks at this point, harder in structure than those above or be- low, made a miniature cafion which would shut out all reflection of the little fire, while the overhang of the shale wall masked it from above. Again he kicked apart the embers and rode on until darkness assured CO MICLOOCOKS CO