Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 1, 1922 — page 140: what you’re looking at

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

9350 sending Cal into the hands of Sheriff Picker- ing or some one else?” ‘Why, of course not,’’ Meakin answered quickly. “ Pickering and the rest are with the herd. That is why you’d better make up your mind in a hurry. They’re coming up here any minute.” ‘Tf it’s a true offer you’re making—very well, I consent. This man will have noth- ing more to do with my life.” ‘Very well, then.” Meakin turned to his two henchmen. ‘“ As far as the stone gate- way, men, at the upper gate of the canon. He will hold his hands up all the way, and don’t let him mount his horse until he gets past the gate. Ride alongside of him until you get there, then give him his food, his water, his horse and let him go.” “You aren’t bargaining with me, Meakin,” Triggers said. ‘‘ You remember that.” ‘Tl remember,” Meakin said with a sur- prising composure. ‘As far as the stone gate, men.” When Cal, with upraised arms, was led out into the sunset there was not a sound from the thousands of steers at the lower end of the canon. As Meakin watched him walking into the hands of the sheriff, who was hiding at the upper end of the canon, he realized that the whole scene had sud- denly been wrapped in a deathlike and omi- nous silence. CHAPTER XXIV. “ THINKING STEER.” T the lower end of the canon the clouds had subsided; a fine curtain of what remained of the alkali dust had lifted and moved out into the desert, deeply tinged by the sunset. Through this same veil the sun appeared as if poised in the act of roll- ing across the horizon mesas. The mist curtain, upon lifting, showed for the first time the vast extent of Scrub Hazen’s herd. It was a sea of backs and withers like a sea of brown waves, except that there was no longer any undulation. Every back, every pair of horns, was poised, suddenly congealed with fear. Herd-mad- ness had spread to the outermost limits so ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. that the whole mass was now of one mind— a mind ridden with one dread. What that dread was no cowman in the world could guess. It was a slow paroxysm of fear which had worked up—starting per- haps with the noise of the rodeo after the long drive on the range. Then the physical tortures of the desert drive had fanned it. Thirst had maddened them. The alkali tortured them. Each steer had stumbled blindly on, fleeing from it knew not what: fleeing the steer behind it, fleeing the dread- ed horsemen, fleeing the red dust, fleeing the sun. And at this moment had come the stage which preceded disaster. They were afraid to move. The herders who had at first tried to calm them by their singing saw that their very voices frightened the nearest steers. When- ever a cowboy raised his song the herd warped inward, starting a movement some- thing like an undulation, which waved across the further limit of the sea. One by one the cowboys stopped. The milling had stopped with the singing, and the horsemen reined in their mounts, afraid that the -sound of a rock kicked up might start a panic. And the steers were waiting for just such asound. They all stood facing in one direc- tion, their heads lowered, like angry bulls that are about to charge, their huge withers and necks as taut as rusty iron, their eyes rolling and watching for a move of the cow- brute on either side—watching without dar- ing to turn the head. Thus they stood, every one facing toward the middle of the canon, waiting for the slightest signal to bolt. Oblivious of this imminent danger, the girl and Saul Meakin stood by the door of the little hut watching Cal Triggers being taken a prisoner to the upper end of the canon, where the sheriff awaited him. Be- fore they had led him halfway across the bed of the creek, Nan turned to Meakin with a curious look. ‘A doubt seems to come to my mind,” she said, ‘“‘ about this thing you have done.” ‘““ What do you doubt?” Meakin asked. “‘ Haven’t I done the fair thing?” Nan studied him for a moment, and the comicloool C©