Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 1, 1922 — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

816 Melody shivered. grumbled. They rode into a little arroyo. snapped a match with his thumb. ‘Take a squint at this picture, Melody. Is that Bodine?” Melody shook his head. He took the photograph in his own hands. “Nope,” he repeated. ‘‘ Nature didn’t spare him any either, did she?” he chuck- led. “No! This fellow Bodine is tall and wiry. About the size of the Big Boss.” The match flared out. “ Say,” he asked, “‘ what made you think that was Bodine?” “Nothing. Just a chance.” They rode on without speaking for a spell. “Are you aimin’ to meet up with that bird?” Blaze nodded. that.” “Humph! It’s a big country.” “T got lots of time.” Ten minutes later they came to Rebel Creek. Melody lay down to drink his fill for the night. ‘“Here’s the source of all evil,” he punned. ‘ We own all this valley above the old Webster; every foot of it. And back of those ranges? Say, man, you could ride for a week before you got through see- in’ Double A steers.” Melody threw away his half-burnt cigarette. ‘‘ Guess Ill fan it back. You meet me every now and anon, in that little arroyo where you flashed the picture.” Blaze got out of his saddle. A rock for a backrest, he sat in the shelter of the wil- lows and smoked. Melody faded away in the distance. My Man munched the ten- der, green grass, which grew lush in the creek-bottom. Minutes dragged by and mo one came. He yawned and nodded. The sound of the browsing horse always prevented him from falling asleep. Time after time he met Melody in the arroyo. Nothing happened to break the monotony of their vigil The moon rode high. Blaze knew it was nearing midnight. Innumerable cigarettes had parched his throat. When he reached the creek again he got down to drink; but the water, which “ Just fidgety,” he Blaze ‘“7’d sure admire to do ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. had been so clear and cold, was muddy to the taste. He struck a match. He could see that his tongue had not deceived him. Some one had crossed the stream above him! a Blaze listened. The wind bore him no sound. Quickly and silently he broke open his rifle. The breach slid in and out in its oiled perfection. He snapped it shut. Ten seconds later man and horse picked their way upstream. It was pitch-black in the willows and brush-filled crook-bottom; but it would have been foolhardy to risk the open. He knew he would be visible at close to three hundred yards in that light. Blaze figured he had come half a mile or more when My Man stumbled. Any but a Western horse would have been down. He slid to the ground, rifle in hand, and went on, knowing his horse would be waiting there if he returned. Another hundred yards and he stopped. Was it the fallac- ious breath of the night wind or his ewn ears that had deceived him into hearing the sound of shod steel grating on rock and gravel? Intently he listened — a pause— and then, clear and unmistakable, it came again. Kildare felt his pulse quicken. He edged to the moonlight. Not a hundred yards away loomed the whitened trees which stood beside the old Webster wash. He sensed from the contour of the country that the creek-bottom widened out here. <A low mesa -ose between him and the dead trees. He correctly reasoned that this barrier had caused that widening, the water swinging around to pass it. Flat on all fours he crouched as he crawled to the mesa’s rim. He was twenty feet above the water. Cautiously he peéred over. Kildare’s breath stopped. Right below him seven men toiled in the water. Rebel Creek was being dammed! The face of the mesa threw the creek bottom into shadow. Some one spoke. The voice was familiar. He craned his neck to hear. Too late he knew his mistake. The vagrant night wind eddying on the canon wall laid heavy hands on his som- brero and sent it sailing down upon the comicloool C©