The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1919-03-06

me. I've been gettin' in and out over
They were trotting swiftly over the
prairie, and Brad had recovered his
faculties sufficiently to give brief an
swers to Miss GOrdon's running fire of
questions and observations. Suddenly
the man involuntarily checked the
mustangs that he drove, and gave vent
to a smothered exclamation. He
looked in perplexed alarm at Miss Cor
don.
whats the matter? Sick?" she
queried.
He pointed to horseman some dis
lance in front of them
"Bill Jukes," he answered briefly.
Hes promised to shoot me at sight,
and he's likely drunk enough not to
know whether you're man or woman.
You drive an I'll get out an meet him
on foot. I'll come back after We soon,.
or else-Sykes, mile north of the
station, will bring We over to Turkey
Creek"
AS he proffered the reins, Brad al
ready had his revolver out of his belt.
She gave an indignant sniff.
''Its likely I'll drive off and leave
you to be shot! Give me them reins,
and you look to your guns. Well drive
by Mr.. Jukes at q pretty good pace,
and if you should happen to hurt him
may the Lord have mercy on him! p
Shaking off Brads restraining touch,
and deaf to his expostulatiOns, she put
the whip to the ponies, and the buck
board lurched forward on the deeply
cut trail. Jukes was bearing down
upon them, his face inflamed with
drunken rage. Two or three shots
whistled past them. Miss Gordon held
the reins tightly and ducked her head.
Brad fired repeatedly as they passed,
and just beyond them Jukes reeled
heavily from the saddle. With an eff
fort the woman brought the team to
StandStill.
SIN glad fastened Polly's cage on
good and Tight" was the first excla-
nation. Then, noticing broken check
rein: 'Ill get piece of Irvine out Of
your sleeves all bloody. I do believe
that nasty wretch hit you'll"
"Jest my arm, l guess, Miss Cor
don," replied the man, little uncer-
tainly; ''but hope-that is, I'm
afeerd I've done for Jukes!'
They looked back. The outlaw lay
motionless by the trail, his bride rein
still over his nerveless arm.
III.
As the rays of the setting sun slant
ed level across the prairie, strange
procession stopped at Turkey Creek
ranch. Miss Gordon still drove, super
intended by Jeremy Taylor. who
thrust his head through a hole in the
lid of his basket and glared balefully
at the universe in general. Beside her
sat Brad, pale under his tan, with his
right arm swung from his neck. At
the tail of their chariot, so to speak,
was tied the horse of Bill Jukes, and
fastened in the saddle, plentifully
bandaged and besmeared with blood,
was the man himself. His manner
was dropping in the extreme, while
from an opening in the cage cover
Polly bestowed an unbroken success
sion of choice epithets upon the cap
tive
Miss Gordon, of them all, was I'M
ruffled, and she explained with
cheerfulness that was almost airy:
'sJukes rode down on us, shootin'
and swearin' dreadful, and Mr.. Merrell
had to defend us, of course, so I took
the lines. Then we couldn't go off and
leave the man layin' there, maybe to
die, so we went back, and bandaged
him up, and we brought him along.
You can do what you want to with
him. 1 don't reckon he feels very
spruce, SEEM that he was shot through
the lu6g, an that Polly's been swear
in at him. every step of the way. Mr..
Merrell, here, got a bullet in his arm,
and has bled considerable, though it's
only a flesh wound"
The gods on Olympus may have
been surprised to see Minerva spring
full-panoplied from the brain of Jove,
but that was the merest ghost of an
emotion compared with what the men
of Turkey Creek ranch felt when this
splendid apparition in dusty black
cashmere dawned upon them, with her
nonchalant tale of duelry, leading as
captive one of the deadliest outlaws Of
the country. For minute there were
murmurs Of EXPLANATIONS and glances
of amazement; and then, as Miss Cor
don. bearing Jeremy Taylor, clambered
to the ground, Paper Collar Joe, the
Chesterfield Of the ranch, advanced.
Fellow me to ersist We, madam I"
he began sweetly, but the visitor
waved him back.
"Don't you touch Jeremy Taylor, my
good young mani" she warned. 81
reckon he's had all his nerves will
stand for one while"
And Brad, being tenderly helped
over the wheel, drawled shakily, with
a flourish of his hand:
mo use, Joe. It was too good
chance to lose, SO jest improved it.
Miss Gordon's going to come up Tur-
key creek, to my place, an live with
me-the future Mrs. Merrell, gents!"
Polly craned his head around the
back of the seat and calculated fierce
ly: "You be blamed!" while Miss
Gordon's face flushed deeper red as
she bridled and exclaimed:
ooh, pshaw! Amt you ashamed of
yourself, Brad?"