Adventure, February 1917 — page 113: what you’re looking at

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

In Self Defense “Th’ walk will do us good,” grins Ren. “Come on.’ “Quirt?” asks th’ pretty one. “Oh yes, you mean that thing hangin’ on your wrist don’t you?” “TT reckon I plumb overlooked it,” | stammers Sig. “Much obliged.” “T jist come over, ma’am,” says Ren, ‘‘to see if you’d go to th’ Gospel meetin’ with me tonight.” He looks up and he’s gazin’ into th’ eyes of Matilda Beebee. “Charmed,” says Matilda. ‘“Yore pard- ner, Mr. Watson, might care to go with Rosalin.” “Ma’am,” chuckles Sig, “I takes off my hat to you as uh mind reader. That lost quirt was jist an excuse to git over here. Sabe? ILagreed to let Ren have first choice, ma’am, and yuh shore can depend on Ren to make no mistakes on th’ draw. Why I’ve seen that hombre discard one small pair to git uh chance to——” “Sig, ” says Ren sort a hard like, “‘if we’re goin’ to church we’d better stable them broncs.” And when he gits Sig outside he con- tinues: “You dog-goned, ossified, bow-legged, paralytic son of—_ Sig, what did I ever do to you, eh?” “Haw! Haw! Haw!” roared Sig, leanin’? against his horse and laughin’ so hard he almost pushes th’ bronc off its feet. “Mama mine, Renley, when it comes to pickin’ ’em yo’re there! ‘Charmed,’ says she and yore face looked like you'd been caught stealin’ uh sheep.” Well, they takes th’ gentle sex to th’ meetin’, which is held in th’ old Mint dance hall, and, while Sig sits there and smiles into Rosalind’s face like uh dyin’ calf in uh mud- hole, and gittin’ hated fluently by th’ male portion of Piperock, pore old Ren is fidgitin’ alongside uh Matilda. - Yuh could light uh match on his ears every time he hears any- body clear their throat, and it shore did seem as though every one in church had uh frog in their throats. After th’ preacher gives th’ crowd th’ exit sign, Ren sort-a stalls around with Matilda and lets th’ crowd drift out ahead, Th’ preacher, bein’ uh stranger, shakes hands with Ren and asks his name,. “Ah,” says he. “And this is Mrs, Merton. Well, well, I shore am pleased. May I call?” “Shore,”’ grunts en: “What vue got?” “Ha, hal”? laughs th’ preacher. ‘Men will have their little jokes, Mrs. Merton. You see I understand a few poker terms. ‘Ha, ha!” He slaps Ren on th’ shoulder, and hurries to round up another prospect. “Ha, ha!” snorts Ren. /“—— of uh—I beg yore pardon, ma’am. You see [I didn’ fe ~~ “How quaint,” sighs Matilda, like uh turtle-dove with uh full crop. “Didn’t it seem comfy to be mistaken fer married folks, Renley? Isn’t th’ moon lovely to- IIL night. Lets take a little walk, Renley, it’s too lovely to go inside.” “That moon,” says Ren, “shore is lovely. It’s full. I wish I—shore I’d enjoy uh walk.” AN HOUR later Ren climbed th’ rickety stairs of Holt’s hotel and busted th’ lock off their door gittin? in. Sig is lyin’ on th’ bed, with his leg draped over th’ foot and he’s ‘playin? “Good Night, Beloved, Good Night,” sort-a soft like on his mouth harp. He rolls his eyes at Ren and lets th’ organ slip out of his hands and slide under th’ bed. He turns over and points at his six-shooter hangin’ on th’ wall. “Don’t, Ren!” says he sort-a_ sad like, “P’m unarmed.” **Yo’re safe,” groans Ren, sinkin’ into uh chair. “I ain’t in no killin’ mood, Sig. I’m borderin’ on uh fit of despondency and I needs sympathy and advice like uh calf needs milk. Honest, I feel like uh Digger Injun would if somebody washed his neck and ears. My liver ain’t noways fresh an’ I feels that my lights is burnin’ low.” _ “When I used to be uh lawless character,” stated Sig, as he fumbled under the bed for th’ mouth harp, “preachin’ allus affected me thataway. Gospel truths seem to— don’t strike me, Renley!” Ren slumped down in the chair and held his head in his hands. “IT knowed it, I knowed it! them last two drinks ——” “Did she accept yuh?” grinned Sig. “Accept me!” wailed Ren. ‘“Dog-gone it, Sig, she didn’t wait fer that. me fer granted! She said—oh Lord! She said she didn’t care if I did used to act wild and shoot Chinamen and Greasers. Can yuh beat it, Sig? She gits me by th’ arm and leads me ’way off down th’ road—it was Dang it all, Gomichbooks She took > (E@)