Adventure, February 1917 — page 191: what you’re looking at

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

The Fox-Trot of The Crazy Gleam — Of her costume the less said the better. “Maybe you think I’m not pretty enough for you, kid!” she said again. Her companion regarded her with a sort _ of reserved gaiety. “You know you're prettier than the Lord ever ought to let a girl be, Kitty,” he answered. “That hair of yours is wonder- ful! Enough to keep a man awake nights just thinking about it! You know that. And I reckon pretty near’ every man in Texas would give his saddle and gun just to kiss those freckles at the corner of your mouth there.” The girl could not hide a smile of grati- fication, but she was by no means satisfied. “Pretty near’ every man, but not you, Nick! Is that it?” “Youre plenty sweet enough for any- body to want to kiss, Kitty.” But she was alive to his evasion. “You're just a kid, that’s what’s the matter with you!” she said scornfully. “You're only’ halfway grown up yet. I know youw’re quick enough at gun-play: I saw you with Black Hendricks two weeks ago when he was drunk and drew on you. You shot his gun right out of his hand and never touched him. Some shooting! But when it comes to a girl, you’re sure just a baby, all right!” He smiled faintly. “Maybe Dll grow up to be a real man— if I live long enough.” She leaned toward him. “Where did you come from, anyway, kid? And what are you hanging around this God-forsaken hole for? You’ve been here three or four weeks now, haven’t you? And you don’t gamble to speak of, and you don’t. ever get ‘drunk, and you certainly don’t pay much attention to any of us girls! What are you, Nick—a gun-runner for the Mexicans over across the river, or a boy hold-up, or what? You certainly don’t look like a man-killer, angel-face!”’ She studied him frankly. His brown hair was smooth and straight, but worn short, in direct contrast to the style most favored of the peculiar gentry who frequented that part’ of the border. His merry brown face gaye him a particularly boyish appearance, not a little enhanced—despite the heavy revolver that hung at his hip—by the slen- _ derness of his figure. Until one noticed the steadiness of his smiling eyes or caught the potentialities of 189 his quick voice, a stranger might have thought there was no one in Sandy Flat who might be insulted with less chance of the insult being resented. “‘No-o,” she said. “You certainly don’t look like much of a gunman, but I saw you with that Hendricks, and so I know you’ve got mighty good nerve. Look here! You aren’t a real patent-medicine faker like the one you ‘took off’ the other night to make the boys laugh?” Again he smiled faintly. “Tf I wasn’t the real goods I was pretty near it, wasn’t I? Maybe that’s what I am—a faker down here to dig mesquite roots and make a good-for-what-ails-you medicine out of them.” “Oh, pshaw! Of course not! But you certainly did have all their sleight-of-hand tricks down fine the other night. You picked quarters out of Hazel Kelly’s hair, and out of Utah’s ear, and you pulled all that paper out of Cactus Kimball’s mouth like you were the realest kind of magician. And the way you took up Duke Bartlett’s dare, and let him throw butcher-knives at you was a caution! You didn’t have to dodge a single one—you caught ’em all! Duke threw them hard, too, and I can tell when people throw hard. I can throw some myself—I used to play basket-ball.” The boy’s face showed a sudden, genuine interest. “Basket-ball? Where?” “Back in San Francisco—in the old Sutro High School.” “How did you ever come to drift to Sandy Flat, Kitty?” “God aoe Her voice had a sudden harshness. ‘How does anybody drift down to this hell-country! How did you? You’re only a kid, and maybe you were a good kid once—yes, maybe you are yet! And Duke Bartlett over there! How did he come to get here? He’s a rotten bad one, all right, but anybody can see he had manners once, although I reckon he always was one of the kind who couldn’t ever be trusted with a woman. Yes, how did anybody ever come to Sandy Flat?” , “T beg your pardon for asking, Kitty,” he said with grave formality that sounded © odd on his boyish lips. “I reckon I ought nee known better than to ask what I di ae : = “Oh, that’s all right,’”’ she returned. “A Crazy Gleam dance-hall girl hasn’t got CORDIC IOOKS (CO)