Adventure Magazine Cover — page 183: what you’re looking at

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

Law Rustlers Of course they never thought that we had a chance to sneak away into the mes- quite, and if they did they knew we'd never leave on foot as long as there’s a chance to get horses. “We’re willin’ to go now,” says I. Hashknife rips one of the boards loose and crawls inside. “Ready to go, are yuh?” chuckles Sol Vane. “‘Jist try startin’, will yuh. There’s twenty rifles ready to give yuh a sendoff.” “Think [ ought to put Sim Sellers out of his misery?” I asks. Sim Sellers quits crawling and looks back at me. He thought we had forgot him. “Throw away your gun!’ I yells at him, and he threw it away. “Well, what have ae got to say?” yells Sol Vane. “Give mea chance to think it over.’ “Two minutes,” says Sol. ‘Two minutes will be all.”’ “That’s enough,” grunts MHashknife, forcing his way out past the loose board. He’s got a fifty-pound box of dynamite in his arms, a box of blasting caps and a coil of fuse. ‘Whatcha goin’ to do?” I asks. “Give ’em a taste of their own medicine, Sleepy. When I get around the corner here start shooting. Empty your rifle and then empty mine. Sabe? Fan them win- dows to a fare-thee-well, and I’ll do the rest. Buddy, keep down low. Ready?” bewfe] | TAKES both rifles, nods to him ro and starts throwing lead. I sure did send hot hunks of sudden death into that place. I emptied both rifles and then sent six shots from the .45 I borrowed out in the mesquite. Two or three shots was all that answered, but they never came towards me. “Good work, Sleepy,” yells Hashknife. I slammed shells into the loading-gates of them two rifles and then took a look. Hash- knife is flat up against the front of that building, and is fussing with a fuse. I hears a bunch of argument in the hall, and f takes a snap-shot at somebody who got too close at the window. “Keep ’em back, Sleepy,” yells Hash- knife, cheerful-like, reeling out fuse from the box of dynamite. “Sol Vane!” he yells. “That’s me,” squeaks Sol. ‘I’ve got fifty pounds of dynamite against, io : 177 the front of your building, Sol. There’s a two-minute fuse on a loaded stick, and the box of powder is settin’ on a box of primers. I can either fire the fuse or shoot the primers. If you fire a shot toward that shed (ll upset Willer Crick. Do you sabe?” There ain’t a word said for a while, and then Sol says— ‘““You—what do yuh want us to do?” “Tt want you to bring down every gun up there, Sol. Load up and bring ’em all down here and lay ’em in the street.” “Like he will!’ roars a voice. “You'll never get my guns!” ‘Nor mine!’ howls another. “Better do it,’ advises Sellers. got just what he says he has.” “T’m countin’ to ten,” states Hashknife. “Countin’ in my own rapid way, Sol.” “T’m comin’,”’ says Sol. give me a little time.” ““He’s “For gosh sakes — € Sol Vane looked like a hardware store when he made that first trip. I never seen so many guns outside the army. He lays ‘em in the street amd then goes back for more. It took him four trips to bring ’em. “Now what?” he whines. “Have ’em all come down, one at a time,” says Hashknife, and then he yells over at me: ‘‘Watch ’em, Sleepy. If they look like they’re holdin’ out on us, don’t give ’em a chance.” “Pm particular,” I yells back. ‘Send ’em down, Mr. Lawyer.” Then they begins to file out and down the stairs. Sol lines ’em up in the street, and they sure are a sore crowd. F inally they quit coming. “Ts that alle” asks Hashknife. “That’s all of ’em,” says Sol. I starts to get up, but Buddy grabs me by the belt and yanks so hard that we both went over backwards. With his heels in the air, Buddy yelps— _ “Mitch Ames and Cale Ames ain’t out yet!” That’s all that saved us, I reckon. I rolled over, shoved my rifle across the lum- ber pile and took a snap-shot at Cale Ames, as he threw down on Hashknife from one of the windows. I seen Cale’s gun fall outside and he fell down past the window-sill. Hashknife jumps back around the corner and covers the crowd with his six-shooter. I reckon that Mitch Ames figured that Hashknife would explode that dynamite, COMMICGLOOKS (F@)