Adventure, January 20, 1922 — page 154: what you’re looking at

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

152 perhaps trouble; but Frenchy welcomed it all. He liked the drink or two, loved an argument, and fighting only added zest to life. They went straight to a livery-stable and turned their horses over to the stable-man. On the wall of the grain-room was a promi- nent, crudely painted sign: LEAVE YOUR GUNS HERE OR TURN THEM OVER TO THE SHERIFF THIS MEANS YOU Blaze read it aloud and turned to the stable-man. 7 “Does that sign mean what she says?”’ The man laughed and shook his head. “T reckon not, pardner. Yuh see, we ain’t got no sheriff. Him and his under- sheriff got run out by the vigilantes.”’ “What did they do that for?” “YT dunno.” The man shook his head and turned away. It was evident that he did not care to discuss the matter. “Lak’ I’m say biffore,” observed Frenchy. ‘“‘She’s de good t’ing at de right time. [’m hongry inside, Blaze. Mebbe we better find de ham and de egg, eh?” Blaze agreed readily. Mora’s gang had interrupted their breakfast and they had not made a stop since leaving Mora’s ranch, which was about twelve miles from Wolf Butte. They walked down the dusty street to a restaurant. Riders came galloping into the street, their horses kicking up clouds of dust. Freight-wagons creaked in, the mules dusty and tired, the drivers bitterly profane. Here were no’ traffic laws. An empty wagon, with a torn schooner-cover, swerved to the left of a heavy freighter and their front wheels locked. The freighter screamed an oath and swung his whip at the other driver, while the teams lunged wildly. In the swirl of dust, both riders got to the ground and fought each other like madmen, while a gathering crowd cheered them. The veil of alkali dust made the fighters appear as an out-of-focus picture. Suddenly the freighter went down. The other driver sprang to his seat, backed his vehicle away from the heavy freighter and drove away, hatless, coatless but triumphant, while willing hands helped the freighter back into his wagon. The street cleared and the fight was forgotten. Adventure At the door of a restaurant Blaze stopped and threw up his head. The gambling fever was upon him again. Directly across the street was a huge sign: EUREKA SALOON AND GAMBLING PALACE A violin screeched an old jig-tune; an out-of-tune piano was jangling notes, while above it all came the husky voice of a wo- man, singing “Suwanee River.”’ Her voice broke harshly on a high note and a burst of coarse laughter showed that the audience had been amused. A bouncer propelled a quarrelsome drunk out of the wide door and the unfortunate one sprawled into the street from a well- directed kick. All the saloon doors were double width, wide open so as not to ob- struct any rider who was in too much of a hurry to dismount for his drink. ‘“‘She’s a —— bad town,” declared Frenchy as they sat down at a greasy table where linen and silverware were unknown. “Man for breakfast every mornin’, stran- ger,” smiled a bearded man at the next table. ‘‘Everythin’ goes in Wolf Butte. Railroad’s within seventy miles of here now and the stakes sure cuts close to the main street.” Came a scattered volley of pistol shots from up the street and several men rode swiftly past the restaurant. “More punchers in for a bust,” observed the stranger. ‘They sure does salute the town since the sheriff hit for the hills.” “Vigilantes run him out?” asked Blaze. “Accordin’ to the notice tacked on his door.” The stranger attacked his meal and Blaze and Frenchy turned back to their own busi- ness of eating. More men drifted in to eat and the place was filled when Blaze and Frenchy paid for their meal and went across the street to the Eureka. The games were running full blast. Blaze waited until a man cashed in his poker-winnings and then slipped into his place, tossing a piece of gold to the dealer, who shoved the chips across the table. Frenchy leaned against the bar, his keen eyes taking in the place. Painted women, with -scarlet lips and painted cheeks, dressed in cheap finery, mingled with the men, their shrill laughter audible above the roar of male conversation. COnmicloool< (C@