Adventure, January 20, 1922 — page 170: what you’re looking at

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

168 Chuck was formerly a prize-fighter, of the then “‘bare-knuckle’’ school and he was favored of men; but Chuck wore his honors with the crooked smile and a bandage around his head. Fightsuiwere started over the merits of the punch which had made Black Mora as helpless as a child. Men loaded with bad whisky demonstrated it upon their acquaintances, which caused many upset stomachs and not a little spilling of angry blood. Few men cared for fighting with their hands, preferring the more rapid meth- ods which seldom’ ‘ended in a draw decision. Four of Mora’s men had been patched up and went home, but two of them would never ride the ranges again. Only one of Sales’ men, Micky Shannon, was unable to partake of the festivities and he would be riding again in a few days. Several others had been slightly injured in the mélée. Luckily the fight was held at short range, which made it Ampossible to shoot without danger of hitting friend as well as foe, other- wise the toll would have been very much greater. Blaze and Frenchy did not mix with the crowd, but stayed in the office. Both of them had received superficial cuts and bruises. There was no doubt that Black Mora would make reprisals if possible. He would have to do something desperate to wipe out the disgrace of that whipping, and his followers were likely in a mood to follow him on any undertaking. Frenchy had talked so much during the day that his throat was weary. It was the first time that Blaze had ever seen Frenchy tired of talking. He lay stretched out on a cot, puffing slowly on his old pipe and staring at the ceiling. Blaze walked slowly up and down the small room. On the table was a pile of weapons which ' Frenchy had collected that day and sur- mounting the pile was Black Mora’s belt and gun. Blaze took it from the holster and looked it over. It was a single-action .44 Colt, with carved bone handle, depicting a running wolf. The figure of the animal was in relief. Below the animal was carved the initials, J. L. H. “Black Mora packs another man’s gun,” observed Blaze, handing the weapon to renchy. Frenchy exhaled a cloud of smoke and examined the gun, peering at the delicate car Adventure. “Somebody she’s do plenty work on de handle,” he observed, handing it back to Blaze, who replaced it in the holster. me t ‘ink any man’s fool to put name on de gun.” Came a timid knock on the door, barely audible. Frenchy got off the cot and stretched his arms. From across the street came the sounds of dancing, singing, voices raised in shrill argument. Frenchy stepped to one side of the door while Blaze lifted the bar, drawing the door to him. A woman stepped quickly inside and Blaze shut the door behind her. Blaze dropped the bar into place and faced the woman. It was the one who had laughed when he hit Black Mora, the woman who had turned away when he had lifted his hat to her on the Eureka balcony. Blaze bowed to her and indicated a chair. “Won’t yuh set down, ma’am?” The woman shook her head. “No, I’ve got to get back quick, but I had to ask you something—something Ss She glanced quickly around the room as if afraid to talk. She was less than thirty years of age, but hardened and haggard from her profession; yet she appeared em- barrassed. Beauty parlors were as yet unknown in the West and the women of the dance-halls had little time for more than a daub of paint, smeared in a grotesque «imitation of the bloom of youth; their hair frizzed with curling-irons which were heated in the chimney of an oil-lamp, and decorated according to their own standards. This woman’s dress was sparkling with cheap bangles and reeking with perfume, which is supposed to dull the senses of uncouth men and lead them to believe that this ‘‘rag, bone and a hank of hair’’ is per- fection personified. ‘ “Ma’am,” said Blaze, “I’m glad to an- swer a question if I can.” She hesitated for a moment as if think- ing deeply. “T heard a man talking about you today. | I think he runs one of the stores. He said that you found a man who—who had been hung.”’ “Yes’m,”’ nodded Blaze, one man thataway.”’ “At a little cabin in the gulch which leads to Cinnamon Creek?”’ “Is Cinnamon Creek where Blatk Mora’s ranch is?’ asked Blaze. ‘‘we did find COMMiICLMOookKs (C@