Adventure Magazine Cover — page 108: what you’re looking at

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

IOO that he’d never handle another card. It was too bad, but he was playing a man’s game—he’d have to play it himself. The crowd would see fair play, but nothing more; Peets had only to play according to the rules. The Kid kept his cash and chips in a drawer directly in front of him, and his extra cards in a drawer at his right. There was a block of wood in the right-hand drawer, on the side next the Kid, with a little piece of green billiard cloth on top of it, and on top of that lay the Kid’s gun. A short-barreled Smith and Wesson .38, it was; a new gun, just out—a mighty wicked little weapon at short range. Peets knew of course exactly where the Kid kept his gun. Getting at it would be a mighty slow process, and Peets undoubtedly figured on a cinch. It would be like taking candy from a baby—all he had to do if the Kid went after the gun was to time his fire to catch him as he started to raise it. Peets’ eyes gleamed. These killers—they got an itch to kill—it comes on to ’em like a drunkard’s crave for whisky, and nothing would satisfy it but blood. Peets had all kinds of time; he could show off without danger, so he stepped back a bit and made a great show of lighting a cigar. The Kid’s right hand crept slowly toward the drawer and presently pulled it open, but he made no move to get the gun. In- stead of going for his gun he let his left hand drop to his knee and reached up with his right and fussed with his hat. I begun to think the Kid was going to fluke when it come to a show-down. He shifted his cigar to the right-hand corner of his mouth, and that su’prized me. That made me think maybe the Kid was all right inside—if he’d been scared that cigar would have gone out. That’s the way I figured it. But I was puzzled about him shiftin’ his cigar to the right. Looked like if he had any idea of usin’ that gun he’d keep his cigar on the left side, or throw it away: A man don’t want any smoke in his eyes when he’s going up against a six-gun, you know. I was puzzled, but I begun to have hopes; to think maybe the Kid had something up his sleeve. Most of the crowd had made up their minds that the Kid was going to fluke, I reckon—he’d stalled so long—but I couldn’t believe it a-tall. He shoved his hat back Adventure a ways, then pulled it on tight. Then he said— ‘You came in here with the express pur- pose of picking a fight—I reckon—Mr. Peets?”’ Peets threw his cigar away, but he didn’t say nothing, and the Kid went on: “T understand you are a very bad actor with a gun, Mr. Peets. I also hear that you have a habit of picking on boys of the tenderfoot variety, and kids from away down East. “Did you ever pick on a woman, Mr. Peets? That ought to give a new kind of a thrill to a coward, and a four-flusher like you—I’m sure you would enjoy it.” Peets went white—like dirty chalk—a yellow, fishbelly white. He looked ghastly; standin’ there, leaning a little forward, with his hands tense and fingers bent like bird- claws. A gust of wind swept in through the wide-open doors and flared the big lamps; a dog howled, away off somewhere; some one coughed; you could hear the men breathe. The Kid’s hand moved swiftly toward his gun, but turned back at the half-way point to shift his hat again. Peets hali- drew with his right, then let the gun slip back. Peets was plainly getting nervous. They eyed each other, Peets tense and silent, the Kid smiling and careless. It was plain the Kid intended to die as he had lived—smiling. His left hand seemed to be resting carelessly on: his knee; his right flashed toward the gun, but turned again to his hat as before. Peets half-drew again, then let loose of the gun—and then it happened. The Kid's left hand jerked up from below the table, and it held a cocked .38—a full twin to the one in the drawer. Peets drew with his right, and just as the gun cleared the holster the Kid fired. Peets’ gun clat- tered to the floor; he waved a shattered hand frantically, spraying blood all around; then lost his head entirely and drew the other gun. The Kid fired again; the gun joined its mate on the floor and Peets waved his left hand with the thumb dangling by a thread of skin. It took the crowd a moment or two to realize just what had happened—then there was a riot. Everybody yelled, the shrill cries of the girls mingled with hoarse shouts of the men, and even cold-blooded old Pop Baldwin howled like an Indian. They COIN Clooolkks C@