Adventure Magazine Cover — page 35: what you’re looking at

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

The Spark of Skeeter Bill “T’m sorry,” said Mary Leeds softly, and turned away. Sari” THEY watched her disappear in 2@—an, the direction of the Porter bome. “ie ‘She is sorry,” stated the judge. ‘Did you hear that, Skeeter Bill. She pities you, and pity is akin to love.” Skeeter laughed hoarsely. “Pity a horse-thief? Mebbe she could, judge, but it would be as impossible as for her to love one. No, she don’t feel sorry for me. She’s like a lot of human bein’s, who comes around and tells yuh how sorry they are—not doin’ it because they’re sorry, but because they figger that it’s the proper thing to do. If she was honest she’d tell me that she was much obliged for my help and sorry she bothered me.”’ “I would rather hear you laugh, Skeeter Bill,” said the judge. ‘‘Tug Leeds would how] with delight if he knew how you were feeling at this moment. I anticipate some- thing out of the ordinary in sermons to- night, as I am keyed to such a pitch that I could enjoy something extraordinary.”’ “Tf I go there it will mean a killing,” said Skeeter thoughtfully. ‘The preacher and the girl both think I’m plumb ornery now, and if I start a killin’ they won’t feel any better about me.” “Painful but true,’’ admitted the judge. “But just why did Tug Leeds give them the use of the saloon? It is a sure thing that it is not because he favors a sermon. Mary Leeds is a mighty likely looking girl, Skeeter Bill.” Skeeter nodded and turned away from the door. It was dark in the cabin and Skeeter mechanically picked up an old bottle and lit the candle which was stuck in the neck. The candle flickered for a moment from a draught from the open door. Came the crash of splintering glass, the candle disappeared, and from outside sounded the whip-like crack of a rifle. Skeeter flung himself sidewise against the wall, while the judge stumbled out of line with the door. Two more shots pinged through the door, splintering their way out through the back of the cabin. “Skeeter!” called the judge fearfully. “Present,” grunted Skeeter. “Everythin’ accounted for except the bottle and candle. Keep out of line with that door, judge.”’ “Tug Leeds opens the dance,’”’ observed the judge. 27 “With a bad mistake,”’ chuckled Skeeter. ‘He should ’a’ held a foot further to the left. That’s the beauty of bein’ skinny, judge. If you’d ’a’ been in my place you’d a been a ghost right now.”’ ‘What will we do now?” **Kill somebody, judge. That was a good bottle. I reckon we'll have to Injun a little, but it kinda makes me happy, don’t yuh know it.” They remained flattened against the walls for a while, but no more shots were fired. A cloudy sky blotted out the moon, which made it safe for them to leave their pro- tection. “Just what is our move, Skeeter Bill?” asked the judge. “‘It is likely that the bush- whacker still desires our demise.”’ “{ dunno,” confessed Skeeter softly, searching around on the floor for their can- dle and placing it on the table. “T’ve got to see Tug Leeds for a minute or two, and then I’ll—sh-h-h!”’ Some one was walking boldly to the cabin, making no pretense of keeping quiet. Skee- ter stepped in closer to the half-open door, covering the opening with his gun. A man stumbled on the crude step and grasped the side of the door. “Sarg!” he called softly. ‘Kinda close to yuh, pardner,”’ said Skee- ter Bill easily. The man laughed. “Thought I’d missed yuh, Sarg. This is McClung.” He stepped inside. Skeeter Bill scratched a match as he closed the door, and walked over to the candle. “Didn't see no light, so I thought mebbe yuh was uptown,” observed McClung, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. “The mosquitoes were bad,” explained the judge. ‘‘They’re deadly enough in the dark and we don’t intend to give them a light to work by.”’ “T dunno much about ’em,” grinned Mc- Clung. ‘Never seen one in this country.” “Perhaps I was wrong,” admitted the judge; “I am no bugologist, but I heard several of them humming and just drew a natural conclusion.”’ McClung looked curiously at Skeeter, who laughed. “Somebody fired three shots through the door and one of ’em busted the light.” “In the dark?” asked McClung. “Few minutes ago,” assented Skeeter. COMmicasoo® S C@ iin