Adventure Magazine Cover — page 37: what you’re looking at

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

The Spark of Skeeter Bill the rear of the platform. She halted at the center and laughed down at the crowd, which yelped a welcome to her. Tug Leeds swung away from the piano and came to her side, where he held up his hand for silence. “Gents, it’s customary to open church with a song, ain’t it? All right, we'll have the song.”’ The two-piece orchestra broke into the introduction of a vulgar honkatonk song— a song too unclean for sober minds. Skeeter Bill knew what it meant—knew what Tug Leeds was aiming at. He was going to dis- gust the minister. Mary Leeds’ face was indistinct through the haze of tobacco smoke, but Skeeter could see her glance around as if seeking an avenue of escape. The minister moved closer to her, as though to protect her as much as possible. The shrill voice of the singer began on the second verse, when Skeeter moved forward. No one gave him any heed except to swear at him for jostling them. Tug Leeds’ gang were grouped close to the platform, enjoying the song, when Skeeter Bill shoved his way past the last man and sprang to the plat- form. The fiddler blocked his way, but Skeeter flung him aside and he fell off the edge of the platform into the crowd. Tug Leeds leaned forward and stared at Skeeter, who stepped back until he had no one behind him. Skeeter swung a heavy pistol in his right hand as he faced the assemblage. Like a flash the singer darted back and disappeared to the rear of the platform. Not a sound came from the audience. Suddenly a man seemed to move. Like a flash Skeeter fired straight down into the front row of the crowd. The heavy pistol seemed to shake the building—then absolute silence for a mo- ment. A man spoke: “By , that’s shootin’! Cullop never moved, ’cept to go down.” “What do you want here?” asked Tug, and his voice was almost a croak. Skeeter Bill never moved a muscle and his eyes were invisible slits, which seemed to hide the pupils completely, making it impossible to tell just where he was looking. His lips barely moved as he replied: “Your hired murderer missed me and hit my pardner. I want the preacher to go and see him.” “Don’t move, Tug,” he gritted, as Leeds relaxed. “I’m takin’ a little time on your case. ’Pears to me that I can’t make up my 29 mind whether to shoot yuh through the head and kill yuh all to once or to shoot your insides out one at a time and give me somethin’ to laugh at.” From down in the crowd came a toneless laugh. Sandy McClain was standing on the front row, one arm still in a sling. The laugh jarred on Tug’s nerves and he turned his head to glare at McClain. Men began to ease out of the place, back- ing into each other in their haste to get out of range. The minister and Mary Leeds had turned and were staring at Skeeter. “You want the preacher?” asked Tug hoarsely. ‘I ain’t keepin’ him, am I?” Tug’s voice shrilled at the finish of the sentence. “You dirty coyote!’ Skeeter’s voice was dangerously even. ‘You brought that preacher and the girl here to make ’em ashamed. You invited ’em to use this place for a church and then you makes ’em listen to a rotten song sung by a naked woman who ain’t got no more shame than a buz- zard.”’ Tug Leeds did not reply. From down on the floor in front of the crowd came a muffled curse. Some one had trampled on the fiddler’s hand. Again came Sandy Mc- Clain’s toneless chuckle. Skeeter Bill spoke directly to the minister. “Go to my place as fast as yuh can and see if there’s anythin’ yuh can do for my pardner. Take the girl with yuh, and see if yuh can’t find Mrs. Porter. This ain’t no place for either of yuh. Git goin’, can’t yuh?” The platform was built about three feet above the floor level and the entrance was- at the rear, but the minister dropped to the floor and helped Mary Leeds down. The crowd parted to let them through, but closed in behind them again. Skeeter saw three of Leeds’ men swing in behind them, but he was unable to stop them before the lane was choked with moving figures. Foran instant Skeeter was off his guard, but it was enough. Like a flash Tug Leeds grasped the back of the fiddler’s chair and hurled it at Skee- ter. Leeds was a powerful man and he threw the chair as an ordinary man would fling a cane. Skeeter whirled and fired, but the chair struck him across the face and hand, spoiling the shot. Before he could shoot again Leeds was into him with a rush and they went backward off the platform. The crash of their fall shook the building, GOMIIGooOo S (C@ iin