Adventure Magazine Cover — page 42: what you’re looking at

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

36 readers to it, making much of the incident. So now let us dwell on the scene at Blazer’s Mill when Roberts fired that shot. It is late afternoon and the yellow light is Shaking along the sparsely timbered flanks of the surrounding mountains. The low adobe building stands at the summit of a slope. One door is open, the one at the end nearest the agent’s house. Within the room lies Shotgun Roberts propped up against the mattress at the rear wall, and you do not need to look at the congealing blood on his flannel shirt to know that he is very sick; his whole body from his booted feet to the sweat-beaded brow is eloquent of weakness. Down on the hillside Dick Brewer crouches among the tangled saw-logs. Slow- ly he moves; the barrel of his Winchester glides across the prostrate trunk which shelters his form. He raises his head; his cheek presses the weapon’s stock; his eye seeks the sights. Within the room the face of Shotgun Roberts shows all twisted with pain as he raises his body, and his lips are white; the sweat-drops are coursing down his forehead while the Winchester leaps to his shoulder. The lips tighten; the weapon flames; the smoke fills the room like a thin fog, and Dick Brewer’s limp body slides back behind the saw-log. That shot turned the tide of the Lincoln County war. For there has always been a tremendous potency in a nickel-plated star. The wearer has the backing of the law; the whole fabric of civilization is behind him when he draws his gun. He owns—and his followers share it with him—what old-time gamblers call the edge. And this enables him to carry on his actions along lines which would other- wise be impossible. Without the backing of one of those metal emblems the armed warrior sooner or later finds himself facing odds which are too great for him. Dick Brewer, you will remember, wore a star. When he died his authority died with him. Alex MacSwain was never able to get another constable appointed to fill his place. It took Shotgun Roberts all that night and a good part of the next day to do his dying. They buried him on the hill above Blazer’s Mill. They took their wounded and the body of their dead leader away in an old Army ambulance. The agent notified the military authorities Adventure at Fort Stanton of what had taken place, and the commanding officer sent a troop of cavalry to hunt down the men who had violated Federal territory by this attempt to serve a warrant. The soldiers narrowly missed an encounter with the survivors of the battle and returned to the post without accomplishing anything. ' From now on the twelve who had ridden forth. from Lincoln with Dick Brewer* were no longer a posse out man-hunting; they were wanted men with warrants for murder out against them; with Sheriff Brady against them; with the United States cavalry against them. Murphy & Dolan now owned the odds. Outwardly matters continued as before; it is doubtful if any one took these changes into consideration at the time—unless per- haps it might be Alex MacSwain, who, being a lawyer, must have realized. The Lincoln County war raged as hotly as ever. Raid and reprisal followed one another, turn about. The twelve warriors on their return from Blazer’s Mill chose a new leader. They picked young William Bonney, known as Billy the Kid. Those who fought under him will tell you to this day that he owned rare qualities of leadership in spite of his youth; the men who tracked him down in the black period of his outlawry which fol- lowed the Lincoln County war, voice this same judgment. It would be interesting to speculate as to where he might have ended—to what heights of fame he might have risen in the West—had he been equipped with one of those white metal badges which give a man the backing of the law. Oftentimes such an insignia has had a remarkably steadying influence on its wearer. There are ex- sheriffs in New Mexico, Texas and Arizona ° today, who will confess to youthful years when they ‘“‘swung a wide loop,” and when they were not so careful in their shooting as they might have been. But all of this is aside from the narrative. John Chisum’s enemies down in the valley were roused to action now. There was fighting on the flatlands. *Brewer as a constable used his authority under the law to enlist the posse members as citizens to help him arrest a wanted felon. When Brewer died these posse members legally lapsed to their former pcsitions as ordinary citizens. They now had only the same rights as any other men. On this same point, by the way—that is to say, on the rights of citizens and officers when it comes to making arrests—there is still much vagueness in the laws and in the practical application of the statutes. FE BS, COMICLOOOkKS (C@