Adventure Magazine Cover — page 92: what you’re looking at

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

86 some of the audience. I lays still, being wise, until the noise subsides, and the crowd has escaped. Then I moves slowly to my hands and knees. I feels a hand feeling of my legs, and then a hand taps gently on my horned cap. “T_] thought,” whispers old Sam’s voice kinda quavering-like, “I—I thought they was all old ones, but a sheep’s a sheep to me.” Bam! Something landed on my head, and J seen more bright lights than there is in a million dollars worth of skyrockets. Then things kinda clear up, and I hears old Sam saying to himself: “Well, I killed one of the —— things. If I go carefully I can dimly see old Sam sneaking for the front of the stage. I’m mad. I got up and sneaked right after him. No man can mis- take me for a sheep and get away with it. I jumps for old Sam’s back, and just then he seems to kinda drop away from me. I reckon he forgot about the five-feet drop from the stage, and I know danged well I did. I reckon I sort of lit on my head and shoulders on top of somebody. There comes a squeak from Bill Thatcher’s instrument, and then all is quiet. aie I WRIGGLED loose and starts to Pay s get up, but a strong hand grabs me = by the ankle, yanks me off my feet, and I hit my head on a chair. I kinda re- member being dragged down them stairs, and then I feels my carcass being dragged over rough ground. It wasa long, hard trip, and I reckon [ lost about all the skin on the upper half of my body. Finally I bumps over a step, gets yanked inside on to a carpet, and then I hears a voice very dimly— “Sweetheart, I brought thee home.” Then a light is lit, and I sees Mrs. Smith putting the chimney on a lamp. Without turning she says— “T reckon you'll confine your love to me after this, eh?” Then she turns and looks at me, setting there on the floor with my back propped up against a chair. I looks around. Just in- side the door, sitting on the floor, is Wick. Mrs. Smith looks at me and then at him. Then she wipes her lips and stares at Wick. “Sweetheart, eh?” grunts Wick, getting to his feet. ‘“‘Arabellie, ain’t you got no shame? Dancin’ up there without nothing on to speak of, and then you has the gall ' strong. Adventure to bring your sweetheart home with yuh.” ‘“Did—did—didn’t I—bring you home, Wicksie?”’ “You — know — danged — well — you — didn’t, I always knowed you was kinda sweet on Ike Harper.”’ “On that!”. She actually yelped, and pointed her finger at me. ‘Sweet on him?” I gets to my feet, but my legs ain’t very I says: “Lemme a-alone. I don’t want no man’s wife’s love—especially one what hauls me home by the ankle. When I git married I want a clingin’ vine—not a pile driver.” I never did have much sense. A feller in my condition ought to keep*his mouth shut and sneak away soft-like. I turns my head toward the door, and just then the weight of the world hit me from behind, and it was a lucky thing for that house that the door was open. I landed on my hands and knees in the yard, with all the wind knocked out of my system. Wick has got some rose-bushes in his yard. Like a animal wounded unto death, I reckon I tried to crawl around on my hands and knees to find a spot to die in. All to once I sees one of them sheep. It’s only a short distance from me. I know if I move it’s going to hit me sure as —— so I remains still. I'll bet that me and the sheep never moved a muscle for fifteen minutes. Then all at once the sheep spoke. “For ’s sake, if you’re goin’ to butt— butt and have it over with!” I got to my feet. “Get up, Dirty Shirt Jones,” says I. “What kind of a way is that to act?”’ Dirty weaves to his feet and stumbles over to me. “Ike, thank the Lord, we’re alive!” “Don’t presume too much. Medical sci- ence says that a man can live after losin’ a certain amount of skin, but I’m bettin’ I’ve passed that certain limit. Let’s sneak home and save what life we’ve got left.” We sneaked around the Mint Hall and Wick’s store, and at the corner we stumbles into somebody. “Who goes there?” asks Dirty. “Go—!” wails Magpie Simpkins. “Help me, will yuh? I wrastled all the way down here with one of them —— sheep and now I’m afraid to let loose.” “You and your -—— atmosphere!” groans Dirty. Eomicwooks (C@)