Adventure, June 1911 — page 60: what you’re looking at

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

246 that she dropped the hot coals she was raking. ‘“‘He’s not dead?” and his voice trembled with the burden of this last straw. “No, no dead. Gon-a home with Bon- ita.’”’ And she adjusted the black shawl on her head and turned to go in the low door, but hesitated and added, as though un- certain whether the information contained news: “Mazaro, he gon-a, too, to hees plaze,”’ and the door closed. Here was new field for thought for the County Attorney. The execution of the law, it seemed, was being handled in Para- dise unaided by the County Attorney.. Mazaro had been arrested without his sig- nature to the complaint, and had been re- leased, likewise without his assistance. Now that the fear of the Grand Jury no longer stared him in the face, he was begin- ning to feel annoyed that the County Attor- ney was of so little account in Paradise, when he remembered that Deputy-Sheriff Hawkins had told him once that in Paradise they “never monkeyed with anything less than murder.” ‘If they kills ’em,’’ Hawk- ins had said, “fall right. If they don’t kill "em, we don’t have no time to bother with trials.” “Well, I guess my job’s good for the rest of the year,” King assured himself. ‘That is, it’s good unless Mazaro gets another two- bits’ worth of buckshot and happens around my way.’ He had never uprooted the lurking suspicion that Mazaro would hold him responsible for his arrest. had left him completely. Adventure But Mazaro didn’t trouble Big Bill King’s slumbers that night and, for the first time since the day Mazaro followed his advice, King slept. {f\ EARLY in the morning he was at em, the office to prepare for the open- ing of court. He had started dust- ing his library and had reached “Chitty on Criminal Law” when a timid knock was heard at the door. “Come in!” he shouted, at least he started to shout, but the “‘in” died away in a faint whisper as Mazaro Gonzales entered, greasy sombrero in hand. The County Attorney got ready to dodge the buckshot, but found sufficient voice to ask the Mexican to be seated. Mazaro stood shyly just inside the doorway. In a voicé lowered to the most abject apology and with his chin drawn in until it rested on a dirty handkerchief tied around his neck, he mumbled: “‘Sefior, Meester King,” he began, “‘are you perfeckly disgust with me?” By this time the County Attorney’s voice He looked blank- ly at Mazaro and waited. Bowing as though revealing an unpar- donable sin to his father confessor, while a great light dawned over Big Bill King, Mazaro Gonzales gulped twice and said: . “Well, you see, sefior—you see, Ol’ Lars he don’t keep no buckshot. You can’t kill no man with birdshot!”’ EO NOOK (C@