Adventure, August 1917 — page 104: what you’re looking at

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

102 went to his feet stiffly and dazedly, went to his bed and sat down there. Minton took a cheap straight-backed chair close by. Ten minutes of silence passed between them, and then Hanson raised his head and eyed the newcomer appraisingly. “Here for your health, son?” he asked. “Yeah, bugs,” quickly. Kid Minton liked to talk, though there were times when he lacked the breath neces- sary to do it. ‘“‘The bone-cutters,’”’ he continued, smiling wanly, ‘‘said it was all off with me. But I’ll live longer up here than down there. I ain’t got any folks at all, so it’s all the same to me, where I live. I never did have any folks—but one, and now [I ain’t even got her. Bo, I sure hope you can understand, I can’t talk any more about it. Say—it troubles me a good deal—do you think there’s any sure-enough hereafter? I ask everybody that. I know it’s better to be- lieve there is than not to believe it, but do you think there really 1s?” Hanson’s answer came readily enough: “Yes, buddy. For one reason, the world is made up nearly all of halfs o’ things; so somewhere there must be the other halfs. And then there must ha’ been somethin’ to make everything. Besides that, all o’ humanity worships somethin’, whether it’s an idol, the sun, or the livin’ God. But I reckon that last is a half too, Kid.” The sick man’s countenance lightened somewhat. This, to him, was better reason- ing than the hammer-and-tongs and hell- fire-and-brimstone reasoning of the street preachers that he had heard. When’ he spoke he changed the subject— “T heard ’em talking, while you laid there on the floor. They said your girl had handed you a clean go-by. Honest, I’m sorry, Bo. I'll talk to the girl for you. I used to be some chinner with the ladies. I could make ’em believe the moon was a green cheese, or that big feet was a mark of superior intelligence.”’ Hanson frowned and lifted a hand in pro- test. ‘“‘All right,’’ Minton hastily agreed. ‘“Now listen. Dve got a plan. By that plan, you’re going to whip the beef. How? Bo, don’t forget I’m the one and only Kid Min- ton, who used to be the champ lightweight o’ the whole South. I know every trick 0’ the ring, and I’ll teach ’em to you. See? I’ll train you. Then you can put it all over Adventure the beef. Don’t I know? Brains can lick meat any day. For the big guy’s strength is all below his eyes. But you'll have to have a sparring pardner. Will you under- take it?” Hanson was immediately interested. Five more minutes, and he had been completely won over to the little ex-pugilist’s plan. Minton was to take up quarters in an old and deserted cabin half a mile up the creek from the camp, and Hanson and his sparring partner were to go there each evening for training. When it was all arranged, Minton took up the brown fiddle and passed it to its owner. “Play for me,’ he begged—“that little song that I know.” NY HANSON made Minton’s cabin BS fairly comfortable with home-made ~ furniture, and blankets and a lamp from the commissary. Also he furnished Minton with cooking utensils and a goodly supply of food from the commissary. The lessons began as soon as Hanson had picked from among the timber-jacks a good, tough man who disliked Rush Gudridge and who knew how to keep a secret tight, and Hanson plunged into the thing with his whole heart. July and August and half of September passed, and the trees of the mountains began to take on their brilliant and beautiful au- tumnal attire. Hanson had trained hard and faithfully, and he had learned the generalship of the fighting game even more rapidly than his trainer had hoped for. A dozen times he had declared his readiness to match his strength and his skill against that of any man who walked with two feet on the face of the earth. But Kid Minton wanted to be doubly sure of victory, and he held Hanson back. In spite of the pure and bracing air of the high altitude, the little ex-fighter’s health had not improved. But he mentioned the matter only once, and that was on the evening before the day of the great fight— he pointed to a few brown and golden leaves that had drifted in at the door of his cabin, and said to the man who had become his best friend: ‘“‘Before they’re done falling, my time will come. But it’s all right. I ain’t regretting anything.” His words brought a look of pain to Han- son’s sunburned face. He continued, and he was still smiling: cComicldsook © S|