Adventure, August 1917 — page 118: what you’re looking at

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

116 “Jest before my meetin’ him, his last job had been shootin’ up greasers,” says Old Wade. “T opines he’s some shootist,” says Measles, ‘‘an’ from the natural way he handles a gun, I also opines it was chips an’ six-guns an’ not prayer books he was used to handlin’.”’ “But why did they name him Sob?” says I. ‘“‘Neither Measles nor I didn’t notice much weeping in his make-up at Randsburg.” “It’s a story that goes back a good many years,” says Old Wade. ‘‘Old-timers about the desert says as how as he used to bea prospector in the hills, an’ a sport when in town. They says as how as he gets clipped in the head with a hammer once, an’ when he gits out again he jest naturally couldn’t help weepin’ or snivelin’ whenever he got some excited. “Tf he gets tickled overmuch about somethin’, he’d sob, if he was real disap- pointed, he’d weep, if he bet on a ace full an’ the other feller swiped the stakes, it was him fer a cry spell. It wasn’t ’cause he wanted to, but ’cause he jest naturally couldn’t help it, fer everybody what knows him, knows he’s game. There was jest a misplace- ment somewhere’s in his bean what caused it, “He seemed tickled to death the other day to see you, and I didn’t notice any sobs,” says I. “He was tickled to see me ’cause I cured him of throwin’ sobs,” says Old Wade. ‘“‘As howe” asks Measles. “T HAD drifted into the Valley from the North country,” says Old Wade, “‘and in my rambles I finds myself at Daggett. I was sittin’ in the shade of a shack, when all at once a guy comes stumblin’ ’roun’ the corner, kinder gropin’ his way along, an’ he butts into me an’ falls all over me in a heap. ‘“‘“Hle was sure some sight to look at—face all swelled an’ blistered, an’ tongue stickin’ out of his mouth, an’ kind of a bluish white. Say, he was a fright. I rolls him over an’ he jist grunts an’ pints to his mouth. [ rushes into a booze joint an’ calls fer volun- teers to help carry in a stiff, an’ we soon has him stretched comfortable-like on the floor of the saloon. ‘‘We gits him patched up in a few hours so as he could talk some, an’ he tells us as how he an’ a partner was steerin’ a outfit Adventure across the desert, boun’ fer Los Angeles. They was camped at a water-hole over in the Solo District. There was five in the outiit— three tenderfeet an’ him an’ his partner. His pard goes up a draw to git any old thing that would burn, an’ this feller, who was the same Sob Howland as we meets at Rands- burg, he takes a hike up in the foot hills of the Soda Lake Range, lookin’ fer a jack, ’er any old live thing he could shoot. “He had’nt been gone very long when he hears shootin’ over toward camp. He climbs onto a ridge where he could see the outfit, an’ what he seesisa plenty. Fifteen or twenty Mexicans had jumped the outfit an’ was shootin’ it up proper. “He starts back on the jump, an’ when he strikes the Valley he sees his partner who was makin’ his git-away fer the hills. His partner sees him an’ yells at him to make fer the hills again. They gits together an’ makes tracks fer the high ground, aimin’ to either hide, or to git located where they could make a stand an’ scrap it out with the Mex. outfit without bein’ surrounded an’ rushed off their feet. ‘“‘They gets in a good place, all right, a sort of hole in the wall where they couldn’t be rushed from no place only in front. And then he learns that his partner was hurt. One of the greasers had jabbed him with a knife, in the mix-up at the camp. The Mex. outfit follers them to their hole in the wall an’ fer an hour or so considerable gun-play wason. ‘Then the greasers leaves some of their party there to shoot ’em up if they tries to make a sneak, an’ the balance goes back to the water-hole to licker up, an’ go through the camp outfit. “Two of the tenderfeet had been killed when they was first surprised by the greas- ers, an’ the other had skipped out across the dry soda lake bed. The Mex. gang didn’t foller him far, fer they knows he wouldn’t last long goin’ in that direction, without water. “Sob gits busy, soon as possible, an’ tries to patch up his partner’s wounded arm. But when he starts to clean up the cut, he finds neither of them has brought any water. An’ then they begins to realize that their chances was mighty slim to ever git out alive. The Mex. gang had looked like a tough proposition to them before, but they was desert-wise plenty to know that the dirty outfit of greasers wasn’t ace high to their sure enough trouble—no water. cComiclook © 5}