Adventure, August 1917 — page 119: what you’re looking at

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

Old Wade Speaks a Parable ‘They stays in their hole in the wall all that night. The Mex. outfit tries two or three sneak rushes on ’em, but they staved them off an’ made coyote food out of some. An’ then a sand-storm comes up. Don’t come from nowheres, it jest starts in full grown, an’ raspenarious like. An’ whai them two men suffers there in their hole in the wall, breathin’ in the alkali an’ sand with no water to ease off the awfulness of it must of been a plenty. ‘Yer has heard tell of ill winds that blows some folks to the good? Well it’s a cinch that them winds—them hot, sand-filled alkali, chokin’, desert winds didn’t blow nothin’ but hell to either of them pilgrims. It gets to where they jest has to have water, especially the wounded pard. By this time his arm was stiff an’ the wound inflamed. “Sob gits busy inspectin’ their hole in the wall an’ finds a crack, or break, leadin’ most straight up. He clears away some boulders an’ sees where a active man might make his git-away. So he goes back to his pard, tells him of his find, leaves him his six-gun as a extra life preserver, an’ tells him as how he is goin’ to make a sneak to the water-hole an’ try to corral some water. They both sees that was their only chanst, as the wounded pard couldn’t nohow shin up the rock wall an’ make his git-away. ‘So Sob cuts loose. He shins up to the top of the hole an’ by takin’ a roun’-about way he comes up near the camp. The Mex. outfit was mostly asleep, or covered up with blankets to keep the sand out of their faces. Sob sneaks up an’ takes a drink out of the water-hole, an’ looks aroun’ fer a old can ’er somethin’ to git water in fer his pard. An’ then he spies, hangin’ on a yucca stem, a couple of canteens. An’ he begins to do a snake crawl among the greasers after them canteens. He gits to ’em, an’ lifts one. It was plumb full. He slings it ’round his neck, an’ grabs the other. It was empty. He snakes back to the water-hole agin to fill it, an’ jest as he raises up to make his git-away, in comes one of the Mex. outfit from the hills. “Thesand was blowin’ somethin’ grievous, an’ the Mex. couldn’t see straight, an’ mistakes Sob fer one of his pards, an’ speaks to him. Sob don’t say nothin’. He jest ambles up to him an’ swipes him on the bean with the canteen an’ flits fer the hills, with the whole bunch yellin’ an’ shootin’ like mad. He shakes ’em, an’ gits back to 117 his pard. An’ then them Mexicans rush ’em again. But Sob was always some handy with a gun, an’ his pard holds up his end of the play, even if he didn’t have only one good hand, an’ they beats ’em off. ‘An’ then there was a regular Mex. jaw-fest. Any old kind of a greaser is big casino when it comes to workin’ his jaw when he’s peeved. But that don’t worry Sob an’ his pard none. They knows Mex. They knows any old kind of a fool kin make a heap of noise with his mouth, but like a twenty-two gun it ain’t got no pene- trativeness. But they knows, too, that they are bound to be Mex. meat, in the end. “They ain’t got no grub, an’ mighty little water. They sees their finish. They knows the wounded pard can’t make the climb through the rock crack, an’ they know that’s the only way out. But they ain’t either of ’em quitters, an’ Sob Howland was too true blue to think of desertin’ his pard, even to save his own life. They was both desert men. They both knows that God loves any old kind of a anamile better’n a quitter. ‘God gives us sand to use,’ is their motto. An’ finally pard says: ‘Sob, I kin hold out here agin them greasers till the Valley freezes over. Now listen to me. You take one of them can- teens an’ make your git-away.’ “Sob looks at him surprised like, thinkin’ he had gone nutty with the heat, an’ with his wound. “That'll be about all, pard,’ says Sob. ‘When we leaves here, we both leaves over the same trail. Better take a little sip of water, pard.’ ‘And pard, he jest smiles a tired kind of smile an’ says: ‘* ‘Tt’s the only way out of this mess, Sob. Don’ lose no time, but fade away pronto.’ — ‘An’ Sob says: ‘* “Pard, I ain’t no beaut to look at, an’ I’ don’t feel a whole lot better’n I looks, jest now, but when you sizes me up as leavin’ you, you has made a rank mistake.’ “An’ pard says: ***T ain’t calkerlatin’ to make no mis- takes. Noman can’t afford to git the mis- take habit—life’s too short. Mistakes, mostly, is nothin’ less’n crime, an’ take it from me, Sob, I don’t knowin’ly trot-in no crime class. Most mistakes is a crime agin a man’s brain box, an’ agin his thinker. The main cause of mistakes is ’cause a feller uses his thinker to guess with, when he’d Comicsoo CO 5}