Adventure, August 1917 — page 120: what you’re looking at

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

118 ought to use it to think with, an’ to reason with.’ ‘“‘ ‘T ain’t goin’ to copper no such bet as that,’ says Sob. ‘But allee samee there ain’t no chanst fer us to beat this game, so we might as well settle peaceful like to killin’ greasers while we last, an’ let it go at that.’ “Yer is plumb wrong agin, Sob,’ says pard. ‘In this here life it ain’t what you’ ve got as counts; it is the feller what ain’t got, an’ still makes good, as is the blue-ribbon citizen. An’ pard, listen to this little preachment—even a wiggle-tail has to wiggle a whole heap before he gits into the toad class. An’ God ain’t recognizin’ any human toad what won’t wiggle his brains. He may be some human, but he'll always lack a whole heap of bein’ a man.’ *“¢ ‘T don’t reckon I fit in the man class,’ says Sob, ‘but yer can bank on me bein’ right here when the horn blows.’ ‘“‘ ‘Listen, Sob,’ says pard. ‘Sling one of them canteens over yer shoulder an’ make yer git-away. Make astraight break fer the nearest point where yer kin git help. I’ll be here when yer gits back. I kin hold these ginks off. If yer don’t git through, I’ll be here jest the same, an’ I’ll be as well off as you will. It’s a long shot, but it’s the only chanst we’ve got, so git a move on.’ ‘An’ Sob stands up an’ looks at him. Looks at him long an’ hard. An’ the tears comes into his eyes an’ makes streaks down his dust-covered cheeks. An’ he gulps a time er two, but he can’t say nothin’, Then he picks up the canteen an’ takes a drink. An’ he lays his thirty-eight on the rock along side of pard, an’ takes off his cartridge belt. An’ then he swallers real hard agin, an’ says: “<«Pard, yer is plumb white. IT’ll jest leave my gun an’ canteen here till I pros- pects a bit an’ sees how the greasers is lo- cated. If the way 1s clear I'll come back an’ say so long.’ ‘“‘An’ he turns an’ shins up the wall, an’— well, if ever a man knowin’ly butts into hell- fire, Sob did. Without water, without arms, he headed straight into the desert. Into the very heart of the sand-storm, he plunged. But he put his thinker into his work, an’ headed with the wind. “For six hours he struggles with the whirl- ing, cutting, chokin’ mass. An’ fer more than twenty-four hours he had had nothin’ to eat, an’ mighty little water. He covers many miles durin’ them six hours, and every Adventure minute of ’em was a hell. An’ then the storm -stops, an’ he struggles on, an’ on. The sun shines hot. The bright glare of the white sand seems to be a-burnin’ an’ a-borin’ into his eyes. His throat an’ mouth swells till he can’t even swaller. “He ain’t got no idea how long he keeps movin’ ahead. He sees the town—a few shacks scattered indiscrimernate-like on the sand. An’ then everything goes red with him. He wabbles like a drunk, an’ tries to steer fer where he had seen the shacks. An’ he falls, an’ gits up agin, an’ agin. An’ then he jest has ter crawl, an’ drag hisself along. ‘‘An’ then all goes black aroun’ him. He don’t know how long he lays there. But -.after a spell he comes to, an’ he kin see a little in a blurred kind of way, an’ the shacks is only a little ways ahead, an’ he struggles to his feet, an’ kind of gropes his way to the nearest shack, an’ feels his way along the wall till he strikes the corner, an’—falls over me. “THAT was his story when he comes to his senses an’ kin talk some. We doctors him an’ he comes up like a race hoss. We gits a kind of outfit to- gether an’ puts him in a light wagon, an’ about twenty of us fellers makes lively tracks fer the old Soda Lake Range. We takes the Mex. outfit by surprise an’ busted ’em entire. An’ then we goes to git pard. ‘“‘Hle was there—there in the hole in the rock. The greasers could of got him if they had knowed his condition, fer he was down an’ out—plumb nuts. His arm was swelled an’ all to the bad. The fever was settin’ fire to his blood, an’ it didn’t take two looks to tell us he was ticketed an’ on the fast express fer the long, long journey. He didn’t know Sob, an’ in fact, Sob was some nutty hisself. We carries pard down to the water-hole an’ doneall wecould, but ’twan’t no use. He was ravin’ an’ talkin’ jerky like, an’ I was sittin’ up with him an’ fannin’ him, about midnight. ‘Sob was there, too—you couldn’t keep him away. All at once pard comes out of it—everything seems to clear up fer him, an’ he notices Sob, an’ smiles. An’ then he speaks jest as clear an’ jest as straight as ever he done. An’ he praises Sob fer his on- selfishness, an’ fer his tryin’ fer to help him. But he realizes, an’ tells Sob so, that his time has come. An’ Sob jest sets an’ looks, cComiclook © 5}