Adventure, August 1917 — page 150: what you’re looking at

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

148 aa DAYS passed and the expected oN snow did not come. Several miners visited the police tent and reported the loss of their money. News of this petty thievery spread through- out the camp and the men placed their money in the little iron safe of the trading- company’s big tent. In every instance the thefts had occurred in the daytime, and the three officers patrolled unceasingly among the tents. One morning as the three officers were eating breakfast before the little tent, Bad Jack Creedy passed with a rifle over his shoulder. McGovern hailed him. The young fellow paused, and eyed the three officers with a tolerant grin. ‘“‘Where’d you get your nick-name, kid?” asked McGovern suddenly. “‘Tetling, over acrost the line. Where they ain’t afraid to carry guns—an’ use ’em, too, for that matter.” “How old are your An’ how long did you stay in Tetling?”’ im eighteen. I stayed there six months, an’ I let ’em see right off the reel I carried just as big a gun as any man in camp.” “So they got to callin’ you Bad Jack, eh. An’ you never caught on, I suppose, that they was kiddin’ you? That you’re prob’ly the rawest thing in the shape of a chechako that ever hit a camp? No wonder the boys strung you along.” The young fellow flushed. “Is that so?” he exploded defiantly. “And that’s why, I suppose, when the news of this strike hit Tetling, Dick Sloan picked me out for one of his partners?” McGovern nodded. “Yep,” he said, “that’s why. Your partner calls himself Dick Sloan, eh. Well, that ain’t his name. I’ve seen him some- where before, but I can’t place him. Who- ever he is, you better cut loose from him, kid. I don’t know what his game is, but your Dick Sloan outfit ain’t here for no good—I know that much. ‘‘An’ I know this, too—that when the time comes for ’em to duck from under, you're goin’ to be left holdin’ the bag. That’s what they brought you along for. I’m tellin’ you this for your own good. You’re no bad actor. You’re just a kid that’s got a wrong start. I’ve run acrost a few of your kind. Most always they don’t get this far. Just listen for a minute an’ see if I can’t give it to you pretty straight. Adventure “It starts about the time you begin playin’ hookey from school. You an’ some of your pals slip round amongst the alleys, smokin’ cigarets and readin’ dime novels. Then you get acquainted with other fellers that’s be’n runnin’ the alleys till the dime novel and cigaret stage has lost its excite- ment. They show you how to shoot craps, and how when you’re unlucky you can al- ways get another stake, by hookin’ lead pipe an’ old brass an’ sellin’ it to the junk-men. “Along ’bout this time you start rushin’ the can amongst the lumber piles an’ ware- houses. Here’s where you begin pickin’ up with the bums, an’ the yeggs, an’ you learn a lot of deviltry, that you ain’t got the nerve fo try on for yourself. ‘“‘There’s too many police in this coun- try, yousay. Now if I was out West where there is plenty of stages, where everybody travels the road, with ’bout a million dol- lars in gold-dust in each pants pocket, I’d havea snap. All a fellow needs is a fast horse and a forty-five revolver and a little nerve. It’s a cinch. “Then you buy more novels an’ read up about Diamond Dick, an’ Black Bart, an’ Kid Curry, an’ the rest of the stickups. Then you put it up to your pals. But the West looks a long ways off an’ they ain’t got the grit. You try to argue ’em into it for a few days, but they’re plumb yeller an’ they’d ruther stage around the lumber piles talkin’ with the bums an’ the yeggs. ‘So one bright mornin’, all by your lonesome, you hop a freight. You ain’t got no fast horse nor no gun, an’ you don’t know where you’re goin’, but you got the nerve, or you think you have, an’ that *mounts to the same thing. A couple of weeks later you’re out West. You get a job in a sheep camp or a loggin’ gang. An’ you work three or four months till you get the lay of the land, an’ enough money to buy an outfit. “Bout that time you get wised up to the fact that you ain’t noticed no stage-coaches, an’ the fellows that travel the trail ain’t got no oncommon bulge to their pants pockets that looks like a gold-mine. ‘The West ain’t what it used to be,’ you decide, ‘I got to go further. Alaska,’ you say, ‘that’s the place forme. Every one’s got gold up in Alaska.’ ‘So you keep on workin’ till you get your stake saved up an’ then you hit for Alaska. First thing you do, you heel yourself with a forty-five. Skagway gives you kind of a cComiclook CO 5}