Adventure, August 1917 — page 161: what you’re looking at

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

Bearly Reasonable anybody. If it hurts yuh worse than usual, I’d advise uh cold compress on yore dome.” ““‘Mighty’ Jones,” jhe yells joyful like. “By cripes. I can see it all!” Sometimes when uh feller gits to ravin’ thataway he sez things about folks that he don’t like, so I don’t comment on him men- tionin’ Mighty Jones. Uh course his right name ain’t Mighty. He’s uh pore li’l runty person, with corn- colored hair, and whiskers which makes him resemble uh mountain goat gone to seed. One day he gits into a argument with uh whale of uh jasper named ‘“‘Buzzard”’ Bell. Buzzard is big enough to tie Jones in uh bow-knot, and he grins down at Jones and informs him of th’ fact. Jones takes off his coat, throws it on th’ floor, jumps on it with both boots, spits on his hands and yells: “I’m small but I’m Gawd A’mighty Jones!” That’s how he gits{ th’ cognomen. He’s livin’ up in uh hi’k cabin at th’ forks of Plenty Stone crick, and he ain’t noways friendly nor confidential. He’s plumb afraid that somebody will jump his alleged copper claim, which don’t assay enough per ton to plate uh twenty-two cartridge shell. ‘‘She’s goin’ to work out to uh gnat’s eye- brow, Ike,’ states Magpie when I don’t seem uh heap concerned over his former joy- ful declaration. “Yuh might tell uh man yore troubles,” sez I. Magpie sets up in his blankets and rolls uh cigaret. “Yessir,” sez he, after th’ smoke is goin’, “that’s th’ solution—partly. Ike, we could use Mighty Jones’s bear fer this here scien- tific experiment.” “Uh-huh,” I agrees. only fer several reasons. Mighty’s animile happens to be uh brown bear and, bein’ as its name is Abe, it don’t stand to reason that its got any maternal instinct, much less uh cub. And what is uh heap more to th’ point, Magpie: Mighty would perforate anybody what bothered that brute. If Mighty had about twice as much sense as. he’s got he’d be half-witted, and I argues that uh fool and uh shotgun is dangerous. Them’s my sentiments, Magpie. Th’ whole thing is crazy. Yore all crazy, Magpie. Th’ perfessor is loco, th’ doc is likewise afflicted and Mrs. Perfessor is showin’ symptoms. You been crazy fer years and years, Magpie, and I’m gittin’ suspicious uh ‘‘We shore could, 159 myself. coffee in th’ morning, and then you and me will go down in Death Valley and dig fer coconuts, Magpie. got no cub fer Abie.” “Objextions all overruled, Ike. In th’ first place, Perfessor Phinney nor any of them _ wouldn’t know uh brown bear from uh grizzly, and in th’ second place, we’ll go down cautious like and rent Mighty’s bear.” ‘*What’ll we do fer uh cub?” ‘‘___!”” snorts Magpie. fifty-fifty in this here ain’t we? Well,I done furnished my part. I got th’ mother grizzly didn’t IP? Well, you git th’ cub. Sabe?” “Loan me yore field notes on cubs, will yuh?- I’m uh snake specialist and——” Didn’t Magpie tell th’ perfessor he had one? Shoredid. That’s what makes Mag- pie’s conduct so danged inconsistent. He didn’t have no right to git sore about it. Anyway, it’s showin’ danged little knowl- edge uh social etikette when uh feller hits yuh on th’ head with uh rock as big as yore fist—especially when yore in bed. Uh course I returns it in th’ proper spirit, but my feelin’s is soarin’ and I shoots high. Did yuh ever hear half uh dozen long-. eared, flea-bitten jackasses split th’ stillness of th’ night with their melodjus voices? Don’t tell me that animiles like that don’t talk toeach other. They shore must or they couldn’t know jist when to cut loose all to oncet thataway, and make th’ short hair on th’ back uh yore neck crawl right over and tickle yuh under th’ chin. That herd of Rocky Mountain canaries cuts loose right over our recumbent forms and scares delirious delight out of our feelin’s fer uh minute. They jist orates one short, ““Ha-a-aaw!”’ and then quits cold. We stands erect in our blankets and sez things to them jacks, but they jist nods in th’ gloom, and wiggles their ears. They sorta surrounds ‘us, and won’t go away. Not bein’ in need uh any more music, we gits . peevish like. “‘Let’s go over across th’ crick,”’ sez Mag- pie. ‘‘Them blasted animile Carusos is too friendly, and it’s uh cinch they’ll stay on this side of th’ crick.”’ FRO] WE AMBLES down toward th’ crick, still wrapped in our blankets, like uh pair uh Injuns, when all to oncet we gits another sensation. ‘““‘Whang! Zee-e-e-e! Whang! Zee-e-e-e!”’ | CoOmiclsoo Let’s put some cyanide in their | And besides we ain’t: “We're sharin’ (© 5}