Adventure, August 1917 — page 166: what you’re looking at

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

164 complains Mighty, but th’ doc pats him on th’ shoulder and sez: ‘“‘Never mind. Just as soon as possible I will diagnose his case. I may have to re- move his appendix.” “T don’t reckon that’s what ails him a- tall,” states Mighty. ‘‘Yuh see he’s been used to havin’ his meat cut up fer him but, bein’ as I ain’t no Daniel, I didn’t care to enter th’ den, so I jist throws in uh saddle uh venison to him and slams th’ door. he overeats.”’ “Unique way to treat a patient, isn’t it, Doctor?” puffs Mrs. Perfessor, from where she rests her bulk on uh log. “Tt is,” agrees th’ doc, reprovin’ like. “Vou should have given him some broth.” ‘“‘Never had none,” sez Mighty. ‘Patent medicines don’t help him none, anyway. Say, Magpie, I got to worryin’ about Abe and his roommate gittin’ in uh fight sol comes over after you left and tied th’ cub to uh timber in there.” That made it plumb easy. All we has to do is go inside, lead th’ cub out and shut th’ door. Ol’ Abe pokes his head out and wails uh few stanzas, and th’ doc snaps his pitcher machine. ‘‘Wonderful!’’ whoops’ th’ perfessor. “Vou men have earned that bonus right now. You have shown yourselves so com- petent that I am willing to chance the rest of it. Do you suppose your friend here, with the sick partner, would accept a small remuneration for his services?” ‘‘Without uh doubt,” sez Mighty, before Magpie has uh chance to open his mouth and th’ perfessor slips Mighty a yaller- backed bill. “Thanks, ol’-timer,” sez Mighty. _“That’ll buy me one uh them things what yuh grind meat up in. Yuh see, Abe’s teeth ain’t what they used to be, and when he eats meat he gits them pains and he’s liable to bite or claw , L begs yore par- don, ma’am, out uh me.”’ “Not appendicitis symptoms,” states th’ doc. ‘‘Does he have hallucinations?” “No,” sez Mighty. ‘‘Leastwise I don’t reckon he has. He’s showed symptoms uh St. Vitus dance and th’ bellyache and has moulted most of his hair, but I reckon that ol’ age sneakin’ up on him makes him that- away more’n anythin’ else.” ‘‘How old is he?” asks Mrs. Perfessor. “Don’t know edzactly, ma’am. I killed his mother when he was comin’ uh year ol’ Mebby Adventure but I don’t remember what year that was. He’s had uh lot uh sickness, ma’am, and most all th’ hair’s rubbed off his belly, which uh course makes him look older than he really is. Sabe?”’ Mebby she don’t sabe, but anyway, she don’t ask no more questions. She takes uh sixty hoss-power look at Mighty, and ambles right off up th’ trail. Th’ doc looks sorta surprised at Mighty, but th’ perfessor don’t pay no attention. He’s busy gloatin’ over that badger. ‘“‘Gracious,” sez he. ‘The young of the grizzly surely do mature young. Doctor, just look at those claws. Do they lose that stripe on the back like a young deer loses it’s spots?”’ “Uh-huh,” sez Magpie. ‘All bears is striped when they’re born, except black ones and they’re purple’. Me and Magpie has to pack that badger all th’ way over to our cabin. We tries to lead it, but that wasn’t a success. It starts all right, but th’ perfessor is in th’ road, figgerin’ in his note-book. That rope gits familiar with his long legs, and he’s some strung out when we gits ’em separated, but he don’t mind. He sets there on th’ ground and figgers in his note-book, while we untangles th’ rope off his feet, and never pays no attention a-tall. When we gits home we ties th’ badger to uh tree. Me and Magpie figgers that our labors is over fer uh while, so we aims to take life easy fer uh spell. Th’ doc is busy shootin’ up th’ tin cans around camp, Mrs. Perfessor is croshayin’ what looks like uh pair uh ear-muffs fer uh blacktail deer, and th’ perfessor is studyin’ th’ actions of uh peeved badger, so me and Magpie goes down on th’ crick, where we got some bedrock stripped. We’re busy pannin’ out some dirt about ’ an hour later when we hears an uproar back at th’ cabin. ‘“‘Now, somebody has gone and raised ——” snorts Magpie. “Them is natcher- ally quiet folks, Ike, and not given to loud nor unseemly noises, so there must be uh good reason. Mebby that danged badger’s got away.” ‘“More likely th’ doc’s hit somethin’,” I orates. ‘“‘Mebby he mistakes th’ perfessor’s wife fer uh tin can. She’s built thataway.”’ We hikes back to camp and finds things considerable disturbed. Th’ doc is settin’ on th’ steps of th’ cabin, wearin’ uh injured cComicaook CO 5}