Adventure, August 1917 — page 168: what you’re looking at

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

166 front legs and does uh lot uh contortion work that would stump uh snake. He whizzes across th’ clearin’ like uh fur pin- wheel, uncouples hisself and comes back with his nose in th’ dirt and sorrow in his soul, He’s jist about half-way back, and me and Magpie is standin’ there with our jaw-bones restin’ on our chests, when: “Bling! Bling!” goes uh six-gun. Not knowin’ th’ angle uh them shots, we immediate and soon assumes uh reclinin position. Mebby them shots was uh heap oppor- tune, cause if we hadn’t uh laid down of our own accord, ol’ Abe shore would have spread us some. He didn’t seem to pay no attention to them shots, but somethin’ in his carcass seems to say, ‘‘Go east, ol’ bear, go east,” and Abie shore heeds th’ summons, and hur- ries right across us. He plants one foot on th’ part uh my car- cass where uh civilized man wears his rear collar button, and his long toe-nails seems to shake dice all th’ way down my vertebray. We arises too late to see him leave, hut he’s shore pointed toward our happy home. ‘‘Abie seems to have hit his second child- hood,” yawns Magpie. “Id ——” “Did I hit it?” yells uh voice across th’ clearin’, and there stands th’ doc. He shore is uh sight. He sets there, hangin’ onto uh tree, and tries to watch four directions to oncet. His hat is gone along with uh lot of his clothes, and his respect as uh big game hunter seems to leak out of every pore. “There was two,” he wails. “I shot one, and before I could see whether I had killed it or not, the other one walked all over me. I didn’t know they went in flocks. I lost my gun. I wonder if I hit it?” “You did,” states uh voice behind us, and there stands Mighty Jones. He’s standin’ sorta bent forward at th’ waist line, while one hand explores th’ rear of his pants. “Did I hit it?’’ asks th’ Doc, ag’in, sorta eager like, and Mighty replies more in sor- | row than in anger: “You shore did. Both loads, dad bust yore soul—and me without no drawers on. I tries to smear yuh with my six-gun, but finds that all I’m shootin’ at is yore hat and part uh yore shirt on uh bush.” “Say, Mighty,” sez Magpie, gittin’around Adventure on th’ windward side of th’ ol’ jasper, “‘you must uh took uh bath in that Jap oil. You shore are odoriferous, ol’-timer. Whew!’ “It slopped uh li'l,” sez Mighty. Abe was ailin’ somethin’ awful over in that ol’ prospect, and I figgers that th’ doc would relieve him uh heap if I brings him over. I reads th’ epitaph on that bottle and it orates that it’s good fer cramps. “I tries to give some to Abe but he don’t warm up to th’ smell a-tall. In fact he won’t even associate with me, and ambles ahead uh me all th’ way over. Down here uh li’l ways I manages to overhaul him and shoves th’ whole works down his blamed neck. Itshore animates him uh heap, Mag- pie. I’m watchin’ him go spry like and loudly off into the brush, when all to oncet two loads uh bird-shot comes along and hives into th’ seat uh my pants. It riles me uh heap. [I'll leave it to you if bird-shot ain’t aggravatin’, Magpie.” Th’ doc gits enough of th’ conversation to learn that he’s shot Mighty, and he seems uh heap concerned. He’s still hangin’ onto that tree, but he holds up his other hand and S€Z: “No more, I’m through using a gun. Mister Jones, would you accept that gun as a present?” “Now, ain’t that ——?” wails Mighty. ‘‘Ain’t it; Magpie? Here I been wantin’ uh britch loader shotgun fer years, and jist when somebody gives me one I’ve already tied th’ danged thing around uh tree so it won’t never shoot no more. Ain’t that cheerin’?”’ “Well,” sez I, “lets go up to th’ cabin and see how things is shapin’ up there. I has uh feelin’ that all our good works is ravelin’ out.” He’s settin’ = on th’ ground near where th’ badger was tied to uh tree, but there ain’t no sign of th’ badger, and Abe ain’t in sight. Th’ perfessor’s black coat is split up th’ back, and his hard hat is circlin’ his arm like uh band uh crape. There’s uh scratch th’ whole length uh his face, but he’s still grinnin’ and tryin’ to write on one leaf uh that li’] book. Th’ rest is some tore up and scattered. “T was right!” he squeaks. ‘I told Pro- fessor Manning that the parent bear would seek and find its young. They went away we sees th’ perfessor. COMmiclsoo WE GITS almost to th’ cabin when CO S|