Adventure Magazine Cover, April 3, 1918 — page 130: what you’re looking at

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

128 if they sit on the porch we can watch ’em fine.”’ But Mrs. Wallace and Johnny did not sit on the porch. ‘The fascinating widow knew all about a small town, and she took her guest into the house. The puncher’s eyes ' widened at sight of the sitting-room and its appointments. ‘There were several water- colors and three small paintings on the walls. Above the door the mounted head of a buffalo bull faced a splendid Sioux war- bonnet hanging on the opposite wall. Chairs, broad and deep, a wide table, a long sofa covered with fat pillows, a book-case full of books, and a thick, soft carpet com- pleted the picture. Even the sitting-room at the Bar-S was not so fine as this one. Johnny moved cautiously. Spurs are scratchy things. Mrs. Wallace excused herself and van- ished through a doorway hung with a pair of striped Zuni blankets. Johnny. slid across the carpet to the nearest chair. He sat, having care to his spurs, and absent- mindedly pulled out the makings. He re- membered his manners as he was on the point of striking a match and disgustedly shot the white roll out of the window. He began to wish he hadn’t come. It was no fun sitting alone this way. Where was Mrs. Wallace anyway? At that moment she pushed aside the Zuni blankets and came toward him, smiling delightfully. She was carrying a small tray. ‘There were two tall glasses and a square bottle on that tray. Times im- mediately began to improve. Johnny’s somber eye brightened. “You may not like this,”’ she said, hold- ing out the tray. ‘It’s something I invent- ed myself. I call it Texas Pete.” Texas Pete was of a light brown color and both glasses were full of him. Johnny’s fingers wrapped themselves ’round one of the glasses. Mrs. Wallace took the other, set the tray on the table, and sat down on the sofa. She tucked one leg under her, and swung the other child-fashion. Rais- ing the glass to her lips, she looked at Johnny across the rim and sipped slowly. Johnny did not sip slowly. He was not accustomed to drinking that way. He lowered the half-emptied glass to the arm of the chair and grinned cheerfully. “Reg’lar shore ’nough drink,” he assured her. ‘‘What’s in it?” She told him. He stared aghast at the Adventure tale of ingredients, and looked down at his glass with sudden respect. “One more o’ this here Texas gent an’ I’d shore push the bridge over,” said he. “No, ma’am, no more. I'll just finish this an’ call it a day.” “You’re not going yet!’ she exclaimed piteously. “Oh, you mustn’t! Ill be so lonely if you do.”’ Once more the jam and the trowel. Such flattery would have held Johnny even if he had intended going, which he hadn’t. “T wasn’t thinkin’ o’ goin’,” he told her with an ease born of Texas Pete and the lady’s blandishments. ‘‘Can I smoke?” “Surely. Try one of mine.” He did, and she taught him how two ciga- rets may be simultaneously lit by the one match. Besides being economical this method of starting a smoke has a charm all itsown. Of course it necessitated Johnny’s moving to the sofa. He did not return to the chair. With every passing minute he was feeling more at home. He almost for- got that the lady’s brother was his enemy. He watched her leaning back among the puffy cushions. Her eyes were deep as wells. Then it suddenly struck him that for the last hour he had been doing most of the talking. She had asked questions, apparently casual questions, but they re- quired lengthy answers. “Well,” he said with a slight laugh, ‘I’m shore warmed up to-day. Bet I’ve talked an arm off yuh.” “Don’t stop,” she begged, in her earnest- ness leaning forward and clasping her hands ’round her silken knee. “I’m enjoying it so. I just love to hear how men do things.” “Do yuh?” “Of course. those Indians. stealing horses?” ‘“‘Nobody keeps right on stealin’ hosses, ma’am. He steals one hoss too many an’ gets stretched. An’ them Injuns did an’ they was.” “T suppose it always turns out that way,” said she softly. ‘“Ves’m, an’ it’s always that one hoss too many does it,’ he moralized. ‘If a gent’ would only be satisfied. But ‘No,’ he says, ‘when it comes to stealin’ hosses I’m the original Solomon forty ways from the Jack,’ an’ out he prances, foolish an’ certain, an’ gloms on to that extra cayuse. It’s the same in everythin’ else thataway, ma’am— Tell me some more about Did they keep right’ on GOomicsoo So(CO)