Adventure Magazine Cover, June 18, 1921 — page 113: what you’re looking at

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

Creepin’ Tintypes turmoil of town. Me and Ike are outside that distance and we stays out, eh, Ike?” “You couldn’t ’a’ said more if yuh hired a hall,” says I. ‘‘Why does yuh wish to see the West in its raw state, mister?” “T am a realist,” says he, dreamy-like. -“T hate the artificial.” “Gawd bless and keep yuh,” says Dirty. “You'll find it there, but yuh may never return back. The sheriff sells cemetery space.” He absorbs his liquor and seems a heap interested. “Is there a bank there that might be robbed and does they have a stage that might have a reason for carrying bul- lion?” ‘“‘Now,” says Dirty, “me and Ike appears shocked at your question, but at the same time we’re a heap interested. Let’s go out- side where there ain’t no walls to have ears and speak of such things as ‘banks and stages. Yuh never can tell who might overhear us and suspect us of philan- thropy.” We goes across the street and sets down on the sidewalk. “Now,” says Dirty, “there is a bank and there is a stage. Me and Ike are broke, but up to the present our records are as clean as our six-guns.”’ ‘‘Would you know how to rob a bank or a stager’’ he asks. “Do the job like it ought to be done?” ‘‘We ain’t got no references from bank nor stage-lines,”’ says I. “But,” says Dirty, “‘we’re honest. We’ll split three ways, mister.” He thinks it over for a while, and then says— “Well, I feel that I’ve struck what I’ve been looking for.” “That’s what ‘Mighty’ Jones said when he fell off into Hellgate Cafion and dislodged a hunk of galena ore, fifty feet from the bottom,” says Dirty. ““A feller never knows his luck till the wheel stops.”’ “You two are going with me,” he. “Us two ain’t goin’ to do no such a thing,’ says I. “You don’t know Piperock like we do.” “‘That’s why you’re going with me.”’ “You’re a danged poor fortune-teller,” observes Dirty. ‘Me and Ike would last says 103 about as long as a snowball in Yuma and you’d be alone. They’d put us in a nice little jail and then you’d get lost, strayed or stolen. “No, sir. You write to all your folks, predictin’ your demise, leave your watch and chain with the bartender, and then walk into town, unarmed and with your hands in the air, “By golly, that’s the town I’ve been looking for,” says he. ‘“Thanks.” “Mister, she’s a great place for freaks,” says Dirty. ‘You won’t be in that place long until you'll join P. T. Barnum.” “Barnum?” says he. “Barnum is dead. ” ““Sure—I know it.” “Yes,” says he, after a while. ‘“You’re going with me. I'll disguise you so nobody will know you, you understand? I must have you with me.” * “Mister,” says I, “are you just a—— tenderfoot who wants to be a bad man, or what’s all your talk about banks and bul- lion?” “TI am a realist, as I said before. The West has never been depicted as I feel it really is and I am going to show them some- thing new. I have a story, ‘The Twilight Trail,’ which has been partly done, but I want realism. I want the spirit of the old West init. I want a stage hold-up, a bank robbery, with real people in it, in a Western town—real West. Now, de you under- stand?” “Just like I do Chinese,” says I. “You said a lot, but she don’t somehow fit into my mind. You don’t want much, I sabe that part of it, don’t you, Dirty?” “Yeah, he’s plumb modest and meek, Ike. Are you a writer?” ‘“‘Moving-pictures, gents. Waldemar.” “Sounds like a breed of bird-dogs,” says Dirty, “but his ears are too small.” I am Llewellyn “You don’t need to insult me,’ he snaps. “Now, wait,” begs Dirty. “Did you ever see a Llewellyn dog?” ‘““No, I never did.” “Well, then don’t get insulted. They’re a nice-lookin’ animile. You say you’re a movin’-pitcher?”’ “No, I take ’em.” ‘“Hm-m-m-m,” says Dirty. “I never seen any, but I’ve heard tell about ’em. Does them pitchers make yuh think they’re movin’?”’ COmicloo CN Vp) ©