Adventure Magazine Cover, June 18, 1921 — page 115: what you’re looking at

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

Creepin’ Tintypes legs from. studyin’ the shape of the sess Can’t they talk United States?” ‘They were born in this country, Waldemar. ‘What part?” asks the judge. “All of us, you fool!” I snaps. ‘*Think we were assembled?” ‘Goin’ to Piperock?” asks Magpie. “Yes,” says Waldemar. “Yes, we are bound for there.” “On a mission?” asks the judge. ‘Mostly for a rest,” says Waldemar. “You likely will be,’ admits Magpie, ‘“‘and there’s plenty of room in the jail.” We goes to Sam Holt’s hotel. Old Sam sizes us up kinda close-like, and then Walde- mar says— “Have you three rooms?” “T have,” says old Sam, “and two of ’em T’ll keep.” “What do you mean?” asks Waldemar. “Them two,” pointing at me and Dirty, “can’t get no room from me. The last shepherd what stayed in my hotel left a lot of his mee-nag-i-ree behind.”’ “Your danged old hotel didn’t need ’em,” says Dirty. “You ain’t changed blankets since the battle of Little Big Horn.” “What do you know about me?” he asks. ‘Who in are you?” “I’m Professor Doolittle,’ says Dirty, ‘fand I’m lookin’ for a dinny-sor.”’ “You don’t look like you’d do much and I ain’t got none today,’ says Sam, mean- like. “You shepherds are always loco about something.” ‘“‘Can we sleep in the barn?” I asks. “No, yuh can’t! My horses are all pets.” “Isn’t there any other hotel?” asks Waldemar. “TY can give yuh a place to sleep,” squeaks a voice behind us, and we turns to see Scenery Sims. ‘“‘Ah,”’ says Waldemar, looking for business.” “T ain’t no landlord—I’m the sheriff,” squeaks Scenery. ‘‘I’ve got a empty jail iif yuh wants a place to sleep.”’ Me and Dirty are sort of thinking it over when Magpie Simpkins shows up. He asks what the trouble is, and Sam Holt tells him. “Scientists is always welcome to my shack,” says Magpie. “I’ve got room.’ “We don’t wish to deprive yuh,” says Dirty. ‘There ain’t no depravity about it,” says Magpie. “I hankers to talk with learned ) oc “another landlord i05 men, being as this is such a ignorant neigh- borhood, and you’re just as welcome as the flowers in January. What seek ye here?” “I’m lookin’ for a dinny-sor,”’ says Dirty. “Never heard of him,” says Magpie. ‘“‘There used to be a Dinny McCall workin’ for the Five Dot outfit, down near Sulphur Flat.” “This has been dead a million years,’ explains Dirty. “Oh,” says Magpie, fussing with his mus- tache. “Oh, yeah. That was before I came here. What killed him?” ‘“‘Wear and tear, I reckon,” says Dirty. He takes me and Dirty down to his cabin, and makes us to home. “T’ had a pardner once,” says Magpie, “but the fool went loco, and some law- abidin’ citizens chased him across the bor- der.”’ “Did he done wrong?” asks Dirty. “If he ever done right he came back and corrected himself. Him and another cross between a bed-bug and a bee-sting went away together, and Piperock profiteth thereby. Make yourselves to home. You gents comes here at a opportune time, you know it? Tomorrow is the tenth anni- versary of Piperock and we’re goin’ to celebrate.”’ “‘Celebrate?”’ whispers Dirty, hoarse-like. “‘Celebrate what? Is the town martied?” ‘“‘Anniversary,’ explains Magpie, “‘means a year. Piperock is ten years old and she’s goin’ to celebrate her growth and civiliza- tion. This is her birthday. ‘“‘They will come from near and far, gents, and great will be the day and date. There will be bronco-bustin’, et cettery, and bull- doggin’ of steers. There will be ropin’ contests, et cettery and some shootin’. She’ll be worth your patience.”’ Magpie goes out and me and Dirty sets there and looks at each other. “My !? gasps Dirty. “I feel that everything is not well with my soul. Somebody is goin’ to see Dirty Shirt Jones behind these whiskers and specs and I'll be forced to stand on nothin’ and look up a rope.”’ “Be of good cheer,” says I, “for I will be with thee. They’ll have something except Piperock’s birthday to celebrate next year.” “Do scientists drink hard liquor, Ike?” ‘‘They has a throat and a tongue,” says I. And then we pilgrims up-town, and goes into Buck Masterson’s saloon, where we COmicloo oN ) (©