Adventure Magazine Cover, June 18, 1921 — page 117: what you’re looking at

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

Creepin’ Tintypes Into our rosy existence cometh “Big Foot” Benson and “Hoodoo” Harris. Them two pelicans proclaims it open season on anything that comes in bottles. ‘“You’re a danged queer-looking pair,” says Big Foot, ‘‘but it takes all kinds of folks to herd sheep. Klahowya.”’ “Your whiskers ain’t orthodox,’ says Hoodoo, peering at Dirty, “or has you re- verted to the reptiles and sheds your skin in the hot days?” “We're scientists,” says Dirty, we're lookin’ for a dinny-sor.”’ “Oh, yeah,” says Hoodoo. “Well, you come to the right place, gents. The Lord knows you can find anything here, except a square deal. Why does you cover your eyes with gloomy glasses thataway? Does you hanker for the dark side of life?” “Yuh never could find a dinny-sor with the naked eye,” says I, and they accepts the verdict. That was one wild night for science. I reckon every puncher within fifty miles showed up for the celebration, being as there’s prizes offered, and me and. Dirty, after absorbing considerable cheer, has a hard time sticking to plain science. Dirty had a fight with Mighty Jones, when the two of ’em gets to discussing whether man came from monkey or not. Mighty debates that they are, and offers ‘and Dirty as a living proof. Two sheep-herders. from over on Medicine Creek, cries on my neck and calls me “brother,”’ and I licked em both. Yes, it sure was a regular evening and my throat was raw from trying to change my natural voice and talk like a scientist ought to talk. Dirty Shirt’s whiskers tried to crawl under his chin several times, but the crowd was too joyful to pay any attention to whiskers. Somehow I can’t just remember what happened after midnight, except that Wal- demar corrals me and tells me to pull off the stunt at ten o’clock. He explains the details, but I only hears half of it, ’cause Hoodoo is trying to tell me something about a mosquito that bit him when he was at the North Pole. Dirty and Big Foot are trying to sing something about a wild Irish rose and Buck Masterson is standing on the bar, trying to nominate a Populist for president. We all voted for Buck’s candidate, I remember 107 that much, and then me and Dirty starts home, amid much applause. Across the street the Cross J quartet is singing— ‘‘Jee-e-e-ro0-0-0-sa-a-a-lem, Jee-e-e-roo- o-0-sa-a-a-lem, lee-e-e-ft up your voice and see-e-e-ng.”’ And Judge Steele is orating about— ‘“‘—and in the glorious land of our fore- fathers, where the—the—sun never sets and the—the——”’ “Tke,” says Dirty, ‘a man is of few days and full of trouble, but right now I’m a mockin’-bird, with spreadin’ Pinions and a dazzlin’ top-knot. I may die tomorrow, but right now I’m a feathered songster, light of heart and sound of limb. O death, where is thy stinger?” “The devil has it on the grindstone, | Dirty,” says I, ‘‘and by ten o’clock tomor- row she'll be sharper than a serpent’s tooth.” THE next morning we sure slept peacefully, while Magpie goes up- town. He’s one of the leading lights, as usual. I reckon it’s about nine o’clock when me and Dirty gets something to eat. Dirty is a danged long ways from being a mocking-bird. We can’t eat. Maybe it’s from looking too much into the future, but I think it’s from looking too much into the bottom of a glass. “Tf they sees us before we gets them broncs, Waldemar’s moving-pitcher is going to be a failure,” says I, as we puts on our own clothes, after soaking them beards loose. “Waldemar?” says Dirty. ‘‘My gosh, Ike, you are getting temperamental, like a regular primmydonner. His pitcher a fail- ure? What’s his danged pitcher beside my breath of life? If them or’nary saddle- slickers see us before we reach them broncs —Waldemar gets a regular necktie pitcher. They'll hang us to that tree right near Sam Holt’s porch, Ike.” “That’s too bad, Dirty. Where’ll we go if we get away with it?” “There yuh are!” wails Dirty, flopping his arms. “No place to go.” “Well, we’ve got to go, anyway; so it might as well be now.” We went out of there and sneaked up on the town of Piperock, like it was a wild thing. Maybe that statement ain’t far wrong. We crawls in behind Buck’s place, oO MICLOOO© (© CN Wp) C©