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Pulp Fiction, 1924 · page 152 of 196

Adventure Magazine Cover — page 152: what you’re looking at

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Adventure Magazine Cover — page 152: Pulp Fiction, 1924

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PA cece TA NA Al @omplete Nowelotte|||'\\| LL oe ec TTT II Wie TAA IEA ae LNA MN | BAe eee MUI esi iM Wp iNnnsamt RSS SASS UES UE SHaTIA (e ale EH ti nit j ft iis PANEER a MH WW. x her, } Wo: Owirarg. . N Ny SET TPT LM 161, it. ww Ant Sac eat HAA PANT T ESAT : Pinmarflhidtesuttvacalite HTARSETEI TATTLE Author of “Worked Brands.” » oA EHAH.” Tad Ladd’s voice was \ YH more than heavy with sarcasm. fA “Yeah, you shore do know this ~. country, ‘Shorty.’ You shore do. What’s the name uh that last grick we crossed?” “Alkali Crick, “Taddie,’ ” grunted Shorty as he searched one pocket after another for tobacco enough to make a cigaret. “I told yuh when we crossed ’er.”’ “You win, pardner. You win all bets. We done crossed seventeen thousand cricks since we hit the Montana line and they all got the same name. Alkali! Yuh got one uh these here one way minds, I reckon. A heap uh learnin’ might git drove through that bone head uh yourn but none of it ever comed out. Alkali! Alkali ——!” “What’s the odds, dang it,” protested Shorty mildly. ‘‘A crick’s a crick, regard- less. We gotta cross ’em, no matter what name folks call ’em. With fair to middlin’ luck we’ll hit some ranch by night.” He carefully inspected the dubious look- ing mixture of lint, tobacco, and sand that he had gathered from his pockets, produced a wrinkled cigaret-paper, and was about to start the construction of a smoke when his horse snorted, jumped sidewise and all but unseated the rider. Tobacco and paper were gone when Shorty gathered his slack bridle reins and looked reproachfully at the coiled rattler that had caused the horse to ump. ‘Snake, yuh jest nacherally raised ——, buzzin’ thataway at this here skewball pony. That was the last smoke standin’ between me and poverty. My heavy-set pardner was to git butts on that smoke. No two ways about it, I gotta blow that purty head uh yourn off.” He reached for the .45 in his chaps pocket as he spoke. ‘Hold on, yuh loco runt,” growled Tad. “Don’t waste good lead on a rattler. Git off and throw rocks at him. We ain’t got any ca’tridges ’ceptin’ what’s in our guns. Vil he’p yuh rock him.” | Tad dropped the hackamore rope of the pack horse he was leading and slid to the ground. Five minutes later and they were again in the saddle. The snake’s rattles now adorned Shorty’s hat-band. ‘“‘Was it yesterday er the day before that we e’t last, Tad?”’ asked Shorty. “The day before. That dry-land farm- er’s place, mind? Sow-bosom and beans cooked in alkali water. They was so hard they rattled when they went down. I’m shore ga’ant and if I don’t git a smoke afore long I’ll die shore.”’ ‘“‘Tt’s a bad wind that don’t blow some- body some good. I allers did want that yaller-hammer hoss yo’re ridin’. I'll give 150 DOOLK (© C@