Adventure Magazine Cover — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

IO that they had tin-canned the minister’s horse with Louie Sing’s copper can. He wished Al Porter, his deputy, were there. Al knew how to get along with those fellows from the AK. But Al had gone to Encinas that afternoon to see his girl, and wouldn’t be back until late that night, even if he were fortunate enough to catch a freight train. Encinas was twelve miles east of Blue Wells. The election of Scotty Olson had been more or less of a joke. There had been quite a lot of mud-slinging between the Republi- can and Democrat candidates, and a bunch of the boys got together and induced Scotty to run independently. And while the two favorites in the race, to use a racing par- lance, tried to cut each other down in the stretch, Scotty, hardly knowing what it was all about, won the election. He had appointed Al Porter, a former deputy sheriff, to act as his deputy and mentor, and the office was really run by Al, much to the amusement of every one con- cerned, except Scotty, who was satisfied that he was making a big reputation for himself. Oyster Shell, Johnny Grant and Eskimo Swensen continued to make merry at the Oasis, mostly at the expense of the barten- der, who writhed under punishment but grinned in spite of it, because he owned an interest in the Oasis, with Neal, and the boys of the AK were good patrons. It was after dark when Johnny Grant decided that it was time to go back to the ranch. He announced the fact, and his two companions suddenly found themselves of the same notion. Out to the hitch-rack they weaved their erratic way, only to find the rack empty of horses. Johnny leaned against the end-post and rubbed his nose, while Oyster walked up and down both sides of the rack, running one hand along the top-bar. ‘“‘Nossin’ here,” he declared. ‘“‘ ’F there’s a horsh at thish rack, I can’t fin’ him. Whatcha shay, Eskimo?” “T shed,” replied Eskimo heavily, “‘I shed, _ tha’s queer.” “Tsn’ it queer?” asked Oyster. “TI ask you open and ’bove board, ain’t it queer? Whazzamatter, Johnny—gone in a tranch?” “He’s drunk,” declared Eskimo, trying to slap the top-bar of the rack with his hand, and hitting his chin instead. “And yo’re cold shober,” said Oyster. W. C. TUTTLE “Losin’ a horsh makes you so mad that you bite the hitch-rack. Go ahead and gnaw it f’r me, Eskimo. Johnny, whatcha think, eh?” “T think,” said Johnny thickly, “I think it’s between the sheriff and the preacher. Shomebody took our horshes.”’ ‘‘He’s commencin’ to wake up, Eskimo,” said Oyster. ‘‘He’s had a vision, that’s what he’s had. Oh my, tha’ boy is clever. Let’s have a vote on which one we kill firsht—sheriff or preacher.”’ “T vote for the sheriff,” declared Eskimo. ‘“‘We need lossa gospel ’round here. Let’s kill the sheriff firsht. Then when the preacher preaches the funeral shervice, if he shays a good word for Scotty Olson, we’ll kill the preacher and let the morals of thish here country go plumb to ——.” “Let’s not kill anybody—yet,” advised Johnny. “Lissen t’ me, will yuh. Didja ever hear that sayin’ about whom the gods would destroy, they firsht make awful mad? Didja? Well let’s make Scotty Olson awful mad, eh?” “But we ain’t gods,”’ reminded Oyster. “Tha’s a fact,” admitted Johnny. “We ain’t gods. But,’’ hopefully, ‘“mebbe we'll do until shome better ones come along.” “We're jist as good,” declared Eskimo. “I’m jist as good as any I’ve ever sheen— prob’ly a lot better. Let’s go ahead and do shomethin’. Whazza program, Johnny?” “First,” said Johnny, “we’ll ask Scotty in a ladylike manner what he done with our horshes. And I don’t want you pelicans to forget that you’re as drunk as a pair of boiled owls. C’mon.”’ They weaved across the street. Johnny Grant lost his hat, and after several min- utes’ search, it was discovered that Eskimo was standing on it. “Thirty dollars gone t’ ——!’ wailed Johnny. “Aw, ——, it ain’t hurt!’’ snorted Eski- mo. “Jist dirty, thasall.” “After you wearin’ it on one of yore big feet all over the street? My ——, I can see the moon through it.” ‘“Wonnerful!”” gasped Oyster. “TI tell yuh the boy’s got shecond shight. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! There ain’t no moon.” They managed to reach the door of the sheriff’s office. A light from the front win- dow attested to the fact that Scotty Olson was in the office, and he answered their knock. NOOK (C@