Adventure Magazine Cover — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

24 the creaking bat-wing chaps were hand- stamped and silver-ornamented. His thin neck was circled with a scarlet silk muffler, and his feet were encased in the highest- heeled boots in town. Around his waist was a wide yellow cartridge belt, glistening with its load of cartridges, and the revolver holster was a sample of leather-working art. He car- ried a heavy Colt .45 in his hand—or rather in both hands. James Eaton Legg was in a fair way to become a cowpuncher. Barnhardt stopped and looked at him. It did not require an expert eye to detect that all four of them were pie-eyed drunk. Barnhardt noticed that the sheriff was com- ing up the street from his office. The lawyer had heard about what had happened to the sheriff, and he wondered just what the sheriff would have to say to the boys from the AK. Eskimo stepped back from Jim Legg, reared back on his heels and looked the young man over with appraising eyes. “Jimmie,” he said thickly, “yo’re a cow- boy. Yessir, if you ain’t, I’ve never seen one. My ——, yuh hurt m’ eyes.” “Look at ’m_ slaunch-wise,” advised Johnny Grant. “My , don’t never take a chance of lookin’ at him square. Ain’t he a work of art? Whatcha tryin’ to do with that gun?” Jim Legg was trying to see how the thing functioned, and it was fully loaded. It was the first time he had ever handled a six- shooter, and it interested him. “Don’t cock it!” choked Eskimo. “‘___s delight! Yeah—that thing yuh jist pulied back! Don’t touch that thing un- derneath it! Keep yore finger off it, ¥ tel? yuh! A-a-a-w, Johnny, take it away from him, can’tcha?” “Aw, whazzamatter?” grunted Jim Legg. “Td like to shee shomebody take it away from me.” ‘“‘No-o-0-0-of” wailed Johnny, ducking aside. “Point it in the air, you cross be- tween a monkey and a Christmas tree!” But Jim Legg reeled around on his high- heels, giggling drunkenly, the big gun in both hands. “Don’t do that, you —— fool!’ wailed Oyster. “Aw, fer—” Wham! The big gun spouted smoke between Johnny Grant and Eskimo, who promptly fell stdewise, and the bullet tore mto the dirt almost under the feet of the W. C. TUTTLE sheriff, who had stopped about fifty feet’ away. The recoil of the gun caused Jim Legg to turn half-way around. He staggered back on his heels, possibly more frightened than any of the rest. ‘““‘Whee-e-e-e-e!”’ he yelled, and his next shot missed Lee Barnhardt by a full inch. ‘““Yee-e-e-e-0-0-ow!”’ screamed Johnny Grant. “Cowboy blood! Look at the sheriff!’ Scotty Olson was galloping back toward his office, his legs working as fast as pos- sible, his hat clutched tightly in one hargl. “Look at the lawyer!” yelled Eskimo, aad they turned to see Lee Barnhardt go head first into his office door, like a frightened gopher, dodging a hawk. But Oyster Shell was not paying any at- tention to the departing sheriff and lawyer. He wrenched the gun from Jim’s hands and grasped Jim by the arm. “C’mon, you —— fools!’ he yelled. “‘The sheriff don’t know it was an accident, and we don’t want to lose Jimmy!” Realizing that Oyster was right, the other two helped him rush the bewildered Jim across the street to the hitch-rack. “Git on!” snorted Oyster, whirling his gray horse around. “Git in the saddle, Jim; I'll ride behind.” “T never rode no horsh,” Jim drew back, shaking his head. “You never shot at no sheriff before either!’ snapped Eskimo. He swung Jim Legg up bodily and fairly threw him into the saddle. Jim managed to grasp the horn in time to prevent him- self from going off the other side. The others were mounting in a whirl of dust. Jim felt Oyster swing up behind him, and then he seemed to lose all sense of direc- tion. The gray flung down its head and went pitching down the street, trying to rid itself of the unaccustomed load, while on either side rode Eskimo and Johnny, yelling at the top of their voices. “Pull leather, you ornyment!” yelled Johnny. “Anchor yoreself, son! You'll either be a cowpuncher or a corpse!” After about ten or twelve lurching bucks, which did not seem to disturb Oyster to any great extent, the gray’s head came up and they went out of Blue Wells, like three racers on the stretch. Scotty Olson skidded into his office, fell over a chair, and sat there, his mouth wide GOMIIGIOO SS C©@