Adventure Magazine Cover — page 177: what you’re looking at

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

THE APOSTLE off their spurs, hung them on the pommels of their saddles, slid from their ponies and crowded into the saloon. The piano stopped and the singer trailed off into silence. Out of the Mirror came a dozen men. They stepped into the street and headed for The Flower office, dry dust swirling from their high-heeled boots. Tim drew back into his office, lighted only by the glow from the Mirror. He jerked himself erect and drew a deep breath, as if preparing to face an ordeal that he dreaded. The men were at his door now. Old Mike Sloan and Frank Jessup appeared in the doorway, the rest close at their heels. Frank Jessup, the paper in his hand, ad- vanced into the room. “Hello, boys!” Tim greeted them. “Thought you’d be over to see me.”’ “Huh?” Frank stared at him. : “Sure,” said Tim. “I knew you wouldn’t go an’ do this here thing you been talkin’ about once you thought it over. You boys ain’t goin’ to trample down law and order—”’ “Law and order ” barked Frank. “Look here, Tim, yuh gotta keep out o’ this, d’yuh hear? We ain’t got nothin’ against yuh, Tim, but we ain’t gonna let yuh interfere with us handin’ out a little justice.” ‘Law an’ order—”’ “Be ! Don’t be a fool, Tim. We all kind o’ like yuh an’ like The Flower, too, even if yuh are always shoutin’ about law ’n’ order. We want law ’n’ order, too, same as you do, but in this here case justice comes first. You keep out.” Old Mike Sloan stepped forward. Tim looked up at the big foreman. They were about the same age, but Tim seemed with- ered and tired, while Mike was still bluff and hearty and full of energy. “Frank’s right, Tim,” said Mike gently. ‘Justice comes before law ’n’ order. Law +"? “Seems like we’re doin’ a —— ofa lot 0’ talkin’,”’ broke in Jake Sarney, the young bronc peeler. “Any time yuh feels like changin’ the procedure, Jake,’ said Mike, ‘“‘jus’ snap to it.” He turned back to Tim. “Law ’n’ order’s all right, Tim, but then again it ain’t so right. First thing we know, if we keep gettin’ more peaceful all th’ time, we’ll 171 be like them folks back East, where yuh can’t step outside th’ house without some feller puttin’ a bullet in yuhr belly. Yuh’re liable to get shot in th’ back just as like as not, an’ they don’t care whether yuh got a gun on yuh or not.” The others fidgeted, but old Mike talked on, his gruff voice strangely gentle. A man ought to be given a chance to defend him- self, and if he got shot in the back, with no chance to fight, it was up to his friends— up to everybody, in fact, said Mike—to make an example of the dirty, low-down polecat. Who knew who would be the next man to get drilled when he wasn’t looking, or even when he was asleep? Eastern people didn’t mind murder much, maybe, but out here it was different. A killing was one thing, but murder was another. In the past, down Texas way, went on Mike, things were different. There were plenty of killings, but they stood face to face and shot it out. Promiscuous shootin’ was bad, but murder was worse. “TI knew Soda Jones when he was at his worst, but he never shot nobody in th’ back. Knew Kid Bart, too. Yep.” Mike nodded slowly, and tied another diamond hitch in his long mustache. ‘‘Knew him when he was holdin’ up stages ’n’ trains ’n’ then hoppin’ away like a musketeer. Slipperes’ man yuh ever heard of. Dangerous, too; nobody wanted to tackle him. Finally they caught him ’n’ give him twenty years.” Mike put another hitch in his mustache. “T was there when the sheriff started off to th’ penitentiary with him. Somebody slipped the Kid a gun ’n’ the sheriff seen it. He says, ‘Gimme that gun,’ ’n’ shoves his own gun at the Kid. Kid Bart takes his gun out careful-like, ’n’ holds it out butt firs’, ’n’ the sheriff reaches out to take it. The sheriff kind o’ lowers his own gun then, like a feller will do when he reaches out fer another one. An’ then Kid Bart’s gun twirls around his hand like it was a live snake, an’ “fore yuh could wink he had th’ sherifi covered. Never seen nothin’ like it. A minute later Kid Bart was on a horse ’n’ hittin’ fer Mexico. Got clean away, ’n’ they ain’t never caught him. Fifteen years ago, that was. “Yep. Kid Bart was bad. But he never shot nobody in th’ back, Tim.” “T heard about that gun-twirl o’ Kid COmiclbooks.c©