Adventure Magazine Cover — page 179: what you’re looking at

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

THE FALLACY OF FARO ‘“‘Where’d he go, Turkey Track?” ‘Never you mind, ol’-timer, where that polecat went to. He’s outa sight, anyhow. Wipe that blood off yore mouth with this apron. That’s it. Feel some better? Kinda groggy, eh? How about a little shot uh red-eye to kinda stiffen up yore whiskers?” Furnell shook his head. “T ain’t drinkin’, Turkey Track. Reckon T’ll quit botherin’ the stuff an’ stay sober a spell. An’ listen, pard—” “Veah??’’ *‘Don’t—don’t say nothin’ to the boys about—about what happened this mornin’.”’ . , no. I ain’t no dang parrot. As fer that yaller-eyed—”’ “Please, Turkey Track,’”’ Furnell cut in, “let him alone. This is my scrap, pard. I know I ain’t much of a man, but I gotta play this hand out alone. Jest gotta!”’ His voice cracked but Tolliver pretended not to notice. “It’s him an’ me fer it, can’t yuh under- stand, Turkey Track?” “And you packin’ a —— gun that’s so rusty it won’t shoot?” “Keep the gun.” Faro’s voice became steadier. “TI’ll make out fer a spell without a gun. Kin yuh loan me the use uh that sorrel hoss uh yourn?”’ “Sorrel Jimmy?” Turkey Track could not keep the tone of surprize from his voice, for it had been many long months since Faro Furnell had ridden a horse. “Yeah. I’d kinda like the feel of a hoss between my laigs onct more. It’d make me feel more like—like a man, mebbe.”’ “The fat rascal needs ridin’,” growled Turkey Track, pouring himself a drink. ‘Ride the tail offen him, pardner. Yore hull is hangin’ somewhere around my wood- shed. When I go tuh breakfast I’ll have the missus dig it up an’ send one uh the kids over to the barn withit. It’ll save changin’ the stirrups on my saddle.” He did not add that it had been his secret hope that some day Faro Furnell would be wanting his saddle again. From across the open fires of a thousand round-up and trail camps, Turkey Track Tolliver had studied men. Of late years he had read their eyes across a liquor-stained bar. Thus ably schooled in the vagaries of mankind, he saw beyond the eyes and into the heart of Faro Furnell, and had the good sense not to mention his findings. 12 177 “Tf I was you, I’d pull out afore the sun got too hot. The Pool wagon’s workin’ over on Bean Crick. Why don’t yuh mosey over that way an’ put in a day er two pokin’ aroun’ showin’ them mail-order kids how we usta doit? Huh?” ‘“Mebbe. Most mebbe I'll be about sundown. key Track, fer—”’ back I’m shore obliged, Tur- “Go tuh , yuh wind-broke, cow- hocked, box-ankled son of a _ side-hill gouger. Lope over to the Chink’s an’ git outside of some ham an’ aigs. Then keep goin’ till yuh git to the Pool camp. Don’t show yore face in here er I’ll shoot yuh. Drag it, yuh warthog.”’ And he poured himself another drink as he watched Faro Furnell go across the street. ‘Walkin’ lke yuh aimed tuh git some- where, ol’-timer,” he chuckled. “ if I know what’s millin’ in yore head, but I’m tellin’ the plain an’ fancy trade, beer cus- tomers an’ wine buyers, that I’m for yuh. I’m keepin’ that Manton Injun on ice fer yuh, to boot. Here’s mud in yore eye, Faro.” Though a trifle rheumatic, Turkey Track Tolliver was not clumsy. Moreover he was big, and solid despite easy living. He now walked back to a card room and un- locked the door. It was a dark little room, green blinds pulled down across the two small windows. For a moment he stood there, eyes blinking till they focused to the dim light. Then he stepped inside and stooped over a huddled form that lay on the floor. Striking a match, he looked in- tently into the face of Jack Manton. There was quite a lump on the side of the uncon- scious man’s jaw. When the match went out, Tolliver jerked up the green window- shade and then closed the door. Manton’s form twitched, then the yellow eyes blinked open. Tolliver grinned and rubbed the skinned knuckles of his left hand. “T only hit yuh onct, Injun,” he drawled. “Tf I’d a follered it up with a second swing, we'd uh had tuh plant yuh. How do yuh like it out West, as far as yuh bin?” Manton’s hand crept covertly toward the waistband of his overalls and Tolliver’s grin became wider. “Oh, yuh still got yore gun, yaller eyes,” he said easily. “And whenever yuh feel like the sign is right, drag ’er out in the light. But unless I’m gittin’ old an’ absent- minded, I’d say yuh ain’t got the guts tuh COMICLOO© S CO