Adventure, February 1917 — page 115: what you’re looking at

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

In Self Defense “Saves th’ girl, eh?” Sig runs his fingers down th’ creases in his shaps and thinks deeply. “Ren, I got a idea.” “Shoot.” “T’ll save Rosalind.” “Huh!” Ren spat his cigaret out and stared at Sig. ‘Save her from what?” Vou,” stated Sig, eagerlike. “Haw! Haw! Haw! Save her from me! That’s uh hy-iu idea, Ren. What am I supposed to be?” “Uh desperado. _ Lissen. Art Miller carries money sometimes on th’ stage and almost every trip he has uh passenger or two what would assay six bits or uh dollar, and they’re liable to be held up any trip. Here’s th’ big idea: “Remember them big rocks on this side of th’ Hell Gate crossin’? Peach of uh place fer uh holdup, Ren. Now, on Mon- day afternoon, you be up in them rocks, with uh mask on, and when Art drives out of th’ ford you throw down on him with yore rifle and yell, ‘Hands up!’ Mebby yuh ‘better shoot once or twice so as to make th’ play good. We'll pull th’ bullets out of some ca’tridges so nobody won’t git hurt. When you yells and shoots uh few times, here I comes across th’ ford ridin’ like th’ devil and starts throwin’ lead and you ducks, sabe?”’ I'll save th’ stage from bein’ held up and, bein’ as Rosalind is on th’ stage, I’ll be ‘uh hero. Ren, are yuh game to help uh needin’ friend?” “And mebby go to Deer Lodge and wear uh number like uh box-car,” objected Ren sarcastically. “Nobody’ll know yuh,” spleads Sig. “Don’t throw me down, Ren. How ma times you been to Piperock since I left?” ’ “Every day,” grinned Ren. “Gosh! When is it comin’ off?” Pees shook his head and looked thought- “‘There’s th’ cook yellin’ ‘supper’ now. Let’s eat.” Ren slid off the fence and looked at Sig. “Are yuh goin’ to help me out?” he asked pleadingly. “I’ve decided to give it uh whirl,” stated Ren. “To make th’ play good rll go to Curlew on Sunday mornin’ and circle th’ stage from there in the mornin’, after givin’ it out that ’m on my way to Mica. Sabe th’ play, Sig? I'll also hint that when I comes down th’ trail I sees uh person who 113 looks like Pete Melcher to me. Pete is holed up somewhere in th’ west part of th’ state, but he’s liable to start operatin’ over * here any old time.” “Good stuff!’ yells Sig ‘‘It’s shore white of you, Ren. chance of uh slip-up and me, I’ll be th Wl hero and save th’ girl, eh?” “Don’t worry about th’ slips in th’ game,” states Ren. “If Art Miller does rim me with his ol’ riot gun, or if I gits uh free ride to Deer Lodge, I won’t have to marry— huh! Every cloud has uh silver linin’, Sigismund Alexander.” TH’ NEXT mornin’, bein’ Sunday, Ren throws his saddle on his brown mare and points off across th’ hills towards Curlew, and on Monday mornin’ Sig puts his ridin’ gear on Old Man Padden’s best lookin’ bronc, polishes up his boots and slips off across th? hills towards Hell Gate Cajion. Sig breezes across th’ hills with joy in his heart, so much joy that he thumbs that bronc, with th’ result that he-almost gits set on foot. He has time to burn, so he decides to go out of his way to say “‘hello” to Pete Gonyer. Pete lives in uh li’! cabin up in Roarin’ Gulch, and Sig ain’t been up that way fer some time. It will give him an excuse fer bein’ seen in th’ Hell Gate hills. He finds that Pete ain’t home, so he ambles down th’ gulch, ties up his bronc and takes uh nap under uh bush. He sleeps about an hour and then moves on. He ain’t got no watch, but th’ sun looks about - one o’clock, so he drops off th’ hills to th’ road and turns back towards Piperock. He jogs along slow ’till he gits to th’ spring near th’ Rock of Ages, and he swings off to git uh drink. Right there he spies uh letter layin’ near th’ spring under uh bush, and nacherally he picks it up and looks it over. “Huh!” says he. “Addressed to Jack Elberton, Helena. I reckon Art must ’a’ lost it goin’ out.” And then like anybody else would, he opens it to see who to send it back to. He reads it through twice, takes off his hat ae reads it again. It says: Mr. Elberton: In reply to your letter I can say that you’ve got more real nerve than a mule. Just because I let you kiss me don’t prove conclusively that I love you. Also your statement (or hint) that I’ve got EOMIGIOOKS Dog-gone, there ain’t no - €O