Adventure Magazine Cover, December 18, 1919 — page 28: what you’re looking at

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

PARENT Ne SN RIS RIE Meare ar ; . e “Pvt, ivr erry Pen, te Le tO td fy * : jee * : - <a By nr ON a ee Cee ae Sa Od ban ie a rt Ae se 7 we UJ idee Met 14 : Adventure “Tell him to go to ——, Bill,”’ was the freely-proffered counsel. Blenham swung about on his heel, his eyes narrowing. 3 “That you, sharply. “Sure it’s me,’’ rejoined Barbee with the same ceol impudence. And to the man across the table from him: “Deal ’em up, ‘Spots’; you an’ me is goin’ to pry these two bum gamblers loose from their four- pieces real pronto by the good ol’ road of high, low, jack an’ the game. Come ahead, Spots-ol’-Spotty.”’ Blenham stared a moment, obviously surprized by this attitude taken by young Barbee. But swiftly the look in his eyes altered to one of anger. si “T’ll attend to you when I got nothin’ else to do, Barbee,” he said shortly. And, giving the whole of his attention again to the man-on the bunk: “Royce, I said when I talk to you to stand up!” Barbee?” he demanded O THE last man of them, even to young Barbee, who had made his youthful pretense at an all-embraeing in- terest in the cards, they turned to watch Bill Royee and see what he would do. They saw that Royce lay a moment as he was, stiff and rigid to his hands and feet, that his face had gone a fiery red which threw the white of the long scar across his nose into bloodless contrast, that the most _ obvious thing in the world was that for the moment his mind was torn two ways, dual- purposed, perfectly balanced, so that in _ the grip of his contending passions he was powerless to stir, a picture of impotence, like a man paralyzed. “Blenham,” he said presently without moving, his voice uncertain and thick and ugly, “Blenham Be “T said it once,” cried Blenham sharply, “an’ I said it twice. Which ought to be enough, Bill Royce! Hear me?” They all watched interestedly. Bill Royce moistened his lips and presented his pitiful spectacle of a once-strong man on the verge of yielding to his master, to the man he hated most on earth. A smile came into Blenham’s expectant eyes. The brief silence was perfect until the youthful Barbee broke it, not by speech but by whistling softly, musically, impudently. And the air which Barbee selected at this juncture, though not drawn from the clas- sics, served its purpose adequately; the song was a favorite in the range-lands, the re- frain simple, profane and sineere. Trans- Jated into words, Barbee’s merry notes were: “Oh, I don’t give a —— for no —— man that don’t give a for me!” Blenham understood and scowled at him; Bill Royce’s hesitant soul may have drawn comfort and strength from a sym- pathy wordlessly expressed. At any rate his reply came suddenly now: “T’ve took a good deal off’n you, Blen- ham,” he said quietly. “I’d be glad to ” take all I could. But a man can’t stand everything, no, not even for an absent pal. Like Barbee said, you go to es Cookie Wilson gasped, his the sole audi- ble comment upon an entirely novel situa- tion. Barbee smiled delightedly. Blen- ham continued to frown, his scowl subtly altered from fierceness to wonder. “You'll obey orders,”’ he snapped shortly, “or 7 “T know,” replied Royee heavily. toit. All you got to dois fire me.” And now the pure wonder of the moment was that Blenham-did not discharge Royce in three words. It was his turn for hesi- tation for which there was no expianation forthcoming. = you!” he growled and whirled upon Barbee. | Yellow-haired Barbee at the table promptly stood up, awaiting no second invi- tation to that look of Blenham’s. Were one staging a morality play and in search of the personification of impertinence, he need look no further than this cocksure youth. He was just at that age when one is determined that there shall be no mistake about his status in the matters of age and worldly experience; in short, something over twenty-one, when the male of the species takes it as the insult of insults to be misjudged a boy. | His hair was short—Barbee always kept it close cropped—but for all that it persisted in curling, seeking to express itself in tight little rings everywhere; his eyes were very blue and very innocent, like a young girl’s— and he was, all in all, just about as good- for-nothing a young rogue as you could find in a ten days’ ride. Which is saying rather a good deal when it is understood that that ten days’ ride may be through the cattle-country back of San Juan. “Co EOMNIE OOS (E(0)