Adventure Magazine Cover — page 103: what you’re looking at

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

Helped by a “Somebody told him to do it?” “Transmigration of thought.” “Did Magpie tell you this, Ike?” “Doc Milliken explains the principles.” ‘“Well, you fool!” snorts Dirty. “A feller busts your head open and a horse doctor explains why, and you kiss everybody. Well, well! This being the time of the year that a snake sheds its skin and become so ob- _ streperous that it strikes at everything, let’s me and you inoculate ourselves against such freaks of nature. A stitch in time is worth a pound of beans in the hand.” “Dirty, you'd intoxicate any snake that would be brave enough to strike you. You're already inoculated against everything.” Dirty lifts out his old Colt, spins the cylinder and rings the bell on the Mint Hall three times in a row, and gri “Not yet, Ike. three.”’ Inside Buck’s place we finds “Mighty” Jones standing on the rail and orating aloud. He’s saying “Not by a —— sight! Don’t believe in it. I’m strong for a Vigilance Committee and Ill help lynch anybody, but I won’t be part and parcel to no danged secret nor underground society.” “T’ll join the Vigilantes,” says Dirty. ‘I’m against everything but hanging. What’s the oration all about, Mighty?” “Mighty is anti everything,” says Buck. “He’s one of them mavericks who is wishful to heave a monkey-wrench into the machinery of progress. Ain’t it a fact, Magpie?” We turns and gazes upon Magpie, leaning against the doorway. - “1d say you wasn’t missing the mark much,” admits Magpie, “but Mighty ain’t alone. Seems to me there is lots of others who sort of _ backfire on anything pertaining to progress.” “Meaning me, I suppose,” says I. ‘“That’s why you leans a heavy pitcher upon my brow and never even looks to see if I’m dead or not.” “The dead don’t splinter a man’s door with lead, Ike,” says he. “You proved—howdy, judge.” “Tol’able,” admits Judge Steele, coming in. ““How goes the fraternity?” “Great,” admits Magpie. “I’ve took it all and I’m ordained to pass it on. Just finished in time, too, ’cause that rat-headed hooch- hound, over there—’’meaning me—“bent his gun over the dome of the Exalted, Most Gener- ous High and Mighty Ruler of the Universe, and it sort of slowed things up. “Then the danged fool shot three times through the door and the Exalted person re- moved one of my window frames as he went out. But I got all the dope.” “Charter?” asked the judge. “Betcha. Everything is hunkydory, judge.” Wait till I miss one out of Horse Doctor. “Tis a day of thanksgiving,” says the judge pious-like. “I will propose that we rise and drink a toast to the Piperock branch of the Loyal Legion of Lizards. Gents, take off your hats and stand uncovered before Mister Simpkins, the Grand—uh—what is it all, Magpie?” “Unlimited, Imperial, Unrestrained, Perfect, Exalted, Grand “Whoa!” yelps Dirty Shirt, cocking his gun. BAe that, Magpie! You can’t talk that way an [aS : “You’re drunk, Dirty,’ says Magpie dis- gusted-like. Dirty blinks his eyes and rocks on his, heels. Then he steps outside, shoots three times at the bell and misses all three. Then he steps to the door and bows. “Gents, I apologize—I’m drunk.” Pm I’M SITTING down on the sidewalk, e¥| thinking over the sins of mankind, when of all to once comes an awful crash in Buck’s place and Mighty Jones skids out on his shoul- ders. He turns around, drapes his feet over the edge of the sidewalk and feels of his neck. “Stumble coming out?” I asks. “Tke, did you ever hear the story about the feller who draped himself over a bar and says: out loud, ‘I can lick any man in the house.’ Nobody said anything, so he says, ‘I can lick any man in the town.’ Everything is peaceful, so he gets brave and says, ‘I can lick any man in the county.’ But that don’t get results. Then he gets awful humpy and says, ‘I can lick any man in the State!’ He gets busted wide open by a little feller. When he gets normal he says, ‘I covered too much territory.’ ” “What did you say, Mighty?” I asks. “Me? Huh! I said I never seen the lodge I couldn’t lick.” Then cometh “Hassayampa” Harris from Curlew. He sets down with us and Mighty opens up on him like this: “Hassayampa, secret societies are the bane of existence. "Cause why? When you be- comes a member of a society you forgets your duty to mankind. Supposing a_horse-thief joins? They’re eligible, as long as they’re all right morally. Then he steals a horse. Is a brother member going to squeal on him? sir! Hoss-stealing becomes a cinch under them conditions and it ain’t long before each and every one of that society are rustlers.” “Which is logic, but not explanatory,” ad- mits Hassayampa. ‘Who brings us the society idea, Mighty?” “T does,” says Magpie, who has come up behind us. “I am knowed officially as the Un- limited, Imperial, Unrestrained, Perfect, Grand Protector of the Temple of Piperock.”’ “My ——!” gasps Hassayampa. “You are? Well, you’re about all you can ever expect to COmicloooks No, . _— - ' * - ** 4 \ 7 7 ig * iy PA Di hl ett “ Saw wT : P / = me Ala 4 ‘ Poul Ac! Paes ad Lew oy . 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