Adventure Magazine Cover — page 105: what you’re looking at

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

a : i <a 2S od ~ 22 ote ay. - ne 5 n e ne se ; ote * fo 9. Helped by a Horse Doctor _ but she ain’t changed none. I thinks over my three hundred dollars, and looks at the bunch of application blanks in my hand. I figures that a life-insurance agent in Piperock has got about much chance as a jassack has in the Suburban Handicap. PIPEROCK looks as peaceful as a dove. In fact, she looks too peaceful. She looked natural when I was there a few hours before, but right now she’s un- natural. In the middle of the street lays a stiff-brim Stetson hat, and it spins and rolls in the wind like a roulette wheel on a_ busted spindle. Comes the snap of a gun and the hat hops high and lights flat on the brim, like it defied -anybody to move it again. From the entrance of the Mint Hall comes the wailing yell: “You hit that hat again and I’ll massacree yuh! I resign! Dang it, I tell yuh I resign!” Bang! Bang! Bang! Three bullets cuts = out of Buck’s door. Bang! Bangl I sees the splinters fly from Pete Gonyer’s blacksmith-shop door. Bang! Bangl I hears a couple of bullets spin off the side- walk down by Ricky Henderson’s barber-shop. I figures it’s about time for me to find an ambush; so I kicks Wick Smith’s store door open and falls inside. A couple of bullets whisper to me as I go in, but I don’ t reply, ’cause I don’t know what to say. Wick is in there, stuffing shells into his pockets, and he tosses me a new box of .44’s. I sets down behind a keg of nails. “What seems to be the argument?” I asks. “Council meeting.” “Tnjuns?” “Naw! Injuns got sense. If you see “Tomb- stone’ Todd, ‘Ornery’ Olsen or ‘Half-Mile’ Smith —kill’m, Ike.” “You sure are filled with sweet thoughts, Wick,” says I. ‘Tell me what council you’re talking about.” Wick stops stuffing shells into a rifle and stares at me. “You been away, ain’t you, Ike? Thought so. Piperock is incorporated. “Yes, sir. Got a mayor, aldermen, et cettery. I’m the mayor.” “Oh! That’s the reason everybody is trying to kill everybody else, eh? Political battle?” “Naw! I makes a motion that we puts a city tax on horse-thieves, cow-rustlers, et cettery, and them three hombres I mentioned got up and squalled at me for trying to put the population out of business. I signed the ordinance, pro- claimed it as passed and then fell out of the second-story window. I went there without a gun, like a danged fool. “Mighty Jones gets up and states that he is in favor of getting us a judge who is more addicted to justice than to cactus juice. Judge Steele hammers Mighty on the head with his cane, the same of which makes Mighty act childish with his gun. He misses the judge and hits Pete Gonyer in the watch. Uh-huh. It ruins Pete’s Swiss timepiece, and his anger rises. Pete and the judge are over in Pete’s shop, shooting at Mighty, who is under the sidewalk in front of Ricky’s place. “‘Old Testament’ Tilton asks that we pass an ordinance making it a felony to sell liquor in the city limits, and now he’s up in Sam Holt’s hay-mow, while Buck sets down below with a shotgun waiting for Testament to change his mind.” “Who is up in the Mint Stairway?” “T don’t know, Ike, but it’s likely ‘Doughgod’ Smith, the marshal. Every time somebody shoots at him he resigns. He’s resigned eight times since I jumped out of the window. Now, Ike, who are you for?” “Me,” says I, “I’m going to sell ’em life insurance, Wick.” “For why is that?” asks Wick interested-like, “Protection. Costs you five per month while — live, and when you die you get five hun- e sae “After I’m dead? That’s a —— of a lot of good, after I’m dead.” “The city won’t have to bury you, Wick.” “T could pack dynamite in my pocket and get the same results, Ike.” He shoots a few times at Buck’s place, takes a fresh chew and loads up. “‘Nossir, I don’t need protection—but them three does. I sure am going to blow out their candles.” “Good!” says I. ‘‘Here’s a idea; why not take out insurance for all three of them and cash in fifteen hundred to the good? You can bury them for five dollars per head, and that leaves you fourteen hundred and seventy to the good.” Wick chaws industrious for a while and then: “Five dollars ought to bury the three, Ike. Can I take ’em out like you say?” “T ain’t plumb conversant with the details, Wick, but I reckon you can.’ “Write ’em out. Them snake-hunters ain’t going to live no month, but you can keep the difference:” I ducked builets to get enough light to write ’em out, and Wick signed all three. Then I sneaked out a back window and around behind Ricky’s shop. Some lead is still seeping around so I rolls a smoke and took it easy. After while I says, fairly loud: “Mighty Jones! This is Ike speaking.” “Bring me some .44’s, Ike,” comes a muffled voice. or lose your head.”’ 95 eCoOmicloool< “Help out a good cause. Play snake — (C@ | RY r f {can i, " oy ee Ocha ag >) F % - 2 ‘ hed SE Pela, oe Gn! BE Ts ABA ES, Cote ION Le ON EUR A hae Se aa kad) id a (ib hapa j bind ; 4 ye jy) Sod [4 ari | tong taal ola’ s ion PT ASR AT REE RA he We a CeCe CANNY eo eae Wiad sine hae phe 4! phe. : sts, om ay TPS AN aN ya TS 1 eee