Adventure Magazine Cover, February 3, 1921 — page 182: what you’re looking at

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

176 times, he’s taken to messing up the grocery and merchandise stores, and that scares the women and children. I want him writ up, and writ up like ——. Make an example of him. Learn the community that him and kis kind has got to steer clear of Val Verde. hide off.” He looked Mike square in the eye. Dis- cretion whispered in one of Connolly’s ears, “Write your resignation and take the next train out,” but the wraith of Brian Boru whispered in the other ear, ‘Go afther him!” He reached for pencil and paper. “Tf I have Bill hold the forms, I can get that in this afternoon's issue.” The judge stifled the desire to pound Connolly on the back. Instead he calmly picked up his hat and departed to admin- ister law west of the Pecos. Mike felt as if his heart were a whole fife and drum corps, with every beat pound- ing out “There'll Be a Hot Time In the Old Town Tonight.” Bill reappeared, full of alcohol and print- er’s ink. “Hold the forms a while,” ordered Mike. *“T’ve got a rush here.”’ “What is it? A wreck on the Sunset?” “Ym going to roast Wes Pritchard.” “Want me to witness your ‘I, Michael Connolly, being of sane mind,’ et cetery?” “Not yet, Bill.” “Nothing to leave but your personal effects? Where do you want them shipped when massa’s in de cold, cold ground?” “Shut up, Bill, till I get this written.” Connolly gnawed on his thumb-nail. “The hide might as well go with the tail,” he concluded, and the result was pure vitriol. Bill devoured the first two. lines with avidity. ‘“T sure hope the new editor will write a plainer hand,” was his only comment. {t was Bill’s long established custom to deliver Judge Goode’s copy of the Daily Dove at the hall of justice. This little attention was good for at least one drink and some- times two, and Bill would have crawled there on his hands and knees with the paper in his teeth. At five-thirty that afternoon Bill cashed in his Dove for his drink, and became an innocent bystander. The judge spread the paper on the bar. On the front page Blister him till you take the Adventure in two-inch letters this headline caught his eye: ' WORTHLESS MISCREANT IS ORDERED OUT OF TOWN. “Herd up, boys, herd up,” he whooped. The crowd surged~close while the judge read the article aloud. Taking advantage of the excitement, Bill helped himself to a second drink and, finding himself still un- noticed, stood the bottle on its head. “By gravy, the spunky cuss tells him to leave town by noon!” ‘““ “An eczematous excrescence on. the face of Val Verde!’ Say, what do you reckon that means?” ‘““§ putrescent souse! An_ alcoholic sponge! An imbecilic vandal!’ ” “They ain’t no more left to Wes’ char- acter than a plucked jaybird!”’ By night every one from the stable boy at the Pioneer Livery to the waitress at the Acme Hotel was wild-eyed with excite- ment. Each person advanced a different theory as to the outcome. Bad men had been slapped mildly upon the wrist by previous editors, but no bad man had ever been called an eczematous excrescence and told to get out of town and stay out. Devious theories were advanced as to how Mike would back up his words, for the whole town knew that Mike had never packed a gun. ‘There were two near fights and one flourishing of a pistol on the head of it. The only calm person in town was Wes Pritchard himself, who lay in a drunken stupor in a stall at the Pioneer Livery. His head rested on his saddle, his tongue hung out like a red-plush necktie, and he resisted all efforts of Ace, the stable boy, to wake him and make him explain how he came to be a putrescent souse and other terrible things far beyond his or Ace’s comprehension. MIKE rose early the next morning. Mrs. Goode fluttered over him, silent but affectionate, like a Spartan mother. The judge ate little and finally ‘rose from the table and stood beside Con- nolly, stroking his beard with an agitation strangely foreign. He gripped Mike by the shoulder. “You got this all reasoned out in your haid, I reckon, but ain’t they anything I can do or say for you?” S a (C@ NOOKKS (C@