Adventure Magazine Cover — page 128: what you’re looking at

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

118 Unknown to every one he had some large crested cocks on good runs out in the Arm- strong Hills. He knew that every drop of blood that coursed through their veins flowed from hearts that would never falter or grow faint at any test. Of an old strain, almost extinct in its purity, he had nur- tured them for years and had been waiting for the excitement that he would create when he would bring one of those old-time heroes to the pit. - Good! He would slip one over on that sly old fox,who must have felt secure in the possession of some great birds for the com- ing main. His mind made up, he joined Uncle Mose and the parson at the kennels. By this time the parson’s conscientious scruples were beginning to assert themselves. | He was not opposed to sure-thing games, in the interest of charity. Church lot- teries, grab-bags, home-talent policy draw- ings, when the proceeds went to fill the coffers of the church were ethical, for they were sanctioned by general practise, but this was different. John sensed his attitude as soon as he approached. He had been an actor of more than usual ability in his time, and now he entered, with consumate skill, into the spirit of his part. “Parson,” he began, “if this was an out- right betting proposition, it might not be just right for your church to raise money in this way—as badly as you need it—but this is different. Now we will say that there will be a contest of skill between these two chickens. One of them contesting for your church and the other for that old reprobate Pete Montevidio. “We will not bet on this contest—in this case it would be wrong. But Uncle Mose will put up one hundred dollars of his money as a prize. That yellow nigger will put up one hundred dollars of his money as a prize, and I will put up one hundred dollars of my money as a prize. If your gate-receipts will bring you one hundred dollars as you think, that will make a grand prize of four hundred dollars! “According to your figures, you need five hundred dollars, so you should have very little trouble to secure the remainder.” The parson still demurred— “Mas’r John, that er a whole lot er money but——”’ “Ai right,”’ John replied. “T don’t want : Adventure you to do anything you don’t think is right. ~You can have the gate-receipts, anyway. Mose will fight against the Memphis chicken, and can keep his money if he wins it. And I will spend my one hundred dollars to buy a medal for my rooster!”’ The parson reached a. quick decision. “No, Mas’r John,” he said, “we ruther fight for de money!” eq OLD CALOMEL spent a strenuous (iy) two weeks. Every moment of the —< time his stout old pirate’s heart was bursting with happiness and rage. He loved to throw the litter of his stall in a cloud behind him. He loved to send his shrill challenge hurtling down the line of pens, telling them all that he was the mas- ter; the world. He loved to see John coming at daybreak and just before the sun went down. It meant the battle that he loved. If he could not get at one of his feathered foes he could at least reach the protected hand of his trainer. And, oh, that joyous day when he was sparred -with Old Quantrell! At first, when they tied on the muffs, he thought that the hour of battle was at hand but they did not feel right; they hampered his movements. He sensed their inefficiency a tore at them savagely with his John had taken off his gloves in order to secure a firmer hold on the writhing body; the curved beak of the old renegade reached the tender back of his hand and brought a spurt of blood. Immediately, upon releasing him, he had rubbed the spot with his bandanna hand- kerchief. Old Calomel took this for a chal-- lenge. Why were they flaunting that red flag in his face? He flew savagely at it, only to have Old Quantrell pounce upon his back. In actual battle it would have been his death but the thud of the soft gloves only enraged him. Instantly he turned, and they tumbled across the yard in a long ~ shuffle that landed them against the ence. All too soon it was over and he was on the board again, to be rubbed and coddled and massaged until he fairly boiled with rage. And those last few days. It seemed that he was fairly bursting with vitality; that but for the roof of the coop that held “S' that he feared not one thing in all. EOmMIchboo Col