Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 139: what you’re looking at

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

Ev’rybody Likes a Gunman fireman should; because this fireman was an artist in his line—coal-heaving or otherwise— even if he did sometimes miscalculate. “Sure, I can get it all right,” agreed New York Ruddy. “Don’t you know ev’rybody likes a gunman? What ship did you say you were on, in the outfit, Jack?” ““Columbia—below decks.”’ “What? The old ‘Columbia?’ ” Roddy was staring at the fireman in incredulous wonder. “Why, she was my old wagon!” exclaimed the gunman. “When were you on her, Jack? Were you on her durin’ the time of Old Rollins? Were you on her when we had the riot in Tampico? New, I’m goin’ to find out whether youre all right or not,” he asserted with grim emphasis, his voice dropping for a moment its mask of merri- ment. “Fill ’em up, Joe.” The fireman’s brain was beginning to stumble in the performance of its duties. Old Octopus Alcohol was starting to wrap his tentacles about its normal functioning processes. New York Roddy was obvi- ously more used to drinking than he. Un- doubtedly he could handle the stuff better. The coal-heaver gripped the bar firmly with both hands, summoning all his scattering powers of control. “By Heaven! I won’t get drunk,” was his fierce mental resolve. The gunman still kept his hand in the pocket of his overcoat. The fireman could plainly see the menacing little hillock of cloth made by the weapon’s elevated muz- zle. The hand that held it was as steady as the imitation mahogany fixture in front of him. Its point did not waver. “Sure, I was through the Tampico fuss,” admitted the coal-heaver, his voice sound- ing distant to his own _ consciousness. *“‘Seems to me I’ve seen you before. Didn’t you wear a mustache, once?” “Now you’re gettin’ there!’ exclaimed Roddy in growing excitement. “I was classed at the time, but I jumped ship—I and my buddy. In fact I was the guy that started the scrap with the greasers. I gota few shots of that mezcal under my belt and I wanted to own the town.” HE DRANK another glass of whis- ky. He, too, was beginning to show to some extent the effect of the al- one he had imbibed. His eyes were like flaming points, but his gaze was neverthe- 133 less steady and sure. He began to scru- tinize the fireman very closely, studying the features beneath their smudgy disguise. “By ——! Now I know you! You're Blackson!” he suddenly shouted. “But you weren't a fireman then; you were a jimmy legs!” “Jimmy legs” when translated from the “sob” dialect into English means “master at-arms,”’ the enlisted police aboard ship. “And you must be Dan Rodman,” said the fireman. The two men stared at each other, Twenty years had worked many changes. Slowly the fireman pulled up the sleeve of his jumper, disclosing to view a long, rag- ged scar extending from his wrist half-way up his right forearm. “That’s what a Mexican’s cuchillo did to me when I was tryin’ to drag you away from the greasers—you and your buddy— aiter you had started the fuss.” “Blackson—jimmy legs,’ muttered the gunman, looking askance at the overalled figure beside him. “You know what hap- pened to me afterwards, don’t you, Black- son?” “T heard you got ‘bobbed.’ ”’ “The skipper shoved me in front of a general court-martial for jumpin’ ship and startin’ all the trouble ashore. You knowI had a pretty bum record, anyhow. Well, to be brief about it, they made me ‘Dan Rodman, D. D.,’ and not doctor of divinity, either. They handed me a dishonorable discharge tacked on to a year in the mill. In other words, a year and a ‘bob-tail.’ In other words, a year and a kick-out. Old Rollins gave me a long and fatherly talk. He said he was very sorry but that he had to do it on account of my bad record. ‘For the good o’ the service,’ he said.” The two men .continued gazing at each other, brushing away from their memories the accumulated mists of twenty years. “Drink up,” said the gunman tersely, “Fill ’em up, Joe.” He looked thoughtful. He still held his hand in his overcoat pocket and drank more whisky. “For the good of the service!”’ he laughed. ‘Well, maybe I’d have been different if I’d started off on a better tack, Blackson. But I’ve always been a wild bird. You know how it is. Got to have action. IfI can’t get it on the level I’ll get it some other way. You should have let the greasers get COmiclbook CO