Adventure Magazine Cover — page 184: what you’re looking at

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

178 and he also figured that we wouldn’t let him surrender; so he ran out of the door, and vaulted over the top of the railing. I ain’t no wing shot with a rifle, but Mitch Ames didn’t get up after he hit the ground. “Got him!” I yells at Hashknife. Buddy follers me out into the street and we meets Hashknife near the crowd. “Sol,” says Hashknife, “I ought to kill you for lyin’. If it hadn’t been for Buddy your scheme would ’a’ worked. I reckon them Ameses are your best shots, eh?” Sol masticates real fast for a while, and then says— “What do yuh want now?” “Watch ’em, Sleepy,” grins Hashknife. Hashknife takes a sheet of paper and a pencil from his pocket and holds the paper against the side of the building, while he writes. He finally finishes and goes over to Sol Vane and hands him the paper. “Have your council sign that, Sol; and then you put your name at the bottom.” “What is it?” asks Sillman. “To whom it may concern,” reads Sol Vane kinda slow-like. ‘The ‘undersigned hereby declares that Buddy Sillman is sole owner of the ranch where his folks lived and he owns everything on that ranch. His dad’s name was Eph Sillman and he was killed by Cale Ames on June 3, when Eph was trying to get medicine for his sick wife. “We also admits that the folks of Willer Crick wouldn’t let Eph Sillman have a doctor for his wife and that they ain’t no better than murderers, ’cause she died. We hereby agree to see that the ranch is run right and the money turned over to Buddy. We hereby agree to abolish all our old laws and live like the rest of the world. We hereby sign our names.”’ “Vou’re crazy!’ wails Sim Sellers from where he sets in the street. ‘‘We’ll never sign that.” The rest of ’em shake their heads. - “Yuh can’t get away with nothin’ like that,” says Sol. ‘‘We aims to live as we please. Yuh can’t set there and keep us rounded up forever.”’ “Sleepy,” says Hashknife, “go up into the hall and see if yuh can’t find some Willer Crick records. Wa THEY has that room fixed up like Wire 2 court-room, with kind of a place for the judges and all that kind of thing. Cale Ames is setting on the floor Adventure | near a window, holding onto the side of his head. I looked him over for weapons, but he’s harmless. On the judge’s desk is a pile of books and papers. I takes a look at the biggest book, and it’s labeled— THE LAW. I takes all the books and papers, and then I makes Cale get to his feet and go down ahead of me. Our bullets sure have carved our trade-marks in their furniture and walls. Willer Crick wails when they see me with their books. “Good stuff!’ grunts Hashknife. maybe they’ll sign my little paper.” I never seen folks so anxious to sign any- thing. Hashknife held the paper on the brim of his hat so that Sim Sellers can sign. I unloads all them guns and then throws the whole works under the sidewalk, where nobody can get one quick. “Rope the books together so we can carry ’em, Sleepy,” says Hashknife. ‘Them is our records!”’ wails Sol. ‘“‘That’s why we need ’em,” grins Hash- knife. ‘“‘You and your council are the only ones what can read and write, and I’m thinkin’ that your law and records will make hy-iu readin’ for the county at- torney.” Willer Crick is stuck. They shuffles their feet and swallers hard. “Your home-made law is a thing of the past,’ observes Hashknife. “I'll send the sheriff in here after Cale Ames, and mebbe Cale won’t be the only one he rounds up.” I got the horses, while Hashknife holds the crowd. Hashknife takes Buddy with him, while I take the law of Willer Crick. We starts away, with the crowd watching us, but all to once they makes a dive across the street toward the hitch-rack. I thinks they’re going to try to foller us, but it comes to me in a flash that I seen two or three rifles hanging to those saddles. I seen a feller drop flat and slide under the sidewalk, and I know it won’t take ’em long to get their guns loaded. We ain’t over a hundred yards from the crowd, and I can see that we can’t scatter ‘em much with two guns. I yells at Hash- knife to look out. He turned in his saddle, keeping himself between Buddy and the crowd. I saw him throw up his rifle and take deliberate aim: I was trying to shift them books on to the horn of my saddle, so “Now, COMMICLOOO“KS (C@)