Adventure, January 20, 1922 — page 157: what you’re looking at

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

Powder Law “He no say wat he want? Ba gosh! Mebbe she’s trap from Black Mora.” Blaze shook his head. “No, I reckon not, Frenchy. I'll take that chance.” “Sure ‘nough. I’m bet Black Mora mak’ t’ink we die in de fire. He not know us. His two men see us close, but one is got busted arm and de oder she’s no set on saddle for week. I’m like dis —— town, Blaze. Ba gosh, nobody’s she get rusty from live her, you bet me my life.” Several cowboys whirled their horses away from a hitch-rack, and one of them came bucking down the center of the street, its rider swinging sidewise in the saddle, his right spur hooked into the cinch, while he fanned the bronco’s ears with his som- brero. Another forced his horse to enter the saloon, spurring the frightened beast into a jerky buck as it went inside and a few moments later bucked out again with a big bottle held aloft.in his hand. His horse passed Blaze and Frenchy in a whirl of dust as he raced to catch the others. Across the street was a sign: SHERIFF’S OFFICE. A notice was pinned to the door. Blaze and Frenchy crossed the street and read the notice. CLOSED BY ORDER OF VIGILANT Blaze studied the crudely lettered sign. “The same man wrote both signs—this one and the one we found on that dead man, Frenchy. The letters are made just the same way.” “What dis wan say?’ asked Frenchy. Blaze read it aloud. “Ba gosh!” exclaimed Frenchy. “I’m mak’ t’ink de lawyer. starve to death in dis countree. De hangman she’s good for do de hang, but she’s poor judge, I’m tink.” “Crooked sheriff, I reckon,’’ observed Blaze. ‘“The vigilantes likely found him out and made him hard to catch.” They strolled from saloon to saloon, but there was no sign of Black Mora nor his two men. Frenchy watched Blaze walk past game after game without interest, and won- dered what had come over his partner. Somehow the games of chance did not attract Blaze now. No one paid any attention-to them, 155 which proved that news of Black Mora’s humiliation had not reached their ears. Every one seemed intent on his own plea- sures. Groups of cow-punchers drifted from _ saloon to saloon, singing, playing like a crowd of overgrown children; their spurs jingling over the rough floors. Already the huge, shaded oil-lamps had been lighted over the gambling-tables, and their smoky odors mingled with the scent of alcohol and tobacco fumes. Dealers finished their shifts and made way for fresh, clear-eyed men, in shirt sleeves and eye- shades. Blaze and Frenchy sat tilted back against the wall, watching the action of the place, but taking no part in it. Finally, Blaze tilted forward and got to his feet. It was time to go. He spoke to Frenchy and they threaded their way through the crowd and into the street. They saddled their own horses, paid the small fee and rode away. A pale moon lighted the dusty road while a film of dust cloud seemed to hang above the road, marking the swift passing of some one a short time before. The house was easy to find, standing alone, bulking black in the dim moonlight. Not a window was lighted; not a horse nor a vehicle was in evidence. “Must be the right place,” observed Blaze, swinging sidewise in his saddle. The door opened and the blue-eyed man’s voice spoke— “Would you mind leaving your horses - behind the house where no one could see them from the road?” “Sure thing,” replied Blaze, and they rode to the rear. The door was opened for them and they stepped into a dark room. The door was closed behind them. A match flared up and they watched a man light a small oil-lamp. As the glow lighted up the room they glanced around. Sitting in a semi-circle were at least a dozen men. Blaze glanced at the window and saw that it was covered with several thicknesses of blankets. The lamp had likely been extinguished before opening the door. The blue-eyed man stepped beside Blaze and spoke to the men. “Gentlemen, these are the two men. One of them knocked Black Mora-down in the Eureka this afternoon. His pardner would have killed Mora in another moment. They are strangers in Wolf Butte.” CoOmicloool< (C@