Adventure, January 20, 1922 — page 164: what you’re looking at

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

162 anybody respect him. I’m a horse-thief, Carlin. This —— town is spoilin’ my boys, don’tcha know it? I can’t git ’em sober long enough to even steal a jackass.” Blaze laughed joyously.. Here was some- thing different in outlaws—an outlaw who was unafraid to acknowledge his profession to the law; an outlaw with a well-developed idea of humor. Sales, in spite of his crooked. face, had a strofg personality and Blaze wanted to know him better. “You sure comes to a strange place to make your complaints,” grinned Blaze. “No use goin’ to a saloon or grocery store, is there?”’ | “No-o-o0,” drawled Blaze, “but yuh see we've kinda made up our minds to chase every outlaw out of the country.” “Zasso?”’ Sales shifted his tobacco and squinted at Blaze. ‘‘Well, I’m bettin’ that you'll make one of a stagger at it, Car- lin. You look to me like the kind of a whipoorwill what will do somethin’ except talk “T reckon you classes me with the rest of ’em, which is right and proper, but I ain’t goin’ to run ’til I has to. I’m willin’ to tell yuh that neither me nor noné of my men will ever shoot yuh in the back. Mebbe we'll give yuh a run, face to face—mebbe not. I know the order you’ve put out, but I’m askin’ yuh to let me keep my gun, cause yuh might need it.” Blaze smiled into Sales’ crooked face and nodded. “T reckon you can hang on to your gun— for a while.” “Much obliged,” nodded Sales seriously and walked out. Blaze did not understand what Sales had meant, when he said that Blaze would, or might, have need of his—Sales’—gun. Blaze had no desire to take Sales’ gun, in spite of the fact that Sales was notorious. Sales did not look, act nor talk like a fighter; yet the man in the restaurant had rated him above Black Mora. Blaze leaned against the doorway, watch- ing the street. Wolf Butte was beginning to warm up to the afternoon round of pleas- ure. A fist-fight was in progress farther up the street and the closely packed audience were cheering and jostling for a closer view. The creaking of a wagon caused Blaze to turn his head. Coming up the- street was a mismated team of mules, hitched to a wagon, on the Adventure seat of which sat a woman and a little girl. The woman’s face was hidden by a sun- bonnet, but Blaze could see that the girl was a pretty, tangle-haired thing, frail as a flower. The woman drove the team to the front of a store, where she tied the mules and went into the store. As she started into the door, two men came out. They looked closely at her, and one of them went back and peered inside. He spoke to his companion and they both laughed as they went back inside. Blaze wondered why they had watched her. He knew that she had not spoken to either of them as she passed. Blaze shut the office door and walked to the store. The woman was leaning on a counter, talking to the proprietor. The two men were standing near her, looking down at the child, which was clinging to her skirts. Blaze heard enough to know that the woman was crying. The two men looked closely at Blaze, but he gave them only a glance. The proprietor glanced past her, his eyes filled with pity. Then he put his hand on her shoulder and said softly: “Mrs. Wheeler, go over to my house, will yuh? My old woman will be mighty glad to see yuh and you’re welcome to stay as long as yuh like—you and the little girl.” The woman made some reply and turned around. She did not look at Blaze, but he could see that she was both young and pretty; but her face was gray from suffering. “Just tie the team to the gate,” called the storekeeper. “I'll see that they are taken care of.” The woman nodded and went on. The two men lounged out behind her and stood in front of the building until she drove away. The storekeeper shook his head wearily and turned to Blaze. “Carlin, my name’s Delaney. I was out there last night with the judge.” Blaze held out his hand. “Glad to meet yuh. What’s the matter with the woman—if it’s any of my business?” “God knows it is, Carlin. That’s Mrs. Wheeler—Jack Wheeler’s wife. Lives down on Cactus Creek, where they was gettin’ a good start. Honest man was Jack Wheeler and he was one of our organization. Quiet, sober, minded his own business. He—wait a minute.” Delaney turned away to sell a man some tobacco, but came back to Blaze when the man had gone. COnmiclboool< (C@