Adventure, January 20, 1922 — page 165: what you’re looking at

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

Powder Law “Last night or this morning the vigilantes took Wheeler out of his home, There ain’t a tree within three miles of there. Know what they done? They tied his grindstone around his neck, like you’d rope a stone to a pup’s neck, and drownded him in a deep pool. “One man was guardin’ Mrs. Wheeler and the-kid, but he got interested in the murder and she and the kid got away. They hid in some weeds and heard the guard get cussed for lettin’ ’°em get away. The gang hunted until daylight, but gave it up and went away. As soon as she was able she hitched the mules and drove here.” “Reckon they wanted her?’ queried Blaze. Delaney nodded slowly. “T reckon so, Carlin. Women—her kind ain’t plentiful.” “Drowned like a pup,” muttered Blaze slowly. “Delaney I don’t reckon that —— is fit for the man who would do a thing like that. Don’tcha think the devil’s got a little honor left? Where does the soul of a man like that go to, anyway?” Delaney shook his head. “TJ dunno. Mebbe they’ll come back to Wolf Butte. It’s beginnin’ to = Came the dull snap of a pistol shot. Blaze rushed to the door with Delaney right behind him. A scattered bunch of horse- men threw up a dust-cloud in the middle ‘of the street, which prevented Blaze from see- ing just what was going on beyond them. Out of the dust-cloud came a man, run- ning, looking back and swinging a pistol in his hand. Suddenly the running man jerked sidewise, stumbled and fell sprawling, while from beyond him came the crack of a rifle. The horsemen drew aside. Down the street came Frenchy, running carefully, the Winchester held in both hands. Straight to the fallen man he went. He picked up the man’s pistol, shoved it inside his belt and came straight toward Blaze and De- laney, ignoring the man he had shot. Men ran into the street and picked up the disabled outlaw, taking him into one of the saloons. Frenchy had a smear of blood across his cheek and blood was running from the back of his right hand. “De sonn-of-a-gonn, she’s fool me!’’ he panted. ‘She’s have anodder gun inside de vest. Ba gosh, I’m get dat gun, jus’ de same. Dis new gun be de good wan, + Blaze.” Carlin. 163 Frenchy trotted back to the stable, while curious eyes followed him. He had hit a running man—running through a dust- cloud, at a hundred and fifty yards, and with one shot. There was something sinis- ter about a man who could shoot like that and then ignore his victim, except to collect his pistol. It savored of an Indian killing for a scalp. Wolf Butte had become serious regarding the new sheriff. Delaney had been watching the men carry the fallen outlaw away and now he turned to Blaze. “Carlin, I haven’t a bloodthirsty spot in my soul, but I could do a scalp-dance right now. That was Buck Law, Bill McKee- ver’s pardner. Buck is part Shoshone. McKeever is one of the worst killers in the territory and he’ll sure be dancing Dit- teau’s hair when he hears of this.”’ Blaze smiled. “Frenchy’s hair is on kinda tight, De- Janey. He’s got the biggest heart in the world, Frenchy has. If you told him about the Wheeler family he’d be bawlin’ like a calf. Can’t stand sufferin’, somehow—not when it’s women and kids, but he does love a fight. If yuh ever see him goin’ into ac- tion, watch him close. He’s fast with a gun sae as a streak, but it’s the speed of a Ox “Didja ever see one of them magic fellers —sleight-of-hand? Yuh did? They ain’t so fast, Delaney, but they makes yuh look at somethin’ else while they does the trick. Frenchy is always doin’ somethin’ just ahead of his draw. I saw him do it when he shot Jim Clell. “He said to Clell—‘You leave your gun with me,’ just like that, and all the time he had his left hand half-closed, shufflin’ his fingers like he was goin’ to crumble up somethin’ and throw it at Clell. Clell kinda talked like a man in his sleep,’ tryin’ to watch that hand and Frenchy’s other hand too. Clell went for his gun, but it was too late. His motion was made like he had just happened to remember it and Frenchy beat him a mile.” “They tell me that you sabe the six-gun yourself,” observed Delaney. Blaze smiled and shook his head. “Not too well. I need an even break, Delaney. I hate to shoof a man. It al- ways seems to me that it ain’t right to cut aman off. When a feller fights his way up to my age, sufferin’ things and enjoyin’’ CORNICGLOO© S, (C@