Adventure, January 20, 1922 — page 166: what you’re looking at

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

164 things and just livin’ along it don’t seem right for a man to cut him short with a pinch of powder and a pellet of lead. I wonder if anybody deserves it.” Blaze shook his head and continued: “T reckon it’s got to be done though, and I also reckon that Fate wrote in the big book that me and Frenchy Ditteau was to come here and make aclean-up. I hope the big book has more pages about us after this chore is done.” “T sure hope so,” nodded Delaney. “T sure do, Carlin. I reckon I'll get some of the boys to go down there and help me bury Jack Wheeler. His wife dragged him out of the creek and put him in the house.” “My .——!” exclaimed Blaze, “I—I reckon some men deserve worse than a pel- let of lead—and I won’t feel sorry if I have to pull the trigger.” Wi) BLAZE turned and walked back hg to the office. As he walked up to —<4 the door a bullet whistled past his face and thudded into the casing. From across the street came the muffled thump of a pistol shot. One of the three front win- dows of the Eureka’s second story was open, but the cheap, print curtains were drawn to- gether. Blaze whirled on his heel and went straight toward the saloon, walking swiftly. He was deadly cool, ignoring the chance of another shot. This was no time to back down; no time for anything except swift action. Blaze had not reached the door, when another pistol shot seemed to jar the build- ing, but no bullet came his way. He walked inside. Men looked at him, but it was evi- dent that none of them in the big room connected his coming in any way with the pistol shots... The room was in an uproar, as two men quarreled over a misplaced bet on a roulette combination, and it is doubt- ful if any one in the room had heard the two shots fired upstairs. Blaze walked straight for the stairway, which led to a balcony. The second story of the Eureka was not divided off by a ceil- ing from the lower floor, but was a rec- tangle of rooms leading on to a balcony. Blaze trotted up the stairs and had just turned toward the front rooms when a man stepped out of a door on to the balcony. Blaze stopped and his hand dropped to his gun. The man turned his head and slowly Adventure closed the door, then turned to face Blaze. It was Chuck Sales. Had Sales fired the bullet which almost hit him? Blaze touched the butt of his pistol ready to draw, but Sales-made no move toward his gun. He glanced over the balcony rail, looking over the crowd. He lifted his head and smiled at Blaze. ; In spite of himself Blaze smiled in return. There was something contagious about that humorous smile, the lop-sided nose and the face overbalanced with the enormous chew of tobacco. Sales sauntered slowly up to Blaze, turned sidewise and lifted his right elbow, disclosing a heavy Colt gun which was shoved between his belt and body. Blaze lifted it out and glanced at it. One shot had been fired. “He made a mistake,” said Sales softly. *““Good shot he was, but he had to shoot left- handed. Never shoot a snake to cripple it, Carlin, ’cause yuh must remember that yuh got to kill it to ruin its fangs.” Sales walked slowly around to the stairs and went down into the crowd. Blaze shoved the gun into the waistband of his pants and watched Sales go to the roulette layout and buy chips. Blaze knew that there was no use going to that room. Sales had killed Mex Free; there was no question of that. Free had hid up there and tried to kill Blaze, shoot- ing with his left hand. Blaze remembered what Sales had said about the need he— Blaze—would have of Sales’ gun. A couple of dance-hall girls came out of a room next to the one Sales had been in. They stopped at the door and looked at Blaze, as if afraid, but Blaze smiled at them and they walked past him. To Blaze, a woman was a woman, no matter what else she was, and he lifted his hat and bowed as they went past. One of them giggled foolishly, but the other stared at him for a moment, turned her painted face away as if embarrassed and went down the stairs. She was not a young. woman, but there were traces of former beauty in her face in spite of the glaring rouge and the penciled lines. Blaze remem- bered her. She was the woman who laughed, when he hit Black Mora with the beer mug. He went back down the stairs and out through the crowd. Frenchy was walking toward the office, carrying his rifle in the crook of his arm, and Blazejcrossed to meet him at the door. CORnnicloool< (C@