Adventure, January 20, 1922 — page 169: what you’re looking at

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

Powder Law For a moment there was silence; then the crash of a pistol shot. One of the men who had been standing on the bar, went back- ward, clawing for support. He had thrown the bottle and some one in the crowd had seen the deed. Came the crash of breaking glassware, as he plunged behind the bar and the tense crowd went hog-wild. Sales’ men were out for blood and Mora’s men were willing to accommodate them, but the pistol was of little use in that close-packed place. Men drew their guns and swung them overhanded, clubbing the barrels against anything which might come before them. Bottles flew crashing against the walls; sometimes against heads. The wide doors were not wide enough to accommodate the stampede, so windows were smashed to make exits. Blaze had flung himself across Sales, shielding him from the trampling feet, while Mora’s men strove to fight their way to Mora’s side. Blaze managed to get to his feet, holding Sales’ limp body, but was buffeted aside by weight of numbers. He clung to the inert body: with one hand, while he clubbed his way through the crowd with his heavy six- shooter. Above the roar of the tumult came Frenchy’s voice. “Hol’ on, you —— fools! Hol’ on! De sheriff say stop!”’ But that crowd knew no authority. Blaze fought his way to the front door, while Mora’s men managed to get their leader and half-drag him out the back door. Bul- lets began to fly as soon as the clans were separated sufficiently to tell which was which. Mora’s men got him out of the door, but they had paid toll. Three of his men did not get to the door and as many more were stretched on the floor, downed by pistol barrels or thrown bottles. Four other men, whether Sales’ men or other- wise, were also hors de combat. The shoot- ing stopped when Mora’s men disappeared. Disheveled men staggered around in the street, clothes half-torn from their bodies, bruised and bleeding. The saloon was a shambles, furniture wrecked, mirrors shattered. Blaze staggered across to the ' office carrying Sales, while behind him limped Frenchy, talking French so fast that he fairly spat words as a machine gun spits bullets. Frenchy’s hat and shirt were gone and his hair seemed to rise up like the roach on an angry grizzly bear. 167 Blaze placed Sales on a cot and dashed a dipper of water into his face. Sales blinked painfully and opened his eyes. A man, bruised about the face and minus one sleeve of his shirt, came into the door and looked at Sales. He spat out through the aperture of missing teeth and tried to grin. Sales looked up at Blaze and then sat up on the cot, feeling tenderly of the swollen cut on his head. “How do you feel, Chuck?” asked the man. - Sales,squinted up past his crooked nose at the questioner. “That's. a of a question to ask,” grunted Sales and then looked up at Blaze and asked—“Did I lick him, Carlin?” “Yuh did, Sales—yuh sure did.and yuh licked him fair. Where did yuh learn to fight like that?” “Back East. I was a prize-fighter once. That’s where I got this lop-sided nose. __ “What happened after somebody hit me?” “T got the bottle-thrower,”’ said the man. “He was a friend of Mora. This here Carlin saved yuh from bein’ tramped to death, Chuck. I tried to git yuh but I couldn’t go no place in that millin’ herd. I seen him pick yuh up and fight his way through. McCarty, Simpson, and Franklyn got hammered up a lot and Micky Shannon stopped a bullet, but I think they’ll all pull through.”’ ‘ Sales held out his hand to Blaze. “T reckon you went out of your way to do this fer me, Carlin, and I thank yuh to beat o “T ain’t thanked yuh for what yuh done for me over in the Eureka,”’ smiled Blaze. “Just came out even,” sighed Sales. “?Pears like I can’t never git nobody indebted to me, —— the luck.” Doctor Brenton worked swiftly probing for bullets and binding up cuts and bruises. There was not enough left of the Square Deal Saloon for the owner even to promise an opening within a week, so the regular habitués shifted their affections to the Eureka, the Double Cinch or the High Card gambling-houses. ~ hex THE fight was the subject of con- (2) versation and only seemed to add sS=— zest to the business of the night# Chuck Sales was a hero. He had accomh- plished the impossible. COmicloooks It was gossip that’ (C@)