Adventure, January 20, 1922 — page 172: what you’re looking at

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

170 Frenchy snapped his words as if anxious to get into action. again. Blaze lifted a coiled rope from under the table and proceeded to hog-tie the one-eyed man, who made no move to prevent it. Blaze roped him as only a cowboy can do the job and when he was finished the one-eyed outlaw was as secure as knots could make him. Not a word would the man speak, not even a curse. He was taking no chances. “Where you go?” asked Frenchy. “Delaney’s place. Know where it is?” “No. Mebbe somebody show us.” THEY closed the door behind them and went across the street. The closed Square Deal Saloon made a dark spot in the otherwise lighted street. Two men met them as they reached the sidewalk, and Blaze recognized one of them as being the stable-man. “Know where Delaney lives?” asked Blaze. The man had recognized Blaze and Frenchy and gave them the directions in a few words. Delaney lived a short distance from the business section, back on the slope of a hill. Blaze and Frenchy did not go cautiously, for the reason that Blaze be- lieved that if it was an ambush, the outlaws might mistake Frenchy for their messenger in the dark and give them a chance to find out what they were up against. A dim light was burning in Delaney’s front win- dow. ‘They were almost to the door when a voice said— “Good work, Blue.” Men rose up from behind them, men who were unseen in the shadows of the fence and who ringed Frenchy and Blaze from every avenue of escape except into the house. “The house,” whispered Blaze. ‘Smash the window if the door is blocked.” ‘f yuh, I’ve got yuh where yuh won’t kick fer a while,’ gritted Black Mora’s voice. Blaze whirled and fired at the figure which he thought was Black Mora, while Frenchy’s pistol spat flame in the other direction. The bushwhackers were taken by surprize; supposing that one of the two was their messenger, Al Blue. Blaze swung his gun from figure to figure, firing as fast as possible, while Frenchy emptied his gun into the bulk of the men who were only a few feet from him. Oaths and cries of pain mingled with the Adventure crashing of pistols. Blaze felt a bullet tear through the flesh of his left forearm, while another bit deeply across his shoulder. His gun was empty. Frenchy had ceased to fire for the same reason. Straight for the door they ran, crashing into it together and splintering the cheap latch. It was a narrow hallway, opening each way into larger rooms. Blaze bounded back from the wall and threw himself against the door. Frenchy went to his knees and skidded almost into the right-hand room. For a moment Blaze held the door with his shoulder, but he immediately dropped flat, braced his feet against the bottom of it, while he calmly shoved cartridges into his empty gun. Bullets splintered the door, waist high to aman, but none of them came low enough to injure Blaze. Frenchy reloaded as fast as possible and crouched against the wall out of line with the door, cursing softly. “Didja get hit, Frenchy?” asked Blaze. ‘“‘T’m los’ piece from my ear and git bullet in de leg; I’m t’ink one boot she’s get irrigate from de blood. How you come?” “Got a slug through my left arm and one through my left shoulder, I think. Can’t shut my hand very good. We kinda busted up the meetin’, Frenchy.” “Ho, ho, ho! I’m have de gran’ time latelee. I’m never know dere be so much good time in de worl’, Blaze. Where you suppose everybodee she’s be? Where’s Delaney and de female wimmin’, eh?”’ Blaze crawled away from the door, which swung ajar for a few inches. Into the other room went Blaze, crawling softly in the dark. One room was partly lighted with the smoking oil-lamp, but this one was in darkness. Blaze crawled slowly, reaching ahead as much as possible; crawling like _a three-legged animal. Suddenly his hand touched flesh. Like a flash his pistol barrel bored into it but there was no movement. Blaze reached out with his injured hand, not daring to take away the pistol, and felt tight ropes. “Frenchy,” he called softly. ‘Come here, Frenchy.” “Ba gosh, I’m come,” whispered Frenchy, and came limping softly into the room. “Light a match,” whispered Blaze. Frenchy lighted a match, shading it with his hands. On the floor lay Delaney, trussed with ropes, gagged with a dirty rag and with a hangman’s noose around his . COmicoooks EO