Adventure, January 20, 1922 — page 174: what you’re looking at

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

LD halting and his left leg seemed to drag. Suddenly Frenchy increased his pace and his voice boomed out: “Ho, ho, ho! Ba gosh! All de time I’m mak’ t’ink of de squash, squash inside de boot. To wit’ de squash! First we git Mora, den we sleep. Ho, ho, ho!” “Good man!’ grunted Blaze, gritting his teeth over his throbbing shoulder and arm. “We'll clean ’em up, old pardner.”’ Frenchy stumbled and almost fell to his knees. “Hurrah for !”? he croaked drunken- ly. ‘‘Who’s afraid of de fire?” ) Blaze steadied him with his good arm and Frenchy laughed foolishly. They reached the street and headed for the Eu- reka, passing the other places. Frenchy was weaving, stumbling, but Blaze helped him along. Po “men stepped aside to let them SEE! through. The woman, who had stolen Mora’s gun, was standing on a plat- form, singing, but stopped when she saw Blaze and Frenchy, who came up near the platform. The violin quit in the middle of a bar of music. Blaze faced the crowd, lifting his good hand as a signal for silence. The room stilled in a moment, except for the shuffling of feet. Frenchy was hunched from weari- ness, but watched the crowd, with his right hand near the butt of his gun. “Men,” said Blaze hollowly, “you know us. We’re cleanin’ up this town.” _ Sales was standing near the bar and now he moved closer to Blaze. From back in the crowd came a voice— “Look out yuh don’t drown in your own suds.” “Black Mora and his men stole two women and a little girl tonight.” Blaze’s voice was cool. ‘‘Black Mora is the leader of the cut-throat gang, who are posing as vigilantes. No man or woman is safe while his gang are alive.” The crowd received this statement silent- ly. A man pushed his way to the front and faced Blaze. He was a tall, gaunt figure of a man, yellow as old ivory. His taffy- colored hair was matted and a long, greasy lock curved over his forehead and almost to the bridge of his nose. His eyes were cavernous and the light from the hanging lamps made deep hollows under his cheek- INTO the saloon they went and Adventure bones. A yellow muffler around his neck seemed to increase the sallowness of his face. Blaze had never seen this man be- fore. “Talk to ’em, McKeever,” urged a man behind him. Blaze knew that this was Bill McKeever, a partner of Buck Law, whom Frenchy had shot. “Got gunned up and now you're lookin’ fer help, eh?” drawled McKeever. “Bit off more ’n yuh can chaw and now your're huntin’ fer sympathy. Well, yuh won’t git a bit of it hereabouts. I ain’t forgot Buck Law, and by ——, if yuh wasn’t crippled = “Tt’s my left hand, McKeever,” replied Blaze coldly. “I use my right hand for shootin’. I’ve had plenty of shootin’ today, but if you must have it ss McKeever was moving as Blaze spoke. His hand streaked to his gun, drew swiftly, but his gun exploded ito the ceiling. Blaze had shaded him just enough to send a bullet ripping through McKeever’s knuckles, scoring his forearm and burning across the ribs of the man who had urged McKeever on. The crowd split with a rush, but above it all came Chuck Sales’ voice: “Steady, steady! Carlin stopped him, gents. No use of any more trouble.” McKeever staggered back, nursing his shattered hand, cursing impotently, his nerve gone. ‘Then Sales sprang to the platform, shouting: “Listen to me, you bunch of mangy coyotes! Stay here and suck a bottle and be ed to yuh! Dance, you whelps, while that offspring of the devil runs away with good women. Me and my men ride ‘with the law tonight, and when we come back we’re goin’ to help the sheriff do the rest of his washin’.”’ Seven men, including Blaze and Frenchy, followed Sales out of the saloon, plowing their way through the crowd, which split wide open to let them through. “Horses are at the hitch-rack!” cried Sales. ‘We'll find enough to carry us.” Frenchy was staggering and Blaze put an arm around his shoulder. “Keep goin’, pardner,” urged Blaze. “Ba gosh, I’m go!” declared Frenchy weakly. “I’m go, but de legs she’s forgit how to lif? up. I’m tired like , Blaze Carlin.” Sales and his men were ahead. Blaze COmmicloooks (E@)