Adventure Magazine Cover — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

18 “A very, very good idea, Skeeter Bill. I have no doubt but what the good soul would welcome them.”’ Skeeter Bill turned as if to go on, but the judge stopped him. “Skeeter Bill, have you four-bits? oil has all burned out of the old lamp.”’ Skeeter grinned and handed him a silver dollar. “Come on, folks, we’ll visit Mrs. Porter. Adios, judge.”’ The judge nearly fell trying to execute his bow and move swiftly toward the street at the same time. His whole being shrieked for liquor and he forgot Leeds’ warning or the danger of a vigilance committee. His right hand gripped that silver dollar until it fairly cut into the palm of his hand. ‘‘Dim places,’’ he muttered as he stum- bled into the street. “By gad, the old lamp is badly in need of oil.” Blindly he entered the Panhandle and leaned on the bar. The dollar clattered on the painted wood, the clink of bottle-neck on thin glass—the old lamp flickered up again. Mrs. Porter had been made a widow by virtue of a stick of dynamite, which did not live up to its scientific principles of only exploding when detonated. She had found herself alone in Sunbeam, in dire necessity of making a living; so she turned to the business of laundress. History of the old West does not record that outlaws ever stooped to dealing with such plebeian things as a bundle of laundry, but it is a fact that many of them had human desires for clean clothes. Skeeter Bill and the judge had little knowledge of laundry—hence the acquaintance of Mrs. _ Porter and her flat-irons. Mrs. Porter was busily engaged in her chosen profession when Skeeter Bill arrived with his charges. “Would you believe it?” exclaimed Mrs. Porter, after the introductions. “A preach- er-and his girl! Well, now ain’t it too bad you didn’t show up a month ago? Jim Porter didn’t have no preacher to speak over him. Jim was pretty good—good as hus- bands go—and it was hard to plant him without any respectable prayers.” “Can yuh put ’em up for a while, ma’am?” asked Skeeter Bill. “TI can, Mr. Sarg. I have a cot for the lady; and the preacher—”’ Mrs. Porter sized up the old minister, much to his em- The Adventure barrassment— “TI think he ain’t too long for the lounge. Jim hung over at both ends, when he layed down on it, but you’re kinda runty. Sure, I can put you up. When do you start preachin’?”’ “Ts there a church?” “A church?” Mrs. Porter wiped a soapy hand on her apron and looked appealingly at Skeeter. “Church in Sunbeam? Now would you listen to the innocent man, Mr. Sarg?” “T reckon they don’t understand Sun- beam, ma’am,” said Skeeter, and added, “But I reckon they'll learn.” “T dunno.” Mrs. Porter shook her head sadly. “I dunno. Jim Porter ‘lowed he knowed dynamite from <A _ to Izzard. ’Course, nobody knows what Jim done, but it’s almost a cinch he got flip with a stick of it. Say, Jeff Billings had some laundrv here, which is a total loss to me, as you might say.” Skeeter Bill rubbed his chin for a mo- ment, but reached in his pocket and took out some money. ‘Dollar cover it, ma’am?”’ “Plenty,” nodded Mrs. Porter, accepting the silver. ‘Might as well take the stuff and wear it.” Skeeter opened his mouth several times, as if unable to frame a reply, but finally shook his head violently. Skeeter Bill was hard-boiled, but he could hardly think of wearing the clothes of the man he had killed. “Go right in the house,” urged Mrs. Porter, and Mary Leeds and the minister started in. ‘“‘Ain’t you comin’ in, Mr. Sarg?” asked Mrs. Porter. “Nope,” Skeeter shook his head. “I— I’ve gotta job to do. See yuh later, folks.” “Thank you so much,” said Mary Leeds, holding out her hand. Skeeter reached for the hand, but missed and grasped her elbow, much to his con- fusion, but he shook her arm solemnly and hurried away without looking back. ‘““Gee cripes!”’ he muttered to himself. “Clumsy danged hippy-pot-a-must! Can’t even shake hands. That drunken old pard- ner of mine makes me ashamed that I never learned how to bow. Now, I reckon I’ve got to turn reg’lar killer to make good with the sky-pilot.”’ He swung into the street and headed for the Panhandle. GOMIIGooOo S (©