Adventure Magazine Cover — page 115: what you’re looking at

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

Pay Gravel eagerly watching the hand dipping into the breast pocket for more paper money. “But what say to a little game in Frank’s room?” “This is my drinking night. I never mix cards with liquor,” laughed Dinsdale. “T thought you was keen to have your revenge,” murmured French Curly, leaning his back against the bar and staring into Dinsdale’s flushed face. “Probably I am, but I usually pick my time,’’ affably replied Dinsdale. ‘““A man of spirit finds one time as good as another.” “So he does; and tomorrow is as good as today. But if you’re hankering for action T’ll cut the deck for a thousand a cut; any one of the men here to shuffle the cards for us,” lightly countered Dinsdale. “Cutting the deck doesn’t call for much brain work, and luck’s with me tonight.” French Curly began to loose his evil “temper. Heads were twisting, necks were craning, as Dinsdale’s reckless offer was made; and the gambler—willing to stake his soul on a game of chance—had no thousand dollars to risk, nor any respectable portion of that sum. Had the invitation to the small room been accepted he had planned to_ borrow money from Keno Frank. Each curious face turned toward him increased his rage. With a sneer on his pallid face he said: “You'll need lots of luck. You’ll do well to stick to luck.” “Especially after I find a game is crooked,” loudly retorted Dinsdale. ‘‘What was you doing at that side table when you pretended to be using the gold scales?”’ Those who had emptied their glasses gently replaced them on the bar. Those about to drink postponed the ceremony, and there was a general withdrawal to the op- posite side of the room. The two had the floor to themselves. French Curly wet his pale lips and quietly said: ‘“Vou’ll explain those words if you can. If you can’t you’ll eat them.” Dinsdale tossed off his drink and laughed vacuously and retorted: “Then I prefer explaining. Something happened in the game last night I didn’t like. I let it pass as I didn’t want to raise a row in Joe’s place the first time I was there. It was when you stooped and picked up a chip and placed it on the table beside the little gold scales.” 109 “Meaning I worked something crooked?” hissed French Curly. “Derned if you haven’t hit it dead center! Have a drink.” “Swallow it!” curtly commanded the gambler, pulling a large bore derringer from his side coat pocket. With a movement so quick that none could follow it Dinsdale knocked the der- ringer to the floor. French Curly dived to recover it, but snarled in fear and threw himself backward as a bullet struck the floor under the weapon and jumped it to the center of the room. Then with both guns working alternately Dinsdale caused the derringer to spin and hop toward the door, the shots coming al- most together and each furthering the flight of the weapon. “Look out!’ some one howled. He wheeled in time to behold French Curly half over the bar and reaching for the bartender’s gun. “Quit it,” calmly commanded Dinsdale, walking toward him. “You didn’t count right. I havea shot left.” The gambler dropped back to the floor and Dinsdale put up his weapons. Keno Frank, drawn from his private room by the firing, now ran forward and behind the bar against which Dinsdale was lean- ing. With a scowl on his heavy face he stared from Curly’s furious countenance to that of the nonchalant Dinsdale, then at the floor and the battered target. “Seems to me, stranger, you’ve taken some liberty with my new floor,” he began. “A matter of doing that, or killing a snake. But you must admit it was pretty gun-play. Ask any of the men.” Keno Frank’s hand was resting beneath the bar, fumbling for the gun Curly had failed to secure. He stared into the smiling face thoughtfully. The scowl faded and the hand was withdrawn, empty. “Tt was pretty gun-play, stranger. a drink?” Dinsdale shook his head and reloaded his guns. ‘Just walking aroundabit. Ill be going.” He passed to the door, his hands at his side. French Curly wished he carried a second derringer, as did San Juan Joe, but in his heart he knew he would not risk a shot had he had the extra gun. For a man so very close to death he held life to be most precious. Have f CoOnmicloool< (C@