Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 115: what you’re looking at

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

Paradise Bend “Ain’t got no warrant!’ screamed Mrs. Burr. ‘“Ain’t got no warrant, an’ yo’re lettin’ him take away a party on just his say-so! Dan Smith, since when have ye allowed a stranger to come in an’ tell you what todo? What right has this Block man from Fort Creek County to try an’ run Paradise Bend, I’d like to know?”’ “T ain’t tryin’ to run the Bend,” defended Block. “I wouldn’t think o’ such a thing. But I want this hoss-thief, an’ I mean to have him.” The words had barely passed Block’s teeth when Loudon’s self-control broke. With an inarticulate howl of rage he sprang at Block and drove the iron manacles into the sheriff’s face. Down went Block with Loudon on top of him. Twice, three times, before Dan Smith and two others pulled him up and away, Loudon smashed the handcuffs home. It was a bloody-faced, teeth-spitting sheriff that got slowly to his feet. “By ——!” gibbered Block. T’ll down you here an’ now!” A tall man with square features tapped the raving sheriff on the shoulder. “Don’t cuss no more before a lady,” ad- vised the square-featured man. ‘‘An’ don’t go draggin’ at no gun. This ain’t Fort Creek County. Yo’re in Paradise Bend, an’ I just guess ye won’t beef any sport with his hands tied. This goes as it lays.” From the crowd came murmurs of ap- proval. Public opinion was changing front. Mrs. Burr smiled serenely. “*Yo’re a real gent, Jim Mace,” she said, addressing the square-featured man. ‘“I always knowed you’d protect a defenseless female. Dan Smith,” she continued, turn- ing to the marshal, “unlock them hand- cuffs.”’ Dan Smith hesitated. Then Block spoiled his own case. He seized Loudon by the shoulders. Loudon promptly kicked him in the skins and endeavored to repeat his former assault with the handcuffs. But the two men holding him wrestled him backward. “Do I get him?” bellowed Block, rabid with pain, for Loudon had kicked him with all his strength. ‘Do I get him, or are ye goin’ to let a woman tell ye what to do?” Jim Mace stepped close to the sheriff. “Stranger,” said Mace sharply, ‘“‘you’ve done chattered enough. In yore own par- tic'lar hog-waller ye may be a full-size toad, “By ——! 113 but up.here yo’re half o’ nothin’. Under- stand?” The sheriff looked about him wildly. The Paradise-Benders, cold, unfriendly, some openly hostile, stared back. Wrought up though he was, the sheriff had wit enough to perceive that he was treading close to the edge of a volcano. The sheriff subsided. “Dan,” said Mace, ‘‘it’s come to a show- down. It’s the word o’ Mis’ Burr agin’ Block’s. There’s only one answer. If I was you I’d unlock them handcufts.”’ “Yo’re right, Jim,’’ agreed the marshal. ec] will.”’ “Gimme my gun,” demanded Loudon, when his hands were free. “In a minute,” parried the marshal. ‘Sheriff, if I was you I’d hit the trail. Yore popularity ain’t more’n deuce-high just now.” “T’ll go,” glowered Block. “But I’ll be back. An’ when I come [ll have a war- rant. I reckon the sheriff o’ Sunset will honor it, even if you won’t.” “Bring on yore warrant,” retorted the marshal. THE rumble of wheels and thud of hoofs attracted Loudon’s attention. Over the heads of the crowd he saw the high sides of a tarpaulin-covered wagon and, sitting on the driver’s seat, Captain Benjamin Burr and Scotty Mackenzie. “Hi, Cap’n Burr! Hi, Scotty!’ shouted Loudon. ‘“Where are they?” exclaimed Mrs. Burr, her harsh features lighting up. ‘Oh, there they are! You Benjamin Burr, come right in here this instant. Yore wife wants yore help!”’ Captain Burr swayed back on the reins. Dragging a sawed-off shotgun he hopped to the ground, Scotty Mackenzie at his heels. The crowd made way for them. Captain Burr swept off his hat and bowed ceremoniously to his wife. “My love,” said he, ‘“‘in what way may I assist you?” “That party,” sniffed Mrs. Burr, leveling a long forefinger at the wretched Block, “comes up an’ accuses Mr. Tom Loudon here o’ bein’ a rustler an’ a hoss-thief. Says he’s been brandin’ 88 cows an’ that he stole that chestnut hoss yonder.”’ The sawed-off shotgun, an eight-gauge Greener, covered Block’s belt buckle. “Suh, you lie,”’ said Burr simply. CoOMmMichoooks CO