Adventure Magazine Cover — page 173: what you’re looking at

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

The Grub-Line “T’m believin’ yuh, cook. Austin, put up yore hands and fight!” ‘Tad tossed his gun on the table. Ribs Austin, his big eyes red with hate, a sneer on his thick lips, crouched like a wrestler. Heavier by fifty pounds than his; antagonist, the Slash R boss felt confi- dent of an easy victory. Tad, standing loosely, almost awkwardly, watched Austin with a cold, calculating stare. With an animal-like snarl, Ribs rushed. Tad, side-stepping and avoiding the thick arms, swung viciously at the bloated face, then clenched. For several minutes they braced themselves, straining every muscle. Suddenly Tad dropped to his knees like a plummet. Ribs, caught unawares, lost his balance and his arms loosened. Slipping free from the bear-like pressure, Tad was on his feet, smashing at the mottled face now smeared with blood from a flattened, broken nose. Hitting viciously, gouging, biting, with all rules of fair fighting thrown in the discard, they fought like beasts. Ribs Austin’s breath came in great sobs. ‘Tad, breathing hard, but handicapped by a broken left hand, fought silently. The old cook, dancing about like a der- vish, one eye on Frenchy, with stolen glances at the fighters, cheered Tad on with shouted advice. The Slash R cow-punchers, grinning and talking among themselves, seemed to have no desire to interfere. Unpopular always with his men, Ribs had no backing now. Frenchy, a trifle pale, but with a crafty gleam in his black eyes, watched silently. Unobtrusively, his hand had slipped into the leg of his boot and closed over the butt of a derringer hidden in an ingeniously con- structed scabbard strapped to his leg. Tad and Ribs, rolling over and over, crashed into the table. A thud as the table gave way. Inky darkness as the guttering candle was: extinguished. From Frenchy’s corner, a streak of flame and the roar of the derringer. A thudding crack, then a silence unbroken save by the panting struggle of the two men locked in a death grip. Men crowded against the tent wall, un- © certain whether to make for the door or stay where they were. In awed silence they listened to the sounds of that terrific death struggle that still went on. The threshing of twisting bodies dimin- 171 ished gradually and ‘a terrifying, whistling sound took its place. the combatants had found the other man’s throat and was slowly but surely choking him to death. ‘““‘What the goes on in here?”’ called a gruff voice from the tent door. The next instant the glaring ray of a powerful flash- light lit the interior of the tent. The sheriff, followed by three men, pushed their way inside. It was the sheriff who pried Tad’s bony fingers from the other man’s throat. Ribs Austin, his thick features a bleared, blood- spattered mass of purple flesh, gasped and choked for the breath that came back into his lungs in painful, whistling sobs. The old cook, bleeding profusely from an ugly hole in his shoulder, sat astride the inert form of Frenchy. The half-breed’s face was rapidly becoming crimson from a gash on the side of his head. “The pole-cat had a second gun, big feller,” croaked the cook. “I had tuh knock him on the bead tuh keep him quiet. Sheriff, yuh got here too soon. Why in couldn’t yuh wait till Ladd got a chanct tuh work the breed over? I’d’a’ got the yaller hided houn’ myself if I’d ’a’ knowed the play was goin’ tuh fizzle out thisaway.” “TI don’t know but what yo’re right, ole timer,”’ said the sheriff grimly. ‘Dog eat dog and no harm done to nobody. But I got here about half an hour too soon. Ladd, you and Austin and the breed git washed up: I got subpoenas here fer all uh yuh. Steve Dunlap’s trial comes up at ten o’clock to morrow mornin’. Where’s Shorty Carroway?”’ “Dead,” said Tad dully, wiping some blood from his bruised face. “Shorty’s dead.” “Who killed him?” “It was—” Tad’s lips clamped shut. “I’m attendin’ to that, sheriff,”’ he finished. Frenchy, his senses returning, gingerly felt of the gash in his scalp. His lips parted in a ghastly smile as he met Tad’s glance. The grin widened as he looked at Ribs Austin, groaning feebly and caressing the thick neck that still bore the marks of Tad’s terrific grip. “By gar, I’m theenk Reebs ees gone for sure. Sacré, you heet hard for old mans, cook.” “Uh-huh,” grunted the cook, who was NOOK One or the other of . (C©