Adventure Magazine Cover, March 20, 1925 — page 157: what you’re looking at

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

Deuce High ary sound. And from the look on his face I knows that he’s either cussin’ er prayin’. It’s a minute er two afore he gits a tail holt on his voice and makes words come out uh his system. “That'll be Pete McCloud,” he says husky like. “He was figgerin’ on slippin’ out by way uh the cajion where the lone hackberry trees stands. Mebbyso he’s wounded and makin’ a stand. We can’t let him go out alone without makin’ a stab at savin’ him, fellers. Ary uh you boys hankerin’ tuh foller me up the cafion?”’ Wyoming is the fust one tuh get to his feet, but it’s because he’s younger than the rest uh us and ain’t bothered none with rheumatics. He like tuh got tromped tuh death in the rush fer the tent door. Even the ol’ cook joins the stampede, swingin’ of a meat cleaver and lookin’ desperate as he tries tuh buck off his apron. “No use in all uh us goin’,” grins Bill. “‘Supposin’ me’n’ Wyoming takes the fust crack. Two’s a-plenty and not near so li’ble tuh be spotted. We go afoot. Cook, have plenty uh hot water and drag out that hoss liniment from my war sack. Pete may need fixin’ up.” : An’ he did. He’s wearin’ three holes in his carcass, and all that saves his life is that the péisanos is usin’ steel-jacket ca’tridges instead uh mushroom bullets. It’s none other but the Wyoming boy who finds Mc- Cloud and packs him two miles through the brush to camp. Bill is busy as a bird dog with two tails, protectin’ them from a rear attack. There’s one hunk uh lead in the Rang- er’s thigh, lodged ag’in’ the bone. The other two holes in his arm and shoulder is clean. “‘Reckon I'll have tuh probe fer that bul- let in yore thigh,” says Wyoming, business- like as as he rolls up his sleeves. “There bein’ no anesthetic handy, it’ll be right painful. Reckon you kin stand it, McCloud?” : “T’ll manage tuh tough it out,” says the Ranger as he looks square up into the boy’s eyes. “It’s —— white uh you to fix me up, under the circumstances—Crawford!” And I knows that there’s some kind uh dealin’ between Wyoming and the Ranger. “The Lazy Y boys calls me Wyoming,” says the boy as he bends over the Ranger. “Tf you don’t min M McCloud grins up at him, grittin’ his 139 teeth as the boy starts tuh locate that bullet. ‘“Make it New York if you’ve a mind tuh, son. Wyoming it is. Feels like yuh done located the slug.’ And he had. But it ain’t no fool’s play tuh fish out a bullet with a bent wire fer tuh use in place uh doctor’s tongs. The sweat breaks out on McCloud’s face, and I looks fer him tuh pass out. But he don’t. He jest looks into Wyoming’s face and tries tuh let on that he’s grinnin’. He don’t fool nobody with that grin. I sees a couple uh the boys slip outa the tent, lookin’ plumb white, and I don’t know as I’m blamin’ ’em. Bill Wagner’s off in a fur corner, cussin’ soft but fervent as he watches the Ranger show his toughness. I’m standin’ there with a basin uh hot water and bandages cut from the last two clean dish towels that stands between the cook and poverty. And I don’t know that my hand’s a-shakin’ like I was took with chills until Wyoming straightens up, holdin’ somethin’ in the palm uh his hand. “There she is, McCloud,” he says as he tosses the bullet on the mess table, then turns tuh me. “Lay the basin on the table afore yuh spill the water all over us,” he says, reach- in’ fer a bottle uh carbolic acid that’s set- tin’ there. He’s as steady as if he was used tuh the job; but I notice that he’s as white around the gills as them two boys that made a break fer the fresh air a while back. A big jolt uh water and a cigaret kinda braces the Ranger while Wyoming washes the wounds with the carbolic solution and fixes the bandages. : “Fast work,” says the ol’ grub sp’iler, who’s on timin’ anything. “It took jest five minutes.” And I’d uh swore that I’d been standin’ there over a hour! “Yuh must be a old timer at the busi- ness,”’ says Bill, admirin’ like. “‘No,” says Wyoming in a kinda weak voice as he fastens the last bandage. “It’s my fust attempt.” And with that he sets down weak like, and his hands is shakin’ so’s he spills ‘half a sack uh terbacker tryin’ tuh build hisse’f a smoke. And. there’s more than one gent in that tent a-wonderin’ which is the gamest man, McCloud er Wyoming. Goo (©