Adventure Magazine Cover — page 172: what you’re looking at

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

170 and hangin? to his tail like grim death comes Magpie Simpkins, the president of Piperock’s Chamber of Commerce. Magpie has still got on one boot, a suit of red underwear and the crown of his hat, and in his eyes is a stern resolve. And be- hind him, pawin’ out of the wreck, comes Wick Smith. They all gets clear of the wreck and Sahara stops. Wick has a two- foot piece of two-by-four in his hands, and he braces his feet far apart. “Mum-Magpie,” says he kinda thin-like. “You has made me a widder man, gol ding yuh.” — But Magpie don’t hear it. far behind that pageant of progress. bows and kinda smiles, as he says: “The wheel of progress is turnin’, and wo unto him who gits under the tire. The people of Piperock has risen in their might, unleashed their bonds which has held them in darkness——” Tunk! Wick Smith’s two-by-four ended the speech. “You didn’t have to blame him entirely, Wick,” says I. He turns and looks at me, kinda weavin’ on his feet. “Your” he whispers. “You come bub- back? Where’s my wife?” “T dunno, Wick.” “You had her, dang you! I seen you huggin’ her!” I seen that piece of scantlin’ comin’, but didn’t have flexibility enough to dodge. I distinctly heard it clank against my head, and then I finds myself out in the street again. I can hear a lot of dogs wailin’, and I wonders if I can hear this because I’ve gone to the dogs. Ain’t it funny what a feller will think about in a case like that? A lot of folks are yellin’ at somebody or somethin’; so I sets up and concentrates on the present. A bullet digs into the dirt be- side me, but I don’t mind. I kinda won- ders why they’re shootin’ at me, of course. Then somethin’ hooks me off the ground and begins to give me a ride. I managed to get one eye open and finds that I’m on one end of that hitch-rack, and the motive power is furnished by Gunga Din. They’ve picked me up in the angle between one post and the top-pole, and the friction on that part of me which wasn’t on the pole was somethin’ awful. Then Gunga Din let out another of them awiul bugles, shucked the hitch-rack and His mind is He wate oe a a ae, ee ee a ee ee 7 2 : eo < . arg ar ke a * ot ng — > a = Adventure headed for Buck’s place again—and hangin’ to the slack skin of Gunga Din’s rear end was Cleopatra. Behind them came Pole- cat Perkins’ pack of hounds, run to a frazzle, but still able to stagger on and wail plenty loud and long. Them dogs has run that tiger all night, and it ain’t no wonder that the tiger is huntin’ for somethin’ to climb on to. Right into the wreck of Buck’s place they went, while the crowd, which is located in places of safety, yelled, shot and generally decided that —— was havin’ a recess. IT’S only about five minutes since East met West, but there oy has been several things come to Se pass. Gunga Din has gone back fot Buck’s place, tryin’ to get rid of Cleo- patra, when here comes Chief Cod Liver Oil, packin’ an old Sharps rifle. The old war-whoop sure must ’a’ been fortified against fear by much flavorin’ extract, ‘cause he heads straight for Buck’s shat- tered entrance, soundin’ his tribal war- whoop regular. I got to my feet. I reckon they were my feet. There ain’t no feelin’ in ’em, but they hold me up; so they must be mine. An armless man could count all the Harper heroes on the fingers of his hands, but just the same I goes pawin’ toward Buck’s place to see what I can salvage from Gunga Din, - Cleopatra and Cod Liver Oil. I don’t quite get there, when Cod Liver Oil comes out. He came out of there, end over end, missed me about a foot, and stood on his head and shoulders in the street. His Sharps lit just outside the doorway; so I picked it up and went in. Cleopatra is settin’ on what used to be the end of Buck’s mahogany bar, her mouth wide open and her eyes shut. Gunga Din is standin’ in the middle of the room, with one hind foot on Magpie’s pant-leg, and Sahara is half-in and half-out of a rear win- dow. And every time Gunga Din weaves the whole building shakes. Dirty Shirt has got to his feet, and there he stands, plumb out of clothes, kinda rockin’ on his feet and grinnin’ foolish. “Dud-do somethin’!” whispers Magpie. *fAin’t nobody goin’ to do somethin’?” “Call on the Chamber of Commerce,” says I. From under a smashed card-table, Wick Smith shoves up his head. He’s got the cGomicbooks.co