“I--fell--for--a--mile--and--then--I--bounced.”
“Bounced?”
“Don’tcha--believe--me?”
_Biff!_
I had forgotten that goat. The universe seemed to hit me just below the
point of balance. I scraped my knee-caps and felt my toes hang for a
second--then space. I hung on to Dirty Shirt. It seems years after the
landing before I can breathe, and then I sets up in the road beside
Dirty Shirt. I says--
“Did--you--bounce?”
“No,” says he weak-like. “I didn’t have a chance, ’cause you was on
top.”
It took us about an hour to get home. Dirty had one leg that wanted to
go north and I had one that wanted to go south; so we covered a lot of
useless territory on the way. Doc Milliken and Magpie are in the cabin,
and they sure stared at us quite some when we fell inside arm in arm.
“Dirty,” says Magpie, “we’re sorry. We had men at the window to catch
you, but they got at the wrong window when you fell.”
“Which--time?” asks Dirty.
“Magpie, is there an insanity clause in that policy?” asks Doc. “This
feller is knocked crazy.”
“Nope. I returned the money you collected today, Ike.”
“Why did Doc pass me and turn down the rest?” wonders Dirty.
“Because you wasn’t mad at anybody,” grins Doc.
“Don’t I get nothing for my trouble?” I asks. “I’ve sure done a day’s
work.”
“Yes,” says Magpie, “and it took a horse doctor to undo it, Ike.”
“Is the Legion still doing business?” asks Dirty.
“In times of peace,” says Magpie, “but in these days of paid murder
she’d soon put the Bank of England in the sere and yaller leaf. We
sure figure on doing big business but----”
The door flies open and Scenery sticks his head inside.
“All is lost,” he squeaks. “Th-the gug-goat ate the ch-charter!”
Which finished Magpie’s sentence and the Loyal Legion of Lizards.
[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the Mid-October, 1920 issue
of Adventure magazine.]