Adventure, July 1, 1928 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

CShe DUKE and the DUCATS Tex MacDowell and Duke Daly, Border flyers, z00m down on a shady deal in a booming Texas oil town By THOMSON BURTIS OBERT DALY, sometimes known as the Duke, climbed out of the trim little scout he had just landed on the MceMul- len airdrome. His eyes were still glowing as a result of one of the few intervals of complete happiness which life afforded him. There was an admixture of pain with the sheer delight of flying, however. Once he had been a regular Army flyer, instead of merely in the Reserve Corps, and a member of that same McMullen flight of the Border Patrol which the Army Air Service flew along the Rio Grande. As he walked toward headquarters, one of the line of frame buildings on the southern edge of the tiny flying field, the almost boyish light in his eyes changed to the shadow which habitually darkened them. That he was not still a regular Army flyer, he realized, was due to the outlaw he had been before his Army days, and flying, for him, must always remain an occasional treat: just another installment of the payment for his past which would never be completed .. . “Lieutenant MacDowell wishes to see you, sir, in headquarters.” The mechanic saluted smartly. Salut- ing on that small post was a rarity, be- cause officers and men passed each other too frequently, but somehow the men always saluted Daly. “Thanks,” nodded the Duke, and at the same moment he saw the tall form of . Lieutenant Tex MacDowell appear on the porch and start toward him rapidly. He removed his helmet, revealing blond hair which lent the last touch of boyishness to his too perfect face. His clear cut features were like those of some statue. Asa matter of fact they had been carved by plastic surgeons. A_ wreck, back in war days, had almost ruined his face, and the artificial one the medicos had fashioned was as lineless as a boy’s. From the side he looked twenty-two or three. When one saw his eyes—the eyes of a man of thirty-one who had seen and suffered much—the contrast was such that few people could ever forget him. “Listen, Duke,” Tex called from twenty feet away, “how’d you like a week end comicloooks.com