Adventure Trails, February 1929 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

<= < , ~ > a - THE MIGHT OF THE SCORPION for the musing frown between his brows. . He had looked the slim young Mexican dandy full in the eyes back there in the cantina; full in the eyes—and those mas- terful, impatient eyes were blue! II A CALL TO SERVICE T was almost unprecedented, but the next day another gringo rode into Scaja. He was a smafi, compact little man with a tanned face and a mustache sunburned to a sickly yellow. The first thing he did when he struck town was to ask which trail to take to the At Last Mine. Somebody told him that Ted, one of the partners, was in town, and imme- diately the little man sought out the tall, blond young miner. He found Ted striding briskly into Scaja from his camp on the outskirts of the town. “McKay?” he questioned expectantly, thrusting out a powerful, sun-browned hand. “No other,” nodded Ted, sizing up the man with approving eyes, and gripping the proffered hand. He could hardly repress a slight start as he shook hands with the little man with the faded mustache. With his little finger the man had pressed twice, gently but un- mistakably upon the palm of Ted’s hand. The secret sign of the service! Casually, Ted gave the proper response, letting his thumb slide across the back of the little man’s hand in an arc approxi- mately a quarter of a circle. “T’m Wilson,” said the little man, nod- ding approval. “Lucky to meet you here; damn lucky. Saves me two days, maybe more. Walk down the street with me. We can talk as we stroll.” Wonderingly, Ted obeyed. What could the chief want of him? It had been three years and more since he had even heard from the bright-eyed, white-maned man in Mexico City who knew more, perhaps, of what went on beneath the surface than any man in all Mexico. And Wilson. It must be something im- ~“ portant, for Wilson, who ran a big im- porting house as a blind, was the chief’s right-hand man, one of his most trusted and valuable lieutenants. Ted knew him well by reputation. 13 “Come all the way from Mexico City to _ see you, young fellow,’ Wilson was say- ing in his jerky, abrupt fashion. “Ought to feel complimented. I’m getting old for that sort of thing. Chief’s got a job for you.” “A job for me?” repeated Ted wonder- ingly. Wilson nodded briskly. “Yes. You were one of his best men. Hated like hell to lose you, the chief did. More money in mining though, eh?” “Some,” admitted Ted, smiling. Wilson stopped by the corner of a de- serted, tumble-down ’dobe house near the end of the street. “Well, the chief wants you to help him out this time, anyway. Says you are just the man for it. Right here on the scene, know the country, all that sort of thing. Listen. “Chief’s got an idea—and you know he generally has things pretty straight—that there’s trouble brewing up here. Some- thing pretty serious. Reds mixed up in it. Some sort of a big secret order being or- ganized. God knows how far it’s gone already. Anti-foreigner stuff, you know; the old line to rouse the natives. Got to be stopped. Promptly. “The Government is just beginning to stabilize itself. This thing, if allowed to grow, would set us back ten years. Must be nipped in the bud. Must be. And the chief says you’re the man for the job, old man.” “The chief must be off this time,” re- plied Ted, shaking his head. “I haven’t heard or felt a thing. Everything is as quiet and contented and sleepy—” “That doesn’t mean a thing,.and you know it,” cut in his companion quietly. “True; but I can’t believe there’s any mischief afoot,” replied Ted thoughtfully. He paused for a moment and thought it over. “You go back and tell the chief I’ll take the job—what the devil—” EComichoo