Adventure Magazine Cover, December 18, 1919 — page 149: what you’re looking at

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

Playing Safe in Piperock -and Jay-Bird had gone crazy, Magpie said if they hadn’t they soon would. W: got into Silver Bend after dark a nd hived up ina hotel. We're so sore and tired that we don’t wake up until noon. Magpie opines that we better draw our money and go over to Powder River for a spell, so we pilgrimed down to the bank. The curtains are down tight, and on the door hangs a card printed in big letters : 16: PRUST AS: TO: BUST. TO BUST IS —. NO TRUST, NO BUST, NO A feller comes along) and stops besidé us as we read the sign. but. 135 “The cashier runs away with the con- tents,” says he, “and she’s busted flat. They may pay ten cents on the dollar in a year or two.” Magpie twists his mustache and stares at me. “Hassayampa and Jay-Bird knew that,’ he snorts. “The danged crooks knowed them checks wasn’t no good, e \°? “What did we know about the circus, Magpie?’ I asks. He looks at me, scratches his head for a moment and says: “Piperock ought to be glad, Ike. Don’t you know it? They ought to rise up and sing a song of thanksgiving and vote us a medal.” “What for, Magpie?” “To think we didn’t buy out P. T. ‘Barnum.” Which we hope Piperock appreciates. DREAMERS’ REST By CAPT. GEO. WARBURTON LEWIS I KNOW a nook beside a tropic sea, whos spell still chains the hungering heart m Where palms their welcome wave, And nature begs to slave, And one may dream in daytime—glory be! It is a spot where salt smells from the deep Invade each chink where nature drones in sleep, And, worn by fife's stern test, A man may take his rest, Unharried by the urge to sow or reap. A wondrous purple carpet everywhere Of fronds that from the palms have fallen there, Mottled by light of sun, Spreads bronze and golden dun, And fragrance as of incense fills the air. Beneath those palms I’ve reamed at mellow noon; By that green sea the mystic midnight moon, With cynic smile and smirk, Has made my soul to irk, Fond homing resolutions to ‘impugn. My hopes are anchored by that trepic sea— My life is being lived there; though I be To wanderlust a prey. Ten thousand leagues away, Its spell still chains the hungering heart of me! - EGCOMIGHDOOKS com