Adventure Magazine Cover, February 3, 1921 — page 101: what you’re looking at

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

The Road to El Dorado figure of a horseman. ‘The rider was lying on the~horse’s withers and seemed to be strangely inert. The trapper’s keen eyes had barely rested on this dramatic spectacle before the horseman, in approaching him, rode out of his field of vision. This disap- pearance was succeeded by the emergence of a second horseman from cover, who un- like the first rode erect. As Joe stared with mouth agape there came a puff of smoke and the belated sound of a rifle. “Devils an’ cactus!” yelled the trapper, sliding down the tree in frantic haste and throwing himself on to his horse. ‘‘Foller me, Rogers! Don’t lose sight of me if ye want to live! Never mind Bandy’s hoss!”’ 949? “Tl hear yellin’!’ cried Rogers as Joe led the way toward the oncoming fugitive. “Thought I heard it, too. But there’s work ahead that ain’t got any guesswork *bout it,’’ Joe called back over his shoulder. P of pine, bending low to escape being swept from the saddle by branches. Almost as soon as they sighted the opening beyond a horse was bearing down upon them. Joe swerved aside and grabbed at the bridle and was dragged from his saddle before he could bring the mad- dened animal under control. By that time Rogers was on foot and lifting the limp form to the ground. “in heaven! It’s Mason!” he choked after obtaining his first glimpse of the dead man’s face. “Shot twice through the back! I seen th’ last shot fired!” hissed the trapper, remount- ing. ‘Stay here with him.” “T hear yellin’!” Rogers cried. But the trapper was now bending low and racing along the back trail of the dead man’s horse. He cleared the woods and struck into a strip of ledge some two hundred feet wide just as a horseman plunged into view from a clump of timber ahead of him. Their recognition was mutual. The trapper swung off to the ground, threw up his rifle and felt his hat give a convulsive jerk as the other fired without dismounting. The shot was echoed by the trapper’s rifle, and the rider pitched to the ground and rolled over on the rock. Pulling a re- volver, Joe ran toward him, his hawk-like eyes guarding against a trick. THEY rode recklessly into a fringe 95 “Put up your gun. You done for me,” faintly greeted the fallen man. With a quick movement the trapper stripped off the man’s belt of weapons; then bitterly accused— ‘So it was ye, Durgin, that done for poor Bandy Benton an’ Mason!” And he squat- ted by the wounded man and eyed him wolfishly, “Boss ordered it,” mumbled Durgin, his gray lips twisting. “ him and his am- bitions! Always give me the rough end of the game. Always named me for the worst jobs.” ‘An’ ye would carry out th’ bloody orders of a dead man!” gritted Joe. Durgin showed his teeth in a triumphant grin and whispered: “Old Oakes was never anything except what he claimed—a gambler. You was mighty soft to be took in like you was.” ‘““Mebbe I was soft. But I’m bitter hard now,” murmured Joe. Then, shoving the muzzle of his revolver into the gray face, he fiercely demanded, ‘“Where’s th’ galr” “Can’t scare me. jeered Durgin. ‘“Where’s th’ gal?” “Find her, youre so smart finding things.” Joe withdrew his gun and stared thought- fully at the man for a few moments. Once more he caught the sound of voices shouting and took time to classify the noise. His eyes brightened with a new hope. He calmly said: “Ve’ve got several hours to live if I take good ‘care of ye: There’s Injuns comin.’ Ah! Ye can hear ’em, can ye? Good. They’re either friends o’ mine, who’ll do as I say, or else they’re Utes, who'll make game o’ ye till ye die jest ’cause yer skin is white. “Tell me where th’ gal is, or I’ll keep ye alive an’ turn ye over to ’em. Now, quick!” Durgin tried to lift his head and failed; but his ears were now registering the whoops of thé approaching red men. A terrible fear convulsed his death-struck face. “Not that! whispered. Joe rose and beat his palm against his lips and sounded a peculiar, piercing cry. Done for me already,” Don’t let ’em at me!” he Then, staring down into the distorted vis- age of the murderer, he promised: eCOnmicloool< (C@