Adventure Magazine Cover, February 3, 1921 — page 33: what you’re looking at

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

The Road to El Dorado tents. Joe halted and reviewed his mental picture of the camp, then confidently led the way toward the pony herd. Both knew that the fog would fill the valley be- tween the hills until mid-forenoon, greatly restricting the vision of both fugitives and pursuers. A dog slunk out at one side and growled menacingly, but gave no other alarm when he recognized the trapper as an inhabitant of the village. Pausing a moment to locate the horse- guards, they stole toward the herd. The ponies had been brought in from the plain at sundown and hobbled. As the white men advanced these gave ground. The task of locating their own animals consisted simply of taking the two that did not at- tempt to retreat. To remove the elk-hide hobbles and throw on the saddles and strap the blankets was the work of but a few moments. Reason was the first to mount. As he did so he remarked with regret: “Too bad to leave them nags. Worth good money if we fell in with any gold- hunters.”’ “None o’ that, Tommy,” Joe hoarsely warned him. ‘They'll be het up ’nough when they hear bout Many Lances without us stealin’ their ponies. No need to pile on any extry misry. Besides, Pve give it some considerable thought an’ I know we couldn’t git th’ herd started without havin’ th’ whole camp after us. In this fog a man afoot can keep up witha hoss. Dawg- gone it! Wish yer snake medicine would keep on th’ job!” ‘“What’s wrong with that snake?” was the truculent query. ‘Nothin’ much. Only [ve got to go back.”’ “Flo! Chief’s ha’r, eh? No ye don’t. Til go. Ill give it to my snake luck as a feast.” “Ha’r? ——! It’s my pipe; an’ by th’ Prairie Wolf-God o’ th’ Klikatats, I'll git it! It’s in th’ tent. Had it once, then laid it down when ye come tumblin’ back from meetin’ th’ b’ar. Dern a medicine that’ll let a white man forgit the only pipe he’s got!” “Don’t go for to speak wrong *bout—” expostulated Reason. “Pll be back in two shakes. If anything busts loose ye hustle ahead up th’ trail an’ lay for me at Timpas Crick. Take my 27 hoss along. Ill swear ye played me dirt, stealin’ my critter. If I ain’t along in two hours jest keep pushin’ for Wet Mountains Valley. Anything o’ mine ye happen to find is yers, of course.” “Shet up! Tl be here,” replied Reason. That his friend, an inveterate smoker, should risk capture and death for the sake of recovering his pipe was nothing sur- prizing. Reason himself had traveled two hundred miles through hostile territory to procure tobacco. The pleasures of moun- tain and plains men were few and simple; and to be denied tobacco was a tragedy. But Reason did resent the aspersions cast on his snake medicine. Old Oakes, who was much more sophisticated, firmly believed in good and bad luck. Men worldly wise in big cities carry old coins for pocket or luck pieces. Reason was on par with his fellow men, whether they: dwelt in the mountains or in brick and mortar. Oakes believed the demented Indian was bringing him good luck. Reason was as strongly convinced that the skin was a lucky omen and would bring him good fortune; hence it was a powerful medicine. If he and California Joe were recaptured he would attribute their dilemma to two causes—his friend’s abuse of the snake medicine, the more powerful medicine, or luck of the Kiowas. These mental processes rendered him a fatalist; and, ready to fight or fly, he calmly awaited results. The village continued quiet, and Reason was deciding that the pipe was to be recovered without any unto- ward happenings, because of the generous snake medicine affording them protection, when there crashed out on the still night the sound of falling timbers and of stiff hides being torn and tossed, and each alarm summoned the Kiowas to be up and looking after their affairs. LOOSENING his revolver and hold- ing his rifle ready, Reason placed a , hand on Joe’s horse to quiet it, and mused— “Must be Bill ag’in!”’ The tents spewed forth confusion. Men, women and ‘children crawled into the night and shouted excitedly. The clamor of many dogs was added. Above the din rang Sitting Bear’s command for order. Then like a trumpet came California Joe’s voice shouting in Kiowa— COmMicloooks (C@