Adventure Magazine Cover, February 3, 1921 — page 35: what you’re looking at

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

The Road to El Dorado California Joe gave the landmarks a glance and then attempted to penetrate the wall smothering their back trail. “They'll be follerin’ us mighty pert,” he remarked as he fished out his pipe and filled it. This obvious conclusion did not call for any speech from the taciturn Reason. They pressed on until they were opposite the mouth of the creek, when they dis- mounted to examine some charred cotton- wood sticks. “No Injun fire,” said Reason. “Old Oakes and his medicine man. Oakes built th’ fire. His Injun was too busy whittlin’. Here’s some o’ his shavin’s. Make some coffee to go with th’ ant’lope head while I look th’ country over from th’ bluffs.” Catching his unwilling mount, Joe rode north of the road. He gained the top of a bluff and studied the country as fast as the yellow blob of a sun ate up the mist. One of the first shafts of light dimly revealed the Spanish Peaks and the Green- horn Mountains. Then summits began to emerge from the northwest horizon; but down the valley of the Arkansas the fog remained a fleecy sea. Of this the trapper both approved and disapproved. It concealed them from the Kiowas and compelled the Indians to follow by signs; but on the other hand it would permit the Indians to steal upon them with- out being seen. “Qur best medicine is our ears,” decided Joe. “An’ I can’t smoke all th’ time. I’m goin’ to have my coffee an’ a bite of ant’lope if I have to eat atween shots.”’ With this philosophical decision he dis- missed all thoughts of Indians and galloped back to the tiny fire where Reason was boiling coffee. Joe helped himself to the baked head and drank his coffee scalding hot. Then he resumed smoking, remonstrating as he did SO: “Wish ye’d stop that sillv chatter, Tommy, an’ hold yerself down to talkin’ sense. How near d’ye ‘low they might be? How far ahead is Old Oakes?” Reason shrugged his massive shoulders and jerked his head toward the long snake- skin festooned over his saddle. Joe nodded as if agreeing, and mused: “Ye don’t know an’ ye don’t care s’long as ye have yer medicine at work. Why’n 29 sin couldn’t ye ’a’ said so in th’ first place without. wastin’ all them words? Do we make a run for Pueblo, or quit th’ trail an’ try to lose ’em?” ! Reason divided the rest of the coffee in two tin dippers and pointed northwest, then pointed to fresh signs beside the road that led to Pueblo. Joe clapped his hands and applauded: “Good for ye! If we can sneak one side an’ they strike Old Oakes’ trail they'll tag after him while we cut across to th’ traders’ Pueblo-Laramie trail... Or we can cross th’ river an’ strike south into th’ Taos trail.” ‘“Jicarella *‘Paches an’ Comanches down there.” ‘An’ only Cheyennes an’. ’Rapahoes north ‘long th’ Laramie trail. An’ they’ll be friendly if they haven’t heard ’bout th’ new gold strike.” “Prob’ly off after buf’ler with th’ Kiowas on th’ Smoky Hill or Republican.” Saying this, Reason mounted his horse. Joe kneeled and placed his ear to the ground. Through the hard earth traveled a faint thumpety-ihump. The trapper’s haste in leaping to the saddle warned his friend that the heart of the fog held a menace. They swung fromthe trail and ascended the bluffs. As they reached the top they found that the sun was rapidly finishing the labor of sucking the mist from the river. Their field of vision was greatly lengthened, but even so there was no sight of the Kiowas. Ahead of them was another elevation of gentle slope, and they leisurely surmounted it. Now the backward gaze found some- thing that glittered and twinkled far down the trail—perhaps the silver work on the long shaft of a war lance. Finally Joe ex- claimed— “T can make out shapes!” Reason kicked his horse with both heels. From the trail rose a faint cry—the hunting- call of the Kiowas when man is the quarry. They had descried the white man outlined on the bluff. For a score of miles the Kiowas clung to the chase, occasionally sighting the trappers but for most of the time hidden from view by folds of the rolling hills. One by one the ponies began to fail until not more than ten warriors remained in active pursuit. For nearly fifty miles more these braves COMMICLOOOkKS (C@