Adventure Magazine Cover, February 3, 1921 — page 43: what you’re looking at

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

The Road to El Dorado girls angry gaze; and the weapons were restored to the belt. Leaping to the ground, she had barely lighted before Natchez was at her side humbly explaining— “That chunk of a man threw me into the wagon.” ‘Next time ye begin makin’ trouble when Injuns is round he’ll throw ye over th’ wagon,’ Joe informed him. sort of a outfit is this, anyway? Wagon- boss tryin’ to makea kill. Younker wantin’ to drink warm blood. Every one crazy but th’ gal an’ her paw.” “Just who might you be?” quickly in- quired the girl, advancing toward Joe and giving Tom Keason a_ sidelong glance through her silken lashes that made him squirm and twist like a bashful boy. Her father hastily named the trappers, explained that they were his old friends and briefly touched on the misunderstand- ing between the boss and the hot-headed Natchez. Incidentally he explained that the seemingly empty ridge at that moment concealed a considerable force of hostile Indians. Then he remembered to announce to the worshipful trappers that the girl’s name was June La Blanche. The men commenced crawling out from under the wagons to surround the little group. California Joe swept his eye over them, hoping to meet some old plainsman, but decided that they were largely riffraff, Shirley, now on hrs feet and doubly shamed at having been humiliated before his men, strode into the innermost group and _ in- formed Reason— _ ‘Ain’t no time to settle things now, but no man Jivin’ can lay his dirty paws on me an’ git clear with it.” Then to California Joe— “As for ye, Mister Wild Man, after we yank this train out of this muss I’m goin’ to comb that long ha’r of yers.” “Ha’r’s pretty long. Th’ combin’ oughter be good,” encouraged the trapper. ‘‘When ve git ready to start fussin’ jest let me know an’ ye’ll be as welcome as beaver signs to a Hudson:Bay man.” Laramie waved his hands in despair, wailing: “Talk! Talk! Talk! Holy blue! And the red men near to keel my girl!”’ California Joe again surveyed the gaping circle of teamsters and wagon-men, and from their apprehensive manner of staring at the silent ridge satisfied himself for a “What 37 second time that as Indian-fighters they were poor timber. As brawlers in a rough community they could be ferocious enough, but it was obvious that they were inex- perienced in dealing with the first plains- men. = The trapper shrewdly surmised that they were a rough-and-ready lot who had joined the train as affording them passage to the new gold-fields. Wheeling on Reason, who was gaping at the girl, he sternly ordered: “Tommy, close. yer meat-trap! No wonder ye git on Laramie’s nerves. Sorry, miss, but he’s that filled up with words he must be kept down, or he’d talk every one to death. Rushes at talkin’ jest as a buf- ‘ler runs to eat flag-grass in an old beaver pond in late Fall. About th’ Injuns, my friend ’n’ rn 2 will drive ’em off.” “But you mustn’t go out to find them!” protested the girl, suddenly deciding that she approved of the big trapper and his silent friend. “PH go with them,” Natchez. ‘Sonny, we'd like yer comp’ny jest like a ‘hoss likes bitter cottonwood bark,” dryly informed Joe. Laramie, who by now had recovered his power of speech, expostulated: “But, m’steu! We are strong. We are seventeen men here. We ver’ strong party. You must stay in here.” ‘““°Nother twenty-four hours an’ this train’s in a trap,” quietly explained the trapper. “Ever watch buzzards circlin’ in th’ sky? One sees a feed an’ drops down to earth. ’Nother, miles away, sees him drop an’ invites himself to th’ party. ’Nother, still farther off, sees number two git busy, an’ follers him. So it goes, till ye’ve got all th’ buzzards ’tween th’ Mis- soury an’ th’ Rockies pilin’ down on one dead bull. ‘Th’ Injuns up on that ridge are Kiowas an’ ’Rapahoes. They’ll be sendin’ for help. Now th’ ’Rapahoes have chipped in it won’t be long afore th’ Cheyennes take a hand. An’ those fellers up there are all fighters. By tomorrer at this time they may be a hundred of them. We've got to drive "em away an’ dampen their courage.” “He’s right,” spoke up Red _ Shirley. “They’re mighty quiet now, but they’ve got some game afoot. ‘This ‘train’s got to be dragged into th’ hills mighty soon. eagerly volunteered CORMICLOO© S (C@