Adventure Magazine Cover, February 3, 1921 — page 74: what you’re looking at

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

ro ~ Crick Cajion, | 68 near the wagons on his way to the moun- tains.” “We reckon he may be hidin’ up in Clear ” said Reason. “Mebbe ye do, but I opine th’ Platte River Cafion’s a more likely spot,” said Joe. “Each is about twenty miles’ ride. We can search both if we have to. How many men shall we take?” asked Kitts. ‘“‘No more,” Joe promptly replied. “This feller can’t have many runnin’-mates. Th’ four of us oughter be ’nough.”’ “Satisfies me if it does you. The fewer we are the sooner we’ll cover the ground. We'll either have a fight or a snack to eat at the wagons. Let’s be going.”’ “Waitin’ for Laramie. Here he comes now,” said Joe. The trader joined ion on the gallop, and as the four men rode from the town he briefly informed them that he had failed to see Left Hand, but had left word with his squaw. ‘The chief was up in the hills somewhere, making medicine. “War medicine,” grunted Reason. By the time the sun threw its first rays up the long slope leading to the Rockies the four horsemen were drawing rein out- side the barricaded wagons. Smoke was rising from a fire before the brush shelter inside the circle, but none of the men were visible. Kitts volunteered to ride among the wagons and make sure that no sus- picious character was quartered there; but before this plan could be agreed to an Indian poked his head above the wall and sounded a loud cry. “Th’ Pit River cuss. Old Oakes’ luck,” announced California Joe, gripping his rifle more tightly and sending his horse prancing to one side. Reason executed a similar movement to the left, just as Oakes showed his white head between two wagons, his two Crimea revolvers held up for instant use, the bar- rier of rock concealing all but his head. “Posse coming!” yelled a voice inside the brush shelter. es with the posse!” defied another. “We're honest men. Let ’em clean up Denver before they trouble us.” “We're not here to trouble any honest man,” called out Kitts, keeping his mount in motion to discourage a hidden marks- man. “Put up your guns, Oakes. We ain’t after you.” Adventure “What’s the game?” quietly asked Oakes, resting his weapons on the rock ledge be- fore him. “While you was dealing faro last night Laramie Pete here was robbed by Half- Mask. We want to make sure the skunk ain't hiding up here. So you needn’t parade any guns.”’ ‘No stranger is hiding here. As for my guns, Pll keep them in hand, thank you, so long as that lanky trapper is carrying & Tite. © ‘“T’ll come in and search—” began Kitts. ‘Not so long as I live,” was the gambler’s grim interruption. ‘“‘I tell you no stranger is here and none has been here. If you sus- pect one of our regular crowd, name him and we'll trot him out and hear the evidence. If it sounds right you can take him. If you haven’t the proof you can’t take him.” “That’s the talk!” bawled a miner, flinging up his ragged hat. “No Denver bunch can swagger up here and take one of our crowd.” Kitts frowned at this defiance; but, al- ways believing that diplomacy was better : than raw force, he said: “Let's. not get at each other’s throats just yet. Whoever robbed Laramie Pete must have known he had just received five thousand dollars. He was held up while on his way home after closing his bar.” ‘How do you know but Half-Mask was only after the day’s receipts? Whoever had been keeping cases on him must have seen there was lots of money crossing the bar,” said Oakes. “All right. Have it that way. Now we wish to speak with Red Shirley.” For a minute he received no answer. Oakes maintained his watchfulness, his two guns resting on the rock wall with his hands ready to grab them, his eyes never leaving the horsemen. Rapid exclamations ran through the thin line of miners as they crouched behind wagons and stones. At last a man called out: “That Shirley man ain’t here. Him and four of his pals quit this place this morning.” “How long ago, neighbor?” drawled California Joe. “Oh, two or three hours.” “Hay. al” yelled Reason, kicking his horse and riding toward the ‘distant moun- tains. ‘There they go!” With a yell California Joe sped after COMMICLOOOKS (C@