Adventure Magazine Cover — page 160: what you’re looking at

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

E50 “Take one more step, Hooper, and I'll fire!’ cried Boyer in deadly earnest. Hooper hesitated. Boyer spoke again. “Move along, Hooper, unless The man-hunter’s eyes glinted with the sinister threat. Slowly Hooper turned and started on. Life, even though its span may be limited with the cnd in sight, is nevertheless a thing to be cherished and preserved. And then Boyer saw men come running from the ranch-house below, plodding through the snow toward him and his pris- oner. “‘He’s got him!” shouted one of the men as they came within speaking-distance. Boyer recognized a deputy from the town of Judith. “‘We came out this way in a car after we got a phone message but the blizzard stopped us,” cried the deputy in explanation as the men came up. Two of the men closed about the Giant. Boyer held out his right hand with the 9 Adventure gun grasped firmly in his gloved fingers. “Take it off,” he said quietly. The deputy from Judith started. He reached out and with an exclamation of awe twisted the gun from Boyer’s stiff fin- gers. As he did so the Giant leaped toward Boyer with a howl of rage. The men bore him, fighting and clawing, to the snow-cov- ered ground and slipped on the handcuffs. The deputy swore fervidly in admiration. “Tf that brute had known Boyer’s fingers were froze stiff to that gun an’ that he couldn’t have pulled the trigger to save his life he would have killed him with his hands:”’ he cried. Boyer smiled wanly and pointed toward the ranch-house. “T’d rather lose my right hand than lose a prisoner who’s just naturally no good on earth, but % “You ain’t going to lose either,”’ shouted the Judith deputy. “‘We’ll have you to a doctor in an hpur and you ¢an start Giant Hooper on his way to be hung tonight!” SINGSONG OF AN OLD KLONDIKER by Richard Butler Glaenzer ODAY because I’m idle, I fret and fume and bridle, As fussy as a tomtit on the handle of a pump; I pace my room or slouch about With nothing much to grouch about Beyond the fact the market’s dull, the weather on the jump. I catch myself a-gushing over days when I was mushing, The old days, the gold days, the clear Alaska cold days, When I was after millions but more nearly up a stump. It certainly is funny what men will do for money— The comforts and the pleasures and safe berths they’ll sacrifice; Yet stranger how on Easy Street Their thoughts swing back to Breezy Street. Is it because its dogs are dogs, its men not meek as mice? At all events, I’m pining for the days when I was mining, The rough days, the tough days, the Nome and call-your-bluff days, When hanging on was on earth and home seemed paradise. CoMmicbook C©