Adventure Magazine Cover — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

A Pot Something inside his brain kept yelling, “Fool!” till he wanted to kick himself. “I'm old enough to be your daddy, miss, and I’m Tom’s pardner,” he explained lamely. “I thought mebbe I could help Tom.” ; She appraised the rough old desert-rat with more sympathy, but she was still shaken. ‘‘How—what did Tom tell vou?” she asked, coloring. ‘Nothin’ much, ma’am. He ain’t the sort to spill everything about his business. He never said much till he got a letter at Escalante. Then he went up in the air.” Helen looked past the old miner absently. ‘‘T jest wanted to help Tom,” he finished. “I understand,” nodded Helen gently, “and I thank you.” She straightened and became more ani- mated, switching the subject to the ad- venture of Tom and Pete in the hills. She never allowed the talk to become personal again. Pete’s story sounded to her ears like an epic. The narrator didn’t miss any chances for artistic embellishments, either. She listened until Pete talked himself out and prepared to leave. When Pete left he walked a block, still tingling from her handshake and friendly farewell. Then he stopped thoughtfully. “She never said yes, no, or go to the 4: he discovered. “I didn’t git anywhere— not a foot. She didn’t bounce me out, neither. Now I wonder what in tarnation she's thinkin’.” Helen wondered the same thing for the rest of the day. Pete gave it up as a bad job. al IN FIVE days he reappeared in ee Markum’s office to assist two he = af shrewd-looking mining engineers in departing for the claim. Pete knew Tom was watching the mails at Escglante, so he did not worry about Tom’s delayed reply. Escalante was far from the railroad. In ten days the engineers returned. Their report went straight to Markum’s office behind closed doors. “Holy smoke—it’s a bonanza!” ejacu- lated one of them. ‘I’ve seen some pretty fair-looking prospects, but this one beats ‘em all.” “If you don’t grab it you're crazy,” exclaimed the other. of Gold 21 The fat little promoter rolled a luscious cigar in his mouth and appraised his min- ions coldly. “Gimme a full report. Show me!’ They showed him, filling his table with rough sketches and diagrams. Markum began to drum on the chair-arm and his eyes developed a strange glitter. “Then you think it’s worth puttin’ money into?”’ “Yes,” urged one of them. ‘Grab on to that old hayseed while he’s still got it. I tell you, the claim’s dripping with color.” Markum decided with a snap. “All right. I'll take your word for it. Here! I want you fellers to draw up a report. Make it hot! Make it sizzlel Make it read like the United States mint! Write it so every sucker in town’ll mob the place for stock. Now get out of here and get busy.” When Pete was notified of Markum’s decision his joy knew na bounds. But Markum was strictly business. As he looked over the old desert-rat’s ungainly figure, clad in the wrinkled store clothes and betraying dog-like gratitude in his skew- ered eyes, Markum could scarce realize that a boob like this could have anything worth while. The promoter made the conversation short. “We're goin’ to form a million-dollar corporation. Half promotion stock. I take half of that for puttin’ the thing through. I pay you and your partner the other half for the mine. See? We'll own fifty-one per cent. of the stock between us.” ‘“You—you mean we give you the mine and only git a quarter of it back?” “Naw. You sell the mine to the corpora- tion for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars’ worth of stock.” That looked better. “Well, I reckon that’ll be all right with me. I dunno what Tom’! say, though.” “You'd better find out pretty quick. I want his written authorization as well as yours.” Pete wrote to Tom immediately. A reply came back in ten days: If the offer ts made in good faith I accept it. Use this first page of my letter as authorization. The second page, for Pete alone, ad- monished him to hire an attorney to guard his interests. Comicbhook ©