Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 135: what you’re looking at

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

Ev’rybody Likes a Gunman twists in the groove of the path. The stars were out in the sky overhead when we stepped from the shelter of the forest into a rocky dell divided by a tiny brook. “We will camp here,” said Ta-wan-ne-ars. He rested his musket on a boulder and began to collect firewood. “Why a fire?” I asked. “The trailers must not think we suspect them,” he replied curtly. “If we Jit no fire 129 they would know for certain that we were suspicious.” I helped him, whilst Corlaer crouched by the opening of the trailon watch. Wesoon had a respectable pile of wood, but before kindling it the Seneca bade us strip off our leathern shirts and stuffed them with under- brush into a semblance of human shapes. A third figure to represent himself he con- trived out of the packs and several branches. TO BE CONTINUED EV’RYBODY LIKES ACUN MAN’ ‘Sy MAX BONTER - WANT this ‘New York Roddy?” The chief looked up from the old-fashioned mahogany desk be- ese=e hind which he sat glowering. Ire, strong and ill-controlled, blazed in his deep- set eyes. He thrust a slip of paper at the subordinate standing in deferential silence . beside his chair. ‘““Blackson, I want this ‘New York Rod- dy!’”’ he repeated harshly, shutting his heavy jaws with a snap. ‘Some of those fellows are beginning to imagine that they own the subway.” The chief delivered certain other supple- mentary instructions before wrathfully re- suming his review of the latest daily instal- ment of ‘‘Criminology of the City of New York” that was being unceasingly compiled, night and day—not by his fantom collabo- taors, but by the less amorphous _police- court representatives of the daily press. The operative took the paper and lifted his hand in a perfunctory semi-salute. Quickly he left the unpretentious base headquarters where society’s defensive ee was centralized and at bav be- fore the increasingly vicious assaults of the underworld. Along Mulberry Street for a block or two, thence into a side street and finally through a squalid hallway and up a rickety stair into a hall room on.the top floor of a tene- ment house, the operative made his rapid way. Here the neat serge suit and the Oxford shoes and the derby hat were re- moved and thrust into the temporary obliv- ion of a closet; while from the drawers of a battered dresser came forth overalls, soiled and patched; a pair of heavy brogans black with coal-dust and a fireman’s jumper and cap. Some charcoal and a box of shoe-blacking were then utilized for the purpose of meta- morphosing his clean, alert, man-hunting physiognomy into the less conspicuous visage of a humble heaver of coal. Under the operative’s deft manipulation each of his eves presently acquired a shadowy cir- cumference. Smudge-patches invaded the white contours of his cheeks and small clots of black matter appeared in ears and nos- trils. The palms of his hands, the knuckle CoO) Gbooks © S|