Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 174: what you’re looking at

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

168 an’ blaw the pipes for the glory of Scot- Jand an’ the McAulays of Arden-Keppel! There’s two red arrows on the arms, lad. They’re for us—ane for each! An’ there’s a red cock, spurred proper. ‘“““Blaw, Fergus—bdlaw! An’ by the hills o’ the Gairloch, I'll teach they red devils this cock ts spurred!’ few “THAT'S all,” Ringer said after a } pause, his voice dropping to a grumble as if he were ashamed of the momentary thrill in his utterance. “I reckon them reds thinks they’re up ag’in’ the original Fightin’ Fiend. They still mentions him as the ‘Red Death.’ “Yd like to ha’ seen that an’ to ha’ counted the reds as goes down before that big Scotch claimer. Fergus says his master is the dast to fall, an’ that’s long after every other human is scattered around the shambles inside that corral of wagons. “In the mean time the Gila keeps on playin’ his tune—‘Cock o’ the North,’ he calls it—until Young Roy drops down bristlin’ with arrows an’ full of lead an’ yellin’ some Scotch war-cry with his last breath. Then Fergus drops the pipes, jumps down from the wagon-tree, goes headlong through the Injuns, drops on his knees beside his young master, an’ “He doesn’t remember what happens after that. Reck’n he’s out of his mind— the way we finds him near Wagon Mound. “‘We takes care of him an’ he stays with us. He seems to have only one idee at a time—any time; to kill Injuns. He’s been doin’ it ever since an’ has a special likin’ for Apaches. He don’t bring in no prisoners. “Aside from that an’ them spells when he thinks he hears the ghost-pipes callin’, he’s as good a scout as ever camped on the OI’ Trail.” There was a marked stillness around the campfire as Ringer ended his tale and silent- ly began to refill his pipe. Then the Irish teamster, who had been listening with his mouth open and his eyes popping, drew a long breath and gasped— III “B’ jabers!”’ THE moon surmounted the gro- ZA tesque pinnacles to the east, flood- ing the half-desert land with a bluish-silver radiance. Between two of the weird rocks that rose Adventure, blackly against the moon the Gila crouched in a listening attitude. Whether the sound came from within or without, the sensitive nerves of his ears registered the ghost-pipes as clearly as if a pibroch played ona still night in som silent glen. “Aye, maister!’’? he whispered. “TI hear ye. I'll tak’ toll!” Despite his age—thirty-three years had passed since that massacre by Point of Rocks—the old Scot dropped almost flat and squirmed nimbly forward until he reached the saddle between the pinnacles. There he lay still and again listened in- tently. Again his ears—or the ears of his imag- ination—caught the sound; distant, vague, ghostly. It seemed to him a little more to the north of west. Below him there was no sign of the thing he sought; nothing but a tumbled mass of boulders and, beyond these, ‘a clear sandy area reaching to an- other group of bluffs standing up fan- tastically in the moonlight. Rising to the full erectness of his six feet two, the Gila descended rapidly from the saddle of rocks, scrambled with amazing agility between or over, the boulders be- low, gained the open sand and again stopped. The perpendicular rock “‘islands’’ about him either shut off the sound he followed or else the acoustics of that strange labyrinth played tricks with wave-lengths. For a few minutes he was at fault. ‘‘Whaur noo, Young Roy?” he whispered. As if in answer, a sound—a triple note like the drone of bag-pipes—came faintly through the air, and, as it seemed, from the air. Fergus crouched low. There was plenty of time. The greater part of the night was before him. That was well, for the moonlight cried caution. Before dawn he would find his quarry, cut another notch in his gunstock and again smoke his pipe until the ghost-pipes summoned once more. He had perfect confidence in the upshot. When the ghost-pipes blew down the night wind to his mental ears it meant that some- where within swift traveling distance In- dians lurked; and always they were Apaches. They might lurk anywhere when the pipes did wot call; but maybe then the shade of Young Roy rested and cried for no toll. | But when the summons did come— COmiclbook CO