Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 178: what you’re looking at

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

172 To the shelter of a jagged rock the Gila crept. In its shadow he half rose to his knees. His great, muscular hands came to- gether. And he seemed to pray a while to the God of the Scots. from the -bluff. Half an hour later a drab figure, almost indistinguishable from the ground, squirmed toward the entrance of Black Kettle’s teepee and disappeared within. A rattlesnake whirred in the blackness. The medicine-man started up. But be- fore he could find tongue the mouth that opened wide remained open and his tongue, protruding, sagged as a single, powerful hand closed about his throat. Then he descended =a, DHE moon was pastthe zenith of its ‘ai course by one o’clock in the morning when the Gila rose from the brush about a half-mile south from the narrow entrance to the cul de sac. In the shadow of a clump of cactus he sat down and rested. Across his knees lay .a disheveled mass of leather, ribbons and ebony pipes touched with stained ivory and tarnished silver. Tears were streaming down the face of the plainsman who had once been Fergus, henchman of Arden-Keppel. All the pathos and romantic melancholy of his race surged up within him now. His hand lovingly ca- ressed the ravished pipes, and he crooned over them like a mother over a dead child. But it was to the invisible he spoke. | “Rest, Young Roy!” he whispered. “Rest till the Pipes o’ Judgment rouse ye. I hae found the bonnie pibroch. If the guid Lord will but spare me till the mornin’s mornin’ [’ll blaw them again for the glory o’ Scotland an’ the spurred cock o’ Arden- Keppel!’ With sudden haste he glanced around him, marked the exact lay of the land and hid the pipes among the cactus, heedless of the spines that tore his flesh. Then, picking up his long-barreled rifle, he moved silently and with almost incredible swiftness toward the camp of the cavalry detachment. V WHEN he had heard as much as the Gila chose to tell him of his night’s adventure, Lieutenant Gail- lard thought he saw his chance. The fact that he had but thirty men in his Adventure Ua detachment—with the scouts and other attachés, perhaps fifty in all—against three hundred Apache warriors did not daunt him for a moment, but rather whetted his desire to try conclusions at once and win laurels if he corraled or destroyed the predatory band. It was some disappointment to learn that Geronimo himself was not with these sav- ages. But Yellow Dog was no small fish to net, and the removal of Black Kettle, the tribal wizard, would be a demoralizing blow to the superstitious redskins. As for Ger- onimo—well, that wily savage was the bane of Crooke’s career and was vet to test the wit of his successor, General Miles. Good enough! thought Gaillard. Better still: According to the Gila the cul de sac was a natural fortress, but like most for- tresses itself a trap once its security was violated by surprize. Gaillard felt his laurels already. He, with a handful of dragoons, would have taken Yellow Dog, Black Kettle and three hundred Apache braves—a fairly large nail in the coffin of Geronimo the Tiger. It still lacked two hours of dawn when he dismissed the Gila, bidding him stand by for further orders and in the meantime rouse and summon the second lieutenant, Kroner. “No bugle—not a squeal!” Gaillard com- manded his subordinate when the latter appeared. ‘Have the men roused and pass the word. No fires! I give you fifteen minutes by the watch.” But had Gaillard been able to look into the Apache camp in that moment he might not have felt so sanguine of success. A warrior, aroused by a faint sound somewhere around the noon of the moon, had seen a vague figure crawl from Black Kettle’s tent. Suspicion alert, he had arisen and followed the trail for some little distance—just far enough to ascertain that it was not the trail of an Indian. Then he had sped back to the encampment, awak- ened Yellow Dog, rather than cross Black Ketile’s mystic circle alone, and related what he had seen and discovered. Together the warrior and Yellow Dog found Black Kettle dead, his tongue lolling from his mouth. They did not look for the Fighting Spirit. No doubt it was supposed to be an invisible thing save when the wizard materialized it. Anyway no human hands would dare touclrit. That the ghost-pipes had been the object Comicloooks CO