Adventure Magazine Cover — page 106: what you’re looking at

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

96 an exclamation of wonder and delight burst from Daly’s lips. “Well, I'll be danged!” Straight ahead in the wall of forest he could see two trees, standing close together, their dark sides scarred by the broad white blaze of an ax. The dogs bounded up the bank over crusted drifts of snow and—straight be-. tween the two blazed trees, like a narrow alley between the walls of tall, dark build- ings—the trail led into the forest. Sl timber they made a short stop for lunch and to feed the dogs. It was then they noticed a marked change for the worse in the condition of the wounded man. While Daly kindled a small blaze from dry spruce twigs and birch-bark and put on a can of snow to melt, Ryan laid back the robes and roused Bishop from a deep sleep. ‘How yuh feel, Doc? How yuh comin’? Yuh think yuh can stand a cup o’ hot tea?” he inquired. For an instant Bishop regarded him with wavering, feverish eves before replying. “T’m goin’ to die,” he declared slowly. “There ain’t no mortal use you boys goin’ to any more trouble on my account. I’m just about done. I’m swelled up tighter’n a drum and my fever’s gettin’ hotter all the time, and my pulse is way up—feel it.”’ “YT don’t know nothin’ about pulses and don’t want to. But IJ do know yer comin’ out O K. You’ll be in the hospital in an- other twelve hours,’ Ryan answered stub- bornly. ‘Where are we now?” Bishop inquired. “Just across Fish Lake, *bout ftfteen miles from old Beaverhead’s village.” “You'll bury me at Beaverhead’s,” Bishop declared with cool finality. Then as Ryan turned away he rambled ‘on in a half delirious, self-depreciating monologue: ‘What a hole to die in! And [I ain’t ‘fit to die. Never did a worth-while thing in my whole life. Maybe that’s why. Reckon I ain’t fit to live. Could have been some- body at one time but chucked the chance away. Just threw it away. Iain’t thought of anybody but myself. Just plumb selfish clear through. Reckon that’s why I’m dyin’ here like a crippled dog. And they’ll plant me among the Siwashes in a Siwash graveyard. ONCE more in the shelter of the Adventure “Jim, O Jim!” he suddenly called out. “Dig the hole deep, Jim. Down at Nulato one time I saw where the wolves had dug out a Siwash that was planted shallow. It looked awful. Make it six feet anyway; won’t you, Jim?” When the tea was boiled they tried to make him drink some, but he resolutely re- fused and kept his mouth tight shut when the cup was pressed to his lips. “Don’t dare to,” he mumbled. ‘My guts are punctured. I’m swelled as tight as a drum now. There ain’t no use any- way. I’m sure done for.” ‘Looks to me like he’s goin’ fast,’”’ Daly whispered as they drank their tea and munched at frozen bannocks. Ryan nodded his head sadly. ‘‘Am afraid so, too,’”’ he muttered. As they repacked the grub-box in the to- boggan snow began to fall, a few flakes, soft and fluffy as down from the breast of a duck, whirled hither and thither by the breeze. Ryan glanced apprehensively to the north. ‘“‘She’s comin’, Daly,” he declared. ‘‘See how black the sky shows over yonder. That spells storm sure as fate. We gotta get to Beaverhead’s before she hits.” Throughout the afternoon they pushed on with the utmost speed; but the snow kept coming thicker than ever, and dark- ness fell early. With the approach of night the wind arose and increased steadily in violence until from all around the swaying forest sent up a wail of protest against the lash of an arctic blizzard. In the teeth of the gale, the cold and blinding snow, Ryan and Daly struggled to hold the trail and forced the exhausted, whimpering dogs on into the night. They made slow and painful progress until the dogs suddenly pulled up short, and the crack of the lash and the shouted commands of the men failed to budge them from their tracks. Ryan, running up ahead to see what the matter was, was brought to an abrupt standstill by a sharp blow on the head. He had collided with an overhang- ing ridge-pole of old Beaverhead’s house. The dogs had stopped in the shelter of the wall. The house that sheltered four genera- tions of the Beaverhead family was made of logs; square and flat-roofed. The inte- rlor was one large room with upright timbers here and there supporting the GO 1NOO S C@