Adventure Magazine Cover — page 89: what you’re looking at

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

Lost Diggings by the gambler’s side. Glancing up after a brief examination he said: “He’s dead. The other fellow shot in self-defense.” The side door opened to admit a man wearing a black jacket and brown trousers and high patent leather boots. He walked to the dead man, explaining: ‘‘“Heard on the street some one had been bored. What! Old Hawk!” And he knelt beside the corpse and turned it over and rested a hand on the silent breast. Hale marveled at the sym- metry and flexibility of the smooth hand. “Old Hawk is sure dead,’’ he muttered. — Then he sought to remove the cards from the clinched left hand and found the death-clutch defied him. He curiously read the cards and with a grunt of disgust rose and brushed the dust from his knees and exclaimed— ““How could he expect to win with a rotten hand like that? Bury the cards with him, boys. Send me the bill. He meant well hut he overplayed. Where’s the man who shot him?” A chorus of disjointed exclamations an- swered him and it was half a minute before he learned just what had happened. The story of the dust, and the ruby silver brought no change to the man’s face, but when cries of “String him up!” began to fill the room he loudly called: “None of that! The dead man was my friend, but he was shot in a fair fight. He never should have toted that cursed pistol with its stubby barrel. We’ll have an in- quiry, but no hanging. Some of you find the fellow and tell him he won’t be harmed if he comes back peaceably.” A HALE had had enough of the place. NEA, He worked his way through the crowd and reached the street and took shelter from the sun in the shade of a warehouse. The novelty of reading a news- paper appealed to him and he paid a dollar to a boy for a copy of the Idaho Statesman, a tri-weekly, and found it filled with mining news. He read how the Landon lode, con- solidated with the Pioneer, was yielding twenty-three dollars for every hundred pounds. The Ada Elmore, near the head of Bear creek, the first and most famous of the South Boise quartz mines but grossly mismanaged by speculating trustees, was claiming to yield two hundred and seventy 79 dollars gold for each ton of rock and was asking for capital to repair the deliberate mischief worked by the speculators. He learned: that thousands of tons of ore were being shipped to San Francisco and New York to attract capitalists. Hill Beachy feared he must close his stage road to Star City, Nevada, and California be- cause of the hostile Indians. The Oregon Steam Navigation Company announced its plans for navigating the Snake as far as Salom Falls with a big steamboat. The stock of the Humboldt express company had been run off by Indians, and a stable-keeper had been killed within forty miles of Jordan Creek. Woolen socks were a drug on the market and the only commodity not bringing ex- orbitant prices. Readers of the paper were urged to use them for cleaning guns. Care- fully folding the paper, he thrust it inside his shirt for further perusal and _ strolled down the street. He asked no aid in locating the mare. Perhaps he was so used to doing things for himself that the thought never occurred to him. A derisive voice yelled something and he swung his head to find himself once more passing the loungers who had jeered him on his first appearance in the street. The fact that the wooden building was a stable suddenly decided him to inspect it. As he turned toward the entrance the idlers discovered he was carrying two guns besides the Henry rifle. They became silent, but eyed him sullenly. He halted and soberly appraised them and then entered the build- ing. A weasel of a man with crafty visage glided in front of him to block his advance and asked: “Looking for somebody? He ain’t here.” This evoked a laugh from the men at the door. Hale brushed him aside, and continued toward the rear of the stable. The man fol- lowed and demanded— _ “T asked you if you was looking for some- body.” “Why, something like that,’”’ was the slow reply, and Hale halted and began studying the different stalis. ‘Who might you be, little feller?” “T might be a big lummox, blundering in where I had no business. But it happens that I run this stable. My name is Kolb. Now what do you want here? Looking for free quarters to git sober in?” GOMIGHOO S Co inn