Adventure Magazine Cover — page 123: what you’re looking at

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

Pay Gravel pursuit by a posse from Deadwood, but the prospector assumed this to be the cause of his haste and at times endeavored to assure him that none of the miners would leave the gulch and run the risk of having their scalps dried on Sioux poles. After passing through the three miles of the Elk’s narrow and twisted cafion they emerged from the slates to strike southwest to the Box Elder, swiftly flowing over bare bed rock. Pyrites would have paused at the Elder and satisfied himself concerning some specimens of jasper he had picked up. But Dinsdale appeared to be but little in- terested in finding pay gravel and most of the time smoked his pipe in sullen abstrac- tion and rode his horse several rods ahead of Pyrites and the two burros. They followed the Box Elder to where it headed at the base of Custer’s Peak. Near sundown Pyrites began unpacking the burros and called after Dinsdale: “Don’t you know it’s almost night? We’ll camp here.” Dinsdale, ahead, reined in and stared at the sunset lights streaming across the heavens. Dismounting he slowly led his horse back to the camping-place and re- moved the saddle and placed it in the small tent Pyrites was deftly setting up. “T feel sort of blue, partner. Suppose you do the squaw work while I wander around a bit,” he suggested. “Tm afraid I’m a poor traveling companion.” “You're all right!” heartily assured Pyrites. ‘“‘As for the squaw work, who- ever heard of the man that furnishes the grub-stake bothering with any cooking? Walk the bile out of your system. You can’t git lost so long as you keep near the old feller,’ and he jerked his head toward the peak. ‘Better make it a short trip, as it’ll be darker ’n the inside of a burro pretty soon.” “Tl find my way back, never fear,’’ said Dinsdale. And taking his rifle he struck off to the foot of the peak. In the south the country was much more broken, and was thickly set with serrated peaks and had bulky Harney’s Peak for a background. It im- pressed Dinsdale as being desolate and for- bidding. Originally the country had been heavily timbered, but now there were large areas of dead pines, and their scraggly tops were unlovely and suggested a land that had been dead many ages. 117 Dinsdale stared gloomily at the melan- choly vista for some minutes, then breasted the flank of the mountain and rapidly began climbing it. With tireless energy he worked his way up the slope until a more gracious prospect of rolling hills, with a scattering of small peaks, came into view. And yet his gaze ever reverted to the endless procession of saw-tooth heights in the south. Sun on the heights and darkness in the gorges, and he suddenly realized it was time for him to be making camp. - When he wearily broke through into the firelight he found Pyrites asleep in the tent. Bacon and beans were on a flat rock by the fire and the coffee-pot, freshly stocked, was ready to be boiled. Pyrites awoke and rolled from the tent and apologized: “Tried to keep things hot for you. Must have dropped off. You sit down and get your boots off and wash your feet and [’ll have the coffee hot in a minute. Must ’a’ taken quite a travel.” “Climbed the mountain for a bit. forsaken stretch south of us.” “Tf we’re hunting scenery, maybe. North of Custer you’d ’a’ seen high rolling hills covered with prime timber and with plenty of grass and water in all the openings. But for dust we must go where the country looks like the devil had broken his comb. Country round Harney is the roughest in the hills, I reckon.” “The night is just beginning back in Deadwood,” mused Dinsdale, as he pulled off his boots and stuck his feet into a tiny streamlet. ‘“‘Up here it’s time folks were abed.”’ “Queer about that, too. In town I stay up all hours. Up here I feel sleepy minute it gets dark. Bet they’re having a hot talk about Bandy Allen about this time.”’ ‘Their talk won’t bother either Allen or me. Neither of us can hear it.” “Judas! But you’re a cool one! Allen was never any account.” “T had no wish to kill the fool, even to hurt him,” morosely replied Dinsdale. ‘He came at me shooting, shot-gun and two hand-guns. I yelled for him to quit and go back, but he was after blood. Funny, too. Where did he get his nerve? He wasn’t drunk; just a cold killer. All day men had been warning me against him. I thought it was a joke, their way of having fun with me. And derned if he didn’t try to get me!” That CORnICGLOO God- ~ (C@