Adventure Magazine Cover — page 100: what you’re looking at

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

94 coming from a coulée a couple of hundred yards away perhaps. The man led a burro by the halter, but he stopped and loosened the rifle in the holster that hung to the pack on the burro. Mickey Fortune was searching for water and traveling at night to avoid unnecessary action in the intense heat of the sun. Seven- ty miles to the northeast he had spent the cooler months, delving into a rocky ledge that stuck forth from the sand; but the signs of copper were false and his season’s work had been for nothing. This was the tenth season of failure, and Mickey Fortune could still smile. As the hotter months ap- proached the water-hole near by began t to dry out. Mickey Fortune’s face, burned to a ruddy bronze by the sun and hot winds off the sands, broke into a resigned grin at last. He called the burro a few names, sponged out its mouth instead of letting it drink the last of the water, and that night started on the shortest route to the edge of the desert—a hundred miles away to the southwest. Two quarts of water—the final dregs of the hole—were in the bottle. He sponged out the burro’s mouth three times each day and took a few sips himself until it gave out on the third day. Then he kept his mouth tightly closed and stopped feeding the burro. This was the csiirth night and still another to go. A smile that was part grimace came over his features as he called the burro some pet epithets and rested his hand gently on its muzzle. They could both stand another thirty or forty hours without water; it was not hot yet, not more than a hundred de- grees in the cool of the night. Later on, in July or August, things would have been bad. As Mickey Fortune halted there the chal- lenge of the great lobo sounded a third time and he took the rifle out of the holster. His eyes had narrowed and he was peering to- ward the coulée, watching intently for the slinking dark form, when something white streaking into the end of the coulée caught his attention and he wondered at it. The terrier had been racing toward the coulée when the lobo’s third challenging call reached him. His neck arched and he trotted forward with his head high and tail straight out in back. Then he saw the great wolf, twice his own size, and rushed, silent, deadly, with never a growl to warn of the attack. Adventure The first onslaught of those crunching jaws caught the lobo in the shoulder, near the neck. The wolf struggled and tossed wildly, slashing along the dog’s back until the hide within range of those mighty fangs was literally in ribbons. But the terrier held grimly, never emitting a sound at the terrible punishment the wolf inflicted, his silence contrasting with the occasional sounds from his adversary. He was lifted and tossed by the wolf’s wild thrashings. With the full growth of a few more months he might have matched the strength of this monarch of the desert, but now his ‘im- mature powers peean to ebb. ) MICKEY FORTUNE heard the 7} sharp yips of the wolf and reached the side of the coulée with rifle He peered down and saw the dark ready. form and wltite one whirling and lashing about. The rifle came up, but he hesitated to fire, marveling. Then he leaped down close to the fighters, his eyes wide in sur- prize as he saw that it was a dog which held the giant lobo with tightly clamped jaws. The whole story of the fight was plain at a glance, even in the dim light from the night sky. True to the instincts of his breed the dog had sought the throat hold and missed, and suffered terribly thereby. Only an indomi- ‘table will had enabled it to hang on under the wolf’s murderous counter attack and wild efforts to break away. Where had the dog come from? Mickey Fortune wondered even as he pulled the trigger that sent the heavy .33 bullet through the lobo’s spine. The wolf sank down, writhing, and lay quiet; but the terrier hung on while Mickey Fortune spoke soft words. At last the terrier worried the dead hulk of the lobo feebly, then let go and faced the man, lips wrinkling back tightly. Mickey Fortune bent close, looking at the terrible gashes in the dog’s shoulder, admiration mingling | with pity in his feelings. Again he spoke softly and attempted to pat the head, but the dog cringed away and bared every fang, too weak now from loss of blood to leap at the man. Mickey Fortune took a step ‘closer and his hand darted forth suddenly to take a firm hold on the neck. The other hand stroked the powerful haunches while he examined the wounds closely. -. Then he straightened, one hand resting COMIiCooOokSs Cc (C@