Adventure Magazine Cover — page 103: what you’re looking at

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

Desert Breed Silva’s laugh came, hard and rasping. “Thought you could get away with it, grabbing the copper I discovered?”’ Mickey Fortune did not answer. The dogs writhed and struggled silently, and Silva cast a sidewards glance at their lashing forms, a sense of surprize mounting that his pit champion, his trained fighting dog, had met an adversary that could withstand his terrible attacks for even these few moments. He also wondered at the silence of the other dog; he expected it from his own for the true pit dog is as noiseless in his warring as quiet death. | But Joe Silva’s attention was only half given to that frightful struggle going on near his feet; his gun was held high and pointed at Mickey Fortune, the desert-rat whom sheer luck had led to stumble on the thing that he, Joe Silva, should have had and would have now. Only the desert would know. His hand began to squeeze the gun slowly, the true pull of the gunman that never throws the sights out of perfect, deadly alinement; and Mickey Fortune smiled resignedly as his body tensed. Silva’s features were drawn into a sudden snarling appearance like those of a beast, the mark of the deliberate killer. Then eighty pounds of embattled fury hurled against his legs. The gun flashed its roaring thunder straight up in the night and Joe Silva pitched backward over the fighting brutes. Pam EVEN as he fell Mickey Fortune | agg was on him, clinching close and seek- ing to clutch the wrist of the hand that held the gun. They rolled and strug- gled with the great dogs tugging and tearing over them in a wild mélée. Something warm dripped down on the cheek of Mickey Fortune while a paw of one of the terriers rested in the face of Silva and the other dog had all four feet planted on Mickey For- tune’s body. The top of Mickey Fortune’s head jammed up under the jaw of Silva and the latter writhed. A hot wind played down through the arroyo, and the only sounds that rose were the grunts of the men and labored breath- ings. Still Mickey Fortune pressed and jolted his head up under the side of Silva’s jaw. At last came Silva’s chance. He strained away and his teeth fastened in Mickey Fortune’s ear. 7 97 The desert-rat’s hands loosened their powerful body grasp that had held the other’s arms tight. His fingers reached up to Silva’s nose and eyes, his thumb pressing the nostrils closed while his fingers gouged into the eye sockets; but Silva’s teeth only ground tighter and mangled the ear. The pain to each was intense. Finally Silva’s jaws opened and he screamed. His arm wrenched away with a convulsive move- ment and rose. The gun crashed against Mickey Fortune’s head, a terrible blow, but the awful pressure into Silva’s eyes was not lessened. The gun came up and battered down again. Now the warm, wet fluid that had dropped from the fighting dogs came from the wound on Mickey Fortune’s scalp. Desperately, Joe Silva crashed the gun again and again, short, powerful blows. Lights flashed before Mickey Fortune’s eyes, the blood was streaming freely down over his face, he sought to ward off those blows and Silva squirmed away from the fingers that pressed into his eyes. His fury was terrible and he hesitated with upraised arm, the true instincts of the gunman mounting. His finger was on the trigger, the body muscles of Mickey Fortune were relaxing. The eyes of the desert-rat began to glaze, his head dropped forward on his adversary’s breast, but still he sought to hang close, fighting to the end. Then, vaguely, his glance fell on the dogs. One was limp while the other still tugged fiercely, and a little smile hovered on the lips of Mickey Fortune as he noted that the one that had died wore a brass studded collar. The lights were dimming, even the forms of the dogs were becoming dull and in- distinct. The gun in Silva’s hand was poked against his side; the end was at hand. Mickey Fortune closed his eyes, then opened them wide as Silva screamed terribly. Mickey Fortune could feel the shock as the other man’s body convulsed. There was a gasp and another scream. Silva’s legs lashed about and choking sounds came from him. Horror was in Mickey Fortune’s heart as he fought off the black abyss that seemed to drag him down. A bull-terrier, frightful with the bloody streaks from the deep gashes in its shoulders, stood over Silva’s chest and its powerful jaws were at the throat, tugging. A sob came from Mickey Fortune as his arms sagged beneath him; he fought forward COMmMiCloooks Cc C@