Adventure Magazine Cover — page 150: what you’re looking at

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

Pins ~- - AIR Lewis [T- Mlpatrick Author of “The Evidence of Dreams,” “Troubled Waters,” ete, tN THE portico of a gray stone mansion, which overlooked the ui) Kentucky River from one of —_——— Frankfort’s terraced hills, Dr. - Wayne paused to give a final word of as- surance to the matronly, aristocratic wo- man who had accompanied him outside. ‘Mrs, Prentice, she’s coming along nicely, nicely,” he said in a professional undertone. - “General condition couldn’t be better, - considering that this is her first experience. You and your husband have no reason at all to be uneasy. Promise him for me, - please, that Gladys shall have the very— - best care that modern obstetrical science can give her. And remember it yourself. Good-by, ma’am.’ < _ Stepping into his car, Dr. Wayne glanced - easually down at the river. There, swing- ing into view around the bend, was a raft = = __ of logs, riding the last Spring tide to market. Four stalwart mountaineers were aboard the rude craft, bareheaded and clad in home- “spun, ‘chanting i in chorus an ancient Scotch _ Jove-ballad as they manned the sweeps. Far behind them on a tributary of the Kentucky, where they came from, a wrinkled midwife watched beside the bed of a young mother and her baby. A hand- made table near by held a large pair of scissors, a bundle of cotton rags, a turkey- wing fan and a gourd dipper of herb tea. _ The room was small and meagerly furnished; the floor was uncarpeted, the plank walls - bare, and the sun beat scorehngyy upon the tar-papered roof, ‘tone grew suddenly confident. The girl-mother stirred restlessly. “T wisht Arch was here,” she murmured through bloodless lips. “If the jailer down ‘thar at Frankfort knowed how bad we’re a-needin’ him, I’m shore he’d let him come home fer a leetle while, anyway. Aunt Sally, don’t ye reckon he would?” The old midwife reached for the turkey- wing. “Now, Lou Ann, don’t spend yerself a- frettin’, » she soothed, fanning her. ‘‘When Arch gits that letter I writ, he’ll do the best he kin. But don’t ye hope fer too much, honey. That air State prison ain’t a easy place to leave, and the jailer mightn’t be friendly to Arch. Ye mustn’t reelly look fer him ontil his time’s up.” “But—but I want him now!” cried the girl. “I’m his woman and this here’s his fust baby. I’m shore he'll come, Aunt Sally, even if the jailer is ag’in’ hit.” Her “Arch he ain’t the sort to stay away fer nobody when I’m a-needin’ him at home. Aunt Sally, I’m sartain he’ll come. Yas—somehow I jest feel hit. I won’t fret no more.” And, drawing the baby to her breast, she smiled and closed her eyes. TWO months later a young man, mending a post-and-rail fence at the outer edge of the few acres that surrounded the shack, looked up from his work at the sound of approaching hoof- beats. He had been whistling the moment before, light-hearted, rejoicing in his freedom 148