Adventure Magazine Cover, December 10, 1922 — page 143: what you’re looking at

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

Tameless Days : Beach knew he had no time to waste if he was to secure a lead up the wooded slope. He worked back a few rods and paused to spy on the hovel. The men were gathering at that point, for he caught glimpses of sev- eral heads. He withheld his fire and waited for his heart to behave and for his breath to return to something like normal. A man fired six shots in his direction, shooting at guess. By degrees he gained control of his rac- ing heart and remained motionless. After a minute or two what he took to be a shaggy head appeared at one end of the open shed and remained stationary. The Henry was discharged for the second time, and the ragged hat jumped off the stick. The success of the trick was greeted with derisive laughter and loud-voiced threats prefaced with blasphemy. The laughter and oaths stopped, and a voice bellowed: “Might as well come over here. The ridge behind you is filled with men.” “Vou’re a liar!’ yelled Beach. “If there’s any men behind me let them come and get me.” Yet the statement, obviously false, made him feel uneasy. He knew there were no men up the ridge, else they would have put in an appearance by this time. And yet he was afraid some one might be stealing down the rough slope to surprize him. He had considered the deep growth a refuge, knew it was a refuge, but could not make his imagination cease pronouncing it to be a trap. When a boy and sent down-cellar for apples he had experienced the same sensa- tion on turning his back to the darkness and making for the lighted stairs; a rushing-up behind him of a nameless menace. To promote action he fired a ball through the back of the shed and was pleased to hear the volley of oaths. More than once he had conquered the cellar by turning and walking back to its darkest corner, and he believed he would feel more composed if he could take the fighting to the hovel. He even began casting his gaze about for some cover under which he could get in line with the end of the hovel and rake the enemy. As far as he had observed none of the men carried rifles or shotguns. “Come over here and give yourself up!” came the command. “Why? What for?” demanded Beach, 137 slipping two cartridges through the trap to keep the magazine full. “For the murder of Baldy. Surrender, and you’ll get a fair trial.” “Go and bring Beidler, Holter or Carl ton, and I’ll surrender.” iad © with them! You come across that crick, or we’ll dig you out. And if we have to do that we won’t bother to take no prisoner back to Virginia City.” He made no reply to this ultimatum. They were trying to locate him by his voice, or else they wished to keep his attention diverted from their next ruse. He wormed his way backward twenty feet. Then came a violent hail of bullets into the spot he had quit. He shifted his position to a boulder. There followed a brief period of silence, broken by the question: “What you think about it now? Ready to give up?” He was hoping that they would assume the volley had found him. Once let them advance to investigate, and he was confi-_ dent he could hold the creek against them. But none of them showed himself. Beach kept a sharp watch on both ends of the hovel to guard against one of their number stealing away to cross the stream and attack him from behind. They com- menced calling to him, one man after an- other, and each speaking in a peremptory voice and demanding that he listen carefully and give the closest attention. And he did give heed, but as they thus took turns in ad- dressing him and failed to reach their final admonition, he began to wonder why there was so much talk and why so little was being said. They abruptly ceased their shouting, and like a blow came the realization that the trick had been played. Too late had he at- tended to watching for withdrawals from the shed. His head was already turning as a care- less step sounded behind him. He was hor- ribly frightened, but not surprized to be- hold the Wild Cat standing by a spruce, an amused smile twisting his lips up on one side of the brown face. For a moment the two gazed into each other’s eyes, the hell in the killer’s stare exulting over the fear dis- torting the young man’s visage. Beach dropped the rifle and rose to his knees. ‘“That’s a heap better,” murmured the Wild Cat, stepping clear of the tree that had masked his approach. Gomicbooks (Eo)