Adventure Magazine Cover, December 10, 1922 — page 167: what you’re looking at

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

Seven Fools In the hotel office men were tense. They searched one another’s faces. “T know Nellie. It’s her dad,” declared Fags. Curiously, it was as if he assured them on his absolute knowledge that the gold was really there on the bared crest of the master peak. No doubt existed with them. They. had not doubted an instant. “(ll have a handbag of that stuff!’ swore Morton-Dyer, his eyes greedy. “A handbag?” sneered Logical Jones. “T’ll have a staked claim o’ the stuff. First there, first served!” Every man but old Sinehour was on his feet instantly. Fags was endeavoring to hold down his coughing. » Morton-Dyer was a scowling hawk watching them all. “Not a sound!” he warned. ‘“T’ll choke the man “Don’t move!” barked Logical Jones under his breath. ‘This crowd can’t split up for a second!” The men were tense, poised, waiting. Confronted with a chance to get gold out of the ground for nothing, these men of ordinary ‘caution and gambling instincts became super-gamblers in a flash, as men have done from Australia to Klondyke, wagering time, hardships, danger, against a chance for the yellow grains. Yet they did not think of it thusly. They thought only of a chance to get gold and that the other fellow was planning to get there first. Gold! Their eyes glinted with the mad- ness. They were a mob ready to plunge. “Listen, men,” and Logical Jones ap- pealed to them now, instead of command- ing. ‘“‘Let’s stick together and not take a chance of anybody spilling this to their best friend. What say?” “Gold news spreads!’ Morton-Dyer warned them, seeing Jones’ idea. “It goes by telepathy. One tick o’ this news and there’d be a million on the trail by sunup.” They agreed by nods and quick words to stick together so that the news would not leak. All but Sinehour, who said nothing. “Let’s go!” whispered Jones. They were on their toes with eagerness. But old Sinehour delayed. “Tf you please, young gentlemen, your— er, gay gaming with the cards tonight has entertained me, but it is now well after one o’clock, and I shall, with your kindly per- mission, seek the side of my dear wife rP mth 1)? 161 They jerked out an incredulous note of — mirth. It startled Sinehour. “Martha, my wife,” he started to explain, — “will be uneasy should she awaken.” “Shut up!’ harshly ordered Morton- | Dyer. “You're going! By ——, I’m not going to be interfered with! All of you, get that! This is the one chance that comes in a lifetime. I’m going to override all ob- stacles, understand? “T’ll be steppin’ on your shirt tail!” asserted Jones. | They stood tense, uncertain for the mo- ment, except Fags, who slid to a showcase and poked a carton of cigarets into a coat pocket. When he came from behind the -counter they began simultaneously to tip- toe toward the front door. Casey Jones shouldered his pack. Outside in the street, a little distance off, they knotted together under the stars and in the gleam of a distant corner incandescent. 3 ‘Nobody stays back!” reiterated Morton- Dyer curtly. “But, gentlemen,” and Sinehour’s wail rose up persistently. “I cannot go. *Twill be a merry adventure, I reck, but not for a man of my station and habits, who must have toast and milk at seven a. m., and a warm bath.” They snarled at him in divers words and keys. plused. Then he burst out: “T don’t need the gold. I’m well heeled. I’m not greedy.” The sailor seized the little man by an arm, “Go for’rd, you,” he growled. “T’ll bloody your back with a length o’ cable!” “How about supplies?” asked Morton- Dyer. ‘Boots, food, sacks for the nuggets?” The old man was obviously non- “ve got to get my overcoat,” said Cotton abruptly, breaking away from them, “Wait! Come back here!’’ They seized him. “What you want—tell your best friend, so he can tell his best friend?” “Let loose! PU get my overcoat or Pll scream!” “Til choke you,” flared Logical Jones, all but seizing Cotton by the throat. “My coat is in the office, you can see me get it,” said Cotton. They let him go, but Logical Jones fol- lowed, watching and warning outside the door. Cotton took his coat from a hook and rejoined them. “Supplies?” repeated Morton-Dyer. “I think we can get what we want at > comicbooks: