Adventure Magazine Cover, December 10, 1922 — page 170: what you’re looking at

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

164 There was an uproar. Morton-Dyer, at the head of the line, plunged back regardless of legs and bodies on the ground. ‘Tryin’ to slip away, hey?” he charged. “Vou traitor!’ “Let me go, let me go!”’ Sinehour stormed. “T can’t march.” Logical Jones seized him by the stiff collar about his neck and sat him down. “Stay there!” he barked. ‘And use some sense.” “T’ll prosecute!” the gamy old man swore. “Tl jail the last hound of you! You out- laws! Your gold will never save you!” The sky silvered, and the light trickled down through the delicate tracery of the tree tops stirred gently by a breeze on the surface of the forest. It was like being in the sea with the wavelets above. Before they knew it the trail was visible, and they got up and started on. “Won’t all get to the top,” Casey Jones fussed. They took it easy for a few minutes, until the veil of dawn fell away from their feet and they could see the trail in all its angles and nooks. Then they began to step out. At the first little downward slope they began to trot, and they trotted up the other side. But the bulk of the fat engineer slowed up and blocked the way at once. “Come on there!”’ stormed Logical Jones. Lift your feet!” “T can’t run over Sinehour,” defended Casey Jones. And there it was. Sinehour did not wish to make speed. So they were forced to slow down. They soon saw that Casey Jones and the old man were equally slow. This chafed them. Casey kept shifting his pack, which was awry on his shoulders most of the time, and the burden made him puff and lag. “We'll take turns carrying it,” said Mor- ton-Dyer. ‘‘Can’t be held back like this.”’ “No!” squealed Jones affrightedly. “We'll peel if off 0’ you!” declared Logi- cal Jones. “You wouldn’t do that, would you, gents? Me, Casey, that all the boys on the line like?”’ “Why wouldn’t we?” “Why, because — because — Lordy, but the wages of sin——” Casey stepped out faster, and he whipped himself to maintain the pace of the others. And Sinehour played up his end gamely, Lordy, Adventure too, for a while, then all at once he went staggering. “T can’t go on, I can’t go on,” he pleaded. ‘This is so unusual.” “Change your thought and you can go on,”’ said Logical Jones curtly. ‘Want to go on and you can do better. Look at Fags.” “Tell you what would fill the bill for him,” ' Morton-Dyer said over a shoulder to them. “Gag him and tie him till we come back.” Shortly after this the leader warned them, and they saw on ahead three or four tents beside the trail. Nobody was astir. Jack whispered that he saw a clothes line. He stepped from the file and deftly un- knotted the line from the trees and coiled it over his forearm. In a few minutes Morton-Dyer turned sharply off the trail, directing them to follow. They slid and stumbled and fell down the steep slope, cursing and lament- ing the loss of time. When they found a level spot some distance below the trail they stopped, and Jack and Morton-Dyer seized Sinehour. He was alarmed. “You wouldn’t hang me!” he cried out. ‘“‘Ha-ha-ha!”’ laughed Casey Jones curi- ously. ‘‘Why—why not?” “But Martha, my wife——” “Take it easy, old brittle. We’re just going to tie you up so you can’t get loose and tell the world we’re after gold. That fool fire guard or other good mountain climbers might beat us to it.”’ ' “Or anything might happen with you loose.”’ “But, men, my oatmeal, my toast, my bath.” “Your wife can have ’em.” Fags and Cotton and Logical gathered moss and had a pallet ready when the others laid him down. 3 “T’ll freeze here in the shade,” shuddered Sinehour. ‘‘You will rue this day.” “T’ll put this over him,” offered Fags, spreading his coat over the prostrate form. “Mr. Sinehour is a hotel guest. I got to look out for his comfort a little.” “T’ll halloo,” threatened Ne, shout to the trail.” “Will, will ye?” Jack pulled out a big red kerchief. ‘Not if you’re gagged good and tight.” “Tll prosecute!”’ screeched the old man. “Tl inform!” “Inform and be ——!” retorted Logical Jones. “Tl GEomichooks (E(0)