Adventure Magazine Cover, December 10, 1922 — page 174: what you’re looking at

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

168 I hear something like that. Was there something else I can sell you, gents?”’ ‘here was not, and they could not be on their way quickly enough to satisfy the pro- pulsion burning within them. They were warned that because of the “bad lands” of the lower part of Roosevelt glacier—one of the biggest ice packs of the American continent—they should not strike. out straight toward the peak. So, following the advice of two or three persons who vol- unteered it at the last, they struck off about south, toward the upper end of Grouse Ridge, with a view to swinging to the left on to the glacier when past the lower treacherous edge. When they had climbed up the bare, sharp rocks until they were out of hearing of the camp, and were beyond the farthest loafers and lovers of the camp sunning on the hillside, Fags set in to violent coughing. He began to lag, and they waited im- patiently for him. “T got to cough some,” protested the thin youth. “TI held up down there in camp till I liked to bust.” “We ain’t going to be held back,” warned Morton-Dyer. “Anyhow speaking for my- self, I’m not.” “You won’t get lonesome, acridly. ‘“T’ll be on your shirt tail.” “Split up!” wailed Fags. ‘We started out to stick together.” “But some don’t stick,’’ allowed Logical Jones. ‘“They didn’t have the will power.” ‘“‘Sinehour and Casey Jones, for example,” said Morton-Dyer brutally. “Traitors!” shrilled Fags, panic stricken. “You leave me, and I’ll set the whole pack down there on the Ridge after you.” There was a moment of silence as they adjusted this to their logic. Jones was the first to speak, and he sized the situation up speculatively. “Tmagine the stampede, if he’d tell’em! If he’d say, ‘People, up on top there’s gold nug- gets the size of pigeon eggs and thick as hail!’” “He won’t tell!’ grated Morton-Dyer. “This is my chance to fill my pockets against beggary and want, and borrowing from my friends, and shell-gamin’ the pub- lic, and dodging the ladies because I’m cleaned, and working. Hell nor heaven, love nor hate, nor a blasted one o’ you ginks - can stop me, savvy?” “T’ll be on your shirt tail,” repeated Jones grimly. ‘—— can’t stop me neither.”’ “You wouldn’t rob me,” pleaded Fags. ”” said Jones ~ Adventure “‘T won’t be hindered,” went on Morton- Dyer, his superb selfishness cropping out. “I’m going to the top, and I’m going to get there first and pick my claim! I’m going on fast pretty soon and leave you.” Under this announcement of mutiny they sat quiet. Jones had the cotton safety line. Idly he loosed it, and toyed with it. “The gold up there,” observed Jack, “being on the ground is placer.”’ “Sure,” agreed the mutineer. of a claim fifteen hundred “VYou’re wrong. Feller down there that tried my boots for me and said the rent-was two dollars. He said that fifteen by six hundred feet is a quartz-claim. Placer claims, he says, can be decided on, for size, by the discoverers, if they want.” “We don’t want!’ snorted Morton-Dyer. “First come first served. Ill take what I want. I'll pile up nuggets wherever I find them. A stack o’ nuggets breast high! A million dollars. Los Angeles, women, wine, fast cars! Gents, I'll have it or kill! And I’m going on fast.” He looked around at them, his face knotted until it was rock hard and ugly and savage. Jones got up casually, a loop in the rope end. He took a step or two toward Morton- Dyer, so that with a twist of the arm he could throw the loop with certainty. And he did throw it, quick as light, and jerked it taut around Morton-Dyer’s neck. Morton- Dyer leaped up. The sailor, Cotton, were on their feet instantly, understanding. “Tie him!’’ shouted Jones. ‘We'll leave him here!’ Morton-Dyer was in a vise with three strong men around him. He was close to the end of the trip for him, and he knew it, and gave in. “|” he protested, trying to laugh, but “Think making only a hoarse noise. ‘“‘Can’t you birds take a joke?” “Tie him, men,” urged Jones. “It’s the safest.” He himself began to walk up on the rope. Quick as a fighting wolf Morton-Dyer sprang away from them, and past Jones. When he was brought up on the rope he was holding it with his left hand to keep from choking, and he had his alpenstock—a com- mon hickory rake handle shod with a ferrule and steel spike—to the fore. And he tried to ram Jones with it. “Tl fight the whole gang!” he bellowed. “Somebody will get hurt!’ GEomichbooks (E(O)