Adventure Magazine Cover, June 20, 1923 — page 95: what you’re looking at

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

URDER and robbery had been done at the Forks, and the news spread through the sparsely settled backwoods like fire through dry timber. It bid fair to become a frontier mystery, but fate was disposed to make revelation. Toward Powersite hur- ried two of the least of the northland, and through them she was to play her hand. The Indian, Siwash, secret as his forests, invincible in his hate as the mighty river that flowed through them, slid over the rough miles, finding paths where no path led, making speed that was born of the purpose in his heart; but when he reached the village, caution rose to equal his deter- mination. No man in Powersite would have attempted the task he had set himself, but Siwash was not daunted. He would bide his time; and when opportunity offered, he would strike. From the other side of the village, down from the hills, raced young Matt Powers, his team of half-broken colts taking the rutted roads at a furious gallop, his heart light and happy as the pale gold sunlight that flooded the Autumn woods. For the day he was free from his rough acres; his only serious purpose was to lay in pro- visions to tide him and his mother through the snowy Winter months. With a flourish, he pulled up before Spivens’ Emporium, Supplies for Man and Beast, and sprang to the ground before the worm-eaten hitch rack; and while he ‘Z y Lea yity che beat He . paused to pat the restless nigh horse, the dark shadow of Siwash flitted unnoticed around the side of the Emporium to a win- dow at the back. The store was coming to life. All of Powersite’s male population had drifted in, and the back window afforded an excellent place to see without being seen. As young Matt dropped the halter over the hitch rack, “Pappy” Hendrix’ voice drifted out to him, querulous with age and excitement. “A thousand dollars reward, dead or alive?” It was the mystery at the Forks they were discussing, and their talk hung around the meager details as flies to the sugar lump, returning time and again to taste of its sweet particles. “Yeh,” came Johnny Kline’s answering growl, “but no one’ll ever see it. No one but the cashier knew what the robber looked like, and he’s dead. Besides, I saw him there that afternoon. You know who.” “You don’t mean——”’ Pappy Hendrix’ gabble broke in mid- word as Matt opened the door, and the room drained to empty silence. Pappy and Johnny stared hypnotically before them, moistening their lips with nervous tongues; and their companions shrank from them as from something doomed and leprous. Fat Pete sighed in audible relief. “Why, it’s only Matt Powers! You come in so quiet, boy, that we thought you was some one else.”’ 93 » GO NOOK (C@