Adventure Magazine Cover — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

Tigre and Isola the moon overlooked the mountain crest, the top of the rock seemed slowly to rise from out the darkness and break into the white flood. “This movement appeared so real and affirmative that I turned to Isola to learn if she had noticed it. She did not heed my action, but sat with her eyes fixed upon the rock with such a stare as one might have who saw the rending of the solid earth. Quickly turning, I saw that on the top of the rock a man was standing, with lifted face and folded arms. The pose was.grandly pathet- ic. The form looked larger than human in the wan moonlight. I was about to break the silence with an exclamation, when a mighty voice, a noble barytone, came rolling across the distance, wave upon wave, bear- ing the burden of an old and half-forgotten love-song: ‘The God who wrought thee over-sweet In Love’s old garden long ago, Gave me the curse of wandering feet, The power to know, and only know, That even God shall not repeat The agony of loving so!’ “When the refrain was reached I was thrilled as the singer substituted another name for the one written in the old song, and the night was stirred by a burst of pas- sionate melody that will haunt my memory while I live: ‘Isola! Love, I love thee! Isola! Hear my cry! The skies are black above me! Love me, or bid me die! Isola! Isola! Love me, or let me die!’ ‘““As the wonderful voice held the last word at the top of the register without a quaver, the lady arose, stood unsteadily for a moment, then turned and walked proudly to the hallway and disappeared within. Nufiez Pico rose and, without a word, fol- lowed his daughter. “That night I could not sleep, and near morning left my room and paced the garden walks until daybreak. Then, drawn by curiosity, I crossed the river and came to the great rock at the foot of the rise. Here I found the trace of a horse, coming and going, and, behind the rock, evidence that the horse had stood there for many hours. “The Lady Isola came to the breakfast the following morning without a tear-stain oft upon her face, her features set and cold. The look in her proud eyes seemed to say: ‘My hours of terror are done! I am master of myself!’ ‘She moved about the house, the porches and the garden as freely as of old, but witha different manner. Then it was with the languorous grace of one in love with idle- ness; now she moved with the proud mili- tancy of one who asserts dominion and de- fies aggression. I was glad of the changed mien, and so, I think, was Pico. ‘When on that evening she passed me, going down into the garden, she seemed to have grown taller, so martial was her car- riage. I sat long in the gathering dusk with little note of passing time, when sud- denly, a woman’s shriek, clear, high and long-drawn, rose from the garden, followed almost instantly by the thunder of galloping hoofs upon the stony bed of the river, a plash of water, the muffled sound of a fall- ing earth-bank, and then the lessening ~ throb of flying feet that died upon the night. “The shriek, the rush of the trampling feet through the garden, the vault of the steed over the adobe wall, and the uproar of the steel-shod hoofs upon the stones of the river-bed did not occupy five seconds, and before I could leap from the porch and rush through the garden shrubbery the beat of the retreating feet sounded faint and far. “The aroused household acted with des- perate energy. Swift messengers called the assistance of all the neighboring ran- cheros. ‘The cinching of saddle-girths, the clank of arms, the trampling of impatient horses, the sharp orders of Pico, and the headlong incoming of horsemen from the outer night, told of stern preparation that boded ill for the frenzied abductor. “But before the pursuit could be taken up the storm came over the Obsidian Hills and broke upon the valley with lightning, thun- der, roaring wind and such a downpour of rain that within half an hour the river could not be crossed except by a détour of many miles, and then only by leading our horses singly upon a frail swinging bridge in- tended only for pedestrians. However, the cloudburst passed as quickly as it came, and the trail was taken before midnight. De- spite the obliterating effects of the storm, the trace was easy to follow, for one had joined us whose fame as a tracker in mountain and desert was supreme in Arizona and Mexico, and when Cady rode out, taking the trail COMICLOOCKKS. EO