Adventure Magazine Cover, October 1911 — page 25: what you’re looking at

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

A Ledge of Safety spoke, and dashed from the room, followed, more sedately, by Mr. Grey. In a few strides Jack was close behind the girl. “Helen!’’ he called. She turned. The color left her face and her eyes snapped. ‘‘Have you forgotten my request that our acquaintance might cease?”’ she asked coldly. ‘Oh, Nell—don’t be foolish!” he begged. *““Won’t you forgive me? After all, it was such a silly little quarrel.”’ “TI don’t agree with you. me pass?”’ “At least, let me go to your door with you. It isn’t safe in the streets, with things as they are now. I wonder your people let you go out—but they didn’t know you were going to try, I suppose.” “You are impertinent,” she replied, still more coldly, if possible, than before. “I much prefer to go home alone.” Will you let WITHOUT more words she went on her way, her head held high, leaving him standing on the pave- ment, looking after her. She had but a few steps to go. Seeing that she had en- tered the Torrenegro house, Jack turned, with a sigh, and was about to retrace his steps, when old Mr. Grey laid a detaining hand on his arm. “‘T didn’t mean to spy on yo’, son,” said the old man gently. ‘I came out tuh see that nothin’ happened tuh you or that gyirl, an’ I couldn’t help but see that the way she received you caused yo’ pain. Do yo’ wish tuh tell me what’s wrong? I don’t ask from mere cw losity.”’ Jack had no fear that the handsome, kindly-faced old man would wish to pry into . the affairs of any one. Mr. Grey, though he had been a famous “gun-man”’ in the old and lawless days of the West, looked on Jack with the fondness of a father and had practically adopted him. To no one would he tell his troubles more readily. ““We were engaged—and there was a quarrel,” he said. “It wasn’t anything, really. She admired the Boers—it was dur- ing the Boer war—and I didn’t. She ac- cused me of snobbery and all sorts of things, and then broke everything off. That’s all.” That was all—and quite enough, too, so far as Jack was concerned; Mr. Grey could see that written on the young man’s face. And, versed in the ways of life, he knew that no quarrels are more difficult to heal than those of trivial beginnings. He was about to speak, when a shout from the Tor- renegro house prevented. “Jack! Jack Caltrop! Oh, Jack!” called avoice. “1t’s me—Tom Westlock! Waita minute, can’t you?”’ Jack stopped, some of the gloom leaving his face. Mr. Grey returned to the house as Tommy Westlock, a masculine and much magnified edition of his sister, came running out of the Casa Torrenegro. ‘‘T’ve been out on the hacienda,” Tommy explained. ‘I only hit town this morning— came with a rush when I heard youwere here. Nell came into the house just now with her nose so high that she could nearly look into her own nostrils, so I knew she’d seen you. Sometimes that girl is more different kinds of an idiot even than the average female human of her age—and that’s going some,’ he ended, with true brotherly candor. ‘“‘I came out to see that she got safely home,” was all the reply that occurred to Jack. ‘She hadn’t any right to be out. Things are arranging themselves for a first-class shindy, if you want to know. Say, did you see me nail that cop? He isn’t dead; I didn’t want to kill him. But he was too blazing fresh. Who was that stunning looking old chap who just left your”’ Jack told him as they walked along toward the house. “You don’t mean to say that it’s Grave- yard Grey!” exclaimed Tom as his friend finished. “He used to be called that—behind his back,”’ replied Jack. ‘“‘It makes him aw- fully angry to hear it. Come in and meet him.” ‘“‘Sure, I will. And he won’t hear the name from me,” laughed Tom. “I value my fair young life too much, by far.” His “fair, young life’? was in no danger, as things turned out. Both Mr. Grey and Stowell took the strongest of liking for the handsome, open-faced young fellow who in a few minutes seemed to have known them all his life. They were laughing and chat- ting when Jack, who had resumed his favorite perch on the window-seat, pointed through the bars. “Took, Tom,” he said. ‘“Somebody’s going to visit your house in state. Who is that gorgeous, brass-bound individual at the head of those three companies of in- fantry?”’ COmiclbook 971 ©