Adventure, December 1914 — page 103: what you’re looking at

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

Proof shiny bottom happened to cast a moving, bright reflection from the lamp. The il- lumining spot jerked erratically about the wall; then it dropped to the small, low window where it rested and drew attention from the tail of Hurley’s eye. Slowly his glance centered upon it, and there, gleaming ghastly and wet with the rain, was aman’s face. The glittering eyes were mirthless and evil, but the mouth, a huge mouth drawn back and upward, smiled inscrutably. A sharp, chill tremor gripped Hurley’s stomach, rose up his spine and overlay his scalp. His lungs tugged for breath. The pan crashed to the floor, dragging a clutter of tin dishes with it. Be WHEN Corbin’s boys stepped in, Bim Immediate Lee was standing be- side Hurley. He faced them calm- ly and removing his hat he slatted the water from its wide brim: ‘Some time ago,” he said, ‘‘Kentuck, here, prescribed a laugh for me. I just dropped around to show him how it took. ‘“You boys are friendly to me, as far as I know, but I got to make sure—and Ken- SN s] . “4 iy 72 - a co { a. — é . Leen — TS \ PROOF | IOI tuck goes with me.” Afterward none of them could remember seeing more than the flick of Lee’s hand to his side. There sounded the peculiar roar of a forty-four fired indoors, the thin tinkle of a shattered lamp-chimney, and the rattle of a brass lamp-burner as it dropped to the floor in rebound from the wall where the bullet had driven it. “Shooting in the dark don’t slow me up— none,” came the quiet drawl of Immediate Lee. ‘You punchers just stay fixed and we'll keep friends, like I said.” They heard the slow tread of Lee and the scuffling scrape of Hurley’s feet cross the floor and pass through the doorway, out into the rain. In the pitch darkness they were aware of the fidgeting commotion of two horses being mounted with some difficulty. Then the voice of Lee called— ‘Adios, my friends.” The released tension of the four men within was expressed by a low, spontane- ous laugh from one of them and another called back dryly— “Don’t mention it!” ha SAMUEL ALEXANDER WHITE UST around the first bend of the Dyea Trail above Ten-Mile Cache, which stands beyond Canyon City, Eric Sark threw his weight back upon the gee-pole of his sledge. ‘““Whoa!”’ he yelled. Obediently the five wolf-dogs stopped to rest, the smoke of their breathing clouding heavily through the frosty night. Their red tongues lolled from their panting mouths, and they vigorously shook their bristling manes as if to get rid of the hoar with which their fur was rimmed. Ahead of and above Sark’s outfit the CO OO C©