Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 135: what you’re looking at

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

Paradise Bend the grass cigarette - papers, I’d be there without a match.” From the hotel drifted thinly the lilt of “Buffalo Girls.”” A bevy of convivial beings in the street were bawling “The Days of Forty-Nine.”’ Across the discordant riot of sound cut the sudden clipping a. of a galloping pony. “TInjuns!”’ shouted a voice. “Tnjuns!” Loudon sprang up and dashed ’round the corral. In the flare of light from the hotel doorway a dusty man sat a dustier horse. The man was hatless, his dark hair was matted with dirt and sweat, and his eyes were wild. “Injuns!”’ cried the dusty man. on Hatchet Creek! I want help!” In thirty seconds there was a fair-sized “Injuns group surrounding the horseman. In a min- . ute and a half the group had become a crowd. Up bustled Marshal Dan Smith followed by Telescope Laguerre, Jim Mace, and the gentleman from the Barred O. Loudon, first on the scene, was jammed against the rider’s stirrup. “Gents,” the dusty man was saying, ‘‘my three pardners is a-standin’ off the war- whoops in a shack over by Johnson’s Peak on Hatchet Creek. There’s more’n a hundred o’ them feather-dusters an’ they’ll have my pardners’ hair if ye don’t come a-runnin’.”’ ‘Johnson’s Peak!”’ exclaimed Jim Mace. “That’s fifty mile away!” “All o’ that,” assented the dusty man wearily, without turning his head. ‘For God’s sake, gents, do somethin’, can’t ye? An’ gimme a fresh hoss.”’ Already three-quarters of his hearers were streaking homeward for their Winchesters and saddles. The men from the ranches were the last to move away. No need for them to hurry. The few who had brought rifles to the Bend had left them with their saddles at the various corrals. ©) man, mounted on one of the mar- shal’s ponies, was heading a posse composed of every available man in Para- dise Bend. Only the marshal and two men INSIDE of half-an-hour the dusty - who were sick remained behind. The posse, a column of black and bobbing shapes in the starlight, loped steadily. Many of the ponies had traveled twenty and thirty miles that day, and there were fifty more to pass under their hoofs. The average cow-horse is a hardy brute and can 133 perform miracles of work when called upon. Secure in this knowledge, the riders fully intended to ride out their mounts to the last gasp. Doubleday and Dawson rode stirrup to stirrup with the man from Hatchet Creek. Tailing these three were Loudon, Telescope Laguerre, the Barred O puncher, and Jim Mace. “How'd ye get through, stranger?’ que- ried Doubleday. “T dunno,” said the dusty man. “TI jus’ did.- I had to. It was make or break. Them warwhoops chased me quite a spell.” “You was lucky,”’ observed Dawson. ‘“*Yo’re whistlin’ I was. We was all lucky when it comes to that. We was at the shack.eatin’ dinner when they jumped us. . S’pose we’d been down the creek where our claims is at, huh?”’ ‘“*Yo’re hair would sure be decoratin’ a In- jun bridle,” admitted Dawson. “But I didn’t know there was gold on Hatchet Creek.” “We got four claims,” said the dusty man shortly. “‘Gettin’ much?” ‘We ain’t millionaires yet.” : ‘“‘No, I guess not,”’ whispered Jim Mace to Loudon. “T’ll gamble that gravel don’t assay a nickel a ton.. Been all through them hills, I have. I know Hatchet like I do the Dogsoldier. There’s no gold there.” ‘“‘This prospector party says different,” muttered Loudon. “You'll see,” sniffed Jim Mace. “Gold on the Hatchet! He’s loco? You'll see.” “It’s a good thing, stranger,’ Dawson was saying, ‘“‘ye hit the Bend when we was havin’ a dance. There ain’t more’n fifty or sixty men a-livin’ reg’lar in the place.” ‘“‘Well,”’ said the dusty man, “I did think o’ headin’ for Fort Yardley. But them feather-dusters was in between, so it was the Bend or nothin’. Oh, I knowed I was takin’ chances, what with no ranches in be- tween, an’ the little hoss liable to go lame on me an’ all. It’s a long ride, gents. Say, seems like we’re a-crawlin’ an’ a-crawlin’ an’ gittin’ nowheres.”’ ““We’re a. gittin’ some’ers right lively,” corrected Doubleday. “If yore pardners have plenty o’ cartridges they’ll be a-hold- in’ out all right when we git there. Don’t ye fret none, stranger.” “T ain’t—only—only—well, gents there was a roarin’ passel o’ them Injuns.”’ ‘“‘Sure, sure, but we’ll strike the Hatchet COMmMichoooks CO