Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 173: what you’re looking at

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

Ole Lekker’s Ride and heard the roar of the surf like the pounding of heavy artillery. There had been a thaw. For three days a soft south wind had blown steadily; and one night a gentle rain fell. The heavy snows of Winter were sinking by day to freeze again at night. The ice in lakes and harbor was rotting. Heavy groanings came from it at times when the seas grew restless, and at any mo- ment might be expected the crashing, boom- ing, grinding sounds that mark the breaking up of the Winter’s ice. That afternoon the wind had shifted sud- denly to west, then to northwest, and hour by hour the gale increased, the sea ran higher, and the cold that had promised early departure, returned. “Bad night, Ole,” remarked Doc, as his man came into the study to replenish the fire. ‘‘Getting colder, isn’t it?” “She sleet now,” said Ole. ‘Mak ice on snow. Bad for tires.”’ “‘Well,”? yawned the doctor, ‘‘I hope we don’t have to go out tonight.” Just at that moment the telephone bell rang. “This is Point Betsie,”’ said a voice. “The boys have just brought in a man off the ice — blown overboard from some freighter. Reached shore-ice and tried to reach the Point. He’s badly frost-bitten, and one of his legs is crushed and torn— caught between two cakes of ice.”’ “Ts he bleeding badly?” “Not much. Cold and freezing water checked it; but he’s bleeding worse since we got him here where it’s warm.” “Fold a towel four or five times, wrap it around the leg above the wounds. Put a stick through the towel, and twist hard enough to stop circulation. Have a lot of water boiling. Give him a whiff of that chloroform I left when Jackson was hurt— just enough to deaden pain, and a teaspoon- ful of brandy every ten minutes until I get there.” | “Ole,” he said, turning sharply to his man. “Can we get to Point Betsie?”’ “Ay tank not,” said Ole, unmoved. ‘We try her.” “How is the road to Crystal?” “She ban bad. Snow he deep by ceme- tery. We make her.” “Can we get around the lake road?” “Ay tank not. Snow he eight—ten feet deep drifts.. Wagon she stuck las’ week.”’ 171 ‘“‘We’ll go as far as we can in the car and try to get through on foot,” said the doctor, hastily packing instruments and bandages. ““Get out the car while I change clothes.” ‘“‘Ay tank we bust her,” said Ole. ‘Smash her up if you can get me through,” snapped the doctor. ‘‘A man is dead unless we get there.” “Ay ban smash her,” responded Ole placidly. ‘‘Heem a good car,” he added with more than usual disregard for gender. The main street of Frankfort was coated with rutted snow, freezing into spikes and knife edges of ice. The light car raced crunchingly over this surface, splattering the occupants with half-congealed water that had gathered in the wagon-ruts. It turned northward, held for a little way under the lee of the hill and reached the outskirts of the village. The first steep hill loomed ahead. The headlights of the car revealed two rivulets of water flowing downward in deep wagon- ruts, cut in the heavy snow. But for those grooves the road and fields were unbroken white, save where the tops of fence-posts protruded. Holding the car-wheels in the ruts, Ole sent it splashing and crunching up grade, and, whirling around a curve where the wheels tried in vain to skid and were held by the packed snow, the car doubled around the elbow of a hill and raced out on to the plateau. There for the first time the full force of the hurricane struck them, almost blowing the breath from their bodies. The car seemed to stagger under the shock of the wind which whined in the wind-shield and screamed over their heads. The wind was coming, unimpeded, down from the straits, laden with particles of ice that stung, and seemed to sear the flesh. At intervals drops of water, not yet fro- zen, pelted upon them, froze, and seemed to blow entirely through their clothing and strike upon naked flesh. The howling of the wind, the beating of the ice, rain, the crunching of the tires through frozen and freezing snow, made conversation impossi- ble save in shouted sentences. The road- way was slippery where the snow had blown from it, and the car skidded and lurched on these spots. Ole sat bolt upright at the steering-wheel. His mustache was a walrus tusk of ice, and icicles hung from his hair and the edge of CoMmicboooks (CO