Adventure Magazine, Mid-September 1917 — page 94: what you’re looking at

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

Q2 As the evening wore on it became appar- ent that the trend of the miners was to the Empire Music Hall. When this fact had been established the movements of the lum- berjacks began to center upon the same place, and presently the hall was filled, the logging men scattered among the miners. Gaston and Tom Pine stood watching the crowd. “The boys are all going up to hear Miss Adair sing,” said Tom. “Shall we go over?” Gaston looked at his watch. “Tet’s wait a little; she won’t be on for twenty minutes yet. I’d rather have the fresh air until then.” “Well, I'll go over and save a seat for you,” said Tom, but his partner caught him by the arm. “Ton’t.”’ “Eh?” “Not just yet. Fact is, I’ve got a little story to tell you. Did you ever hear how old Ikhoot, the good medicine-man, put the kibosh on Atabi, the wicked chieftain? Of course not; neither did anybody else. Old Ikhoot was a good old soul who kept his people straight and wouldn’t let the gods or devils hurt ’em; and Atabi was a rascal who sold his women and gave his people hooch, and wanted to grab old Ikhoot’s tribe and add it to his own. So Ikhoot got wise, and one day he said to his people: ‘The Atabi bunch has got the laugh on us.’ His people wanted to know why. ‘Because they say we fear them and are afraid to go near their teepees.’ So that night, of course, the young Ikhoot bucks go over to visit Atabi’s people, and Atabi’s bunch speak ’em fair. But the Ikhoots know what they came for. ‘You’re a fine gang to give us the laugh,’ says an Ikhoot buck. ‘Who gave you the laugh?’ says an Atabiman. ‘You did, you scut,’ says the Ikhoot fellow, ‘and here’s a clout on the ear for trying to lie out of it.’ Well, when the mélée is over tne Ikhoots and the Atabis are sworn enemies forever and ever, and old Ikhoot, the medi- cine-man, sits in his teepee and smokes the best pipe and won’t let the gods—or Mr. Atabi—hurt his people.” | “Yes?” said Tom Pine, studying Gaston patiently. “And when did you first feel this coming on; and have you any pain be- hind the ears?” “Old Ikhoot was a wise old coot,’* hummed Gaston. ‘‘Wait, watch, and listen.” Adventure ‘‘Watch what?” “That!”’ cried Gaston, triumphantly, pointing at the Empire. ‘‘Go to it, shanty- boys!” Across the street in the music-hall the music suddenly ceased. Instead of the rattle of the drum, the plunk of the piano, there exuded from its doors a low, rumbling sound, not unlike the surge of wind among pines. The sound lifted a note in tone and doubled in volume. A white-faced musi- cian catapulted into the street. A pair of waiters followed him. And then through the wide doors of the Empire came tum- bling a weaving, howling body of men, in- extricably interwoven, who stumbled forth into the street in dazed fashion. Behind this body came a smaller, but more compact crowd, not at all dazed, which cheered as it came and drove the other before it. “Eh, sonny-me-lad!” cried Gaston Olaf to a damaged shift-boss who came stagger- ing free of the press. ‘‘What’s all the bother about?” ‘“‘They’s crazy men; crazy, not droonk!”’ gasped the Cornishman. “I do but say to one, ‘Laddie, dost thee not want work in a dry, covered pit at three the day, ’stead o’ thirty the month in the wet snow?’ and what do he do but bash me atween the eyes *fore I could lift me maulies.” ‘Ah, ha!” cried Gaston, taking him by the shoulders. “I guessed his hand right: Bradley told you to hire my men, didn’t he? Speak, Jack, or what the crazy man gave you won’t be a marker = | ‘In course ’twas the Super gave orders for more hands,” said the man, wresting himself free. “I’m naught but shift-boss masel’, ”’ ‘And he said Saturday night would be a likely time to get ’em, the lumberjacks being in town?” ‘He did so. And what of it?” “““Naught,’ as you say, Jack. Tom, do you begin to savvee the yarn of the wise old coot, Ikhoot? Look at that bunch out there! I’ve stopped Bradley’s first play. If anybody says ‘miner’ to ’em for six months to come he’ll have to fight!”’ As he stood chortling boyishly a lithe, well-rounded figure came hurrying down the street toward the music-hall and halted at the sight of the struggling men. Gaston sprang forward, and in the light of a tent lamp Ada Adair turned her face toward him and laughed. CoOMmiclsoo ©