Adventure Magazine Cover, April 3, 1918 — page 111: what you’re looking at

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

a Red Toll with whisky,” growled the commander. “You've stayed away too long to follow up the Ash Creek trail. Tried to get Texas to go out alone yesterday, but he refused. Now, new work has turned up. A big train is due to arrive at the Cimarron Crossing any day. You two must get there and give warning that the Kiowa are out in force.” “Tf some one else can go I reckon Texas an’ me can still pick up th’ Ash Creek trail,”’ penitently replied Silent. ‘“‘There’s no one else to go—all the rest are out. The train must be warned. Be- sides, the band that killed Two Birds is probably down the trail by this time, laying for the train.” “We'll warn ’em, all right,’ assured Silent. ‘‘I’ll take a snack with Texas, then we'll make th’ Cimarron hell-flukin’.’”’ He found Texas Charlie seated at a rough table in the mess-room with a plate of untouched venison before him and the bottle half empty. It was obvious the scout’s nerves were demoralized. Silent saluted him with a cheerful grin and poured himself adrink. ‘Texas, slim and wiry and showing no trace of his Cheyenne blood except in his small black eyes, returned the amuiablé glance with a scowl and reached for the bottle. A breed brought in a platter of meat which the hunter attacked hungrily. As Silent made no offer to talk Texas finally demanded— “Scouting?” “Yep; didn’t find nothin’. Reckon Lean Wolf an’ his braves is pretty far north by this time.”’ | ‘And I reckon you’re very much mis- taken,” sullenly retorted Texas. “TI feel it in my bones he’s near, ready to strike. T’ll be number seven.’ The last with a faint shudder-and a lunge for the bottle. “Dod rot it!” angrily exclaimed Silent. “Can’t I read signs? Don’t I know a thing or two ’bout this game? Think ye know it all jest ’cause ye can talk book English? I tell ye Lean Wolf’s off to hunt with th’ Pawnee. He sent ’em a peace talk an’ a pipe more’n a month ago. I know that.” “T’m not casting any reflections on your knowledge,” stiffly replied Texas. ‘But Lean Wolf’s band wiped out Two Birds, the sixth of our scouts since the sending of the calumet to the Pawnee. The hunting trip to the Platte is a ruse; or as you say, ‘all in your eye.’ ”’ 109 “Hold on a minute!’ gasped _Silent, suspending his eating to gaze in admiration at the slim and dapper figure. ‘‘Jest lem’me corral some o’ that language. Is it halter-broke?”’ Flashing his white teeth in a shadow of a smile, Texas apologized: “T can’t help it. I was educated in the best schools in St. Louis from the age of eight to twenty-one.” “YT swow! Ye didn’t hear much Injun in St. Looey,” remarked Silent. Texas’ face took on a deeper bronze. He never spoke of his ancestry. “T was bred to speak only English,” he curtly replied. “If ’'d gone East instead of returning to this cursed country—and yet I wouldn’t have fitted in there. Well, I’m here—the bottle’s here. We'll drink to the trail.” “Don’t ye git touchy, Texas, at what an ol’ man says. Reckon I talk lots o’ foolish- ness every time I open my yap. Jest keep on spillin’ good English. I hanker to hear it. Makes me think how I mighter larned to talk it if I’d stayed where I belonged in place o’ chasin’ out here to larn th’ sign-language of a parcel o’ red beggars.” “Not very complimentary to the noble Indian,” observed Texas with a bitter laugh. “Six inamonth! Looks as though the cards were stacked against us. And a wagon train is due at Cimarron Crossing and we must ride to give it warning—bah! There’s no bite to this post whisky. My nerves still feel all unraveled.” Rising, he pushed back the bottle in disgust. “‘TI’ll be in the corral.” Silent bolted his food and soon followed his brother scout to the horse-corral. Texas was ready to mount. The old man flung his saddle and blanket roll on a vicious pony and the two rode out on the trail. “After giving the word, scout back on both sides of the river and look for fresh signs,” the commander called after them. The men nodded and cantered away, a strange contrast in types. Texas was immaculate in fresh buckskin. His glossy black hair, worn long, was carefully groomed and accented the suggestion of dandyism. His weapons were inlaid with silver, after the Mexican fashion, and were the last word in efficiency. The old hunter was shaggy and di- sheveled, roughly clothed, indifferently armed, and grotesquely mounted. The ax COnnicloo SS (C@