Adventure Magazine Cover, April 3, 1918 — page 114: what you’re looking at

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

It2 Texas hesitated, complaining— “But to remain here when our help is needed——”’ “Hark!” broke in Silent, lifting his hand. “Hear that? Guns, by th’ Etarnal!’’ “They’ve jumped it already!” hoarsely cried the scout, striding back and forth in much agitation. A splutter of rifle fire, coming faintly down the river, indicated the beginning of abattle. Silent’s face twisted with anxiety. The rifle fire was a code he could skilfully interpret. The scattered shots evidenced a surprise attack successfully carried out. The same thought was in Texas’ mind, for he muttered— ‘“‘No backbone in that shooting.” “Hooray!” yelled the hunter, drawing his ax and brandishing it exultingly. “But there’s backbone in that.” -This as the rifle fire suddenly increased in volume and became marked with well-defined regularity. ‘“That ain’t no Injun shootin’. Th’ red devils thought they’d worked a game an’ they’re hooked! Hear ’em! I must ’a’ been mistook ’bout their bein’ tenderfeet. There’s some ol’ hands in that train—firin’ in squads, so’s not to unload all their guns at th’ same time.”’ “Our help may be needed! Come along,” cried the scout, making for his pony. Silent held him back by clutching his fringed sleeve. “Be ye crazy?” he demanded. “‘It’ll be all over afore we can make it. My pony’s winded. ‘Th’ train’s either beat ’em off an’ will be rollin’ along here in a few hours, or else it’s wiped out. No matter who’s won we’d be sure to run into th’ Injuns an’ lose our ha’r.”’ The logic of this could not be gainsaid. Texas returned to the little opening in the heart of the brush, mumbling: “It sounds cold-blooded, but it’s common sense. It will be finished before we can make it. The fire seems to be dropping.” Both pricked their ears. Only occa- sional shots were being fired. Either the Indians were retreating or finishing off the wounded. Silent’s withered face became distorted with fear. Then all doubt was re- moved when there came a staccato volley. Waving his ax the old hunter yelled: “That tells th’ whole story! Th’ —— beggars got a bellyful an’ are runnin’ away. ' They’re beat so bad th’ train ain’t skeered to let off all their guns at once!” Adventure “They’re whipped,” dropping to the ground. “But we ought to have made a try for it. Go to sleep— I'll watch till the train comes up.” Silent stretched his arms in a yawn and rose and procured his blanket roll, sur- rendering— “Reckon I will snooze a bit now th’ ’citement’s over. Feel sort o’ peaked.” Reseating himself he fumbled with a thong of rawhide tied ’round his blanket, then paused to remark, “Say, Texas, d’ye know that picter-writin’ ye found up Ash Crick way worried me a heap? Made me think I was jest a dad blamed ol’ fool.” Texas jerked up his head in surprise and demanded— “How sop” “Wal, it showed Two Birds had plenty o’ time to make his writin’ afore th’ Injuns jumped him. He made it so’s to give th’ fort warnin’ ’bout th’ Kiowy if he should be wiped out.” “Of course.” “But if he had time to do that why’n sin didn’t he make a run f’r it?” ‘““He was on the east side of the creek. They were between him and the fort. Probably his pony was winded.” “That’s prob’ly it,’ drowsily agreed Silent, unfastening the second thong and removing his belt and placing his ax upon it. “He must ’a’ been a mighty smart Injun. Smarter’n I’d reckoned on. It ain’t in Injun natur’ to figger things out that way. It would ’a’ been more natural if he’d give a war-whoop once he saw he was cornered, start singin’ his death-song an’ pitch into them. But he took time to make a writin’ like a white man would do who knew he was done f’r an’ wanted to send a last word to th’ world. I kicked him once f’r stealin’ my whisky—wish I hadn’t. He wa’n’t no artist, but he was strong f’r gittin’ in ‘th’ facts.” “{ndian picture-writing shows no knowl- edge of perspective. Proportion is never considered,” impatiently reminded Texas. ‘Better turn in, or the train will be here before you can get any rest.” “Ym goin’ to—I’m dead tired. Pro- portion? Wal, I reckon not. Say, d’ye notice how he made his head bigger’n th’ whole flock o’ hoss-tracks? He sure showed th’ Injun conceit when he come to draw assented Texas, hisself. Th’ two birds was ’nough, but he even took time to stripe off his long ha’r CoOmilclo©okS.COmM