Adventure Magazine Cover — page 57: what you’re looking at

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

Three Wise Men Strong Drink is Raging. Whosoever is deceived thereby is Not Wise. Obadiah, feeling well paid for his morn- ing’s labor, hummed as he neatly repacked his kit. «Strong drink is r-a-g-i-n-g.’ Spade was endeavoring to find out what Obadiah had said about strong drink on his well- curb. Eventually he decided the word was “rag-ging.”’ He announced: “Strong drink is ragging. What the——” “Vou bet it is,” Moore affrmed. ‘That hooch you and Carver peddle in “your honkeytonk sure puts raggin’ into a feller’s feet and the rags on his back. Makes him raggy, ragged and rank. I’ve been loaf- ing around this joint a week when Id ought to been out to my diggins gatherin’ in a pooch-full of dust instead of spendin’ hit. Come on in, Ill take a last drink with you. I’m dry, myself.” 1) ‘W-E-E-LL look-e-e there!’’ Carver was gazing intently at something that had appeared out of the blistering hills at the upper end of the gulch. A half-human object that pro- gressed in weird humpings and stumblings among the hot, rounded boulders of the creek bed. “Well, I'd say,” half-heartedly at the bobbing figure. like a whinny-diddle.” “Something coming to git yuh, Spade,” Moore jeered. “By Judas, the prophet’s mumbled Spade, leering ‘Looks right. Strong drink is raging—I see it myself. I’m goin’ to take a drink of water.” “Tt’s a man, thot’s what it is,’’ Carver stated. ‘Together they peered through the shimmering heat waves at the humping object. Obadiah set down his tool-kit and stared with the others. “Vuh see hit too, Moore. ‘‘T—yes, my eyes—’’ Obadiah brushed the back of his hand across his face and shaded his eyes with both hands. ‘“Yes— and I think it’s a man. Possibly some prospector out of water. We’d better go up and do what we can to help him out.” “What! Up there in that sun?” grum- bled Spade. ‘‘You’re crazier ’n I am, an’ Vm: drunk an’ you’re not. Go nothin’. Send for Gawd. Let him do it. That’s his trade, savin’ fellers.”’ Parson?” queried 43 “Aw, come on, “Spade.” Moore slapped Gowdy’ s broad back with his open hand. “T know you’re drunk, Spade, and it’ll half kill you to walk out in that sun, but I just got a hankerin’ to see. Come on; we're goin’, too.”’ Already Obadiah and Carver were twenty yards up the gulch, stumbling over the loose, hot stones and splashing around the pools of tepid black water. Moore seized Spade by the buckle of his protruding belt and dragged him, protesting, after. “Mustn’t let him drink much of this water,” chattered Obadiah as he and the Irishman struggled forward, “if it’s a thirsty prospector. Yes, see, he’s down drinking a barrel of it. Come on, let’s hurry!” A moment more and Obadiah had the shaggy head of the heat-crazed prospector in his lap, shading the tormented man as best he could with his body and bathing the parched lips and brow. Spade and Moore, scarce a minute behind, fell upon the pros- pector’s sack of ore, which Carver had already found and was emptying excitedly upon the sand. “Gold!” yelled Spade. “Gold!” howled Carver. it—it’s mine, I tell ye!” “Shut up. ” Moore's heavy hand crashed full against Spade Gowdy’s thick mouth and he shoved Carver aside. ‘Don’t wake up the whole camp. Course it’s gold. What else do you reckon a man ’d pack till he croaked alive like that feller’s a-doin?” He indicated the prostrated man. “Sure, an’ I b’lave the parson ’d pack his paint-pot,”’ soothed Carver diplomatically. The three peered surreptitiously back toward El Oro to see if, by any chance; some one had ventured out in the noon sun and seen them. All appeared quiet. The camp, squatting low amid the baking boulders and shimmering in the heat, ap- peared deserted. No living thing was im sight. Only the heat waves danced along. the crooked white street, distorting the buildings into fantastic shapes. “Lets Inder suggested Spade, jerking his head toward the ore, “an’ , too.” He motioned to the prospector and winked significantly. ‘Know him? Any of you know this man?” interrupted Obadiah anxiously, fan- ning the patient with his hat. “I’m afraid he’s in bad shape.” “Mine—I got ibooks.¢co we com (@)