Adventure Magazine Cover — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

44 “Not half as bad as he will be in a min- ute,” growled Spade. “Help me carry him to camp, boys,” begged Obadiah. “Where'd he git this rock he’s packin’, Spade?” Moore ignored Obadiah’s plea. et’s smuggle ‘im off somewheres an’ when he comes alive make him tell where he got hit at.” “You bet, make him tell!’ grunted Spade from where, on his knees, he was gloating over the chunks of gold-flecked rock. “Gold—pure yaller gold! Talk about Gawd—well, here he is. This is what everybody worships and grovels down to.” “Lucky dog,” murmured Carver, eying the prostrate prospector. ‘Lucky dog— say! Sa-a-a-a-y!” Carver looked from one to the other of his companions, then crept softly to the still figure and, bending over it, searched the pockets deftly. _“ *Thou shalt not steal,’ ’’ reminded Oba- diah gently. “Bah, ye little snipe!” barked Carver. “Ah, a-a-ah!” Eagerly his fingers drew forth the grimy location notice. Unfolding it, he glanced over the heading and _ skipped eagerly down to the location. “ ‘In the Jackear Peak district,’ ”’ he read half aloud, “ ‘about one hundred and twenty miles in a southwesterly direction from El Oro!’ ”’ That was all. Anxiously they gathered together and searched the document for further guidance. There was none. The name of the locator was signed “Henry Blane” in a forceful scrawl, as if the writer, at last the possessor of a fortune, had managed to convey his pride into his writ- ing. Clearly Henry Blane had found a bonanza and was on his way to file his location notice. Immediately the three men became acutely solicitous as to Henry’s welfare. “Here, Parson—” seizing Henry Blane’s limp shoulders Moore lifted them clear of the hot sands—"“help me pack him over to my cabin.” “Not much—to mine!’? demanded Car- ver, glaring at Moore indignantly. “Both wrong!” Spade started forward, an evil glint in his dark eyes. “We'll pack him to—to—” Spade hesitated as his eyes caught the gleaming rock scattered on the sand. “No, go ahead, any place.” Craftily, as the others lifted the limp Adventure form, Spade thrust the rich rock back into the sack and essayed to slip away among the brush and boulders. Moore, seeing him, halted and unfeel- ingly let the fore end of Henry drop heavily ~ as he drew his huge six-shooter. “Come on back with that sack, Spade,” he ordered, ‘‘or we’ll lynch you here an’ now! Don’t make me bring everybody out from El Oro by my shootin’.” Spade was loath and slow to obey. ‘Come on back, you fat booze-hound,”’ Moore gritted, drawing back the heavy hammer with a pronounced click. ‘Come on in!’ “Yes, come on in,” added Carver; “lay thot sack on Hennery’s belly an’ grab holt his belt opposite the parson there.” “And we can take him to my cabin,” ) offered Obadiah; “‘it’s the nearest, anyhow. I can take good care of him there, boys. Come on, Mr. Gowdy, please, and help take this man to my house.” Sullenly Spade obeyed, placing the sack of ore on Henry’s lank middle and assisting as Carver had suggested. ‘Thus they stole to Obadiah’s neat little cabin on the out- skirts of El Oro and set about bringing their patient back to consciousness. Henry Blane responded nobly to their ridiculous ministrations. While his eyes were yet dimmed with hallucination, his first thought was for his sack of ore. | ‘“Where’s my sack?” he demanded thickly. Then, his sight clearing momentarily, he glimpsed the faces of Spade, Carver and Moore bending over him. He quickly amended it to: ‘Which one o’ you got my sack? Which one, I say.” Desperately he raised himself on one elbow and clawed for his gun. Finding the weapon gone, he sank back resignedly. ‘“Take it. I know where there’s a ledge of it as long as a crazy man’s dream. I was a fool to bring any of it along. Awful rough traveling—hot—straight up an’ down—more’n a hundred an’ twenty mile—cactus an’ brush—rock an’ loose gravel—sand, sand, sand—sand_ an’ sun : ivitvg@ GC WENTY minutes later Henry at Blane awoke, again to inquire after ~ his sack. Then, once more seeing the three hard visages hovering solicitously about his cot, he grunted resignedly— “Fat chanct a sick feller’s got with this layout.”’ Gomichooks:. co