Adventure Magazine Cover, June 18, 1921 — page 148: what you’re looking at

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

138 ’Arry, undaunted by the fate of the little man, bore down on Lou with a shout. “Hit’s the balmy idjit!” he cried. His #tough fists landed a dozen blows which the idiot made no attempt to avoid. But it was like striking a pillow; an opera- tion fatiguing to the striker, but not in the least injurious to the pillow. Lou picked him up, striking and snarling like a tomcat though he was, lifted him high in air, and dashed him to the hard road, where he lay-as flat and motionless as a starfish. Before Lou had even noticed Sergius, the wrestler had embraced him in a mighty hug. The big Russian, weighing well over two hundred and a head taller than his squat opponent, was as hard as pickled rawhide. He was not only master of both Greco- Roman and catch-as-catch-can styles, but was rated by Doctor Sargent as one of the seven strongest men in the world. No sporting man would have hesitated to back him at any odds against Lou. In grappling with the idiot however, Sergius Stepoff felt as if he were dealing with one of the great mattresses stuffed with geese feathers, under which he had slept at home during long Siberian nights. He held a squashy, evasive mass of wriggling fat, which had all the potentiality of muscle without its substance. With a quick grape- vine twist he tripped him up easily enough and fell upon him as if smothered in billows of warm lard. There were no joints to wrench, no firm flesh to anchor to, no levers, no fulcrums. Lou lay upon his back with- out struggling and wrapped his enormous arms about the Russian, to whom it seemed that he had fallen into a nest of boa con- strictors. Suddenly, and with ease, Lou sat up, still holding Sergius clasped to his breast, and then rose to his feet. It was an almost incredible accomplishment, but he did it without so much as grunting. Then, standing erect, and holding Sergius as easily with one arm as he had been doing with both, he placed the enormous, flaccid palm of his free hand against his face, covering nose and mouth and forcing his head back. Sergius began to strangle. All that has been told took place in the few seconds that elapsed while K. O. Mooney, after a first involuntary pause, was making up the little distance he had fallen behind. A strange nausea filled him. It was not precisely fear, although he be- Adventure lieved that the thing that had risen unex- pectedly from the ditch would probably kill and then mutilate them, one by one. It was instinctive courage and loyalty that caused him to leap forward with a cry, rather than any reliance upon his own trained muscles. K. O. had won his nickname fairly. His full punch, delivered to the jaw, was as lethal as Jack Dempsey’s. It was not as frequently delivered, because he was still a novice; but he knew that he could land it on the “‘button”’ of the idiot’s lower maxillary. But what was the use? The stunning im- pact would deliver just the: proper twist to register at the base of the brain—but that the mere pudding which served Lou for a cerebrum would feel more than ‘a pleasant titillation, was doubtful. Even as the thought flashed through his own alert mind, Mooney shifted his attack. His right arm dropped, his entire body crouched, every sinew and nerve and muscle taut. As they came together, the right fist—traveling from well below the knee—shot up, his body rising simultane- ously to the toes, and he crashed his fist to the great nervous center known as the solar plexus. Delivered in the ring, it would have sent any opponent to the dressing-room, to learn about it after the audience had dispersed. It might easily have killed an ordinary man not in training. Even upon the idiot it had a temporary effect. He stiffened, his mouth opened, and a curious whistle of es- caping air was heard. For a brief instant. Lou’s wind was knocked out; but K. O. realized that it was a matter of seconds only before he would get it back again. The Jap still lay inert; so did ’Arry. The Russian was beginning to grunt and thresh about, but Mooney knew that he could look to him for no help in time. It would all be over before he had come to. Vase KO) distant perch on the horse mower had seen the disturbance far below, and had instantly stopped his horse, thrown the reins over its back, and started running toward them. He arrived just as Lou, with a harsh gurgle, recovered his wind. “L-Lou!” he panted. “Stop, Lou! you hear me?” The idiot heard and turned his head. His little currant eyes—red currants now— FARMER HULBERT from his Do COmiclboo oN ) ©