Adventure Magazine Cover — page 116: what you’re looking at

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106 Then it was time again. He came back to me with a bloody head, but still quite fit and able to take a lot more punishment. For a couple of rounds more they fought guardedly, feeling for openings and not finding them. Jake’s hitting was the harder, but the boy was quicker on his feet, and he had learned his lesson; and so kept out of another clinch. There was no cheering in those rounds; nothing but the quick patter of the men’s feet, the thud of blows and the quick intake of hissing breath. In the eighth round Mercer seemed to see an opening, for he leaped in like a leopard. There was a crack like a pistol shot; his head went back, his arms flew wide, and there he was on his back in the road, with his neck half-broken. Jake stepped for- ward with his right held ready, but half a dozen men dragged him back as the police sergeant began to count. At the count of five Mercer struggled to his knees, at seven he was on his feet. Jake rushed in, but the boy stumbled to the side, again and yet again, getting instinctively out of harm’s way until the end of the round. He sagged heavily on my knee that time, but just before the minute was up he snatched the flask from my hand and emp- » tied it. Jake.saw the action and grinned, but he did not feel the boy’s body thrill and stiffen to the raw spirit as I did. _ For two minutes they sparred cautiously, then Jake tried another of his mad rushes. That cost him the fight. Mercer had counted on it. As Jake closed in the boy’s left shot out with all the weight of his body behind it. It was a beautiful blow, fair on the point of the scrubby, unshaven chin. Jake went down like a felled tree that the ax-men have wedged. He lay on his back, his chest rising and falling and his limbs twitching. He struggled spasmodically once or twice, but he couldn’t rise and the ser- geant counted him out. —, how we cheered. Here was the great, hulking bully, who had terrorized us all, beaten by a boy barely out of his teens, whom he himself had called a baby not an hour ago. JAKE went away after that. He was living pretty intricate with a fs native woman, named Usta, at the dime: and we were mighty glad to see the last of him. Before he went he came into Adventure the Thatched House with his face all patched up and swore that he’d have Mercer’s life before he’d finished; for, as I’ve said, he was a mean-white and couldn’t take his licking like a man, although he’d brought the trouble on himself. Shortly afterward Mercer took a farm eighty miles up country, after which we didn’t see him more than about once in three months. Months went by, and we didn’t hear any- thing more of Red Jake. But he hadn’t forgotten, he was only biding his time, and waiting for an opportunicy to take~ his revenge. One night when we were all sitting in the Thatched House playing a game of whisky poker which had been in progress best part of five weeks, we heard the beat of horses’ hoofs, coming up the street from the Drift. I wasn’t playing at the time, so went outside to see who it was. i gota pretty big surprize when I saw your : Mer- cer roped and riding between two mounted policemen. I asked what was the matter, and he told me he was under arrest on a charge of mur- dering anative woman. Iasked the corporal of the escort for some more particulars, but he could only tell me that a man named Jake Jubert had laid an information at the police post, that a native woman had been burned to death on Mercer’s farm, and that he would be willing to give evidence at, the trial. . “Red Jake!’ thinks I to myself. is the beginning of his revenge.” Next morning I went to see Mercer, who was locked up in a room adjoining the fort. He told me that he had been away when the woman, who was not one of his people, was burned, and had been on his way to inform the authorities when he had met the corporal and trooper of police, who had arrested him. I knew that the assizes were not for an- other two months, and that morning I dug out for Mercer’s place to find out what had happened. All the “boys” were very frightened and at first would say nothing; but I did not need to bother for Mercer’s Hottentot hunter, Mustard, had already got the story pieced together. I knew that I could rely upon his word, for he was mighty fond of his master, was Mustard. - “Baas,” he said, ‘‘the ‘boys’ are afraid “This NOOK (©