Adventure Magazine Cover — page 177: what you’re looking at

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

Don’t Swat a Flyer the thrill of it. Brannon had asked innum- erable questions as to probable procedure when the core came out, and as he moved around the plane preparing to crank up he seemed utterly cool and sure of himself. They procured two big stones for wheel- blocks, and Brannon turned on the gas-feed from the gravity tank, primed the motor and then had Downs swing the prop a few times to suck additional gas into the cylinders. “All right—get away!’ he yelled, and clicked on the starting magneto and spun the starting lever. It took three trys, but finally the Mer- cedes hummed into life. The twenty or thirty men—mostly scouts—who were hang- ing around on the dim chance of finding out anything, watched interestedly as Brannon pulled the blocks, got in the cockpit again, and taxied: directly toward the fringe of trees between the field and the derrick. The roughnecks, temporarily at ease, gathered at the edge of the floor, and even Grady deigned to throw a glance toward the feathery little ship. ‘With Downs pulling and hauling on a wing to help him around, Brannon turnec’ the Fokker until 1t was pointed up the field. Then he cut the switches and climbed out. “You'd better take off yourself, Matt,” he said as he thrust out his hand. “Don’t forget to drop me a line as soon as anything definite happen.—you’ve got the address.” Downs, chewmg a straw meditatively, shook his head and smiled. His eyes_were soft as he crushed the ftyer’s slim haia™“n his own great paw. “T don’t know what you’re doing, exactly —you always were a mysterious cuss “Y’m trying to get even with yon behe- moth,” smiled Brannon. “By ‘something definite’ I mean what you eventually get for your unencumbered acreage. So long—see you again in a few months when I come north.” After Downs had driven away Brannon unscrewed a couple of spark-plugs and pre- tended to clean them. He had put them in again and was trying to decide whether to take a chance on another one when he saw the drill-stem come clear of the hole. On the end was a short length of hollow iron pipe, its lower end plugged by iron clamps. Inside that short length of pipe was the core. He watched out of the corner of his eye. Two men who had been pointed out to him 171 as officials of the Solar Company were mak- ing for the derrick floor. ‘The iron shell holding the core was unscrewed from the end of the drill-stem, and Grady himself, accompanied by the two men and the chief driller, carried it over to the toolshed a few feet from the derrick. Brannon blocked the wheels and swung the prop. The motor caught on the first swing of the starter and idled sweetly. He removed the blocks and pulled the gun he had in his waist-band a bit further out. He took from his pocket some sheets half- covered with typewriting and lounged toward the toolshed, taking a slightly cir- cuitous route in order to avoid being con- spicuous. The roughnecks had distributed them- selves, with apparent carelessness, between the toolshed and the restless, tense group of men standing a hundred and fifty feet away, on Downs’ property. Brannon was within twenty feet of the rear of the shack when one of the rough- necks saw him. He was a powerful young fellow, stripped to undershirt and overalls. “Have to get back, lieutenant!’ he shouted. Brannon increased his pace, coming around the shack. “Just a minute, please,” he said in a low voice, to prevent being overheard. “I’m leaving right now, and I’ve got to get this claim for damages filled in before leaving, if Grady wants his boiler paid for.” “Yuh can’t see him right now—I'll yell for him, but——” “I can’t wait.” Two other roughnecks were drifting to- ward him, so Brannon whirled and walked swiftly to the shack, careless of the yells be- hind him. It was only ten feet to the door, and he pushed it open unceremoniously. His gun was in his hand. The four men were bending over a crude shelf on the other side of the shack, which was barely fifteen feet square. Their backs were toward him, and they turned in startled amazement as the door swung open and closed again behind Brannon. On the shelf was a heap of moist earth— the core. “Don’t be startied, gentleman,” Brannon suavely. He could hear shuffling outside that door—evidently the roughnecks were at a loss. The flyer’s ordinarily sleepy-looking said oO Comicloooks (©