Adventure Magazine, April 10, 1924 — page 113: what you’re looking at

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

The King of No Man’s Land small meat-tube apiece; for all impedimenta had been abandoned for the final dash up into the hills. Behind them also, doggedly plod- ding onward but hopelessly distanced by the raging warriors, came the three North Americans and Nuné. McKay, keeping his head when battle-fury swept the entire White Indian force into mad speed, had refused to allow the desertion of his own and his mates’ equipment—which consisted mainly of cartridges; and Nuné, unasked and unasking, remained with them. José was dashing ahead with his men. “Let ’em run,” was McKay’s dictum. “We'll hold our own gait and finish fresh.” “Right,” seconded Knowlton. “And when we finish we’ll do what we came here for—get hold of Dave if we can. That comes first, and smearing the Huambizas runs second.” “Humph!” grunted Tim. ‘Ye got things hind-end-to, I’m thinkin’. ’Twill take some good stiff gun-work to pry Dave loose from his gang. Hope we do git a li’l’ action, any- ways. If Hozy mops up before we git there——”’ . “Don’t worry,” McKay smiled, tight- lipped. ‘“There’ll be something doing.” No, more was said. Hunching forward under their burdens, glancing to right and left with habitual vigilance now that they were alone, they marched steadily along the mucky road beaten plain by the hosts ahead. And the girl, nude and lithe, trailed them with tireless tread and with never a word. At length McKay paused, an uplifted hand commanding attention. From some- where to the left front, felt rather than heard, came a series of vague thudding impacts which quickened into a rapid roll; the air-shocks of increasing rifle-fire whose blunt explosions were deadened by the in- tervening jungle. Vague though it was, that ragged rhythm beat on the senses of the veterans like the nerve-thrilling rattle and boom of an old-time drum-corps. “Cripes! They’re at it!” erupted Tim. And they went. McKay, who had or- dered restraint, now broke his own com- mand and plunged forward at double time, the others hard at his heels. Yet the pace set by the captain was not the heart-strain- ing top-speed at which the White Ones had coursed along; it was a distance-eating stride which still left something in reserve. Til As they advanced, the noise of battle grew more heavy and unmistakable; the air- blows became thumps blending into a low thunder. At length, as the Northerners scrambled up a steep slope among rocks, the roar of conflict seemed to burst upon them asifadoorhadswungopen. They had reached the mouth of the cafion through the cliffs. The fighting was inside the mountain bowl, and its tumult was muffled by its inner slopes, except here in the rocky rift of egress. In afew more paces it became deafening, the echoes of shots and yells reverberating between the walls with stun- ning force. Half-way through, McKay checked. The way was blocked by a chaos of boulders hurled from above by the guardians of the gateway. A taint in the air told that beneath those stones lay crushed Huam- bizas; told, too, that the dead had not lain there many hours—else the reek would have been unbearable. Now there was no sign of the warders at the top, nor of any other living thing along the cleft. Evidently the head-hunters had, like a horde of army ants, hurled themselves forward over the bodies of their slain fellows in an irresistible stream; and the first ones to get through had swarmed up the inner slope and finished ~ the guards. For a moment the four paused in that slaughter-pen to catch the breath lost in the last climb. Then, as the men of José had done before them, they worked their way upward, pulling themselves over the rubble and forging on toward the fight. All the way to the inner end they found blood- stained stones, but not in such heaps as at the first barrier. It was apparent that the guards, too few to cope with so large a force of raiders, had held the invaders at first, but then had leaped along the brink in a frenzied, futile struggle to keep crushing the head of the column. Here and there, as they progressed among the more thinly scattered blocks, they saw dead Huambizas lying as they had fallen under the smashing missiles. At each they glanced keenly, speaking no word. They were seeking, though dreading, a glimpse of the body of their quondam partner, David Rand. They found no sign of him. Then they were through. Nowhere had they spied a dead White One or a live Huambiza. Now they saw at one glance iwhere the surviving Huambizas were—at COnICLOO Cc cS (C@ S|