Adventure Magazine Cover — page 110: what you’re looking at

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

100 to surprize attacks. He anticipated a sur- prize attack, and beneath him lay a trap. His blankets so deceptively plumped out gave shelter and warmth to one sack of oats and one bag of granulated sugar. He was prepared. Out in the darkness Mitcham was sup- posed to be “ringing” the herd, and soothing it with his voice. But his voice usually so active had been silent for an hour or more. Possibly he was conscientiously performing his duties, but Rushton was taking no un- necessary risks. When he ceased to hear Mitcham’s rendering of ‘“‘The Last Ride of Drover McDonough” he had transferred himself from the ground to the wagon top with stealth and celerity. Mr. Harold Rush- ton was not quite such a fool as he cared to have the world believe although, it must be admitted, his efforts in this direction usually met with complete success. Eight days’ journeying had brought the party to the banks of the Wurumbugee Lake, more than half-way to the Shaw. Fight days of slow travel across undulating, lightly-timbered country, eight days of dust and glaring sun. From the very beginning Mitcham’s surliness had been only too evi- dent. He had, naturally enough, strongly resented Rushton’s costume. This he could have forgiven or at least tolerated had Rushton lived up to his attire. Instead, he had an uncanny habit of knowing ex- actly the right thing to do. He rode well; heat, glare and dust had no effect upon him; he kept the herd bunched and moving over tricky, broken ground; he displayed no emo- tion when called upon to ride herd on a rain-sluiced night. By some incomprehen- sible feat he was always cool, clean and neat, always on hand where trouble might be expected. He knew too much and boasted too little, he was too quiet and too —— efficient. So little did he have to say of his share of the work that Mitcham before the end of the second day’s march was fully convinced that he alone was doing all the toil. Each succeeding day added to Mitcham’s intolerable, though quite imaginary, burden. His resentment increased in direct propor- tion. The sweat of physical exertion soon drove the last fumes of beer from his brain. He ceased to be bothered by semi-apparitions of Burdette. He became normal and nasty. He wondered why he should have to share with Rushton the profits of an enterprise so Adventure wholly his. Rushton did nothing but get in the way, he was always underfoot. What if he had put up a bit of ready money? Anybody else would have been content with Six per cent., he wanted a_half-share. Greedy little ——. He was a fop and a shrimp and entitled to no consideration. Moreover, he might stand in Mitcham’s way when the time came for a showdown with Burdette. He might be afraid of old John. Such ideas and several others kept Mit- cham constant company. Time and again he thought of disposing of Rushton, but Lund was in the way. Lund bothered him. Lund refused to be drawn into the plot. He was inert. Hints and suggestions were wasted upon him. He cooked indifferent johnny-cakes, brewed leathery tea and slept like a log. Mitcham was sufficiently wise to know that he could not hope to dispose both of Rushton and Lund and get away with it. Such things happened elsewhere, but in Victoria there was the constabulary to contend with. Inquisitive people, the mounted policemen. Still accidents happened. What kind of an accident? The question kept Mitcham busy for several days. Then the solution came to him, almost an inspiration. The lake! They were to camp by Wurumbugee Lake. On a dark night a man riding herd might lose his way and get caught in the marshes, flounder about a bit and drown. There were quicksands. The body would vanish. Lund wouldn’t be suspicious. He knew, surely, that Rushton was always do- ing idiotic things—chasing across country after kangaroos or trying to ride down bush- turkeys! And Lund slept soundly, he wouldn’t hear anything, He’d wake up when the whole thing was over. They’d hunt around a while and then report the death at the nearest homestead, and then on! Mitcham would have a free hand and be ready to settle his grudge with Burdette as he saw fit. Once all the details were settled in his mind he became more friendly, but he could not break himself of staring hungrily at Rushton’s throat, nor could he keep his hands unclenched, nor could he always con- ceal his contempt for the weak little creature who dared, sometimes, to give him orders. The day they reached the lake he wag in fine fettle and boisterous in a back-thumping way. “T’ll take the first watch, ol’ man,” he Go NOOK 1 O)