Adventure Magazine Cover — page 129: what you’re looking at

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

The Lord of the Stony Rises RUSHTON, looking more like a second-hand scarecrow than a hu- faxiii man being, crawled one February morning from the smoky depths of a small bark hut in answer to Lund’s urgent sum- mons. It was dawn. In the hollows and over the swamps hung a fleecy blanket of mist, the grass, the bushes were studded with dewdrops, above the thick black mass of the gum-forest a thin band of gold her- alded the coming sun, and all earth lay steeped in silence, for ‘the birds, deserting their nests, hovered high in the air where they had leaped i in their thousands to greet the birth of the day. Barefooted in the cool moist grass Lund stood motionless, staring off toward the northern horizon where the gaunt outlines of the Stony Rises were still black against the graying sky. Out of the tumbled mass arose a dozen unwavering columns of smoke going up and up until they suddenly eddied at the touch of a breeze in the upper air, then dissolved and vanished as if smudged out by some invisible finger. “Blackfellows,” said Lund, jerking his thumb toward ‘the pillars of smoke. “I wonder “ Rushton hitched up about his middle the remains of a pair of whipcord breeches that had once been white. His face behind an eight weeks’ growth of reddish-brown whisk- ers became gloomy. “Do you think—?” he began and stopped. “T ain’t thinking much,” answered Lund, “but if you’re thinking of going to Portland today you might as well forget it. Black- fellows mean one thing and that’s trouble, especially the kind that’s most likely to be up there now. Maybe they’ve just come in from the desert, Aruntas or some such tribe, or maybe they’re just a roving band being chevied by the Mounted from here to knows where. That kind ain’t good to rub up against.” “For eight weeks,”’ sighed Rushton, “I’ve been promising myself some clothes and a shave and a hot bath. But you’re right I suppose.” “T know I am!” “Rushton remarked placidly. ‘“‘And we do need a few more cows and lots of supplies, not to mention a couple of extra hands about the place. Lund, we are sick and tired of living in a bark hut. It makes a good kennel but Iam not adog. No sooner do we dispose of Mitcham and Burdette 119 than we are confronted by hordes of aborig- ines; but perhaps they are friendly people.” “My uncle Alec got friendly with some of ’em up Lake Yurra way,” grunted Lund. “First he has about six working for him, then about twenty, then the whole blessed tribe turned up. When he tried to turn em out of his backyard they up and stuck him full of spears. He had one —— of a time. He’s all right now, but he’s not so partial to blackfellows as he used to be. See what I mean?”’ “Clearly, only too clearly!’ Rushton hunted all through his rags and tatters for a non-existent cigaret. “T’ll have to postpone my trip to the city—or I might send you?” “Not either. And leave you alone here to get killed? Naw. Ain’t tired of life are you? Burdette’s been laying low since we bagged Gilding but he ain’t through with us yet, not by.a long shot.” “Then the whole thing is off,” agreed Rushton. “TI shall go without a shave for a few more months. But we must get a few more bullocks or those we have are going to feel lonely.” “And they’ll be lonelier than ever with those people about. They’ll think nothing of carting away the whole lot unless we stop em before they really get started.” “After breakfast we’ll ride over and talk to ’em. Perhaps they are only transients.” “Transients, eh?” grunted Lund. ‘Got any matches?”’ They brewed tea dust in a leaky billycan and ate the remains of a cindery Johnny- cake. Their rations were almost exhausted. True, there was an abundance of game, but they were down to almost thefr last ounce of flour, a pinch of salt and less tea. Days ahead they had planned that Rushton should ride down to Portland to procure a new outfit and, if time permitted, to have the gap in his mouth stopped up. Handi- capped by the loss of tools, short-handed, always under the shadow of impending danger, they had been forced to toil cease- lessly week after week, trying to keep up with the hundred things that had to be done at once. The cattle required unceasing vigilance for they were panicky and always restless, always attempting to force their way back along the road they had first traveled. And now the smoke rising from the scarred ribs of the Stony Rises warned of a fresh menace. Co NOOK 1 @)