Adventure Magazine Cover — page 97: what you’re looking at

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

The Bird of Ill Omen For the driver of the bedraggled car had made no effort to stop, but had increased his speed, and was staying almost abreast of the gliding airplane, which now was only a few fect above the road. One of the occu- pants of the automobile was leaning far out, waving. “They think I want to race them,’ flashed through Gordon’s mind. ‘‘Con- found these backwoods sportsmen. Stop!’ he howled in-a vain effort to make the men in the car hear. The descending plane slowly passed the car. It skimmed the road. It hovered above the wheel-tracks. | Gordon’s prac- tised hand moved the stick. A jar—and a difficult landing had been accomplished. From behind came a screeching of brakes. Gordon started to turn his head. Then the plane heaved to an accompaniment of cracking wood and ripping fabric. Gordon’s head was snapped into the cowl with a star- producing jar. He heard a crash like a thunderclap—the tinkling of broken glass. The penetrating odor of spilt gasoline as- sailed his nostrils. Silence—— Gordon shook his swimming head, some- how made the ground and started toward the bedraggled auto, which now, wrapped around a pole at the side of the road where it had struck on the skidding rebound, was a twisted mass of junk. The aviator had two purposes in mind: One was to have the 87 driver sign a statement waiving all damage claims against the Government, thereby eliminating much red tape and saving Lieutenant Gordon much trouble, and the other was to lick the driver thoroughly and completely. One of the overalled occupants of the car was standing dazedly by the wreck. His companion emerged as Gordon approached, then sank to the grass, one hand holding his head and the other resting in his lap. It was he whom Gordon addressed. “Look here,’ began the aviator heated- ly, leaning over and shaking a finger un- der the man’s nose. ‘This is all your fault——” The seated figure cut him short with a weary gesture. “T know it—knew it—all the time.” The man spoke half to himself. “Been running and dodging for an hour—changed cars, clothes—all the time up there watch- ing — watching — watching — like a —— hawk!” He turned to his standing companion. “Come on!” And to Gordon, ‘‘Here.” The hand in his lap moved and extended an automatic pistol to the aviator. “Emptied it at you. No good. You shut off, and swooped down at us right after I finished firing.” He climbed slowly to his feet. ‘“‘What’re we waitin’ for? Let’s gol” NOOK (C©@ 1 O)