Adventure Magazine Cover, October 30, 1924 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

14 : Adventure Dick Hampton had timed his coming well and carefully, since he had particular reason for not wanting to be recognized at the present moment. He did not want Jed Barnes to know of his presence until Baker’s Island was left behind and the pilot dropped; otherwise, he could scent trouble brewing. If he could find where Day’s brig lay and get aboard her, he would be safe enough. The lading would be a thick job at the last and the other mates would be glad men to let him stick below and handle stowage. It was just eight of the night when he came striding down Cabot Street, past the white cottages and the shuttered shops where men sat reckoning their books by tallow dips and sperm lamps, past the ware- houses and silent marts of trade, to the long reach of Foster & Lovett’s wharf, black against the blacker water and the riding lights of ships. He saw that some ship hung there against the wharf, lined fast, a glow coming from her fo’csle hood and a glow from her cabin skylight, and aloft a yellow star that lacked the cold glitter of the white stars of heaven. Then he heard the hum of a voice, keeping time to the frosty crackle of his own steps on the cold boards: ‘“‘A little black bull came over the mountain, Ri tura lingtum, ri tura lay! Oh, a little black bull came over——” “Bless me, it’s you!”’ Job Warlock lounged forward from the shadows of a high freight pile. ‘‘And here’s a swig o’ rum to warm your bones, matey. ‘The world’s a good place, so hurray!”’ Hampton took the proffered bottle grate- fully, and a gulp of Jamaica drove the chill from him. Job Warlock chuckled. “Well, what luck wi’ the old man, lad? Ye still look alive and well.” Hampton expelled a long and frosty breath. “Tt won’t bear talking of, Job. What news?” “None.” Warlock grunted. “All the folk hereabouts are crazy for California. It’s as much as your life’s worth to tell ’em the truth o’ that passage. News from your brother?” “Tll news enough.” Hampton got his pipe alight. ‘‘He’s in trouble—robbed and bound over to practical slavery. A man down there named Winslow or Diaz makes . business of robbing greenhorns and bind- ing them over to work for him as peons. No Glasgow packet for me, Job; our ways part here, I’m afraid. Ill have to take a berth in this Chagres brig, wherever she is, and see if I can find Eli.” “Huh! Then you’ll go across the damned isthmus to die o’ fever.”’ “That’s as it may be. On to Acapulco if I can’t get news of Winslow or Diaz at Panama. Ever hear of such a man down there? He has a Mexican wife.”’ “Diaz? That’s lke askin’ for a man named Jones in a Welsh port. Diaz! Mil- lions of ’em. But hold on—there it is, aye! I mind such a name in Acapulco. Chap called—no, it wasn’t Diaz neither, but a name like it. Spanish chap showed me the difference; one has a lisp, the other hasn’t. Aye, here’s the name! Dias.”’ “That it. Eli said the name was Diaz or Dias.” Hampton drew a quick breath. “Ha! What d’ye know of him? He was in Acapulco, ye say?” ‘“‘No—heard of him there.” Warlock spoke thoughtfully. “What was it, now? Nothin’ good—huh! Just a bit of it comes back. It was a wild story we heard, that’s all. He had a place on the California coast, over near Loreto; pearl fisher, he was, who had looted some churches in Mexico. No- body knew exactly; all sorts o’ stories went around. Somebody wanted us to jump ship and go over there and shoot him up. That’s all I remember. Just a story, it was.” “Story enough, by gad!” exclaimed Hampton. ‘Now I’ve got something to go on, at least.” “Hold up there! Me too, as the Injun said when he rubbed his belly.” “You? I thought you wouldn’t go to Chagres?”’ ‘“‘Who said sop? Not me. [’m with you to Chagres or , matey! Injun does it. Now, then, what’s the name o’ this blessed Chagres bark?”’ “T’m glad, Job—you don’t know how glad I am!”’ said Hampton, and his voice showed the quick leap of friendship in him. ‘Her name? I don’t know. She’s a chartered bark and sails in a day or two. Easy enough to find her z Job Warlock grinned, and pointed with his finger to the ship lying at the wharf, her spars outlining a slim dark tracery against the star-studded carpet of the sky. “There she is, then. The Hannah. Off tomorrow afternoon, with luck.’’ cComicbooks.c© inn