Adventure Magazine Cover, October 30, 1924 — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

south, West and North and got hooked. If I wasn’t tougher’n most, I’d be gone now. We done buried the last o’ that Massachusetts crowd day ‘fore yesterday. Softies.” “What crowd?” asked Hampton, with a flicker of interest. “Bunch come up with Dias. Got hooked, T reckon. Sho’, though, lots of ’em ain’t hooked. ‘Them chinks are here on contract —work so long, then get ‘sent to ’Frisco. Well, better not talk. Lot o’ spies in this gang of greasers. See ye later, Yank. Anytime ye need a drink o’ cactus licker, go down to the mill. All ye want free. Helps recruit the greasers, too.” - The red-bearded man from Carolina sauntered away, following a steady stream of men that was headed for the creek, where a small pulque mill was in full blast. Hamp- ton was not slow to comprehend the diabolic ingenuity of Dias in thus furnishing the deadly juice of the big cactus leaves. It was a potent factor in breaking down such men as Pap Hoskins, who might otherwise be dangerous, and it served to keep the Mexi- cans in a more or less continual state of drunken stupor. Watching the men around him, Hampton swiftly realized that his brother Eli occu- pied a position far above the average; and this favored lot was undoubtedly due to his mental state. El Bobo replenished his own bowl thrice, while those who begged a sec- ond helping were repulsed angrily by the women cooks; he could talk or jest among the guards with impunity, a liberty denied to the others. Yet with his fellow-slaves he was obviously popular enough, and he could chatter Spanish like a native. Hampton’s heart ached for the haggard, witless creature, so terribly changed from the sturdy young fellow whom he had left at home. Not a spark of recognition had awakened in that dull and vacuous counte- nance, even the mention of Hampton’s name had evoked no response. The savage cruelty of Dias must have been satisfied to the full in that moment of meeting. When Eli now approached him, Hampton took a desperate mental brace, faced the unhappy man, took him in his arms. “Eli, Eli!’ he cried frantically, tears leap- ing on his sun-blackened cheeks. ‘Don’t you know me, boy? Speak to me—one word of English . Men crowded in around them, staring curiously at the new gringo, nudging one o7 another and grinning over his emotion. El Bobo twisted clear of Hampton’s grip, with a grimace. “El senor gringo uses strange words,” he whimpered, and the crowd guffawed. Hampton whirled upon them in a gust of anger—then conquered himself and turnedaway. He felt himself broken, hope- less, at the end of everything. Without a word he followed the beckoning Bobo into an adcbe bunk-house, was shown to a shelf furnished with tattered blankets, and slumped down on it. The witless one de- parted into the gathering twilight. There Hampton was at his lowest ebb, and knew it. He sat for a long while mo- tionless, head in hands, gripped by a mea- sureless despair. Around him the night gathered. Other men came drifting into the place, sleeping two by two on their shelves which ranged the walls in two tiers. They stank of vile mescal, of tobacco, of dirt. Tobacco smoke filled the unlighted place. From the quarters of the Chinese, adjoining, drifted a faint, sweetish reek of opium. What hope for escape from this hell? None. Hampton saw himself caught in the same net that had seared all these other men, that had brought his brother to idiocy; the lash, hard labor under a bitter sun— labor that alone would kill any white man— and worse than the sharp tooth of slavery, the poison-fang of depraved and vicious surroundings. ‘‘No way out,” thought Hampton, ‘‘ex- cept one. I was a fool to jump at Dias to- day; now they’ll know that I’m not broken yet. The only possible thing I can do now is to wait, endure everything silently, and then get that ——— when the chance offers. They may kill me first, but if they try it I’ll go down fighting. No—it won’t do to give up hope. Besides, Nellie Barnes is here somewhere! If I can find her, it would be better to die a clean death out in the desert than to perish miserably here in this vile place. No wonder I] Hambre came here and went away again without doing anything! Well, I mustn’t let them beat me down—my game is to strike a blow, and lie low until the time comes. For the old man back home, and for the poor boy here— and perhaps for Nellie Barnes. We'll see.”’ Through his thoughts there pierced a sound that aroused everything in him, that brought back before him that scene in micloool (© inn