Adventure Magazine Cover, October 30, 1924 — page 82: what you’re looking at

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

ve with blood but alive and conscious, was dragged and flung down in the sand. “The others are dead, mi senor amo,” said one of the guards. Dias nodded, and rolled a cigarito, and smiled slightly as he met Hampton’s eyes. He did not speak, however, for a little space. The Yaquis assembled, until Hampton realized that two-score and more of them were crowded around. Dias lighted his cigarito. He was about to speak, when a man came running up the trail, panting, chattering out a shrill mes- sage as he came. It was a Chinaman from the cajion below. There was no need to ask what message the yellow man brought, however. From the arroyo ascended a sudden outburst of sound—the howling of men, a shot or two, the long shriek of women in mortal fear, stabbing Yaqui yells; an_ indescribably, frightful tumult of voices, over which rose and rose that bestial howling. Excited cries burst from the Yaqui around. Every man there knew instantly that the slaves had broken out. Dias turned to the brown men. “Go and look after your families,’ he ordered. ‘‘Five of you remain here. Slay those fools who have forgotten themselves. Go! Guard the sefiora.”’ Ere he had finished speaking, the im- patient Yaquis were melting away down the trail. More shots came from below. The panting Chinaman babbled out something about the slaves, and Dias hurled an oath at him. He sought the shade of a big car- done cactus at the edge of the clearing. “So you’re not dead, El Bobo?’’ Dias looked down at Eli, and smiled. Then his eyes lifted to Hampton’s unfaltering gaze. “Well, the two of you fooled me neatly. And you struck me a good blow last night. Which of you left Ramon a blind wreck?”’ “T,”’ said Hampton, cheerfully enough. “I’m sorry it was not you instead, you dog!” “You'll be sorrier before long,” and Dias chuckled. Then a word from one of the Yaquis, a low word of astounded wonder, caused him to turn. Toward the group, from the edge of the platform, staggering toward them with outstretched hands and horrible face, was the Chinaman. Half- way to the group, his mouth open and gap- ing yet uttering no sound, he halted, beat at the air with his yellow hands, and then plunged forward. He lay on his face in the Adventure dust, dead, and from his back protruded something that glittered in the morning sunlight. Dias was the first man to move. An astounded oath broke from him. He stepped forward, went to the dead China- man, and stooped. He came erect holding that glittering object in his hand. His gaze whipped to Hampton in blank amaze- ment, then darted at the desert around. The object that he held was the silver- hafted knife. “Oh! California, We'll see you bye and bye, And if we forget Beverly Why bless you, don’t you cry!’ THAT was the strangest sound that had ever echoed up from the Valley oe of Mercy—that sound of men’s voices roaring out the lilting air of “‘Susan- nah” above the crack of rifle-shots and the stabbing yells of Yaquis. The sound itself, and what it portended, held Dias motion- less for an instant—then from the edge of the clearing leaped a long, naked brown figure that came for him like a snake darting for a rabbit. It was El Hambre. ‘“Injun does it!” shrilled up the voice of Job Warlock, as Indian and Dias went down in the dust. The Yaquis swung around, but too late—there was a ragged crack of rifles, a burst of revolver-fire, and the five brown men remained sprawled out in the sunlight. Hampton, to whom all this seemed a dream inchoate, visioned half a dozen men, white men, springing forward across the platform, while Job Warlock darted upon him with a yell of delight. Small wonder that Nelly Barnes uttered one wild cry and pitched forward senseless across the recumbent figure of Eli. ‘You, Job—you!” stammered Hampton, as Warlock grinned in his face and then stooped to slit his lashings. Another white man came leaping toward him. ‘‘Adam Johnson! It can’t be—this is some hallu- cination 4 . a bit, Dick Hampton!” cried Adam Johnson. “Give us your fist, lad—ah! There’s a fiend unleashed in that brown Injun! Look at him, now Everything else forgotten, all stared; even Hampton, oblivious of his freedom or of the fainting girl at his feet, looked at the scene which was transpiring before his eyes. micloool (© im