Adventure Magazine Cover — page 115: what you’re looking at

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

Pards one. -. Must have banked strong on his luck to depend on snatching a knife from Skill- ings. Had to grab it from Skillings’ belt when he was coming over the tail-board. He couldn’t have had time to try for it after Skillings’ feet hit the ground.” “Skillings needed killing badly,” mused Whip King. “But it’s all so darned mixed up. Something aroused Skillings. He lit out the wagon, carrying a fight. If he had any weapon besides his knife, where is it? If only the knife, he would have it in his hand. Then how could the younker take it away from him? Skillings was a powerful built man.” Goss shook his head. “Lots of puzzles, but the main facts re- main—Skillings is dead by his own knife, the Pilgrim has ducked out, and Ancient Days and Big Bones are missing. Ancient and Bones liked the Pilgrim. They lit out so they wouldn’t have to tell on him. Young- ster’s got a sister back East. He’s been feeling blue along of not making a strike. Told me something about her. If Skillings only could have been killed by some one else I’d have staked Ellis to take over the Great West and run it on his own hook. But that’s all in the fire now.” A man at a table near the entrance of the tent’ exclaimed loudly. Oaths and angry cries ran along the first table. Several men jumped up and ran from the tent. In the street outside much savage talk resounded. Goss’ dark eyes blazed with desperation. “By !? They’ve caught him!” he whispered to Whip King. “I’m going out. You needn’t come into this. It’s none of your hash.” “Some of the cattle seem to be tangled up,” gruffly replied Whip King. ‘Think I can help straighten out the mess. He must have a square show. Don’t try any gun play. He had a right at the wagons. Went back to sleep there with his two . friends. Skillings broke from the corral with a knife. Had tried to kill him before. Self defense is the ticket. Ought to go in any miners’ court.”’ But before they could leave the table the proprietor of the Boston hurried up to them and excitedly cried: ‘What do you think! That Skillings was worse than we supposed.” “The Singing Pilgrim?” harshly broke in Goss. “Where is he?” , cood land! How should I know when T13 don’t anybody seem to know.” Goss re- laxed. The proprietor continued: “A committee examined into Skillings’ property so’s we can advertise for heirs in the Rocky Mountain News. And what do you think?” “You never mind what we think. S’pose you tell what you think,” growled Whip King. “Well, they’ve found twenty thousand dollars in counterfeit script hidden in his wagon, the one he slept in!”’ The proprietor paused to enjoy their surprize. Goss laughed, rejoicing that Ellis had not been captured, also because Skillings’ death would seem less of a crime now the bogus CALIF. CROSSING CALIF. GULCH IWIN LAKE. oe ct oe ' SAND HI SS FR Re money had been found. Whip King was excited by the news and mumbled heatedly. Recovering his composure he lamented: “To think no one suspected him! He was receiving supplies of the script and holding it for others to pass. He was one of the gang that’s working from Denver to New Mexico. If the men chasing the Pil- grim knew this latest they’d be coming back and wishing the Pilgrim good luck.” But the proprietor discouraged any such belief by adding: “Many of the men now believe the Pil- grim was in cahoots with Skillings about the counterfeit money. They’re more keen to find him than ever.”’ “Euchred!” snapped Goss, rising. “I’m going to my shack to get a few hours sleep.” “T’ll drift over to the Miner’s Home and keep my ears open for more news,” mumbled Whip King. Goss went to his small log cabin and threw himself on the bunk, intending to get a bit of sleep against the waking hours of the night. For an hour he tossed and turned, his mind persisting in dwelling on the problem of Skillings’ death. The door Eomichboo <S.coO