Adventure Magazine Cover, June 20, 1925 — page 107: what you’re looking at

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

Lisbeth and bad enough. Yet somewhere on the other side of those mountains lay the desert. He dismounted to allow Lisbeth to rest and discovered that his fast had made him weak. For a moment he was the victim of despair. There was not one chance in a thousand that they could ever get through. «Why waste themselves going on? And then he realized that to stop would only be to prolong the inevitable end. His eyes chanced to fall upon the bulging saddie bags. He laughed hollowly. Here was poor old Lisbeth being weighted down by thirty odd pounds of useless gold dust. The best he could do was to relieve her of that. He wondered why he had not thought to throw those sacks in the trail while the outlaws were pursuing him. It might have raused them to be satisfied. And then his resentment against them flared up and he was glad that he had not. He took out one sack of the dust and laid iton thesnow. Almost absent-mindedly he felt in the bottom of the saddle bag, but he suddenly jumped as though he had ex- perienced an electric shock. His fingers had touched something round, smooth, and hard. His fingers trembled and shook as he brought the cartridge into view. He re- membered then of having carelessly dropped several of them into that saddle bag weeks before when he had not cared to be burdened with them in his pocket. He reached in again and brought forth three more shining cylinders. There was not the faintest sign that they had been tampered with, and he was sure that they were good. ‘Lisbeth, ole girl, we got a fightin’ chance yet,” he told the old white mule. He put the sack of dust back into the saddle bag and again rode on. But now he carried his rifle across the saddle in front of him, and his eyes were alert for signs of game. It was snowing steadily, the wind was rising, and he was forever being com- pelled to wipe the snow out of his eyes that he might see. Suddenly he sighted a pine hen on a low branch of a tree. He knew he could shoot it, but it would scarcely make a meal. After a desperate mental struggle he rode on with his hunger increased tenfold, but he knew that he must have bigger game. Just before dark they reached the bottom of a deep cajion with a blizzard now sweep- ing overhead. ‘There was shelter here in the thick timber, wood and water in abundance 89 and, what was of more account, numerous bushes with twigs so tender that Lisbeth could chew them. ALEX slipped the saddle off and @— at once moved off up the cafion " with his rifle. If there was game close he knew the storm would bring it to the bottom of the cafion for pro- tection. He was working his way against the wind and it bothered him to see, but he dared not let the game get his scent. In the gathering twilight he saw a huge por- cupine clinging to the limb of a pine. He knew that he must eat soon, and there was small chance of getting anything else. He took careful aim and fired. He saw the porcupine drop like a rock, but the same moment he was startled by a band of eight deer that suddenly leaped from the brush a short distance ahead of him and bounded away through the snow. He jerked in another cartridge and fired at a fat doe. But his haste, and the snow which half blinded him spoiled his aim. He saw her stumble, but the next moment she was up and plunging after the others. Though he knew she was rather badly wounded he knew how hopeless it would be to try to follow her in the dark and the snow would soon annihilate all tracks. He had to get her now or not at all. Once more he aimed and fired. It was a longer mark, but a better one. This time the doe was dead. He carried the doe back to where he had left Lisbeth and then returned for the por- cupine. He built a fire and dressed his kill, and then he dined sumptuously on porcu- pine. He had but one cartridge left, but he had a supply of meat that would last him for days. It was three days before they could leave that camp. With each hour the storm in- creased in fury and Alex, skilled mountain- eer that he was, knew how futile it would be to try to buck it. He employed his time making himself a pair of snowshoes out of woven willows, but his heart was heavy when he thought of Lisbeth. How was she to get out? He almost expected to see re- sentment or reproach in her soft, brown eyes, but the aged veteran browsed placidly as if without a care in the world. But she was no longer fat and sleek. He felt that the most merciful thing he could do would be to put an end to her suffering with his last bullet, but he knew COMIGDIOOKSEEO