Adventure Magazine Cover, June 20, 1925 — page 127: what you’re looking at

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

Pards found pleasure in strolling the streets. He thought. of him every time he saw a pilgrim just “arrived out.” He walked aimlessly, searching for Ellis in the passing groups, trying to appease the voice of duty. And all the while he en- joyed the absence of that shut-in feeling. For two years he largely had lived in deep and narrow gulches. ‘These streets, eighty feet wide, gave him an uplift and caused him to feel he had escaped from a dreary cap- tivity. Yet he felt he must do his utmost to find the Singing Pilgrim. “Nuisance. Old enough to look after himself,’ he muttered as he stood on F Street and glimpsed the waters of the Platte five blocks away, where a year before Arapaho lodges and tents of immigrants had stood. Beyond the river were the moun- tains, gay with many colors, like giants be- decking themselves with a woman’s finery. Nor were the Indians entirely retired from the town. Many had learned to crave liquor, and remained and lived in sordid slavery for the sake of an occasional dram. He encountered one, an Arapaho, near the Rocky Mouniain News office, try- ing to tell William Byers, editor and pub- lisher, that he wanted him to say in his talking paper that his chief, Little Raven, would pay ten ponies for the return of his lost Buchanan medal, distributed in the fall of 1860 together with Lincoln and Douglas medals. From the Broadwell House the gambler passed the brick church and entered a maze of stores, gaming halls, saloons and the homes of light-o’-loves, and wandered widely. He was doing his duty by the Singing Pilgrim, he told himself, while he aimlessly drifted with the crowd or stemmed the current to inspect a gambling place. In Heatly and Chase’s place he was in- vited to make up a poker outfit, but de- clined. Night would be early enough to resume his work. Until then he must satisfy his eyes with roomy streets. He found much pleasure in loitering up streets that ran northwest and gazing at Long’s Peak. This view made him feel like a man who has escaped from prison and who lingers in open places to look back on the scene of his detention. Finally he came to a halt in front of the old Pacific House, where a crowd was block- ing the street, gathered there by the spec- 109 tacle of a woman in fluffy skirts walking a tight-rope across Larimer Street. His in- terest was as keen as that of a young boy watching his first circus. He gave no heed when a hand touched his elbow. He real- ized it was not an accidental contact with the crowd when strong fingers seized his arm and shook it impatiently. Turning his head he stared into the vicious face of Bill Waggle. THE fingers of his right hand slipped inside his left cuff as he “6 remarked— ‘ee™ “So you're still alive, Bill?” And he darted his gaze about and de- manded— . ‘“Where’s Dodge?”’ ‘Gone north to new diggings. How’s it feel to be run out the gulch?” “Yowrea liar. I walked out.” Waggle grinned and asked— ‘“Where’s your young hooting friend?” With a show of indifference he was far from feeling Goss replied: ‘Don’t know. He quit the gulch ahead of me. Haven’t seen him since.”’ “T have.” Goss’ face froze. Disturbed, and anxious to learn where Waggle met Ellis, he in- differently remarked— ‘That so? What of it?” | “Nothing of it. But if you see him just remind him to remember his bargain and keep his mouth shut.”’ “What bargain? With whom? what do you mean, Waggle?”’ “Our cat’s waking up. Pilgrim will know what I mean. And I ain’t known as Waggle in this town.” “Tf folks here should know what I know you ll be wearing a rope.” ‘“Mebbe.. But you won’t away.” “TY don’t talk a lot. Still I tried to shoot you in California Gulch for sneaking that gun to Dodge. But you speak as if making a threat, as if daring me to call out your name and history. I can be bluffed, Wag- gle. But only by a much better man than you.” “Go ahead and shout,” defied Waggle. ‘“But if there’s a rope for me there’ll be an- other for the Singing Pilgrim and he’ll stretch it.”’ “Talk, talk,” complained the gambler wearily. “What are you coming at?” Just give me COMIGDIOOKSEEO