Adventure Magazine Cover, June 20, 1925 — page 95: what you’re looking at

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

Author of “Wild Gas,” “Pluck’s Broken Parole,” IS FAR as he could see, and as far A as he could see—and that was very far indeed—all the world S® : was one glistening white wonder. Mountain, hill, valley, stream, tufted wood, and frowning hanger thicket and dense brake—all white, and still, and silent under the thin sun. He took a turn aloft about a thousand feet up and executed an effortless circle. Then he let himself down three hundred feet and described a figure eight grandly. Then he sank another three hundred feet and curved marvelously, but it was no use—white, white, white everywhere he looked and nota living thing upon it—the snow. He was an eagle of the golden persuasion, which means that he was gaited in a uni- form of fine gunmetal-brown, copper and golden bronze. Also he was hungry. In- deed he was more than usually hungry, even, and was a hot-bed of trouble in con- sequence. Now, there may be a few things in this world that an eagle high aloit can not see but mostly, and at ordinary times, the thing big enough to be eaten that an eagle can not see a few miles off may live, but I don’t know it. This, however, was no ordinary time, and those few things were there—there under his cruel great hooked beak, in the open, ‘eo 77 on view to all the world, and—for the life of him he could not see them. Motionless as one of the boulders around him, the cock ptarmigan crouched and stared up at the great dread king of the birds slowly swimming the sunlit void above him, and he croaked. All around him dotted about were the other ptarmigan of the flock, squatting as motionless as he in the snow, looking up; and they said no word. Fifty yards down the hill a mountain hare, couched in his “form” of warm snow, - stared at the menacing embodiment of death overhead, and she never moved, never made the slightest attempt to escape. A hundred yards farther down the slope, inert as an icicle, smack upon the peculiar line of footprints which the hare had left when ascending the slope some half-hour before, bunched a stoat, long, snakey and deadly, glaring upward at the greater terror above him. All around the stoat, yet invisible to him, were flattened little birds, little snow bunt- ings—“‘snowflakes” is their pet name—and they too were all watching the mighty eagle shape, motionless, frozen in terror—as if he would have troubled about them. | But he did not see any of them. Though quite out in the open, ptarmigan, hare, stoat and snow buntings were as invisible DOO CO