Adventure Magazine Cover — page 65: what you’re looking at

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

THE BUCKAROO OF BLUE WELLS Hashknife’s suggestion, they rode in single file, about fifty feet apart. That shot from the hills had made Hash- knife cautious, and he knew that three riders, bunched, would make an easy target in that moonlight. But their return was uneventful, except that there were no lights in the windows of the ranch-house. “That sure looks all wrong,” declared Hashknife. “Mebbe not,” said Sleepy. ‘Marion and Nanah might be enjoyin’ the moon- light.” “They might, but we'll play safe by thinkin’ they’re not.” The three men dismounted a hundred yards from the house and went cautiously to the patio gate. There was not a sound. The rear of the ranch-house flung a long shadow across the patio. Hashkmnife watched and listened for a while, and then strode boldly inside. A door creaked, and they heard Marion’s voice— “Ts that you, Hashknife?” she spoke softly. “Tt sure is,” replied Hashknife. ‘‘What’s the matter?” “Come here.”’ They went softly across the patio and up to the door, where she let them in. They could see the silhouette of Nanah against a window, where she was watching. Marion closed the door softly. “There wasn’t any light,” said Hash- knife. “‘Nanah saw you leave your horses,” said Marion. “She knew who it was. About half an hour ago Nanah and I were sitting on the back porch in the moonlight. It was wonderful out there, but it was getting cool; so we came in. There were no lamps lighted. “And Nanah swears she saw a man look- ing in the window, where she is now. I told her she must be seeing things, but she persisted. So we did not light a lamp. We watched and watched, but the man did not come back. I went to the rear door and opened it a little. It squeaks a little, you know. Then I saw a man cross the patio. He was all humped up, and it seemed to me as though he had been looking in the win- dow of the bunk-house. I can’t be sure about it. I’m sure he did not suspect that I had seen him, because he stopped in the gateway for quite a while. Then he stepped into the shadow on the other side of the wail.” 63 “How long ago was this?” asked Hash- knife. “Not over thirty minutes ago.” “He must have been lookin’ for us,” grinned Sleepy. “And if he seen us sneak in here he'll know we’re on to him,” said Hashknife. “But we’ve got to takea chance. Come out on the porch. Tell Nanah to light the lamps.” The old Indian woman bustled around, lighting lamps, while the rest of them fol- lowed Hashknife to the rear porch. “T’ll_ go first,” whispered Hashknife. “One man only makes one target. If the coast is clear, I’ll whistle a tune, and Sleepy, you and Jimmy come over there.”’ Hashknife kept well in the shadow in crossing the patio, and in a minute or two he began whistling. Sleepy and Jimmy crossed to the bunk-house, where the door was open. Hashknife lighted the lamp, which was on a table about midway of the room. Then he motioned Sleepy and Jimmy back to the doorway, where he followed them out, closing the door. “Duck down as low as yuh can and sneak back to the house,” he whispered. They got back to the house and crept silently in. = Hashknife stepped in close to a rear win- dow, where he could get a clear view of the patio, and watched through a break in the curtain. “Tf he didn’t see our horses, he’ll think we’re in the bunk-house,” said Hashknife. “Tf he seen us leave our horses and do an Injun sneak, he’ll know we’re on to him, and prob’ly fog away from here.” “Do you think it’s the man who has been trying to kill me?” asked Jimmy. “Might be.” Suddenly Hashknife jerked back. A blinding flash filled the room, followed by a terrific jarring crash, which fairly threw them off their feet. The lamp was ex- tinguished; pictures fell from the walls, and a moment later the house seemed to be bombarded with missiles from every angle. Hashknife had fallen back against a table, but now he got to his feet, groping in the dark. Sleepy was swearing dazedly. Dust and smoke eddied in through the broken windows, and with it was the odor of dynamite; the unmistakable scent of nitro- glycerine. “Ts anybody hurt?” gasped Hashknife, scratching a match and holding it above his COMIC OOo Cc S (C@