Adventure Magazine Cover — page 135: what you’re looking at

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

The Super of the Santee “Would ye let your wife die, because your skin is in danger?”’ McGann swallowed. His throat was dry. He had difficulty in speaking. His arrogance had disappeared. “There are four of us,” he said weakly. Paddy told him remorselessly: ‘You are a man who does what you set out to do. You started to save your wife’s life!”’ McGann looked at the empty water- glass. At the dirty front of the steam- filled boiler. Any second it might erupt in a terrible blast. The fear that had been working on him swept up in a rising tide. “Stop the engine!” he croaked. Paddy smiled for the first time. “In Sky City,” he replied briefly, and presented his back. McGann was shaking. Completely con- trolled by the fear which had been rasping at his nerves since the water started its downward journey in the glass. He looked irresolutely at the landscape which was flashing by. Then at Paddy’s broad back. And at the menacing front of the boiler. Any second it might burst out at him. His lips wabbled loosely. His face was pale. Suddenly he lunged against the throttle, shutting off the steam. And with the same motion threw the brake handle over. The brakes went down. ‘The huge driver wheels locked. Showering sparks they slid 129 along. The mad pace dropped rapidly. “—- you!””, Paddy swore, as he threw the brake handle into release. ‘‘You yellow houn’!”’? He pulled the throttle out. They picked up speed once more. ‘You fool!’ Paddy snarled at McGann. ‘‘We’re only a quarter of a mile from the top!”’ A few seconds later the laboring exhaust softened. Paddy threw the throttle in and called to Watkins: “Draw your fire quick, laddie! We can roll in now!” And he stripped off his cap and goggles and lighted a cigaret. With the smoke drifting slowly from his nostrils, Paddy looked steadily into McGann’s eyes. And McGann, who had regained control of himself when he heard they were safe, met the look. A flush rose and mantled his features. A fiery flush of shame. He dropped his eyes and swallowed. The surgeon, who had been startled into attention when the brakes went down, rose to his feet and called across the toiling form of Watkins— ‘“‘What was the matter back there, Mc- Gann?” Paddy, the fat, the gay once more, an- swered for McGann. “The super had a touch o’ fever,” he called back lightly. “Just a wee touch—o’ yellow fever. But he’s over it. An’ a better man he’ll be for it, I’m thinkin’!”’ And McGann swallowed again—and let the remark stand. COnmiclboooks.c© 5}