Adventure Magazine Cover — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

14 HEY caught their first sight of the pursuing Indians from the top of a little draw. At the same time the savages saw them and let out the yell such as had shaken many a soul before this. There were perhaps a dozen of them, still on the far side of the creek, about three hundred and fifty or four hundred yards distant. The sound of that yell, the swift glance he took at the naked riders behind, melted the boy’s courage. He began to whimper. ‘None of that,” ordered his companion curtly. “You got to go through. We'll cut the mustard if you’ve got sand in yore craw.” They were riding for the river, still twenty miles away, over a very rough country. Keener watched his chance, guided with his knees, and fired his big “fifty” without slackening the pace. A pony stumbled and fell. The Indians an- swered the shot, but they were out- ranged and their bullets fell short. Boone was riding in front. He lifted his rifle from the saddle. “No, son,’ Keener told him. “Right now I'll do all the shootin’ is necessary. You ’tend to yore ridin’.” ‘“There’s more of ’em—over to the right!” Boone cried. ‘“T *lowed there would be. We'll keep right on for the cap rock—won’t let ’em drive us back if we can help it.” To Boone this looked suicidal. They and the Indians were converging toward a common point. “We'll beat ’em to it,” the plainsman said. His voice rang out more confidently than the facts justified. They would beat the natives to the cap rock if let alone. But how close would those coming up from the right be when they passed? If he and the boy won through it would be by a narrow margin, Keener knew. But he dared not let himself be driven into the open country to the left. Their one chance was to outride the Comanches trying to intercept them. Keener rode on the right side of the boy, between him and the Indians. Twice he fired, riding at full speed. Presently WILLIAM MacLEOD RAINE bullets began to throw dirt in front of and behind their horses. “We'll make it. They can’t shoot for beans,” the old-timer shouted. “Ride hell for leather, son. We'll be past in a minute now.” Even as he spoke a bullet struck his horse. Keener was flung over its head as it went down. Boone pulled up, rather by instinct than by volition. The un- horsed man snatched up his rifle, ran toward the boy and vaultea on the back of the pony behind the saddle. Instantly Pinto struck into a gallop again. The rock rim was less than half a mile from the fugitives. The Comanches were pressing them closely. During that wild ride Keener’s buffalo gun did deadly execution. It dropped two horses. It sent one brave flying from his mount. As they drew close to the rock rim Keener gave instructions. “Listen, son. We got one chance—just one. I'll jump off above the rock rim. You keep on going. Head for the low ford. Get to yore father’s place an’ bring me help.” “But—”’ The voice of the old soldier was harsh and final. “Don’t argue. DoasIsay. An’, boy, ride like the Watsons.” They rode straight for a break in the rampart of rocks. Keener dropped from the pony and it clambered up the rock fault like a mountain goat. Hard on its heels came the buffalo hunter. Boone obeyed orders. Without stop- ping, he rode forward across the mesa. Once he looked back. No Indians were in view, but he could hear their blood freezing yelps down below. Keener lay on his face. The boom of his buffalo gun sounded once and again. Then, borne clear on the thin air, came the defiant rebel yell the old fellow had learned when he rode with Kirby Smith’s raiders. The boy did not know it at the time, but that ringing yell was Wesley Keener’s gallant challenge to Death. He had come to the end of the trail and was going out like a soldier. Go DOOK (C@ S|