Adventure Magazine Cover, December 18, 1919 — page 79: what you’re looking at

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

~The Seven Cities of Cibola my son died of: the varuala—smiall-pox “What care I what killed your son? ‘Your business is to get gold for the king as it is mine to collect it. I fine you two pounds of gold in addition to your regular tax. Take him away. Ho! More wine there! Will you take him away ?” For the old man had flung himself upon his knees and seized the edge of the fiscal’s doublet and was striving with ‘quivering chin and tear-wet eyes to tell his plight. Another cup of strong wine made the fiscal furious, for the old suppliant still ‘strove to make himself understood. “Here! Tie him up and you, Pe- dralto, give him a dozen blows of thy whip to teach him manners.” No more than a hint to that rough soldiery was needed. In a second ‘the old man was tied to a great post that stood before the platform, his withered hands high above his head, his shrunken shoulders wincing in anticipation, while -Pedralto; with a malicious grin, whirled a heavy rawhide quirt about his head. “How many blows, Sefior Fiscal ?” “The old-time Jewish measure, forty stripes save one. By the Five Wounds! Are there two applicants for the king’s mercy this day?” A young man stepped forward from the crowd and spoke a few words to Te- matli tied to the post. Presently he turned and spoke to the fiscal, who was black with anger. “I, Hemalco, tell you, sefior, that the old man has spoken the truth. His con- cession is worked out. He has no gold. If you will let him go we will make up his fine among us.’ “And take his flogging too? Sha't have one for yourself.” “Hold!” Mercedes’ voice cut like a whip-lash as she rose from her chair and stepped forward, her chin held high, her blue - eyes flashing, her beautiful face as pale as carved ivory. - “Who spoke?” he sat. . “T! I said ‘Hold’! It shall not be! I am the governor’s ward! His word is law in New Spain and, speaking for him, I say that this brutality shall not be.” The fiscal lurched as 65 Fonseca shook his head with drunken obstinacy. “Too much talk,” he said sullenly. “But one woman can give orders here and that woman is my betrothed wife. She can give an order in my name. Do you give it so, Sefiorita Mercedes?” “Too high a price, my lord.” Andres pushed his way forward. “The sefiorita is right. It runs not with Spanish honor to treat so harshly a man who is so clearly past the working age. In the namne of pity, sevior, revoke your order.” “Strike, man! Strike! There is too much talk here! What matters ari In- dian more or less?” The fiscal was furious. again, “Sefior Fonseca, a young Indian has pleaded to you for justice; the most beautiful lady in all New Spain has asked you in the name of mercy. Now I ss “Will you flog that man, Pedralto, or must I do it myself?” The fiscal sprang from his seat, seized the whip from the soldier and was about to strike the cringing Tematli when An- dres, with a half-scornful gesture, thrust him to one side, sending him sprawling. Instantly he was up and, pulling from his belt his long embroidered gloves, struck at Andres’ smiling face. Struck drunkenly and the next moment felt on his wind-pipe an iron hand that shut off his breath while a voice fairly hissed in his ear: “Fiscal or no fiscal, you drunken swine! You have struck the sevorita. If I had the right to act for her, I would send three feet of white steel through you this day! Seforita—”’ Andres swept off his hat in a bow—‘he was drunk. He did not mean it.”’ “A quaint excuse——” “There can be no excuse. reason = She drew herself up like-a queen. “I know—I understand—I have seen him before. He will pay! Be assured that he will make amends, sefior. If there be any justice in all New Spain rest assured that I will have it.” She whirled off across-the plaza and Fonseca turned to Andres. “Hanger on of lackeys! A. scoutmas- ter indeed. This night you shall sup sorrow.’ Andres spoke It was a comicbook ’