Adventure Magazine Cover, December 18, 1919 — page 93: what you’re looking at

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

The Seven Cities of Cibola as he handed her the white buckskin glove that she had dropped—intention- ally, to make the fiscal angry as Andres handed it back, as she intended that he should. All these were clear, but plainer than all else was the memory of that scene in the plaza when they had dragged that old Indian forward and tied him to the post to be flogged. She knew many of those people. Why should she not know them when she had lived for eighteen years of her life among them? Her impassioned though fruitless appeal to the fiscal for mercy had been based upon that knowl- edge. _ She thought and thought, but there was an hiatus in her memory that all her striving could not bridge! Saints! How ‘Andres de Avilez’s eyes had flashed as he swung upon the drunken fiscal—what it would be to have with her now such a man as the scoutmaster of Coronado. But now. .. Her very heart leaped into her throat. Her eyes filled and she clutched at her saddle pommel in dismay as she realized what an impossible future was _ hers. What could happen to her? Court-bred though she was, she had seen quite enough of the outlying Spanish frontier to know that these captors of hers were no lieges of the King of Spain. They were northern Indians. She could tell that by the paint that was rarely used by the tribes that had come in contact with Spain. Then too she noticed, almost sub- consciously, that the two men who led the horse were afraid of him. It was very evident that they had not handled horses before—another proof that the men came from far beyond the Spanish marches! ‘ The Indians near Spanish settlements had seen and handled many horses and had lost all fear of them. What then were these people doing here and where was “here,” and why above all had she been brought here? - Hour after hour they plodded on. Once they crossed a water-course in which a little water still stood in the rock-ribbed pools. The men drank, and one of them scooped a little up in a bit of rawhide and handed it to her, but when the red stallion dropped his sweat- Indians only laughed. ing muzzle into the cool water, he was remorselessly urged on. Sweat-marks stood out all over .-him and his head drooped from time to time. Once of twice he stumbled on the trail. The sun rose and drove down upon them with all the fierce intensity that the mesas of northern Mexico know, almost baking the life-blood in the girl’s veins. Still her, captors urged her on and on. For twenty miles they almost ran along the “hog-backs” and the ridges and then left the mountains, heading direct across a great mesa that was covered with short grass, wherein little animals ran in and out of their holes, barking at the strangers as they passed. They had left all trails now and, trav- eling well apart to leave no clear trail, . the Indians pushed forward with re- newed vigor. They seemed tireless, as indeed they were when upon a war-trail, and it was not till night had drawn down that they halted in a small stream-bed. Even then the halt was only long enough to allow them to fill the water- bags, for they were too wary to camp near water. Cautious as always, they knew well enough that pursuers would make first of all for watering-places. They left the stream-bed and camped that night upon a neighboring hill that overlooked the countryside. Mercedes felt, rather than saw, the leader of the Indians untie the rawhide riata that bound her feet, and found herself sud- denly in a heap upon the ground. The A little sage- brush was pulled for her and the man motioned for her to be seated. No sooner had she done so than her feet were tightly tied again by no gentle hand and a naked knife, flashed before her eyes; warned her of the consequences of an attempt to escape. She could scarcely swallow the hard pieces of sun-dried meat that were thrown to her, and she was never con- scious of having lain down. Somehow the sun seemed to be up the next minute and again she found herself on the red stallion moving forward in a red haze of dust and sweat and tears. The horse stumbled frequently now, for he had had neither water nor grass for more than forty-eight hours, and he had traveled far and hard. 79 Gomichooks (E@)