Adventure Magazine Cover — page 145: what you’re looking at

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

cee ee | = man is crazy who would herd sheep. Sabe?”’ 3 “What is your scientific opinion, gents? Do you think they’re crazy?” I looked at Middleton and he nodded. “T will thupport you, Pettingill.” “Well,” said I, vation, I will say this much: If he isn’t crazy to begin with, and doesn’t go crazy —he is a superman.” “Reckon the sheep are to blame?” asked Adams. “Of courth,”’ lisped Middleton, caress- ing his back, “the theep are primarily inquiringly, - Without Reservation _ “after personal obser- seth pon thie. but I’d oe that the orate” evil cometh from genet wear and tear.”’ “Which goes to haw that personal eX- : perience is better than hearsay,” agreed Magpie. “Ordinarily,” I agreed, “but from now on I will be more than willing to take unsupported word for things I know nothing about. How about you, Professor Middleton?” ~ Middleton picked up his rope and spat through his vacant teeth. “Oh, ! Leth go, Pettingill. You thaid a mouthful.” WITHOUT RESERVATION by Stanley Donaldson A WHISTLE sharp from the darkness, the slack goes out of the train And we hit her up over the switches, into the drivin’ rain. , Clickity-clack and gainin’, till the click is a steady pound, And fainter the lights about us and fainter the fleein’ ground Till there’s only a swayin’ foot-hold with the square of the tank before, Black like dread or devil-red as they swing the firebox door. And so we cling in silence, watchin’ the night rush by, Two of us headed westward, “Curly the Vag” and I. Money back on the cushions! I close my eyes and fe Myself a-ridin’ with them—the world on an even keel, The world of the fairy story where the candy mountain’s real \ With credits that’s always credits and a roll that’ll never peel. ' With Curly sittin’ by me, him with a fancy eye, And a pinch of coke or a four-bit smoke to while the minutes by. Me in a chair all pretty, or pullin’ my shoes for bed, And never a thought for a minute of a couple of vags ahead. And I close my eyes to see this and I open them up to see Only the rain and the darkness leapin’ to cut at me, Or the crawl of the slack or the roarin’ of a bridge we leap upon, Demons out of the darkness racin’ to beat the dawn. So our string sweeps up the tangent or shrieks at an outer rail And I cling and doze by Curly and watch the dim stars pale Till the day blows up their peekin’ and shines on another land. Tickets? There’s rust on my shoulder and the smell of iron on my hand! ‘ ~ < "* &.. a, 2 ort 3 “2 + eee ° a mm >= ~ * - ue an ia ‘eas! rie a OP inf ay Fir# bata