Adventure Magazine Cover, February 3, 1921 — page 29: what you’re looking at

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

The Road to El Dorado had been taken up the river. Oakes exchanged a few niore words with the chief, then came through the group of curious men and women, his red companion keep- ing close to his heels. In passing the trap- per he slowed up, and Joe murmured: “Ponies. Two miles up-stream. Git away, or git killed.” “Ym playing my luck. When we meet again we'll even things up.”’ “Thanks, ye mangy-hearted vermin. Git clear or I’ll cut yer throat.” Oakes gave an order to the Indian, who turned, toward the river, cutting notches and slicing them off as he walked. The Kiowas watched them disappear below the banks of the river and then sent horsemen to ride back and forth above and below their position. None ventured to intrude upon them, however. It was obvious that the two would be left unmolested so long as they remained near the village. “He can’t pull th’ trick,” muttered the trapper. ‘Says he banks on his luck. But her can’t move a peg up-river so long as them reds stick out there. He gits on my nerves an’ I'll prob’ly have to kill him when we meet up next, but I wish he could git clear. Dernation! He wasn’t to go down-stream!”’ The last because of a sudden movement of the Indians near him and the discovery of an Indian down the river making signals. This outpost was stationed on a low bluff a bit back from the river road. He was standing on his pony and swinging his hand from high above his head down to his side— the signal for ‘‘Come here.”’ His left hand was pointing to the east. The horsemen detailed to watch Oakes and his Indian had been the first to catch the summons, and it was their mad dash toward the signal that had attracted the attention of the village. One of them did ride up a hillock, and then signaled that Oakes and the Indian were still by the river. As the ponies raced to the east the trapper drew a deep breath of relief and told hirnself: : “That gives the cusses their chance. . Funny how luck’ll tag round at th’ heels of a feller like him—a low-down murderer— an’ leave poor, honest trappers to scratch hard to save their pelts!” “One man coming. You jump pony 23 ‘“Won’t do. Some one would make a bleat. Don’t even dast go an’ meet this new feller. Mebbe it’s Tommy Reason. Ride out an’ meet him, Garcia, an’ if it’s Reason tell him th’ lies I’ve told ’bout trade goods.” By this time the greater part of the war- rlors were mounted and racing toward the outpost. The sentinel was descending to meet them, walking his pony and refraining from further signals, thus informing the tribe that there was no need for haste. From the tail of his eye California Joe observed the entire absence of guards up the river, and knew that either medicine or luck had opened a way for the gambler to escape. Give the fugitives a scant thirty minutes and they should be up to the ponies and fit for a dash to the hills. “My young men have found something,” spoke up a well-known voice at. the trap- per’s shoulder. “‘A white man traveling alone. He is the first of the whites the Medicine Indian said would come. I will have his head in a brass kettle and hang it up on the bank of the Flint Arrowhead Riv- er(Arkansas) toscare other white menaway.” “The Indian’s medicine is foolish,” re- torted Joe. ‘Where are so many whites to come from? From the pai? (sun?) From the p’a? (moon?) Can they spring up like the buffalo-grass? Is Setangya a child to believe such stories?” The chief’s credulity was shaken. Such hosts of white men as were hinied at by the Indian’s dream savored of the impos- sible. Surely the Indians outnumbered the whites. All the whites beyond the Mississippi had long since traveled over the Big Medicine road to the Columbia. And yet why dream of innumerable bands of white men unless they were to come? Observing the chief’s bewilderment, Cali- fornia Joe continued— “This white man may be my friend, who was to seek me here.” ‘““My men say it’s a white man traveling alone. TI it is your friend, he comes with- out goods. That is very bad. What does he do that for? We wait here for goods and he comes without them.” There was great indignation in the chief’s voice. “Don’t forget the goods are his and mine,” hotly replied the trapper. ‘Even the Kiowas can’t have everything for “and go,” whispered Garcia. “nothing.” Without turning Joe murmured: Gomicbook