Adventure Magazine Cover, February 3, 1921 — page 42: what you’re looking at

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

means I must chip in. Why didn’t . some one wake me?” drawled a voice inside a wagon. Laramie Pete stepped to the wagon and with the air of an exhibitor raised the cover and revealed a young man reclining on a bale of goods. The young man, smiling pleasantly, slipped over the side to the ground. He was slim of build, and his fresh buckskin garments displayed much dandyism. “My friends, this be my young friend, M’sicu James Herald. Ver’ better known as Natchez. Named from ver’ wicked town on the Messesseppe.”’ The trappers curiously studied Natchez and found that touch of daredevil spirit in the black eyes which makes for friends among wandering men. A certain flip- pancy in bearing was counteracted by the workmanlike weapons in his belt. If the contour of his features was almost too graceful the face was saved from being effeminate by the decisiveness of the jaw and the steady boldness of his gaze. Joe decided he would like him, and thrust out his hand. Reason arrived at a like con- clusion. Natchez’ slim hands flew out and performed a double grip. “Sorter fetched company with you,” he drawled, his eyes lighting mischievously as they took in the sour discontent on Shirley’s face. “Huh! Them fellers?” And California Joe turned and stared contemptuously at the quiet ridge. “Didn’t know they was round till some one fired from th’ wagons. I was jest tellin’ red-hea 23 . “Red Shirley, when ye have to mention me. Call me out of my name ag’in an’ I’Il snake that black ha’r off’n yer head,” wrathfully warned Shirley. “But no dis’greeables, my friends,” softly protested Laramie Pete, lifting hands as small and slim as a woman’s, yet fear- fully efficient when grasping the handle of a bowie-knife. “My girl. She asleep.” Natchez laughed silently and turned his gaze impudently on the wagon-boss. It was plain that there was bad blood between them. ‘Then the young man quietly said: “Take two to make a bargain. If Cali- fornia don’t fancy the name you give your- self an’ rather call you red-head, what’s to hinder him?” “ANY Injuns to be driven away — Adventure “Natchez, keep still,’ ordered Laramie Pete, while the men of the wagon crew ceased watching for Indians from under the wagons and began thrusting their heads out to witness the pending climax. With an oath Red Shirley leaped toward Natchez, whose hands flew to his belt. But quicker thar either was Reason, who stepped between the two, and, picking up Natchez, tossed him back into his wagon. Shirley,-for want of a victim, seized the trapper by the shoulders from behind. Before the onlookers could draw more than a breath Reason twisted and whirled and had his arms around the big man. Then their figures rocked from side to side for a moment, reminding one of two grizzly bears trying to dance, and Shirley was hurled under a wagon. ‘“Lawd, Tommy, but_ye’re brief!’ loudly commended California Joe, eying his friend lovingly. ‘“‘What I planned to do myself, but ye was too quick for me. Balsam firs!” The botanical expression was in homage to the sudden appearance of a girl, small and dainty of figure, with Laramie’s lustrous eyes and dark hair. She had emerged through the front of a wagon and was standing on the driver’s seat, poised to leap over the wheel. Like a jack-in-the-box Natchez shot from the wagon where he had been tossed, and landed lightly on his feet close to the group, a revolver in one hand, a knife in the other, his eyes flaming at the man who had handled him so ignominiously. Red Shirley, too, was back for a fight, a long butcher-knife clutched in his freckled hand. The girl remained motionless, one foot on the wheel, her hands resting on her hips, taking in the tableau. “Ma fille! But you must stop the play, my friends!” cried Laramie. “Fightin’ ain’t no sight for women!’ bellowed Joe, catching Shirley by the knife hand and tripping him heavily on his back and twisting the weapon from his grasp. “An’ ye hide them weapons, younker,” he said to Natchez. Natchez exposed his teeth in a feline snarl. “Put up that knife and pistol, boy,” shrilly commanded the girl. “And don’t act silly any more, or you’ll be very sorry.” Natchez glared impotently for a moment, then began to relax, his head sinking to , his chest as he caught the impact of the COMMICLOOOKS (C@