Adventure Magazine Cover, February 3, 1921 — page 88: what you’re looking at

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

82 he would then and there have planned to use the influence of Laramie Pete on Left Hand to learn where the Indians secured the dust. Such a thought never entered his mind, however, as he climbed from the spring and wrung the water from his trous- ers. He tied the pouches up in his hunting- shirt, and, carrying the improvised bag in one hand, he trailed the rifle in the other and started to find Reason. The latter, eager to get away from the spot, had moved rapidly, but had left signs at. regular in- tervals which the trapper could read on the run. “What’s in that bundle?” suspiciously’ demanded Reason as his friend came up with him. “Little weddin’ present from ye ’n’ me for th’ gal.” “VYe’ve been in water up to yer waist. Yer present will fetch her bad luck.” “Not after she’s swapped it for twenty- dollar gold-pieces. If no bad luck has al- ready hit her-——” “Tt has,’ Réason gloomily interrupted. “Had a look at my snakeskin while I was waitin’ for ye. Lost all its shine. Jest dull an’ mis’rable-lookin’.” “Then we’d better be humpin’ to Cherry Crick to fetch th’ shine back by makin’ everything all right for th’ gal.” CHAPTER XII THE THREE DEAD MEN A’ HOUR after dawn the trappers rode into Denver. Their first view of the straggling settlement along the dry creek would have told them that something out of the ordinary had happened even though they had not been forewarned. The tent by the cottonwoods was closed to business, as was shown by the bowed figure of Old Missouri seated in front of the bar with a rifle across his knees. Several men drinking Taos lightning at the brush shed conveyed the suggestion of having made a night of it; rather, of having made several nights of it. They drank not as convivial fellows, but tossed off their fiery drams in a gloomy, preoccupied man- ner. ‘There was no congeniality in the group; no vacuous laughter and loud talk. Each man carried arms and was deeply concerned with his own thoughts. Each Adventure filled his dipper without calling on his mates to drink with him. Neweomers took their places at the bar without the usual exchange oi greetings. These last invariably showed signs of hard travel. California Joe crowded the Arapaho war- pony close to the bar and demanded— “What’s th’ row?” The drink-vendor, recognizing him as a friend of Laramie Pete, scowled at him and might not have answered had not the trap- per’s gaze contained the quality of insis- tence. “Gal stole,’ the man grunted, turning away to serve fresh customers. ‘Trader Pete’s girl stolen three days ago,” volunteered another, working his way to the pony. At first Joe did not know him because of the grime and dust caking his face and per- son. “VYe’re Durgin, eh?” he asked. been stole, eh?” “Y’m Durgin. What’s left of me after the last twenty-four hours’ work. Yes, the girl’s gone. She went to the Arapaho vil- lage just as the war party against the Utes started out. ‘That was the last seen of her.” ‘Who took her?” Durgin shook his head dejectedly. The man called Rogers spoke up and informed them: ‘We sorter caVlate that th’ “Rapahoes took her as a war medicine. Who else could?” =~ ‘hey wouldn’t take her for a war medi- cine,” growled Reason. ‘How a? ye know that much?” queru- lously cried Bandy Benton. ‘“They go into th’ mountains an’ have queer doin’s. Some say they kill white women jest to make their —— war gods smile on ’em.”’ “Bah!” snorted California Joe. “Ye talk like fools. Th’ Wolf Pawnee used to some- times kill squaw prisoners to make their corn grow. ’Rapahoes don’t do that, let alone killin’ white women to make a war medicine. Why, Laramie Pete’s gal is part *Rapaho. “Tf ye’ve been gunnin’ for them Injuns ye’ve been wastin’ yer time. They’re off after th’ Utes. Reason ’n’ me met th’ band down.on Platte River Cafion an’ they helped us fight off a gang o’ Utes. I borrered this war-pony from Left Hand. They don’t even know th’ gal’s missin’. Where’s Old Oakes?” “Cal’s COMMICLOOOKS (C@