Adventure Magazine Cover, February 3, 1921 — page 95: what you’re looking at

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

The Road to El Dorado being shot down outside the barrier the Indian had spoken no word, nor had he cut any notches on his coup-stick. His aban- donment of the last practise had been a dis- tinct relief to Oakes. But now the Indian was invoking the Great Master—the sun—to aid him on a war-path. Still crazy; for where would he lay down a war-path now that the bristling backbone of a continent separated him from both friend and foe? This last thought caused Oakes’ fingers to relax and drop away from his revolver. The red man had been his luck because he was demented. The discovery that the fellow’s mind was still hopelessly clouded came as a great relief. As to there being any significance to his war-song, Oakes did not fear it for a mo- ment. Had the Indian not insanely cut notches in innumerable coup-sticks without attempting to count a coup? The very in- consistency of the man’s behavior was the strongest proof of his insanity. ” Cautiously moving to the western wall of the camp, Oakes peered over the rocks and beheld his protégé seated with his back to the wagons. The Indian was entirely naked. As he sang he caressed his bow of cedar, the same bow he had brought from his mountain home to the valley of the Sacramento and from the Sacramento to these new diggings under the eastern eaves of the Rockies. It was a superior bow, being as graceful in lines as it was effective in hurling the long reed arrows. As Oakes watched, the Indian laid aside the bow and held up the arrows, a half- dozen of them, and examined them one by one, addressing each in a jargon that had no meaning to the watcher. Sticking all the arrows but one into the ground, the Indian produced from between his feet a fragment of quartz and held it up to the sun, his song sinking to a whisper. Next he picked from the ground a piece of bone, one end of which was semi-spherical and marked by a shallow crease. , Now the song was like the murmuring of the wind through the mountain pines when there are many secrets to be told. The hur- ried insistence of it affected the gambler more disagreeably than had the loudly shouted war-song. It smacked of stealth, of the padded softness of a mountain cat sure of its prey. Holding the piece of bone in one hand 89 and the quartz in the other, the Pit River man began shaping an arrowhead from the latter. His fingers flew with incredible rapidity. Mis cunning at the task would have non- plused a white artizan. For by sheer strength of his hands and aided by the crease in the bone, with no leverage whate ever, he quickly broke the edges of the quartz until he had an arrowhead that was well balanced, beautiful of lines and sharp of point. Not once had he struck the quartz a blow in reducing it to the required form and size. ; He held_the finished product up to the sun and shouted that it was a good arrow- head and very thirsty. Contented with his workmanship, he proceeded deftly to make it fast to the reed shaft. The arrow was now completed. Oakes commented: “Making a medicine arrow. just a part of the ceremony.” The Indian quickly faced the wagons, and for a moment Oakes believed that he had heard the words uttered beneath the breath. He did not dwell on this phenome- non as he was now observing that the man’s cheeks and forehead were black. ‘“That’s why he’s been carrying that can of tar around with him,” muttered the gambler. ‘“He’s gone into mourning. But it can’t be for his root-digging family, for he’s crazy.” { Had the gambler remained on watch a bit longer he might have been deeply in- terested in witnessing the rest of the In- dian’s maneuvers. For as the red man re- sumed singing in a loud voice he stood erect and held the new arrow up to the sun, and then, bending low, stabbed it viciously into a black piece of meat, the liver of a deer. And with each thrust he grunted exult- ingly and stamped his bare feet smartly. But Oakes was now back by the fire, rue- fully surveying the frying-pan and the charred shreds of the bacon. Lifting his voice, he sternly called on the*Pit River man to bring him dry fuel and be quick about it. The war-song ceased abruptly, and the Indian’s bare feet pattered up to the wall. ee daubed face, and, pointing to the dying fire, repeated his command. With great alacrity the Indian ran to the War-song OAKES stared into the tar-be- COMMICLOookKs (C@