Adventure Magazine Cover — page 157: what you’re looking at

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

Till the Wolves Come Home the one he had reached; providing he had come upon the west corral. He kept a close watch for signs of the shacks or other shelters and it was dark when he came to a break in the fence on the north side and stumbled across some posts piled close to the wire. Just to the north of the pile of snow-covered posts he made out a shadow—a blotch somewhat darker than the dim space of snow-filled air about him. He swerved around the end of the posts and brought up against the tongue of a herder’s wagon. With a throaty cry of joy he fumbled with numbed fingers at the lower half of the split door of the wagon and pressed out the plug which held the hasp to the staple. Hecrawled inside, dragging the rifle after him. In the reaction of relief from the wind- driven, blinding snow, his blood tingled to his finger-tips and gradually he regained the use of them. In the corner of the wagon between the door and the side toward the east was a stove. Boyer felt some pieces of wood under his feet on the rough board floor—kindJing which had been left by the herder who had used the wagon last. He drew his knife, made some shavings and soon had a fire going. He rubbed his hands over the blaze; then, going outside, he ob- tained snow, which he applied to his frosted cheeks and chin until the life returned to them. He piled on more wood, and soon the wagon, which was covered in prairie- schooner style with tar paper and boarded up in the rear and front, was warm. He left‘a lid off the stove and in the blaze made out that the wagon was bare of cooking- utensils or food-supplies although there was considerable wood piled up behind the stove. The bunk at the rear of the wagon con- tained a straw mattress but no blankets. Bover, thankful for the shelter which had saved. his life, was soon thinking of the Giant’s plight. Had the man reached one of the shacks or another wagon? Boyer took the presence of the wagon to indicate that the shacks were no longer being used— perhaps they were no longer there. The herders would pick up the wagons when they brought the sheep in the Spring on the way to the Summer range. Had Hooper, found shelter? Boyer devoured another sandwich and then, after replenishing the fire, sat on the edge of the bunk and relaxed after his strug- gle through the storm. Any further at- 147 tempt to find the Giant this night would be sheer madness. Boyer rose frequently to build up the fire for the wagon’s interior chilled rapidly. He estimated that it was thirty to forty below zero, outside. Once he fell asleep but in Jess than an hour he awoke, shivering, to find the fire had died. He built it up again and once more he dozed in the resulting warmth. Suddenly he sat bolt upright in the bunk, every nerve strained as he listened intently. The fine drive of the wind against the top and side cf the wagon brought a new sound —the shrill cry of a man. Again he heard it—shrieking, frenzred laughter. For a moment Boyer wondered if the bat- tle with the raging blizzard had played a trick with his mind for the time being. No! There it was again. High-pitched notes of a human voice riding on the wind from the northeast. Giant Hooper, lost and wandering to his death in the storm? Boyer leaped to his feet. To venture away from the immediate vicinity of the wagon and the corral-fence would mean death unless he could be lucky enough to find them again. He lighted a piece of pine stump, rich in pitch, which he found among the wood by its weight, and searched the floor and sides of the wagon by the light of the flaming torch. With a grunt of satisfaction he found what he was seeking—a ball of cord. Men working in isolated sections always save every bit of string and cord against the many uses to which it can be put. The herder who had used the wagon had left the cord where he had kept it, in a smal] box nailed above the miniature cupboard. Bover took the rifle, pulled on his gloves, built up the fire again, and crawled out through the lower half of the door. He fastened the loose end of the ball of cord to the top spoke of a wheel of the wagon. Then, holding the ball in his palms care- fully so it would unwind, and squeezing his left arm against the rifle held between his arm and side, he struck off into the storm toward the direction from which the voice had come.’ It was pitch dark; the stinging wind and snow made him gasp; the bitter cold bit through his gloves, cap and _ clothing. Boyer had almost reached the end of the cord ball when he heard the cries again, close at hand. There were sobs and shrieks cComicbook C©