Adventure Magazine Cover — page 47: what you’re looking at

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

A Pot of Gold run it and I'll stay in Escalante till things cool down in the town.’ “All right. Bring on your groceries. When do I start?” “Tomorrow. Take a wagon. There’s no road, but you'll get there.” Pete followed directions, leaving with a four-horse outfit that bumped over virgin trails and labored through plains, sand- hills, valleys and dry-washes. In two days it ar- rived at the mines, triumphant over every- thing from crevasses to rattlesnakes. In Escalante things began to happen quickly. Two earnest-looking gentlemen in cordu- roy suits and top boots arrived within a week. They were the superintendent and purchasing-agent of the Escalante Bo- nanza Mining Company. They went up- country. In the next week wagons began to roll into Escalante from the railroad, carrying mine- timbers and various heavy supplies. Car- penters drifted in. A clerk and a time- keeper materialized. The wheels of com- merce began to furrow roads and trails. The blacksmith hired a man to help shoe horses and mules. One oi the town’s stores enlarged, employing idle labor. So did the Chinese restaurant. Soon a rival China- man appeared and started business. Quiet strangers, legitimate prospectors and mining men, trickled in to look over the new field. They seeped in so gradually that the town had hardly noticed their coming. It awoke to find itself full of them. Beds were at a premium. A wave of optimism took place of Es- calante’s old helplessness. Men showed it in their demeanors. Tom looked on the work and saw it was good. He and Pete had worked to some purpose. They had helped others, so their labor was not in vain. As for the mine, Tom’s lawyer friend had filed suit in San Francisco. And then Jed Hill returned. HE CAME in costly black raiment, carrying a splendid traveling-bag. ¥ He looked like a city tourist. Alighting from the stage, he noted the town’s improvements and whistled. Tom met him without enthusiasm. “Hello. What brings you here?” Hill drew a kid glove off his right hand languidly. ‘‘Why, I’ve got to look after my 37 interests. I own the stage-line and a couple of freight-teams, don’t I?” “Yes. That’s right. I thought you meant your political interests. They’re dead.”’ Hill lighted a big cigar with a gold band around it. His next remark was a startling peace offer. ‘“T’m agreeable. trouble up here. in the big mine.” “You what?” “Why, sure. She was too good to pass up, so I went to San Francisco and bought in. All I could afford.” Hill and Markum! What a combination! Hill continued the conversation. “I’m figurin’ on bein’ a director. Markum says he’ll help elect me, ‘so mebbe I’ll go on the board. I figger it’s good business.” Tom pictured the scrupulous Wentworth on a board of directors with Hill. It didn’t look right. The whole business was off color. Tom went up to the mines to talk it over with Pete. The old prospector, arrayed in red shirt and torn ovcralls, was working with ham- mer and saw upon the framework of a long, narrow structure at the base of the hill, not twenty yards from where the mine-tunnel was to go. It was the new Hall & Dolliver General Store. The cafion was transformed. Where once the sunlight gleamed for ages on the dry grass of a lonely yellow hillside, lumber and miscellaneous supplies were stacked in mammoth piles. A donkey-engine loomed blackly against a red granite ledge. Workmen bustled about, hauling timbers. Down in the cafion their dingy white tents stood in an uneven row. Under the lee of a hill north of the mine, pickets and ropes bounded a great corral, with straw on the ground and horses and mules munching baled hay. ‘‘She’s a new city,” announced Pete, wav- ing a hammer toward points of interest. “In about two days we'll have this here store up. Then we’ll be ready for business. Board floor, board walls and tent top. Bimeby we'll paint a sign.” ‘“‘Any business yet?” | “Tolerable fair. I’m sellin’ off the wagon. The tail-board’s the counter. Terbacker, I don’t want to see I’ve got too much stock matches, chewin’-gum, dynamite, corn beef, overalls, kerosene, fly-paper and ca’tridges.”’ Comicbook CO