Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 183: what you’re looking at

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

Ghost-Pipes white men burst a roar that shook the heart of Yellow Dog. On the heels of the strange figure of the piper, who increased the time of his tune to the double, raced the survivors of the cav- alry company. oe transfixed. What happened to them the savages did not know themselves at the moment. It may have been the unexpectedness of the apparition, or the belief that their “Fighting Spirit,” their “Spirit of the Groaning Voice,” had deserted them, had gone over to the side of the white enemy. For surely now it was leading them, and as surely its voice was raised in a war-song that was like nothing it had ever played for the red men, even in the hands of the wizard, Black Kettle. And se was dead, slain by this very War-Spirit which marched boldly into their faces. Whatever they might have done in the emergency, with true Indian caution they first ran, seeking cover and counsel within shelter of the cajion. IX FOR a moment the Apaches stood “At ’em, boys! Give ’em ——!”’ yelled Gaillard. “Don’t let ’em rally. Drive ’em in! We'll hold ’em for Crooke! Blow, ye old haggis! Blox!” And the old haggis, his heart bristling like the hardy thistles whose motto is “Touch me if ye daur!” blew regardless of Gaillard, deaf to command, himself to the savages “terrible as an army with banners” as he trod like Nemesis on their flying heels. He did not even lead the way to the cafion mouth or follow where Gaillard and his men pursued the savages to the very arch. Men had other concerns just then than to watch the apparition further. That appari- tion presently seemed to march at an aim- less tangent to the left and disappear be- tween two great rocks in the gash next to the canon. The Indians were again fighting, de- fending the cafion arch. But it was clear they were in a panic. While the warriors fired upon the palefaces outside and the troopers returned shots from the shelter of _ fallen boulders, Yellow Dog, safely within, gathered his ruffled eagles about him and held a rapid council. Into it burst an old squaw, who gabbled violently. | 177 “Tt is the Red Death!” she screamed. “By the Rock Springs many Winters ago! It is the Red Death—come again!” Even as she spoke the drone of the pipes, dulled a while in the clamor and behind intervening rocks, burst out again—this time high in air seemingly. The squaw screamed and pointed. Over- head, marching down the top of the ridge on the right side of the cafion’s V, reap- peared the grotesque fantom. It seemed gigantic against the clear, morning sky. Then the courage of Yellow Dog com- pletely collapsed. He gave the order to retreat before he realized that that com- mand spelled his immediate doom or future disgrace. If he lived to face Geronimo—— But the rout wason. Yelling, screaming warriors and squaws clawed their way up the crevices and along the ledges of the canon walls, their one thought to escape that evil spirit and gain the mountains to the north. Outside, Gaillard, himself with a ball- shattered arm, saw the warriors retreat from the arch entrance. For a moment he hesitated. Then he understood, seeing the tall piper in buckskin appear and plant himself on the top of the arch, still lustily blowing ‘Cock o’ the North.” ‘‘Through and in!” Gaillard shouted. With a victor’s yell the handful of whites, taking the last, long chance of a trap, plunged through the short, bending tunnel. But the scene within told them the fight was practically over. | From below they fired at the figures claw- ing up the cafion walls, not always, alas! distinguishing warrior from squaw. Like slaughtered flies the figures dropped limply to the bottom floor, marksmen picking off as many as they could take time to sight steadily. Those that were left below threw down their weapons, and, cursing, struck at the shrieking squaws. Ringer, dropped on one knee, was steadily firing at the rock-face before him. Over and behind him the piper still skirled de- fiance with a note of fierce, joyous victory, the piper’s face turned inward to where the epilog of battle was being enacted. All at once Ringer gave a grunt, swung his leveled rifle to the left and a little higher. His shot came simultaneously with another from the ridge-top. Simultaneously Yellow Dog spun on his heel and came down into the cajion, his cCOmiclbooks CO