Adventure Magazine Cover — page 73: what you’re looking at

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

The Bullet and the Blast Stones and pieces of rock hurtled through the air and crished and thwacked their way among the trees; and among the trunks of the latter, on the farther side of the right of way, Dalton fancied that he saw a human shadow pass. He hurried at once toward the rock cut. Through a dun pall of vapor and rock-dust he saw the form of the pedler lying prone on the ground. The man was dead. Even a cursory glance was sufficient to establish that fact. One red gash that extended from the bridge of the nose to the top of the skull was sufficient to have caused death. But Dalton was far from satisfied. He turned the body over and examined it closely. What he saw appeared to furnish the in- formation he desired; especially when, from the rotten wood of a tree-stump close by, he picked a half-imbedded object that he put carefully away in his pocket. A blood-stained wallet containing several hun- dred dollars in Canadian bank-notes was his next find. These also he pocketed. Strong alcoholic fumes emanated_from the corpse and Dalton found fragments of a broken flask in one of the pockets. “Hands up, you Dalton’s hands went obediently into the air. He understood instinctively that to have ignored this command would have meant death. Intent upon his examination of the pedler’s body he had not noted the quiet approach of the foreman of the rock cut who now, revolver in hand, had come up from the excavation and was facing him. The pall of vapor and rock-dust that had at first enveloped the scene had now been dis- sipated by the breeze; and, the obstructing hill crest having been obliterated by the blast, Dalton and his movements had been clearly observable from the cut below. ‘So that’s the ‘business you got farther up’, eh?” said the foreman with a sneer. The members of his gang came running along behind him. Some looked stolidly upon the body of the pedler and stood indifferent. Others, reflecting the attitude of their foreman, glowered at Dalton. The superstitious Russians turned immediately toward the East and crossed themselves devoutly, mumbling prayers. Some of the bolder and more materialistic spirits, scent- ing plunder, ghoulishly proceeded to open the dead man’s pack. “What did you git off’n that feller, and how’s it come he got hit by the blast?” 67 demanded the foreman suspiciously, shov- ing his gun into Dalton’s ribs. Dalton merely smiled, but it was a smile that was somehow vaguely disconcerting to the foreman. This stranger in the dirty khaki overalls, who had been sur- prized in the very act of rifling the dead pedler’s pockets and who now, with his hands held high in the air, was in front of the muzzle of the foreman’s gun—this nervy stranger was actually looking at the foreman with a calm smile of contempt. The foreman, considerably nettled, put a wary hand into Dalton’s side pocket and withdrew the late pedler’s wallet. Cupidity shone in his eyes as, from its size and weight, he estimated its value. The foreman trans- ferred the wallet to his own pocket. “Open my coat. I’ve a gun there. You’d better get that,” advised Dalton with a quiet laugh. ‘‘You’re a real artist at this game. The poor pedler was only an understudy.” The mystified foreman, to hide his niis- givings, resorted to bluster. Roughly he pulled open Dalton’s coat and the butt of the automatic came to view. The fore- man did not offer to take it. There was something about the manner of Dalton that suggested a strong, well-disciplined mechanism that might do sudden and as- tonishing things. ‘You dare not take my gun, very evenly and quietly. The foreman tried to meet Dalton’s gaze, but his own eyes dropped miserably. Dalton deliberately dropped his hands to his sides. He opened his coat. “Look at my holster,” he commanded. The foreman looked as directed and be- held a certain well-known emblem that ” said Dalton, bore the Royal Canadian coat-of-arms. His bellicose jaw dropped and a frightened look sprang into his eyes. Sheepishly he put away his revolver and returned to Dalton the wallet of money. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” he mumbled shame-facedly. “I don’t make it a point to take all comers into my confidence,”’ replied Dalton drily. ‘Moreover, when ignoramuses like you carry pistols they are liable to go off through accident’ or nervousness, so I thought it better to put my hands up at the start to humor you,” he added. The foreman winced. “Stop that!” called Dalton with a sternly © COMMICLooKs (E@)