Adventure Magazine Cover, October 10, 1921 — page 101: what you’re looking at

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

The Pathless Trail Tim’s doubts vanished. The lifting of the head showed the face: the face of Francisco, the face of Murder. In its teeth was clamped a bare knife. Forthwith Tim applied General Order Number Thirteen. 7 In one bound he was outside his net, col- liding with Knowlton, who awoke instantly. In another he was beside the assassin, who, with a lightning grab at the knife in his mouth, had started to spring up. Tim. wasted no time in grappling or clinching. He kicked. His heavy boot, backed by the power of a hundred and ninety pounds of brawn, thudded into the Indian’s chest. Francisco was hurled over sidewise on his _ back. Another kick crashed against his head above the ear. He went limp. “Ye lousy snake!” grated Tim. on yer belly to knife a sleepin’ man, hey? Blast yer rotten heart ‘“‘What’s up?” barked McKay from his hammock. “Night attack, cap. If ye’re comin’ out bring along yer gat. Hey, looey, got yer gun on? Some 0’ these other guys might git gay. They’re comin’ now.’ True enough, the Peruvian gang was jumping from its hut. With another glance at the prostrate Francisco to make sure he was unconscious, Tim whirled to meet them, fist on gun. : “Halt!” he roared. “First guy passin’ this corner-post gits shot. Back up!” The impact of his voice, the menace of his ready gun-hand, the sight of Knowlton and McKay leaping out with pistols drawn, stopped the rush at the designated post. But swift hands dropped, and when they rose again the moonlight glinted on cold steel. “Capitan, what happens here?” de- manded Jose, ominously quiet. : “Knife work,’ McKay replied curtly. “Your man Francisco attempted to creep in and murder Sefior Knowlton. If you and the rest have similar intentions, now’s your time to try. Ifnot, put away those knives.” “Knives! Por Dios, what do you mean?”’ “Look behind you.” Jose looked. At once he snarled curses and commands. Slowly the knives slipped out of sight. The paddlers edged backward to their own shack, leaving their puntero alone. “The capitan has it wrong,” asserted Jose. ‘“‘We awake to find our popero being kicked “Crawlin’ ex). OI in the head. We want to know why. Francisco has done what you say I will deal with him. That I may be sure, allow me to look.” “Very well. Look.” Jose advanced, stooped, studied the ground, the position of Francisco’s body, the knife still clutched in the nerveless hand. Tim growlingly vouchsafed a brief explana- tion of the incident. When Jose straight- ened up his mouth was a hard line and his eyes hot coals. “St. Es cies Tomorrow we shall have a new popero.” With which he stooped again, grasped the prone man by the hair, dragged him into the moonlit space between the huts and flung him down. “Juan, bring water!’ he ordered. One of the paddlers, looking queerly at him, did so. Jose deluged the senseless man. Francisco, reviving, sat up and scowled about him. His eyes rested on the three Americans standing grimly ready, shoulder to shoulder, before their hut; veered to his mates bunched in sinister silence beside their own quarters; shifted again to meet the baleful glare of Jose. His hand stole to his empty sheath. “Your knife, Francisco mio?’ queried Jose, a menacing purr in histone. “T have it. It seems that you are in haste to use it. Too much haste, Francisco. But if you will stand, instead of crawling as before, you may have your knife again—and use it too.”’ ‘Francisco, staring sullenly up, seemed to read in the words more than was evident to the Americans. He lurched to his feet, staggered, caught his balance, braced him- self, stood waiting. “You know who commands here,” went on. “You disobey. in the night Now or later—what is the difference?” “‘—and now the boat is too small for both of us.” Jose ignored the interruption. ‘Here is your knife. Now use it!” He flipped the weapon at the other who caught it deftly. Jose dropped his right hand to his waist. An instant later naked steel licked out at Francisco’s throat. Jose THE steersman’s knife flashed up, caught the reaching blade, blocked it with a scraping clink. For a few seconds the two weapons seemed welded If. You seek to stab. together, their owners each striving to bear ° COnmiclbooks Cc C@