Adventure Magazine Cover, October 10, 1921 — page 102: what you’re looking at

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

Q2 down the other’s wrist. Then they parted as the combatants sprang back. Jose sidestepped twice to his right. Fran- cisco, turning to preserve his guard, now had the light full in his face. But the moon rode so high that the steersman’s disad- vantage was negligible, and the next assault of the puntero was blocked as before. And this time the wrist of the popero proved a bit the better. He threw the attacking steel aside and struck in a slashing sweep at his antagonist’s stomach. A convulsive inward movement of the - bowman’s middle, coupled with a swift back-step, made the slash miss by a hair’s breadth. With the quickness of light Jose was in again. His knife-hand, still out- stretched, turned and streaked sidewise, stopped with a light smack of flesh on flesh. Then it jerked outward. His steel now was red to the hilt. One more rapid step back, a keen glance at his opponent, and Jose stood at ease. From Francisco burst a bubbling groan. He staggered. His knife dropped. His hands rose fumblingly toward his neck. Suddenly his knees gave way and he toppled backward to the ground. The silvery moon- light disclosed a dark flood welling from his severed jugular. With the utmost coolness Jose ran two fingers down his wet blade, snapped the fingers in air, and spoke to his crew. ‘“‘As I said, we shall have a new popero. Tomorrow, Julio, you will take the plat- form.” A rumble ran among the men. Their eyes lifted from Francisco to the Americans, and in them shone a wolfish gleam. The bowman turned sharply and faced them. ‘‘Who growls?” he rasped. “You, Julio?” “Si, yo soy,” Julio answered harshly, fingering his knife. “I will be steersman, but I steer down-stream, not up. Francisco spoke truth. Now or later—what is the difference? Let it be now!” A louder growl from the others followed his words. One. stepped back into the shadow of the hut. ‘“Perros amarillos! Yellow dogs! You go up-stream, fools! T he Americans must be taken— i A raucous sneer fon Julio interrupted him. Simultaneously the paddler’s hand leaped upward, poising a knife. “The gringos stay here—and you too, you Yanqui cur!” Adventure The poised knife hissed through the air at Jose. Out from the crew-house shot a streak of fire and a smashing rifle-report. Jose dodged, staggered, screeched in feline fury, the knife buried in his left arm. McKay grunted suddenly, fell, lay still. Se yelled Tim. “Cap’s gone! Clean em, looey!”’ With the words he leaped aside and pulled his pistol, just as another rifle-flare stabbed out from the other hut and a bullet whisked through the space where he had stood. An instant later he was pouring a stream of lead at the spot whence the burning powder had leaped. Knives flashing, teeth gleaming, the other paddlers charged across the ten-foot space between the huts. Jose, his left arm helpless but his deadly right hand still gripping his knife, hurled himself on Julio, who had seized a machete from somewhere. Knowlton slammed a bullet between the eyes of the foremost boga, who pitched head- long. He swung the muzzle to the other man’s chest—yanked at the trigger—got no response. The gun was jammed. With a triumphant snarl the blood-crazed Peruvian closed in, slashing for the throat. Knowlton slipped aside, evaded the thrust, swung the pistol down hard on his assail- ant’s head. The man reeled, thrust again blindly, missed. Knowlton crashed his dumb gun down again. It struck fair on the temple. The man collapsed. Tim was charging across the open at the crew-house. Jose and Julio were locked in a death-grapple. No other living man, except Knowlton, still stood upright. Stoop- ing, he peered into the red-dyed face of McKay. Then he laid a hand on the cap- tain’s chest. Faint but regular, he felt the heart beating. “Thank God!” he breathed. With.a wary eye on the battling Peruvians he swiftly raised the captain and put him into Tim’s hammock. As he turned back to the fight Tim emerged from the other hut carrying a body, which he dropped and swiftly inspected. At the same moment the fight of Jose and Julio ended. With a choked scream Julio dropped, writhed, doubled up. Then he lay still. Jose, his face ghastly, stared around him. His mouth stretched in a terrible smile. “So this ends it,” he croaked, his gaze cComicoooks C@