Adventure Magazine Cover, October 10, 1921 — page 103: what you’re looking at

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

= ast. The Pathless Trail dropping to Julio. ‘Adios, Julio! The machete is not—so good as the knife— unless one has—room to—swing it o He chuckled hoarsely and sank down. For an instant Knowlton hesitated, his glance going back and forth between McKay and Jose. Swiftly then he ran his finger-tips over McKay’s head. With a murmur of satisfaction he turned from his comrade and hurried to the motionless bowman, over whom Tim now bent. “Bleedin’ to death, looey,” (formed Tim. “Ain’t cut bad excep’ that arm. That flyin’ knife must have got an artery. - Can we pull him through? He’s a good skate.” “T’ll try. You look after cap. He’s only knocked out—bullet creased him.”’ “Glory be! He’s all right, huh? Sure, I'll fix him up. Everybody else dead? I got that guy in the bunk-house—drilled him three times.”’ “Look out for that fellow over there. Maybe I brained him, but I’m not sure.” KNOWLTON was already down on his knees beside Jose, working | fast to loop a tourniquet and stop the flow from the pierced arm. With a handkerchief and his pistol-barrel he shut off the pulsating stream. “Yeah, he’s done,” judged Tim, rising from the man whom Knowlton had downed ‘“Skull’s caved in. What’d ye paste him with?” “Gun. Cursed thing stuck.” “Uh-huh. Them automats are cranky. Say, lookit the mess Hozy made o’ that guy Hooley-o.” Knowlton glanced at Julio and whistled. Jose’s oft-repeated threat to disembowel a refractory member of the crew had at last been literally fulfilled. ‘ But the lieutenant had seen worse sights in the shell-torn trenches of France and now he kept his mind on his work. Wedging the gun to hold the tourniquet tight, he lifted his patient from the red-smeared mud and bore him to the nearest hammock in the crew-quartets. Striding back, he found Tim ton. 93 alternately bathing McKay’s head and giv- ing him brandy. In a moment the captain’s eyes opened. ‘Some bean ye got, cap,” congratulated Tim, vastly relieved at sight of McKay’s gray stare. Here, take another swaller. Attaboy! Hey, looey, we better pack this crease o’ cap’s, huh? She keeps leakin’.”’ “Yep. Dig up the surgical kit. And give Jose a drink. I’ll have to tie his artery too. How do you feel, old chap?” “Dizzy,” McKay confessed. ‘‘What’s happened?” 7 ‘‘Lost our crew,”’ was the laconic answer. “‘All gone West but Jose, and he’s bled white. We'll have to paddle our own canoe now.” For a time after his head was bandaged McKay lay quiet, staring out at the tiny battlefield and at his two mates working silently on the wounded arm of Jose. When they came back he spoke one word. “Schwandorf.” “Yeah! He’s the nigger in the wood-pile, I bet my shirt. But why? What’s his lay, d’ye s’pose?”’ ‘“‘Perhaps Jose knows,” suggested Knowl- “But he’s in no shape to talk now. Let’s see, Schwandorf said he was going to Iquitos?” “Yes. thing.” “Probably not. explain.” There were some things, however, which Jose could not have told if he would, for he did not know them himself. One was that Schwandorf really had gone to Iquitos, where was a radio station. Another was that from that radio station to Puerto Bermudez, thence over the Andes to the coast, address memorized from Knowlton’s note- book, already had gone this message: ’ But that doesn’t mean any- Well, maybe Jose can “McKay expedition killed by Indians. Rand search most dangerous but if empowered I attempt locate him for fifty thousand gold payable on safe delivery Rand at Manaos. Reply soonest possible. Karl Schwandorf.”’ TO BE CONTINUED The 10th, 20th and 30th of the month are now the dates to look for Adventure on the news-stands. DOOLK and northward to a New York “Bullet bounced right off. - C@