Adventure Magazine Cover, October 10, 1921 — page 81: what you’re looking at

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

The Pathless Trail The tall American’s keen gray eyes roved down the street to the weather-beaten house whose peeling walls once might’ have been blue. He nodded shortly. “Better go down there,” he said. ‘‘Come on, Merry. Tim, stick here and keep an eye on the stuff. And don’t start another war while we’re gone.”’ “Right, cap.” Tim deftly swung his rifle to his right shoulder. “T’ll walk me post in a milit’ry manner, keepin’ always on the alert and observin’ everything that takes place within sight or hearin’, ac- cordin’ to Gin’ral Order Number Two. There won’t be no war unless somebody starts somethin’. Hey there, buddy, would ge smoke a God’s-country cigaret if I give ye one?” ‘Si, grinned the soldier-policeman, all animosity gone. And as the other two men tramped away through the mud they also grinned, looking back at the North and the South American pacing side by side in sentry-go, blowing smoke and conversing like brothers in arms. “Tim likes to remember his general orders, but he’s forgotten Number Five,’ laughed the blond man. “Five? ‘To talk to no one except in line of duty’. Don’t need it here, Merry.” ‘Nope. The entente cordiale is the thing. Here’s hoping nobody makes Tim remember his ‘Gin’ral Order Number Thirteen’ while we're gone.” He of the black hair smiled again as his mate, mimicking Tim’s gruff voice, quoted: ‘“**Gin’ral Order Number Thirteen: In case o’ doubt, bust the other guy quick.’ ”’ CHAPTER II AT SUNDOWN pet the loungers in the street, past others in the doorways, past dogs and goats and children, the pair marched briskly to the faded blue house whence the federal superintendent ruled the town with tropic indolence. There they found a thin, fever- worn, gravely courteous gentleman awaiting them. “Sit, senhores,”’ he urged, with a languid wave of the hand toward chairs. “I am honored by your visit, as is all Remate de Males. In what way can I serve you?” The blond answered. “We have come, sir, both for the pleasure of making your acquaintanee and for a little information. First permit me to introduce my friend Mr. Roderick McKay, late a captain of the United States Army. I am Meredith Knowlton. There is a third mem- ber of our party, Mr. Timothy Ryan, who remained on the river-bank to talk with— er—a soldier of Brazil.” The federal official nodded, a slight smile in his eyes. “We are here ostensibly for exploration,” Knowlton continued candidly, ‘“‘but actually to find a certain man. I think it quite probable that we shall have to do consider- able exploring before finding him.” “Ah,” the other murmured shrewdly. “Tt is a matter of police work, perhaps?” ‘‘No—and yes. The man we seek is not wanted by the law and yet he is. He has committed no crime and so can not be arrested. But the law wants him badly because the settlement of a certain big estate hinges upon the question of whether he is alive or dead. If alive, he is heir to more than a million. If not—the money goes elsewhere.” “Ah,” repeated the official, thoughtfully. “YT might add,’? McKay broke in with a touch of stiffness, of my companions would profit in any way by this man’s death. Quite the contrary.” ‘“‘Ah,”’ reiterated the other, his face clear- ing. ‘You are commissioned, perhaps, to find and produce this man.” ‘“Exactly,’? Knowlton nodded. our own financial standpoint he is worth much more alive than dead. On the other hand, any absolute proof of his death— proof which would stand in a court of law— is worth something also. Our. task is to produce either the man himself or: indis- putable proof that he no longer lives. “The man’s name is David Dawson Rand. If alive, he now is thirty-six years old. Height five feet nine. Weight about one hundred and sixty. Hair dark, though not black. Eyes grayish-green. Chief dis- tinguishing marks are the green eyes, a broken nose—caused by being struck in the face by a baseball—and a patch of snow- white hair the size of a thumb-ball, two inches above the left ear. Accustomed to having his own way, not at all considerate of others. Yet not a bad fellow as men go— merely a man spoiled by too much mother- ing in boyhood and by the fact that he never had to work. This is he.” eS ‘“‘that neither I nor either’ “From Co DOOLK C©