Adventure Magazine Cover — page 101: what you’re looking at

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

Lost Diggings “Turn in then; for I start early. Where’s your horse?” ‘Round somewhere. when [ first got in here. to the creek.” Hale rolled up in his blanket, keeping his belt guns with him. The miner said— ‘““You’ve forgot to hobble your mare.” “Can’t drive her from me. - She’ll go to the creek for a drink and then come back. That young lady knows more’n most women, I reckon.” Turned him loose Probably down { THE miracle of the morning was well under way when they rolled from their blankets. The night had been cold and the dawn was chilly. The miner, weakened by his recent debauch, was glad to sit by the fire, his blankets wrapped about him. Hale fried hardtack with the bacon, and boiled coffee. What might have been depressing in Winter, or have remained concealed in broad daylight, was once more revealed. The mountains to the north and northwest were within pistol-shot. The distant Salmon River and Bitter Root Mountains seemed to be close at hand, every ramification of their far flung slopes being clearly visible. The miner did not raise his gaze from the ground, and once Hale had wiped the smoke from his eyes he desired only to be away with this, the first light. The mare was eager for the road, too; she had stood over him when he awoke. “You squat there and watch the bacon. T’ll fetch up your horse,” Hale volunteered. “Hate to be waited on, but there’s ice in my bones this morning,’ mumbled Lucky Tom. ‘And my boots are so busted out they hurt me to travel. I’ve put off buying a new pair for a year, but now I’ve come to it, I reckon.” Hale started for the creek but thought he heard a horse wandering about near the road and turned back in that direction. He broke through the thicket just as the Boise City stage coach rolled by. Sleepy eyes opened wide on glimpsing the tall figure belted with the long revolvers. De- ciding it was the approach of the coach that had deceived him he re-entered the thicket and in a detour made for the creek. He soon found the miner’s horse. He re- moved the hobbles and had sprung onto the animal’s back when two gunshots shattered the quiet of the morning. For a moment OI he remained rigid, then pulled his guns and galloped back to the camp. He thought he heard the clumping of hoofs in the road but could not be positive. The bacon was sizzling in the pan. The coffee was boiling on the coals. Lucky Tom still sat by the fire, his head bowed on his chest. The mare stood half con- cealed among the bushes, her ears pricked forward in greeting to her master. Hale ran to the miner and placed a hand on his shoulder. Lucky Tom lifted his head and settled back against the strong arm and muttered: “Bang! Bang! Felt like a giant had grabbed me and was shaking the liver out of me. I’m going to cash in.” “No, no,” cried Hale, his face ghastly with the horror of it. “I don’t believe you've been hit. Who were they, how many, where did they go?” “Don’t know. Didn’t see ’em. Prospect round my back and you’ll find color. Open my pack and git paper and pencil. Move spry-like.” He would have toppled into the fire had not Hale caught him and eased him to the ground. Hale tore open the hickory shirt and found a gaping wound, one which only a ball of large caliber could have made. He believed the assassins had used a buffalo-gun. There was a red welt across the top of the shoulder where another bullet had sped. He had been shot from behind, and Hale’s experience with such wounds warned him the man had but a short time to live. He had seen Indians make remarkable recovery from wounds that must have been fatal to white men, but even an Indian could not survive this gruesome hurt. ‘The paper,’’ murmured the miner. Hale took a pad of paper and pencil from the shabby pack, Lucky Tom grinned on beholding them and explained: “Fool notion of mine. Took ’em to the gulch so’s I could draw picters when I felt lonely. Boost me up and let me lean against you.” “You’d better keep quiet.” “Don’t bully a dead man. Up with me.” Hale dropped beside him and lifted him and supported him with arms and shoulder. The miner scrawled laboriously, his tongue thrust into the corner. of his mouth much like a school-boy writing his first exercise, “Tear it off. Keep it,’ he whispered, COMmicaooa S Co in