Adventure Magazine Cover — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

IO fell, unconscious. Bullets whined above the roar of the wind. One of the riders swung down and cut a connecting rope between wagons, and with a yelp of triumph the men rode into the enclosure, cutting loose and stampeding the horses. Out of the dust cloud loomed a rider, swinging a rope-end at a frightened horse. From the billowing top of a wagon came the snap of a gun, and the rider went down, clutching at the air. —Two more men seemed to ride over him, straight for the wagon, emptying their guns into the swelling canvas as they whirled past. A riderless horse crashed into a wagon and went down. Suddenly the storm broke in its fury, blotting out the world. A tiny light seemed to glow for an instant, as some of the camp- fire blew into a canvas wagon-cover. Sud- denly it broke into a huge flame, as the gale caught it, and the snapping canvas seemed fairly to explode, stripping the bows like a flash and whirling away like a meteor. A sheet of rain seemed to hurl itself at the desert, as if dashed angrily from a giant pot—a crashing downpour, a deluge. Came a blinding flash of lightning, a deafening crash of thunder—silence. The storm was over. In a dripping wagon, the top of which had been burned away, crouching against the front end of the box, was the brown-haired girl, terrified beyond words. Under that wagon crouched Dr. Weston, groping blind- ly for an answer to the questions which seethed in his brain. He knew that he was alive, but the world seemed a vast, dripping void. Just outside the wagon wheels lay Rance Williams, his old, seamed face toward the sky, a pistol clutched in his right hand. The gun was cocked, one chamber still loaded. He had done his best, but the odds were in favor of Leeds. ip signs and knew that the open desert would be no place to face it; so when the whirl of wind, sand and rain arrived, he was safely ensconced in a sheltered spot. The deluge of rain cascaded past him, swishing angrily from the protecting cliff. He had no idea that Leeds’ men had visited the Poplar Springs camp. Skeeter had barely left the Panhandle Saloon, when five of the men had ridden into town. III SKEETER BILL read the storm retreat. Adventure Mears, the one-eyed outlaw, sent them to Leeds, and the six of them had ridden out just ahead of Skeeter. Leeds had also issued an order against Skeeter Bill and judge Tareyton, but the outlaws thought more of gain than of set- tling Leeds’ personal quarrels; so they pro- ceeded to relegate the Skeeter Bill business to some future date. Skeeter Bill watched the storm volley down across the desert and then rode away from the cliff and back to the road. The deep ruts were gone—wiped out by the whirling sands, and nothing was left of the road to mark the highway to Sunbeam. Velvet blackness followed the storm, but the clouds soon broke and a pale, early moon shed a ghostlv light over the desert. The Dancin’ Jaspers, the gargoyles of the desert, weird in the blue haze, danced their ghostly measures, beckoning with their gnarled, agonized-like branches, throwing out long shadows, which advanced and re- treated, giving one the illusion that the moon also danced. But Skeeter Bill paid no attention to the illusions of nature as he rode steadily toward the Poplar Springs. He planned nothing in advance, trusting to circumstances and swift action to com- plete his business. Perhaps he could worm his way to the horses, cut them loose and stampede them into the open, where he could round them up and drive them miles away to a little pole corral. Perhaps the wagon-train would be well guarded and drive him away, but Skeeter knew that, in case he was defeated in his purpose, it would put the train on its guard, which would also prevent Leeds’ men from surprizing them. Skeeter had made up his mind that in case he was discovered he would merely He had no desire to take the horses by force. He was a dead shot, but knew that one man, no matter how deadly with a gun, was no match for half a dozen men, who were on their guard. Then Skeeter saw the wagons. There was no flicker of camp-fires, but Skeeter at- tributed this to the storm. Perhaps, he thought, they had made supper before the storm came. He secured his horse to a mesquite and went on cautiously on foot. He found the rope link between two of the wagons, and cut it. He listened closely, but could hear no voices, (C@ DOOK S (©