Adventure Magazine Cover — page 109: what you’re looking at

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

Pay Gravel country and works the hardest just before or after a thunder-storm. When the light- ning begins to sing I can count on the gulches being clear of the red devils. Going in to see Joey?” “Tt dropped in to see him, but he’s busy——”’ “‘He’s running the private games in there and sitting in a big one. Uses the house for the private games. Perhaps you'd bet- ter wait if you ain’t hunting for a big game. His good nature just now is like a gash-vein, wide on the surface and tapering away to nothing underneath. Every time he gets back from a trip he’s crazy for a killing. If he’d only give this place away and work half as hard panning pay gravel. But by tomorrow afternoon he’ll be ready to pow- wow with you.” “Maybe I’m feeling hungry for a big game,” said Dinsdale. Pyrites darted a quick glance and wrin- kled his weathered face in a grin. “Young blood! Always the same. Ex- citement even if they have to play against their own money. Rather rake in five dollars on a pair of jacks then to locate a bonanza mine. I’mestimating you'll assay out just like him in lots of ways. Well, if you’re keen to be skinned all you got to do is to pass through the door and tell the hall- boy to hand your name and business. I was in there about a minute when Joey ordered me out. I never touch cards. I don’t like taking risks.” “There wouldn’t be any Deadwood City if it wasn’t for a man’s love of risks,” lightly responded Dinsdale. He passed under thé canvas flap and through the narrow door. There was a long hall with several doors on each side. The place was very quiet except for the faint click of chips and the clink of glasses. No voices were to be heard—gold-dust was doing all the talking. As Dinsdale stood irresolute a Chinaman emerged from a door at the end of the hall, carrying a tray of glasses. On discovering Dinsdale he glided forward, his stolid face demanding the intruder’s business. Dinsdale found pencil and paper in his pocket and wrote— “T’m hankering for action.” Signing it he directed the servant to give it to San Juan. The Chinaman entered a room on the left and closed the door behind him. Fully a minute passed—ten to Dinsdale, whose face grew hard as he 103 stood there and waited—then the servant reappeared and beckoned for Dinsdale to approach. cE. .] SAN JUAN JOE and three men DAS ‘ey, were seated at a table. On a small stand. at one side was a pair of scales for weighing dust. A glance told Dinsdale two things: it was a case of tiger eat tiger, for each of the strangers wore the facial brand of the professional gambler; San Juan at the card table was much dif- ferent than the San Juan of the trail and cafion fight. He, like his companions, was an excellent type of the card-man, who hurried to the hills from Omaha, Cheyenne, and Denver, once the gold rush was on. San Juan rose and shook hands coldly. He was no longer the philosophical traveling companion, but an opponent. The hurried pencil scrawl was to him a challenge to a duel. He greeted Dinsdale with a few laconic words, and added— “Your message says you’re gunning for action.” “Feel sort of hungry for it,’ confessed Dinsdale. “We'll try to accommodate you. This is ‘French Curly,’ this is Blitz, this is ‘Big George.’ Gentlemen, this is Pete Dins- dale. You know what he’s after,’ San Juan introduced. Then to Dinsdale— ‘““‘We’re playing a bit stiff’’; and he pulled up a chair for Dinsdale. “It’s the only way,” agreed Dinsdale as he seated himself and briefly studied the impassive faces of the strangers. French Curly held his gaze the longest. The man was dying of consumption and had death written in his sunken cheeks. He was notorious for his malignance and would go to his death and a nameless grave venomous to his last breath: He lived only for the - night and the table. Deprived of cards and his day was done. He sensed the end to be near and was impatient over the delay caused by the introduction. ‘‘What are we playing for?” he asked, his voice scarcely audible; and to show he was in proper form he dropped a heavy bag on the table. Dinsdale drew a thick package of green- backs from an inside pocket, as fresh look- ing as if direct from the Government press, and placed it before him. The quartette flashed their hawk gaze over the unaccus- tomed sight of paper money, and French COmiclbooks (C@