Adventure Magazine Cover — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

24 out of Boston Harbor on the flood, Horton at the helm, Avary in his little cabin, devouring what was to him the gem of all literature. vex, IN THE meanest room of a mean, EN tumbledown house in Bideford, sea- port of Devon, famed as the home and holding of the sea-roving Grenvilles, Avary, known now as Saxby—his name - changed for the third time—sat awaiting the visit of his friend from Bristol, together with certain jewelers of that town. He had sold the sloop. In his pocket was the change from the last of the gold pieces he had received from the deal. His men had dispersed. Horton had declared his in- tention of seeking the king’s pardon. The rest were to follow suit. Over in Providence a thousand pirates had assembled and obtained amnesty. Vane had sailed out under the guns of the king’s frigate. Kidd was still at large. “But,” said Horton wisely, “this was no time for a man to go against the law.” All round the world, from the East India Company—their gains restricted by the sulkiness of the Great Mogul, waiting for the hanging of Avary and for reimbursement for the loss of his dhow—to the colonies of the New World, tired of having their in- fant shipping industry throttled by the descendants of the buccaneers, the hunt was up. Europe was making pact for peace, countries were combining in a league of nations, and robbers on sea and land were being frowned on, fired at, hanged, tarred, hung in chains and made examples of. The exploits of Avary were still fresh. A reward was out for his apprehension. Avary was uncertain when some of his own followers might find themselves stripped of cash and anxious to make the easy Judas- money. Especially since they sought par- doning. He cut a far different figure from the Avary who had walked the poop of The Duke in velvet and brocade, the Avary, drunk with brandy and ambition, who had pistoled his way through the pilgrim-mob of the dhow and shot the eunuchs in the cabin. There his luck had been at zenith. Since then it had suddenly declined. Some- times he thought the ranee had bewitched him; that the jewels he had taken from the woman, the jewels he had hid out from the rest, had given her malign power over him by his acceptance. Adventure There were a cot-bed, two broken chairs and a rude table in the room. No carpet; a rag across the window to shut out the sun. A low chest in one corner; a bottle or two, half empty. There was no fireplace, nothing to mitigate the chill of the late Autumn that bit into his marrow and made the sun a mockery. He took his meals at the inn ordinary. His clothes were snuff-colored, with cotton stockings, a plain fall and stock, a three- cornered hat untrimmed with lace or cock- ade. He looked like a clerk out of em- ployment. He gave out that he had come to Devon for his failing health, having been left a legacy. He walked the room impatiently. From the window he could get a glimpse of the bridge over the Torridge, across which his guests must come. A crown, a florin and some small silver made up his purse. He was sick of living in burrows like a hunted rabbit, sick of indifferent food and wine, of poor-mouth talk. He ached for the fleshpots. In the false bottom of his chest was free- dom. He would get a thousand guineas ad- vance from these jewel merchants and then —to London Town, where a man might live! He stood at the window biting his nails. It was a fortnight since the appointment had been arranged for and he had come to Bide- ford. It had taken tremendous time and patience. His friend—with a big com- mission in view for his own share—would not play him false; but there had been the necessity of getting a lodging, of sending the address to Bristol, waiting for reply. They should have been on hand two days before. But the merchants were cautious. The affair was to be secret. There was alto- gether too much of mystery about the thing, Avary told himself. Meanwhile his-gems were of no more use to him than seashore pebbles. In so small a place as Bideford, if he displayed one of them, tried to use it for barter or to sell it, the news would be taken straight to the Big House where the Grenvilles lorded it. The mayor, the aldermen and burgesses, the recorder, the town clerks, the sergeants-at- mace, a pack of inquisitive fools eying him askance as a stranger whenever he walked the streets, would all gossip. Grenville would hold inquisition. The gems would be kept, recognized as Oriental in cut and setting. GComicbook (C@