Adventure Magazine Cover — page 116: what you’re looking at

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

IIo ‘can’t nohow last another ten minutes. So I sticks my toe into your gullet nice an’ easy, figgerin’ it acts as a gag an’ that there- after you’ll be compelled to take your share of ozone through your nose. ‘“‘An’ how does you reward my solicitude? You clamps down on to that digit an’ holds on like a snappin’-turtle on to a hunk of raw liver! How’m I goin’ to travel to- morrow?” “Lemme see that toe,” the Swede de- mands. “ ’Tain’t hardly nothin’,” he an- nounces after finishin’ his inspection. ‘“‘She’s cut pretty deep on top; but bein’ tougher on the bottom side, she’s only jes’ bit into. Also, I learns from this incident that my lower teeth ain’t sharp no more. They’re wearin’ out.” With that he fills a pan with water, helps himself- to some carbolic he finds on the shelf an’ proceeds to wash out an’ dress his buddy’s injury, careful an’ efficient as a trained nurse. An’ then, ’cause the pain won’t let Michael Joseph sleep no more, them two mutts plays casino till breakfast time! Maybe I ought to detained ’em a day or two until Michael’s hurt gets healed some. But when they gets ready to hit the trail, right after breakfast, I help ’em get their packs in shape. An’ I ain’t ashamed of it. I’m glad! Jes’ before they starts out the Swede shakes hands an’ says: “Tom, we’re goin’ on into Forty-Mile, an’ we’re aimin’ to lay us in a outfit. It’s a long time till snow, but we’re outfittin’ now. Don’t you go away from here. You're goin’ to hear from us pronto. So long.” “You sure are,” the Irishman confirms. “You're goin’ to get news from us in a mighty few days, or sooner. You stay right here till you get word. So long,”: he says, likewise givin’ me a grip. Then they mosey down the trail, Ole in the lead, with Michael Joseph limpin’ along after, slow an’ careful, leavin’ me to wonder what in name of smoke they’re goin’ to send me word about. Why couldn’t they tell me now, before they done left? wa RIGHT across from my cabin I got ps a claim staked out on a bench. She prospects a little better’n fair; but I can’t work her except in Winter-time, after she freezes to bedrock. So I’m jes’ layin’ around, waitin’ for frost, so’s I can burn a Adventure shaft down an’ take out a Winter dump. Bein’ idle that way, time passes mighty slow. -Likewise the hints dropped by my recent visitors adds about sixty minutes to every hour. Inside of three days I’m so het up with speculatin’ over the meanin’ of their promise that I’m about to start for Forty-Mile an’ find out whatever. Then I hear from ’em. A Injun boy arrives at my wickiup late that night with a note. I’ve always kept her. Here she is. Deer tom come on in with barer. Me an ole is reddy. Michael an ole. p.S. We takin’ you along cause us three get along so good. feed the barer, right away. Michael an ole. Can you beat that? The sublime conceit of them galoots is sure beautiful to con- template. Them prattlin’ babes imagines that they’re gettin’ alone fine together an’ that their constant janglin’ is nothin’ more’n the outward token of a real under- standin’. At that, maybe they’re right. Who knows? But one thing is sure an’ beyond argu- ment. They’re maybe loco as regards their dealin’s with each other, personal; but when they’re talkin’ business, as this note in- sinuates, they’re plumb wide awake an’ sensible. They’ve got a ace or two hid away somewhere, an’ they figger it’s about time to bring ’em into play. I knows ’em well enough to be certain of that much. The next mornin’ I nail up my teepee an’ hit the trail, followin’ the Injun. We make Forty-Mile late that night. The followin’ mornin’ I mosey over to the store, casual. Jes’ as I figger, there they are. ‘They’re settin’ on opposite counters—fussin’. Both of ’em sees me as I came in; but they don’t pay me no more mind than if I was a malemiut dog. ‘““You’re bughouse!”’ the Swede is screech- in’. “You ain’t got sense enough to pound sand down a straight hole! Even them two- by-four intellects of your’n oughta be able to figger out that plug has got more juice into it than finecut!”’ “Listen,” Michael orders. ‘The total circumference around the inside of your head is considerable less’n a eighth of a inch. At that, there’s so much waste space I can hear your peanut brain sloshin’ around AME NXOOLES (EO)