Adventure Magazine Cover — page 138: what you’re looking at

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

132 limp as a dead eel, and the great big tuna sank with her, stunned or brained also. The male sawfish rushed upward, jerking himself along at unexpected velocity with lashing tail and lashing saw, raging past all reason that he had lost, in the instant that he had found, his love. One tuna he cut down in mid-career, struggling maniacally. Another, passing like a meteorite, he spun clean round in midrush by the simple force of one sidewise saw stroke; and one, two, three tuna, charging straight ahead out of the inky gloom with a twenty-foot squid ahead of them, had no time to see, and less to avoid, that lashing, slashing shark bulk. He felt their teeth driven right into him- self as they arrived open-mouthed, unable— or were they able?—to stop themselves, and his eyes, beastly enough at any time, turned horribly clean inward at the impact. He felt the squid flying helplessly and wire-like all about him, and—he felt no more. He _sank like a log—stunned. Adventure . When next he came to his senses it was but to die. He was aware dimly of a boiling vortex about him, and the vortex was of ravenous, ravening, struggling, starving sharks and dogfish, tearing, like a pack of wolves smitten all together with hydro- phobia, or something. At what? Dimly his deadened, sodden, slow brain realized - the pain, and the question was answered. They were tearing at him! Insanely, stupendously, awfully he rose up in his last leviathan death flurry, and smote at them, hip and thigh, right and left, leaped into the swishing pack of insensate ghouls; and one fell, two floated down, a third sank struggling on its side, broken utterly. Then he drifted over backward—dead. And—and the third ghoul he had struck down, the one lying on its side struggling, was the female sawfish, which had only been stunned by collision with the tuna,and which was, or seemed to be,-one of the delirious, devilish mob attacking his helpless body. ‘Heigh-ho! WHITE BUFFALO by Frank H. Huston aa tN THE wide range of Indian iw) mythology, as concerns the a} plains tribes, the white buffalo is probably more often en- countered than any other animal. Medicine- men, dreamers, and the ubiquitous camp story-teller alike, have based their myths and tales upon what, though very rare, yet actually did exist. It was in all else like any other buffalo, its coat of a whitish brown. The last one seen, of which any authentic information is had, was in the vicinity of Fort Keough,- Montana, about 1879, or 1880. Credited with the faculty of transforming itself into some other shape, a white hawk, a-gray fox, or, more commonly and of greater popularity, into the form of a beautiful woman, possessed of supernatural powers, with a propensity to confer benefits and good fortune upon those fortunate enough to be favored with its visit. Held as an object of veneration, as a sacred and “‘great medicine,” a benefactor to the tribes, it was immune to the fate that befell all other animals. An authentic ac- count of its killing by an Indian can not be found, although an occasional iconoclastic white man would have a hide in his pos- session. One of the best and most popular stories in relation to its first appearance, and its miraculous powers, was related to the writer at his camp near Cheyenne, Wy- oming, at the time of the “big pow-wow’”’ in 1881 or 1882, by an old friend and comrade, Watan Gaa—The Black Coyote—an Arap- aho, and is here given in practically his own words. It was in the “long ago,” Ta Sunka, many, many years before the Sioux had ponies, many generations before the whites crossed the salt waters, the old men called two young men, made them “wolves,” or scouts, and sent them from the camp to search for buffalo. They rambled around and one day, in their wanderings, espied a beautiful young maiden, more fair to look upon than any (E(9) | (EOLA OOO KS