Adventure Magazine Cover — page 171: what you’re looking at

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

They Always Run True to Form craned it to one side to watch the on-com- ing men. The head came into clear day- . light, and instantly the graybeard looked to Bertie. “That’s Rodney, right enough, Bertie,” he quietly called. ‘Wish I could get that partner of mine alive. I don’t care what we do to Tombs.” The old man knelt, and from behind a rock emptied his magazine. Quickly he re- filled it and made ready to fire again. Both men inside the wagons raised up their rifles to fire, and snatched them down again. A scattering volley from the hill behind drove them to cover, and, for a moment, quietness. And in the quietness the Kaffirs by the wagons jumped from behind them and ran unarmed, dodging and crouching to safety in the bush. The graybeard moved once more, a dozen yards or so. Once more he found a shelter- ing rock and sent a warning; then pushed on again, cautiously, carefully. E; Rodney, in the wagon, opened out more recklessly. A head dodging away struck on his sight and instantly he fired—fired at the place it had dodged, fired at the tree— fired as one crazy, till his rifle clicked on nothing. Nervously he held the rifle aside and ripped away a clip of cartridges and made to put it in. A bullet shivered the rifle butt and jarred his trembling hand— jarred it and made him wince. Wincing he squealed, and, squealing, dropped both rifle and cartridges. Then he rose bolt upright and for one single second stood stock still. His grizzled, sun-lined face went gray. For.a second he stood and looked, and, looking, looked at~ nothing. Then Rodney turned and, leap- ing from the back of the wagon, seized the first horse he came to and madly tore away. And as he tore through bush and scrub the other graybeard, heedless of whining bullets whizzing round, raced up the hill and, mounting, bounded after him. Tombs’ head and shoulders in the other wagon rose once more. A bullet whizzed past Bertie’s ear. Ner- vously Bertie dodged, then, grinning child- ishly, splashed a bullet on a wagon wheel. “Zing! Zing! Zingl” Then from the hill behind a scattering, sputtering volley. And Bertie fired again—fired and dodged closer and closer in. A dozen yards and ~ 165 then an open space and one quick rush. Uncertainly Bertie turned his head toward the hill. Not one small sign of life was visi- ble, yet from the innocent bush came a pop- ping threat of death. . Bertie’s “eyes came back. Inside the wagon, calm behind the seat, was the huge Tombs. His rifle, firm against his shoul- der, pointed direct and true to Bertie’s chest. A hard face smiled. Limply Bertie fell and rolled behind a rock. “Aough! Aough!” Up over the tailboard of the wagon a frantic, howling creature leaped—clear through the wagon a streak of living ——. A lithe, sunburned, mouthing animal, with murder in its soul. The huge Tombs turned his head—and that was all. With one mad bound the thing’s whole weight came on him, its long nails deep into his neck. One arm gripped his waist. Just as a toy the mad thing picked him up—lifted him clear, and twisted round; then threw itself and him clear out and on to the ground. The huge man attempted to squeal. The talons tore his skin and stopped the rising shriek. Then with that strength few men know they have the mad thing turned Tombs over, knelt on him, and sprawled his legs around and held him as in a vise. And laughed! The huge man tried to hove The _grip- ping hand on throat squeezed till his breath stopped short. Wildly the huge Tombs strained to move the grip. Clawed, hit, and scratched. The wild thing might "have been of steel for all the effect it had. A hand came up to the huge man’s eyes and made to gouge at them. Shouting, Bertie dashed from behind his tree and yelled at the mad thing to stop. The mad thing laughed! Its teeth crashed into the throat. Like a dog shaking a rat it shook it and growled. Shook it until it lay quite still. High in the wagon a hidden slender figure rose and stepped across the seat. A figure in breeches and top-boots, in light-gray coat and wide, gray, soft, felt hat. The figure gained the ground and stood beside the quivering man. Silently, calmly it looked on. The mad thing loosed its grip, rose up and yelled. Its head went back, its face toward the sky. 7 IOOKS (ECO AMINE (E@)