Adventure Magazine Cover — page 40: what you’re looking at

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

604 tries at the opposite ends of their beat, throttled them and, as the surest means of preventing an outcry, cut their throats, which accounted for the gurgling noise I had heard. Then they broke in the door of the sala, and were obliged to make enough noise to arouse the guard. Such are the obligations of a great secret order. As soon as it was day I sailed close in and bombarded the fort where my execu- tion was to have taken place. There was a great helter-skeltering of rum-soaked braves, but some did not get away, and the crum- bling walls buried them. Then we headed for Venezuela after an experience that had paid me only in excitement. Several years later I met General Baez again in Murphy’s Hotel at St. Thomas, but did not see him until he took a good- natured shot at me. The bullet smashed a Adventure pile of dishes on the arm of a waiter ten feet away from me and, from the start he made, possibly he is running yet around the hills back of Charlotte Amalia. At Caracas I found Guzman had been elected President. He was inaugurating public improvements, and induced me to go upon a wonderful journey of explor- ation up the Orinoco through the un- mapped interior of Venezuela. After a six months’ river journey of 2,000 miles, we reached Manaos, Brazil, on the Amazon, that great river and the Orinoco having a common source. From Manaos we sailed to Rio Janeiro and from there to England on the be, commanded by Captain Moir, commander of the Zrent when Mason and Slidell were taken off. On the way I wrote a full report to Guzman, promising to return within a few years. At London I joined Frank Norton to start for the China Sea. (Other Adventures of Captain Boynton will appear in the next number.) The Flies in Amber by Robert Dunn FIRST mentioned this story on the Sourdough beach, to the crowd of us miners that had landed there before the stam- pede. The line of talk we had under way drew it out. We had been arguing about that senti- ment you find in the North—the miner’s hate of any creature with a white skin who lives domestically with an Indian. Lots of such outcasts—squaw-men—fished and traded in the creeks about there, and our oratory was bitter. In a country like Alaska, our hard life along with the Indians’ shiftless ease sometimes makes you think that a struggle is on to see which race will CORMICLO© S (C@