Adventure Magazine Cover — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

782 and looked back. Well, the 30-30 is a great gun. We fried venison steaks galore that night and ate them until José, I and the dog resembled Bill Taft. By the way, that starts me to thinking of “‘Martyred Presi- dents.”’ Poor Bill! Everything he does or says is twisted into some kind of serpent by the public print. It is an awful thing to be traduced and vilified “José,” said I, “‘did you ever hear of Bill Taft?” José was not quite sure. “Was hea tall, slim man with a large head?” — “No, he wasa big-in-the-middle and small at both ends.” “No,” José said, “I never heard of him.” “Well,” said I, ‘‘ you are safe then, for you will never traduce him.” José seemed much mystified, but as he made no queries we spread our blankets, and were soon sound asleep. Jan. 7—There were doings last night. About 2 A. M. Little Annie and Bob hobbled into camp in terror-stricken haste, while Purpee tried to bore a hole in the ground under my bed. When I sat up José was peering into the outer darkness, rifle in hand. “What is it, José?”’ I asked. For a time he made no reply, then he said, “T think it is a Tigre.” In vain I looked for the jaguar and two “slowing eyeballs” that I had so often read about. I could see nothing and hear nothing, save the snorting mules, the whim- pers of Purpee, and a distant owl. Presently José said: ‘‘If it is a égre I will soon know.” He now rolled his leather “moral” (pouch) into a horn-like shape and proceeded to blow from it three or four . short, hoarse notes. In a few seconds a response came from a nearby ridge—in the sharp “Hough, hough, hough, huh!” of the male jaguar. No wonder that Bob and Little Annie were alarmed! José now built up a rousing fire, while I persuaded Purpee that he was still alive. He kept shivering arid growling and snuggled up close for the rest of the night. There is something almost human about a dog. oe great rock that jutted out over a tiny spring of clear, cold water. The hill- sides about us were clothed with magnificent forests of live-oak and pine. Between the great trees the grass grew rank and lush. ABOUT noon we camped under a Adventure Now here was an ideal camp, where Boband Annie (barring jaguars) might bray their blessings upon the giving gods. We were now at an altitude (aneroid) of 8,000 feet. From the top of our rock we could see the Coast-lands, miles below us. Ridge, canyon and plain stretched away into the distance, to meet, on the far horizon, the illimitable ocean. As the sun sank, I drank in the glorious beauty of it all and my soul sang a pean of gratitude and love to the Great Master Who fashioned it. Here I was, in the heart of primeval Na- ture. My stomach was full and my rifle true. I had a friend and a dog—and I pitied the poor, mad, money-crazed insects who rushed about in filthy cities. Then in my soul awoke vague atavistic half-memo- ries, inherited from some hairy ancestor. I needed only to exchange my rifle for a club, and José for a cave-lady, to be per- fectly harmonious with my environs. Three thousand years of banal convention fell from me in a trice. I was a male savage, hairy, naked and virile! I would kill a jaguar with my knotted club and drink his blood. I would —— a fool dog, anyhow! Purpee has knocked over the beanpot and scalded his tail—and now com- plains to the night of his sufferings! .. . With the stars came the whispering night- winds and as I lay and smoked and thought, the Sand-Man caught me. Jan. 8—When I woke this morning I found that I had slept in my clothes and hadn’t gone decently to bed. José had thoughtfully covered me with a blanket and had considerately let me he. José im- proves on acquaintance—sometimes. We are now within a mile of his first gold-vein. I pour a libation to the shades of his great ancestor, Ananias. 591 THE gold-vein was not a gold-vein. RSA er VSN) It was simply a large dike impreg- == nated with iron pyrite. Just plain fools’ gold” hidden away in these great mountains. Don Natividad is shy ten dol- lars anda hat. José is crestfallen and pro- pitiatory, while Iam going a-hunting. The game-trails around here all show jaguar tracks, so I will now put José at something that he understands better than mining. There is no use getting huffy at an Indian, so here goes to grease up the guns and kill a deer for a jaguar-bait. This announce- ment brightened up José’s face. He actu- C© MICLOOOKS (©