Adventure Magazine Cover, October 1911 — page 90: what you’re looking at

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

1036 McClure wasatype. Grizzied and keen- eyed, forty-eight years old and a native of Montana, he had pounded drills and driven stages in every State in the West and several of the Provinces of Canada. His repertoire of stories, mainly involving his personal activities, transcended anything I have ever heard. If his stories were all true, he was the prince of raconteurs. If they were not true, he can be described fairly well in Eng- lish. Here also we enlisted Fred Lewis, twenty-four years old and a native of Chile, but of German extraction. Lewis spoke four major tongues fluently in addition to several dialects. His other abilities were less noticeable. WE FOUND Cerro de Pasco very full of American snap and vigor and *“S therefore quite a different place from Lima, although probably the altitude accounts for that. Cerro de Pasco is said to be the highest and dirtiest city in the world. It’s altitude is 14,200 feet, while some of the smells are even higher. Every- body in Cerro de Pasco is crazy on the sub- ject of copper; otherwise they are quite sane, and certainly when the ‘‘ Andes Club” from the big smelter over in the valley. gets to touching up the “Mines” slab- artist for two and three cushions at a time on a nice bright day the rooters’ yells that go up differ only in volume from those at the Polo Grounds during a “double- header.” The Cerro de Pasco people were genial and helpful, as the Lima men had been, and here our party shook itself together and more or less crystallized, as the miners put it. We bought our last American cigar- ettes here and had our boots re-soled by an American shoe-maker and went to a dance. Dancing at such an altitude is a matter of very scientific breathing, especially as the genuine Peruvian waltz sometimes lasts over an hour, but it was our last chance, “la ultima suerte,” as my partner smilingly hinted, and we accepted it gladly. Shortly afterward we left for the little mountain town of Ambo on the road to our base at Huanuco, There were various formalities to be gone through at Ambo. A new railroad in Peru is as much a matter of public rejoicing as elsewhere, and Government officials would have to be seen, and there would be a reception of sorts, and the usual bad cog- Adventure nac would be produced only to disappear again. Probably there would be a band. A STOLEN CITY-RECEPTION S WE TURNED the last curve in the mountain road and looked down on the flat-roofed, white-walled houses of Ambo, gleaming like a tract of snow in the luscious green cup of the valley, the sounds which floated up to us through the thin air con- firmed our ideas as to the music. “You see,” I said to Brown, ‘‘there’s our band, sure enough.”’ “Yep,” said he. ‘But it’s going the wrong way. I wonder who all those little ants are, marching along behind.” A few minutes later we clattered into Ambo but paused to ask a question of a linen-trousered cholo who was hurrying toward the plaza. ‘““Haven’t you heard, sefior?” he asked, surprised. ‘‘ Those are the Americanos who are going to build the railroad. Every one is muy alegre. ‘The engineers are very rich and are buying nothing but champagne.” We had not gone far into the town, how- ever, before sharp eyes saw us approaching. There was an excited bustling about and presently a fat official, all eyes and mus- taches, hurried toward us. ‘““A great mistake has been made!”’ he hastened to announce, with mingled effu- siveness and embarrassment. “A most lamentable affair! Certain American per- sons of great assurance entered our town a few moments ago and at once called for music and champagne, saying that they were the gentlemen so long expected. Meanwhile, they have amused themselves by throwing centavos to the muchachos and shooting off their revolvers. When we make speeches to them they do nothing but laugh. I ask you, caballeros, what could we do? What inference could we draw? Music for every one—and champagne? They must be the scientific men—+the engi- neers!” I exchanged looks with Brown and Flem- ing. “It’s Eddie Murphy and his crew of highbinders from the machine-shop off on a vacation!” they muttered disgustedly. “We'd better hurry, or they’ll eat all the pie!” I turned to the perspiring official. ‘‘We are very much annoyed at being placed in so undignified a position,” I said, ‘‘but at CO MICLOOKS CO