Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 112: what you’re looking at

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

IIo cook’s back, seized the slack of his trousers and upended him. The cook’s hold was broken, and again his head collided violent- ly with the ground. He fell in a huddle, but arose instantly, his stubborn spirit unshaken. Now he did not rush. He approached the puncher warily. Swaying on his high heels Loudon waited. | Suddenly, with a pantherlike leap, he flung himself forward, drove both arms beneath those of the cook and clipped him ~ round the body. ‘The cook strove for a strangle-hold, but Loudon forestalled the attempt by hooking his chin over his op- ponent’s shoulder. Legs apart, Loudon lifted and squeezed. Gradually, as London put forth all his great strength, the breath of the cook was -expelled from his cracking chest in gasps and wheezes. His muscles relaxed, his face became distorted, empurpled. Loudon released his grip. The cook fell limply and lay on his back, arms outspread, his crushed lungs fighting for air. In the struggle his shirt had been ripped across, and now his chest and one shoulder were exposed. Loudon, gazing down at the prostrate man, started slightly, then stooped and looked more closely at the broad triangle of breast. Abruptly Loudon turned away and re- sumed his seat on the bench. After a time the cook rolled over, staggered to his feet and reeled into the bunk-house without a word. No one commented on the wrestling- match. Swing Tunstall started a cheerful reminiscence of his last trip to the Bend. Laguerre rose and passed silently round the corner of the bunk-house. Loudon, chin on hand, stared off into the distance. Suddenly, within the bunk-house, there was the thump of feet followed in quick succession by a thud and a grunt. Out through the doorway the cook tumbled headlong, fell flat, and lay motionless, his nose in the dirt, his boot-toes on the door- sill. One outflung hand still clutched the butt of a six-shooter. From a gash on the back of his head the blood oozed slowly. Issued then Laguerre from the doorway. The half-breed was in his stocking-feet. He wrenched the gun from the cook’s fingers, stuffed the weapon into the waist- band of his trousers, and squatted down on his heels, Adventure None of the onlookers had moved. Gravely they regarded Laguerre and the cook. Loudon realized that he had nar- rowly escaped being shot in the back. A farce had developed into melodrama. At this juncture Doubleday strolled leisurely out of the office. At sight of the fallen man and the serious group at the bunkhouse he quickened his steps. “Who done it?” demanded Doubleday severely, for he believed the cook to be dead. “I heet heem on de head wit’ my gun,” explained Laguerre. ‘‘Loudon she t’row de cook. De cook she geet varree mad un go een de bunk-house. I t’ink mabbeso she do somethin’ un I go roun’ de bunk-house, tak’ off my boots, un crawl een de side window. De cook she was jus’ run for door wit’ hees gun een hees han’. I stop heem.”’ Complacently Laguerre gazed upon the still unconscious cook. “The kyote!” exclaimed Doubleday. “‘That’s what comes o’ not havin’ any sense o’ humor! his soul! Now I got to ve him. Trouble! Trouble! Nothin’ ut———_"" The discouraged foreman slumped down beside Loudon and rolled a cigarette with vicious energy. Some ten minutes later the cook stirred, rolled over and sat up. He stared with dull eyes at the men on the bench. Stupid- ly he fingered the cut at the back of his head. As deadened senses revived and memory returned, his back stiffened, and defiance blazed up in his eyes. ‘‘Telescope,”’ said Loudon, “‘I’d take it as a favor if ye’d give him his gun—an’ his cartridges.”’ The cook lost his defiant look when the half-breed complied with Loudon’s request. Helplessly he eyed the gun a moment, then, struck with a bright idea, he waggled his right wrist and grimaced as if with pain. Gingerly he rubbed the wrist-bone. ‘“‘Sprained my wrist,” he stated brazenly. “Can’t shoot with my left hand nohow. If I could, I’d sure enjoy finishin’ up. of a note this is! I start for to shoot it out with a gent, an’ one o’ you sports whangs me over the head an’ lays me out. I’d admire to know which one o’ ye done it.” “T done eet,’ Laguerre informed him, his white teeth flashing under his black mustache. CoOMmichoooks (©