Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 146: what you’re looking at

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

144 offhand like and never imposed any oaths of secrecy on me, but I tell you straight I didn’t articulate an artless sound. Still, the word’s come out of nowhere as it always does, rising like the mist in the valley or falling like a feather in the air. I didn’t know where the exodus was headed until I came to Montana, and then I remembered about your claim. Now if I were in your moccasins, boys, I’d be smoke-tanning it down to look after that claim. Casino Charlie, Ante Baker, Gunboat Kane and a lot more slippery customers from Dawson City are in on the stampede.” “By thunder, then that’s what we will be doin’ inside ten sizzlin’ seconds!’ declared Bassett. ‘And we got to leave the moose till later. Here, Burge, lay the empty shell on him when you go by as a symbol of pos- session. Our dog-team’s down in yon gulch below.” “All right,’’ promised Burge, taking the shell and waving them good-luck as they rushed off for the gulch, “‘I’ll tag him for you. There’s nothing else I can do for you? The new Gold Commissioner and Captain Constantine are up on Eureka straighten- ing out some claim disputes. If you think there’s any chance of a mix-up on Montana, Tl send them down.” ‘“‘Whor” demanded Sark, whirling and running sidewise in his stride. ‘“Tom Faw- cett and Cap. Constantine? They’re on Eureka, eh? Well, I’ll tell you what, Burge! You dress and quarter that moose for us and hoist the meat into a tree with the dogs. We'll be down on Montana before you get done. If there’s any mix-up over our claim, I’ll fire five shots. You answer with two if you, get me.” OUT of the gulch wherein they had secreted their dog-team during the stalk of the moose, Sark and Bassett a haled the five big MacKenzie River huskies and dashed down-river. They traveled at top speed, and the snow-smoke of their go- ing hung in the air for one hundred yards behind them as they switched up Montana, which flowed into Indian River on the left limit. There was a scene of a vast activity. From source to mouth the creek limits were fully staked. Back on the bench grounds and hill-tops men were pacing, on the forlorn hope of the pay extending that far, while on the creek-ice itself stood many disappointed Adventure groups who had not been graced with even this forlorn chance—men who were out of it and knew they were out of it and who extended each other sympathy and the gossip of Montana’s miles. ‘“‘What’s chasing you?” these asked as the plunging outfit of Sark and Bassett lum- bered up. ‘‘You’re too late to get in.” ““We’re already in,” Tom retorted, ‘‘and we’re only lookin’ for our claim. Previous location, you geezers!”’ “Oh! Previous location, eh? That’s it? Well, if you want to know, everybody on this creek’s been mighty previous in loca- tion, and you'll do blame well if you find your claim in the shuffle. We'll just go along and see you do it.” In a solid gang that momentarily in- creased in size the crowd followed Sark and Bassett. In cases of this kind there was generally something to be seen, and the crowd knew Tom and Eric as men prone to impose their will in retention of their rights. Straight up the creek the partners tore till they came to an out-thrusting bluff which projected creekwards like a spur from the ridge behind the bench ground. “The lower boundary of our claim was fifteen hundred feet from the base of that bluff,” spoke Bassett. “TI measured it ac- curately, because there wasn’t no other way to fix its location. Eric, you pace her off. But pace it on the ice. Ginks with fresh- drove stakes don’t take kindly to anybody meanderin’ over their holdin’s.” Carefully, and using a uniform stride, Sark paced five hundred steps. Behind him moved the dog-team and behind the dog- team moved the scores of onlookers, each pacing for his private satisfaction the stated distance from the bluff. “Fifteen hundred!’ announced Sark, scraping a mark in the snow with his moc- casined toe. “Right you are,” corroborated many of the crowd. “Yes, sir, you’ve hit it,’’ declared Bassett. “TI remember a leetle alder near the lower center stake. Yonder she is. Now who’s the brazen, beggar pretendin’ to blaze a base-line we’ve already blazed?” ‘Casino Charlie, or I’m a soused Siwash!”’ exclaimed Sark. “Precisely,” grinned Casino. ‘Surprised to see me? You might know when a stam- pede starts from Dawson that I’d be in the van. You boys get staked yet?” CoOMmichoooks CO