Adventure Magazine Cover, April 1916 — page 97: what you’re looking at

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

Dory-Mates some in his sou’wester ahd forced the frozen moisture between Anderson’s swollen lips. Even while he was engaged in this act of kindness, Anderson had the dory-knife hidden underneath his body and seriously contemplated an effort to stab the man who was trying to alleviate his sufferings. He lacked the energy, however, to make the effort then, and decided to wait until dark. The little water that Collins had collected for him in the short squalls of snow and sleet refreshed him a little and made him feel better, but his head throbbed and his tongue was so swollen that he was un- able to talk. Collins himself was beginning to feel the lack of water, but while his dory- mate lay in the stern, he busied himself bailing out the boat and tending the drogue- line. Smoking made him feel thirstier, so he threw his pipe and tobacco overboard. When the night shut down again, the gale showed signs of breaking up. The wind quieted down to a moderate breeze, but the sea still ran very heavy. “We'll git under way at daylight,” mut- tered Collins. ‘I hope we’ll git picked up tomorrer. It’s a long pull to the land from here, and I reckon we’ve been blowed off- shore agin. Another day, an’ poor Tommy ll croak.” It was bitterly cold—savage weather to be lying in a dory-bottom—and West went aft and tied lashings of marline around the wrists and the legs of Anderson’s oilskins to keep the bitter wind and spray out. ‘You'll be warmer now, Tommy, boy,” he said cheerfully. ‘We'll git picked up tomorrer sure, an’ we won’t do a thing in muggin’ up aboard th’ vessel that takes us aboard. We’ll eat our way through th’ shack locker an’ drink her tanks dry. Ain’t gittin’ friz, are ye, Tom?”’. The other gave an inarticulate groan and glared at Collins with a strange light in his eyes. ‘I don’t like his looks,’’ muttered West- ley. ‘“‘He’s goin’ batty, sure. Another day, an’ he’ll go crazy an’ jump overboard. He’s bin drinkin’ salt water an’ chewin’ at his mitts all day. God help us! I wonder ef He sees us in this here dory bargin’ around th’ Western Ocean. I cal’late I’ll say a little prayer.” And the brave fellow knelt over the for’ard thwart and prayed—a sailor’s pray- er, simple, original and pregnant with a childlike faith: 95 “Dear God, our Father in Heaven. I ain’t always singin’ out to You to bear a hand like church folks an’ Salvation Army gangs, but listen to me now, an’ send a vessel this ways before noon tomorrer, or my dory-mate’ll croak. I thank You, God, for listenin’ to me, an’ I promise not to bother You again. Amen!” IT WAS black dark—the hour be- fore the dawn—and Westley Collins lay dozing in the bow of the dory. Anderson, awake, and with his mad hate spurring him to extraordinary efforts, felt for the handle of the dory-knife concealed behind him. Grasping it, he sat up and peered at his sleeping dory-mate. God— how he hated him! The girl was forgotten now, and Anderson scarcely knew what he hated Collins for, but the idea possessed his mind to the exclusion of everything else, and he longed to kill the man who regarded him as his dearest friend. Strange? Even Anderson had to smile at the thought. His feet were too numb to stand upon. Encased in rubber boots, they were chilled to the bone. So he crawled laboriously for’ard with the knife in his hand. Crawl- ing over the midship thwart he made a noise, and Collins awoke from his lethargic doze and sat up. ‘“What’s up?” he cried as Anderson made a savage lunge at.him with the knife. The blade drove into Westley’s oilskin coat and ripped it from the shoulder to the waist, but the heavy sweater-coat which he wore under the oil-jacket prevented the knife from cutting to the skin. “Eh, eh!” growled Collins closing with the maddened Anderson. “Crazy already!”’ Imbued with extraordinary strength, Anderson rose to his feet and made several vicious stabs at the other who held him around the waist and by the right wrist. Both struggled desperately—the one to kill, and the other for possession of the knife—and the dory careened dangerously with their efforts. For a few seconds they wrestled, panting and growling, and then the dory capsized and threw both men into the water. Both were separated by the sudden im- mersion, and as quick as a flash Collins struck out and grasped the drogue-line and the bow of the upturned dory. Turning to look for Anderson, he saw the gleam of CoOMmicboooks CO