Adventure Magazine, April 10, 1924 — page 117: what you’re looking at

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

The King of No Man’s Land “Tim! Hold ’em!” snapped the captain, passing his pistol to the Irishman. ‘‘Come on, Merry! Make it fast!’ Tim, gripping the proffered side-arm, grunted comprehension and drew his own. Dropping his rifle, McKay yanked his machete free and sprang down, landing within arm’s length of the head-hunters and close beside the unconscious white rivals. The instant his feet struck he swung the blade sidewise, slashing Huambiza throats. The impact of Knowlton’s feet sounded beside him, followed by the ripping roar of the lieutenant’s .45. Huambiza faces, con- torted with rage, went blank and fell backward, cascading blood from holes in their foreheads. Other head-hunters stag- gered and collapsed, clutching at jugulars severed by the Scot’s flying blade. So daring and deadly was the suicidal attack of the white men that no retaliating thrusts reached them; indeed, the savages gave back in momentary panic, dodging the red steel and the thundering hand-gun. “Now! Grab and go!” barked McKay, his iron face unchanging. ‘Tim! Snap into it!” With the words he dived at Rand; heaved the limp body up on his shoulders, and turned to climb. Knowlton seized José. Above, Tim went into action with both pistols to cover their retreat, crashing bul- lets into head-hunters who surged forward the instant the pair stooped. Then Nuné sprang. Stunned for the moment by the fall of Rand, she now flashed into violent assault on the man who had downed him. Screaming, she leaped like a tigress upon McKay, clawing, tearing, yanking at him in blind fury. The captain, struggling up a rock, stag- gered under her weight and nearly toppled backward. Knowlton, just behind and carrying José like a sack of flour, lunged ahead and butted the tottering man in the back, restoring his balance. McKay’ half- turned, dropped his machete, shot his right arm around the crazed girl’s neck, wrenched ber off her’ feet, and clamped her head against his side. Then, still carrying Rand on his broad shoulders and dragging the girl in chancery, he fought his way on upward. “Make it—”’ bang! ‘—snappy, cap!” implored Tim, between shots. “I’m—” bang! ‘“—most shot out!’ Bang-bangl Horrible yells behind the ascending pair 115 emphasized the urgency. A thrown spear clattered on the rock beside Knowlton. Gasping with the strain, slipping and lurching on the stones, McKay clambered with desperate speed and _ incredible strength. Knowlton bumped him again and again, helping him on. Tim, crouching, with eyes blazing and weapons flaming, made every bullet score. His last shot crashed out as the burdened pair lunged past him into better footing. “Tl hold ’em!”’ he gritted. ‘Keep goin’!” Jamming the empty pistols under his belt, he sank on one knee.and seized his rifle. The sharp crack of the .30 and the clatter of the breech-bolt replaced the barking of the .45’s. The foremost of the Huambizas, starting a rush the instant they saw the red: man drop, sprawled, writhed, and stayed down. With spears grating ominously on the rocks around him, with demoniacal visages swarming below him, he squatted and shot as accurately as if engaged only in rapid-fire target-work on some safe rifle-range at home. When his own rifle was empty he snatched up Knowlton’s and hammered away with hardly a break. Behind him, the others, protected now by the rocks from flying missiles, staggered into the crooked path and drove their quivering legs to a pounding run. Nuné, her struggles weakening, was dragged bumping along in the remorseless arm-grip of McKay. When her captor loosed his hold—in the covert where lay the packs— she fell limp and less than half-conscious, dizzied and dazed. Beside her dropped the body of her Rana, released none too gently by the captain, who then reeled against a boulder and drooped like a spent horse. “Load—pistol, ” he panted. “Get—guns. Tim He gestured weakly outward, gasping and half-blinded by sweat. Knowlton, breathing hard himself, made no reply. He fumbled a fresh clip into his pistol-butt, glanced once at the bloody- headed Rand, and turned back to the path. He had no more than reached it when Tim plunged into sight, running hard and carry- ing all three rifles. “Git shells, looey!” yelled Tim. ‘Shot out! Them hellions’ll come over the top now——” “Got you,” cut in the blond man, holding up the ready pistol. ‘Hustle up!” GCOMmIGDOOKSEEO