Adventure Magazine, April 10, 1924 — page 118: what you’re looking at

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

116 As the lone rear-guard reached him, Knowlton plucked one of the empty pistols from his belt and replaced its spent clip with a fresh one. Tim pounded onward with the rifles. Less than half a minute passed before his prediction proved true. Fierce faces and brown bodies sprang into sight at the bend of the path. The vengeful “‘hellions” were coming. But, amid that maze of cliff-blocks, not many could come at once, and the bulk of the Huambiza force was not even trying to come—it was fighting for existence against the beleaguering Sumataras. Knowlton’s twin pistols flamed, and the leaders went down, one heaving a javelin even as he fell. A twist to one side barely saved the lieu- tenant, the poisoned head of the missile ripping the slack of his shirt at the waist- line. Shooting as he went, he retreated backward along the path, holding off the attackers in front and evading any who might have tried to flank him among the stones. By the time he was at the entrance to their rock-bound sharp-shooting post, McKay and Tim were ready with full guns. With grim persistence, but with savage stealth and cunning, the head-hunters who had determined to exterminate the white men came on. They crept now among the rocks, abandoning the path where half a score of their fellows had fallen under Knowlton’s fire. McKay, scaling a slant boulder whence he could hastily estimate the situation, detected several brown figures slinking below. He promptly opened fire, swinging his gun from man to man as fast as possible, and downing three. The others flattened behind cover. Beyond other rocks, other heads bobbed up, sinking again as the rifle swung in their direction. The captain guessed that at least a score of implacable foes were crawling up to them. “Back to the edge!’’ he commanded, slid- ing down. “Best place. Covers us on two sides—open end’s too steep to be climbed— got to watch the rear and overhead. Move out!” Watchful, tense, he stood on guard while the other two moved their packs, the rival commanders, and the reviving Nuné to the extreme outer end of their narrow alley. As they lifted Rand, Tim took a keen look at the crimsoned head and grinned. “‘Creased as neat as a new pair o’ pants,” he rejoiced. ‘‘Dave ain’t hurt bad—only knocked cold. But my gosh, what shootin’! Adventure If cap had wobbled his gun jest a hair—or Dave had moved jest then—’twould be, ‘Good night, Davey’! <4 TWO quick shots from McKay’s ge rifle stopped talk and hastened ~ work. But Knowlton, catching the smouldering gaze of Nuné, took time to say: “Rana lives. He only sleeps. We are still his friends.”’ Her tragic face lightened, and she drew a quick breath. But no gratitude was in the look she gave him. Had not these men once said that Rana must go away with them? Had they not just shot him down? Friends, indeed! To the injuries of José they could give only a fleeting inspection, but none seemed fatal. Like Rand, he still was unconscious from a shock to the head—probably a club- blow. A nasty-looking hole under his left lower ribs might or might not be a mortal wound, and he was gashed in several places. In the present exigency he had to lie un- tended beside Rand in the shade of a boul- der. Beside the pair, her back to the rock, Nuné squatted with an assumption of Indian stoicism. There was nothing she could do. McKay’s rifle cracked again. Then he came sidling in, seeing all in one quick survey. “Watch overhead!” he commanded. “Both sides. Ill guard the rear.” “Path clear?”’ asked Knowlton. “Tt is now,” the captain replied with a grim smile. ‘‘May not be for long. Watch yourselves.”’ He faced about and creuched. Knowlton and Tim turned their eyes upward, awaiting the sudden appearance of savage heads on the crests of their flanking stones. If the head-hunters should come a few at a time they would have a fighting chance; but if they should come leaping down in a body it would be desperate work. Time dragged. From below came the same ghastly chorus of hate and death, the same taint of freshly spilled blood. Near at hand nothing happened. Tim sneaked a look down at the mélée, turning quickly back with a grin. “Oh boy! Lookit the hash!” he exulted. “Looey, them tarriers o’ Hozy’s are moppin’ up right! This here left flank is gittin’ chopped into meat balls— Umph! Low bridge!” GOMmIGDOOKSEEO S|