Adventure Magazine Cover — page 102: what you’re looking at

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

Q2 “Ves, sir,” answered Gilding. ‘“T’ll see to it, sir. And if I may say so, I think it’s wonderful the way you handled him. He’s a powerful man, sir, very powerful. I was afraid——”’ “Justice was with me,”’ answered John Burdette. ‘Right always spells might. Now take him away.” Half an hour later Mitcham left Credion with a blackboy on either side. No one spoke to him, no one so much as said good- bye. His former acquaintances went out of their way to avoid him for they knew all too well that Burdette’s anger would not die down for a week or more. They blamed Mitcham. He should have listened quietly to the owner’s twaddle and gone his way without making more trouble for those who stayed behind. It wasn’t fair to them. They would have to pay in some form or other. At the ford the blackboys halted and Mitcham rode on alone. As he went slowly up the far bank the natives snickered and then laughed. The opportunity to shout abuse at a white man was not granted them every day in the week. They made the most of their opportunity and referred in shocking English to Mitcham’s pedigree. Had he been of an inquisitive turn of mind he might have listened to a novel and un- expurgated appreciation of his more salient characteristics; coming on top of his recent one-punch defeat at SBurdette’s hands, however, this latest humiliation was more than he could bear. the cackling blackboys and wildly cursing, he dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and fled hastily and without decorum. His pride was wounded. He could have forgiven and forgotten Burdette’s pile- driving blow, it was all in the give and take of life, he didn’t very much mind being given the gate, nothing very extraordinary about that either, but to be cast adrift at the mercy of two blackboys with a primitively pornographic sense of humor—that hurt. It hurt so much that as he rode across the open plain beneath the warm sunlight he swore to himself that before very long he would—well, by the heavens above, he would do something to Burdette. Physical violence? Very nice to dream about but impractical. He was not anxious to dangle at the end of a rope—not if it could be avoided anyhow. But what could he do? He was only a poor, vagrant, happy-go- b] Shaking his fist at the blackblocks. Adventure lucky stockrider, Burdette was a —— squat- ter with all the resources of law and order to back him up. Mitcham’s impotent fury increased as he rode along. “Shoot him in the back,” his horse’s hoofs seemed to thump on the turf. “Shoot him in the back.” No, there must be something else. He swore aloud at a flight of ring-tailed pigeons. He felt so —— helpless. You couldn’t get at a man like Burdette. He was too rich, too powerful; he owned such a great slice of Australia— But did he though? Did he own such a big slice? Come to think of it he didn’t—he just said he did, and nobody so much as dared to travel across the —— country without his blinking permission. Mitcham’s fury gave way to intense ex- citement. He forced himself to think and think and think—scraps of old conversa- tions, hints and guesses, things men said in the bunk-house behind their hands—and gradually into his not very brilliant mind came a scheme. A real workable scheme, which would certainly be a success—if he could raise a few hundred pounds. A cunning smile crept across Mitcham’s countenance. He whistled and his horse, pricking up its ears, carried him along at a comforting lope instead of a half-hearted, stumbling jog. The world was good again. “Got ’im,” said Mitcham to himself, “and I'll make ’im fair squeal afore I’m through. Do me dirt, would ’e? He'll soon find out.” That night, while camping beneath the stars, he awoke trembling and weak for he had-dreamed that he was gnawing like a dog at Burdette’s thick throat. He had to rub his mouth with his fingers to convince himself that there was no blood on his lips. MITCHAM took his grievance to Xn Melbourne, which was an unwise we thing tohavedone. Melbourne was cynical, tolerant and inclined to wink a sophisticated eye at the petty grievances of Moreover, gold had just been found at Ballarat. Melbourne’s so- phistication was not proof against this form of exhilarating news. Docks, stores and stables were being abandoned by would-be prospectors. -Those who stayed behind talked Gold until their mouths were almest AD Co NOOK 1O)