Adventure Magazine Cover, October 30, 1924 — page 17: what you’re looking at

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

South, West and ‘North set a plucked fowl on a spit, and above the fire, gaping amazed at the intruder, was Job Warlock. Broad and squat and dark was Job Warlock, a man with Ojibway Indian blood in his veins, & man who had sailed the seven seas and bore the marks of them all; his face flat and heavy, his light blue eyes all alive and glowing like jewels, his reefer jacket and trousers of fine cloth, with flat gold hoops dangling from his ear- lobes. ‘“You!”’ cried Hampton. ‘You!’ echoed Job Warlock in equal astonishment, then leaped forward, yelled joyously, and struck hands. Dick Hampton was taken back by this meeting, back across a year’s time to that terrible winter’s voyage from Bristol to Rio —an ice-sheeted ship, hammering through gales on gales with storm jib and to’gallant close-reefed barely keeping her out from under the roaring seas, and green water rolling waist-high across the decks. There men suffered or died, worked, sang, kept the ship going, saved each other, laughed or whimpered. Those tremendous arms of Job Warlock had saved Dick Hampton more than once, and more than once had Hampton’s wide shoulders and lightning agility repaid the debt. Somehow the two men had grown close in those days, talking often of home and what lay behind them; the powerful half-Indian from Michigan forests, the keenly efficient New Englander from his rocky hillsides, found between them singular bonds of liking and friendship. Bosun and mate, they were both far above the forecastle level, holding glimpses of higher things than grog and women; they comprehended each other’s barely hinted dreams and found strange, queer tales in the stars by night. ‘You, by the crooked tree!’’ exclaimed Job Warlock, though only a Michigan ’Jibway could have told what that expres- sion meant. ‘You, Dick!”’ ‘““You here, of all places!’’ cried Hampton, astounded. ‘‘What does it mean, Job? I thought you’d gone into the Melbourne packets oe Warlock grinned widely. He had a wide, toothful grin, not reserved for mirth alone. “Sit ye down, Dick—the world’s a good place, so hurray! Bird’s done and I’m hungry. Why, it means that I came to get news of ye, what else? Ive waited for the 7 day I could come to the home ye told me of, lad, and ask word of ye.”’ ‘“‘But—here in this thicket?” Hampton sat down on some spread evergreens, and glanced around. ‘Why in these trees, Job Warlock? The farm’s not far away——” ‘Not far is far enough, as the Injun said when he rubbed his belly.”? Warlock, stoop- ing over the fire, looked up and chuckled. “Your daddy, bless his soul, wanted no heathen foreign man wi’ hoops in ears to be hanging about his door, and said so. Bless him, what a tongue! Well, I went away and sneaked back again, stole one of his hens, and here I be. And luck brought ye to me, lad—the world’s a good place, so hurray! All’s well and lights burning.” Dick Hampton compressed his lips. Yes, he might have known what reception his father would give this man—a dour and bitter one! Astonishment at their meeting died out, giving place to harsh anger. He could imagine what long travail it had cost Job Warlock to reach this spot on friend- ship’s errand—only to get a sanctimonious curse and a godly reprimand! But now Warlock took the fowl from the fire, slipped out his knife and placed half the bird in Hampton’s lap. “Injun does it!” said he cheerfully. ‘“‘Have a bite of your own meat, lad! Injun does it, and a bit o’ salt might help, but here’s rum to wash it down. Come now, come now, ain’t the world a good place? Hurray!” From beside the fire he took a half-filled bottle of warm rum. Hampton bit into the meat, warmed himself with liquor, began to enjoy life. Here was a friend, here was a man never at a loss in any emergency— Injun blood indeed, true blood, true man! Job Warlock ate ravenously, tearing at the meat, gulping it, washing it down with swigs of rum, until his share was gone and Hampton not half-finished. Then he leaned back and stuffed a pipe. “Little black bull came down from the mountain,” chanted he, and_ grinned. ‘‘Ho, lad! Jumped ship at New York—came over in her to get here, and a wonder ship she was, with Bully Forbes drivin’ her! One 0’ them new Bluenose ships, and a holy ‘ I can tell you. Bless me, how we did go! Never seen such a ship before. All stays and backstays of eleven-inch Russian hemp, tawps’ls roped from clew to earing, micloool C© inn