Adventure Magazine Cover, October 30, 1924 — page 42: what you’re looking at

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

32 Adventure and a bite to eat. Hampton assented gladly—both men were dripping with per- spiration and exhausted by the intense humidity of the jungle trail, which was far more tiring than any acutal exertion. When Hampton would have flung himself down carelessly, however, the crafty War- lock intervened. “Hold on! The less we show ourselves the better, matey; lay up to one side, off the trail. We’re liable to meet carriers comin’ from the west ’most any time now.”’ Hampton nodded, and followed his com- panion in behind the screen of brush. Here they hacked out a small cleared space with their knives and settled down to eat and smoke and drink of the clear cold water furnished by the rivulet. Hot as was the jungle, this one spot was washed clear of humidity by the intense and burning sun- light, and afforded vast relief. When they lighted their pipes, it was almost in comfort. “This is a right smart spot to lay up for anybody comin’ from Panama,” said War- lock in a low voice, pointing to the opening in the sunlight. ‘‘They got to cross the crick and that there patch o’ mud, which is sticky as glue, then they got to come right up the trail to here, opposite us. If we step out, then what? They sure can’t go back in any hurry.” Hampton gave him a curious glance. “Eh? What’s in your mind?” “T dunno, for a fact,’ said Warlock, “but I got a feelin’ that somethin’s on the way to us—you needn’t laugh, neither. Remember that time aboard the Water- sprite, when I felt like that, and we gota durned quick shift o’ wind that stripped us off bare and sent ‘Nigger Joe’ to glory? I got the same feelin’ now. shows up, douse that pipe.” Hampton nodded and waited frowningly, his eyes peering through the leafy screen and watching the opposite side of the Opening, across the mud flat, where the western end of the trail debouched on the creek. He had none too much faith in Job Warlock’s premonition, yet he knew that the man had sometimes an uncanny ability to sense trouble or peril. Then, abruptly, there came a breath of motion among the bushes on the farther bank, and a moving object appeared. Hampton laid down his pipe suddenly, pressed the tobacco into the bow], and lay motionless. Warlock followed suit, squint- If anybodv | ing. A mule, heavily loaded, was descend- ing the creek bank, and now began to pick his way gingerly across the rivulet and the mud flat beyond. The mud clogged him, holding him to a slow and sucking pace. He struggled forward to firm ground and stood there waiting. Behind him, a man, appeared descending the bank, then a sec- ond man. Hampton’s eyes widened. The first man was a Chinaman, heavy-set and burly of aspect, with black silk coat and trousers but wearing a belted horse-pistol. The second man was an Indian, very swarthy, very tall and lank; a plaited grass sombrero hid his features and a scarlet serape was swung across his shoulders. The two men were talking as they came into sight, and stopped for a moment to watch the mule, while the Indian lighted a cigarito. Then the Chinaman came on across the rivulet, showing high boots beneath flapping trou- ser-ends, and began to pick his way across the mud. The Indian followed more leisurely, yet with a certain cat-like grace of movement. He caught up with his companion when the latter was nearly through the sticky adobe mud, and made some remark, to which the yellow man returned a grunting response. Then the Indian flung away his cigarito with a wide sweep of his arm. His hand darted beneath his serape, plucked forth a flashing blade of steel, and drove it forward into the back of the Chinaman. The act was deliberate, deadly and swift as the lashing stroke of a fer-de-lance, and as murderous. The vellow man emitted one agonized gulp, and pitched forward dead. The mule reached up his head to tug at some leaves, and his bell tinkled on the hot silence. The Indian stood motionless for a moment, thrust away his knife, and calmly began to roll another cigarito of tobacco and thin paper. Hampton, paralyzed by the swiftness of it all, turned blazing eyes to Warlock, who gripped his wrist. The same thought was in the minds of both men. “We got him,” murmured Warlock. “Ready? Up and out “6 They burst out together, then Warlock leaped into the trail, Hampton waiting on one knee, revolver steadied. ‘The murderer was caught indeed, and realized it; he stood staring at them, his smoke half-rolled, the COMmiclbooks nn