Adventure Magazine Cover, October 30, 1924 — page 62: what you’re looking at

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

52 vv castle. She was certainly a prey to pirates. Presently there was a new burst of shouts and trampling of feet. Whatever her objective, the schooner had attained it, for now she wore around; Hampton could catch the orders, which were in Spanish, and by these and the level deck detected that she was running wing-and-wing before the breeze. Then, almost at once, the stifling tarpaulin was jerked from above him and he found himself in full moonlight, with a group of men around. All were strangers. They regarded him with an oath or two; he was commented upon as a gringo and in still less favorable terms—then the group opened up and fell away. A single figure advanced and stood looking down at him. With this, Hampton comprehended every- thing; the figure was that of Dofia Her- mana. “So, my brave Basque!’ said the woman, clicking her fan at him, her voice filled with soft mockery. ‘You decided to hurry north, as I thought you would! Well, you shall go north, and you shall interview that friend of yours, that Americano named Day, whom you wanted to see!’ A guffaw from the men answered this. Hampton now perceived the whole trap— the woman had outwitted them, that was all. He stifled a groan. A soft laugh broke from the sefiora, as she leaned forward and tapped Hampton’s face with her fan. ‘You shall see him, my charming Basque adventurer!’ she taunted him, and some- how the gentle nuances of her voice held more menace than any threat. ‘‘You shall see him, you and I together, my dear Sefior Hampten! And perhaps you shall see your brother also—no? Oh, I recall him very well indeed! A pleasant journey, my ca- ballero; a pleasant journey to you, and you may reflect at leisure upon the ability with which a poor woman can fight—and learn! Hasta la mafiana, my caballero!’’ She curtsied mockingly and withdrew. The circle of men fell away, then gathered in again, sweeping vast bows in the moon- light. “Hasta la maiiana, caballero!” they echoed her words. ‘Until morning, brave sefior, enjoy our hospitality! Until we have suit- able apartments prepared for so brave a caballero, so great a man, a true rico hombre, enjoy our food and wine! All that we have is yours, Sefor Basque, and our master will give you welcome when he receives you.” Adventure So, with a last volley of taunts, they separated and went away to their work. Hampton lay in his bonds, eyes closed, in the shadow of the mainsail; and against the bellying canvas above him he heard the soft flapping of the reef-points, like an echo of the rat-tat-tat of frozen points against hard canvas off the Horn. BOUND NORTH I f | THE Valley of Mercy was not — originally named with an eye to —*-—irony. It consisted of a long, deep and winding gash in the volcanic desert- table of Lower California; a mile distant was the Sea of Cortez, the Vermilion Sea, now becoming the Gulf of California. All around this narrow arroyo was empty sea or emptier and more terrible desert. No travelers came this way; none of the ancient caminos of the padres, linking the Jesuit missions, ran near this valley. The gold- seekers who landed farther south, trying to reach California overland, died ere reaching here. In other days, Indians had stolen palm- shoots from the missions that the Borgia gold had founded, so that now although the Indians were gone, stately date-palms tow- ered along the narrow cafion bed. Here too ~ were vineyards and fruit-trees and garden beds, strung out along the floor of the ar- royo. Beneath the sharp, high side walls of the lower valley stretched yellow-gray adobe houses and barracks. Farther up at a curve lay the new house of Dosa Hermana. From this hidden valley, which ran down and widened into nothing near the desolate shore, a trail ran parallel to the coast until it reached the little hidden haven which was known as Puerto Escondido. Into this har- bor came Dick Hampten, and, not know- ing that the sad voyage was ended, eved the dreary coast in sullen despair. Nothing was in sight save sun-smitten rock, sand, pale and cheerless brush, thorny scrub and cactus. The desert began at the shore and ran back into low peaks of varie- gated hues, fiery and unutterably barren in the white afternoon sunlight. Hampton was not the same man who had come aboard this schooner in Panama Bay: that long traverse up the coast had wrought changes. IIad it not been ior the memory DOO“ © inn