Adventure Magazine Cover, October 30, 1924 — page 63: what you’re looking at

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

“South, West and North of that last scene with his father, of the promise there sealed with a kiss, he would have lacked strength to endure; yet now he did not lack. He was held by long chains from his ankles to a ring-bolt in the fore- deck. Sun, wind and sea had worked full will upon him; he was black as any Indian, foul and unkempt and tattered, bearded, and through the rags of his shirt showed skin that was seared and scarred by whips. Only his eyes were the same—cool and un- daunted eyes of gray agate that blazed from his haggard face. The woman to whom he owed his present plight, she whom men called Dofa Her- mana del Diablo, stood by the rai] looking at him, a cruel smile hidden in her eyes. This cruelty of hers, like her beauty, was a singular and terrible thing, unlightened by any womanly gentleness or tenderness. As the wife of Potiphar must have gazed upon Joseph in his cell, so Dofia Hermana stood on the schooner’s deck, regarding Dick Hampton with a malignant eye. The anchor splashed down, and a boat was lowered overside. The woman gave an order, and two of her men unfastened Hampton’s chains at the mng-bolt, and jerked him toward the rail. He went, un- resistant, and clambered down a rope ladder into the bow. Four men followed, taking the oars, and Dofia Hermana descended into the stern. Another boat was lowered, into which tumbled the rest of the crew, and set out after the first boat for the shore. The eager words of the four rowers ap- prized Hampton of the truth, and he stared wonderingly at this desolate coast, aper- plexed by the seeming absence of life. Glancing back at the schooner, he saw that a scrap of yellow bunting flew at her bow- sprit—a signal to those ashore, no doubt. Then he caught a sharp, knowing smile from Donia Hermana, realized that she was watching him, and turned again to the shore. The boat drew in and scraped the sandy verge. Hampton clambered out, the men followed and ran up the boat, and the senora set foot on land. She came straight to Hampton and handed him a key. “Take off your chains, for they are no longer needed,” she said. ‘You are free. You may go where you will—but if you do not follow us closely, you will suffer.”’ These words were accompanied by an enigmatic smile, and a burst of guffaws 33 from the men around told Hampton of some deep and bitter meaning. Without re- sponse, he stooped and freed himself of the irons, which one of the men then took and carried. The second boat came in and ran her nose on the sand. A gun banged somewhere among the rocks, and as the bullet whistled overhead, the men laughed uproariously. Hampton heard, like too-sharp echoes, the reports of other guns that dwindled in the distance on the hot afternoon—a signal was being passed. Nowaman mounted ona mule ap- peared, riding down from the rocks to the shore. He was a half-breed, dark with Indian blood, wearing gold-laced sombrero and much tarnished finery. He dismounted, swept the dust with his wide hat to the senora, and presented her with the mule. He then greeted the other men, gave Hamp- ton an incurious glance, and remained leaning on his rifle. Dona Hermana, after mounting, put the mule to a hardly visible trail that went back from the shore, winding here and there among the groups of cacti, and finally be- coming a wider and better defined trail that struck straight down the shore. The men followed, carrying various burdens. Hampton, ignored by them, trailed along. He perfectly understood the bitter irony of his freedom; sharks guarded the water, hunger and thirst guarded the land. It was better to slave for Sefior Dias and Dona Hermana, then to perish in miserable tor- ture. Also, Hampton had learned a fright- ful lesson on that voyage north from Panama. He had discovered that to these men around him he was not a man, but a beast to be tortured and tormented at the end of a leash whenever he would tug—so he no longer tugged at the leash. He accepted what came in stoic silence, which made no sport for them; and they, thinking his spirit so broken that he would no longer fight, presently ceased to find his suffering of amusement. Indeed, as he stared at the stony trail, the cactus, the far peaks, the hot white sand, Hampton had only one thought. Close at hand, at the end of this path, was Nelly Barnes. Knowing what he now did of the brutes around him, he dreaded, rather than hoped, to see his brother Eli again. Luck- ily, he had no idea of how close upon him was that meeting with Eli. All his thought was of the girl. micloool (© in