Adventure Magazine Cover, October 30, 1924 — page 64: what you’re looking at

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

54 : Adventure The trail wound on, keeping parallel to the shore. Aside from the “Hidden Har- bor” behind its little island, there was no anchorage or shelter for vessels, which suffi- ciently explained the distance between the port and the settlement of Dias. Presently the ground became appreciably higher, the sea dropped from sight, and the trail wound through a tremendous thicket of spiny bush, such as overlies the Lower California deserts in vast and matted seg- ments. Emerging from this, Hampton found that the others had halted, Dona Hermana speaking with another rifle- armed man who had appeared; and he stared in amazement at the scene which lay before and below him. The halt took place on an open shelf of bare rock, which lay at the verge of a chasm in the earth; this chasm was the Valley of Mercy. All around was the desert, quiver- ing in the hot afternoon sunlight. Below, however, could be glimpsed the unwonted sweetness of green things—tree-tops, fields in bearing, the sparkle of water. Hampton stared down at the sight, then at a sudden chorus of voices swung around. Approach- ing the shelf of bare rock by a winding and narrow trail that mounted the cliff-side, where a number of men mounted on mules— and at their head was James Day. Yet, after the first glance, Hampton realized fully that he was no longer facing James Day, but Sefor Dias. Gone was every mark of dress or bearing that had stamped the man as an American; now, from huge sombrero to_ silver-studded tapideros, the renegade was in every aspect a Mexican. A new-grown dark mustache graced his upper lip, emphasizing the arro- gance of his features, and those peculiarly glassy eyes held all the latent ferocity of an Apache. Slipping from his mount, Dias bowed low to his sefiora, kissed her hand, and greeted her with evident delight—but all in the restrained fashion of the country. They might have parted but yesterday, so far as the warmth of meeting went. Dona Her- mana, indeed, whose reboso was close-drawn, had donned with it all the demure aloofness of a Mexican woman. ‘‘But how have you comeP” demanded Dias. ‘Surely, the schooner “ “I took another schooner,” she returned calmly. ‘Ours will follow. The story is too long to be told now—see, I have brought you a gift! Look at it, then join me and ride on home, for I wish to talk with you.” Following her pointing finger, Dias looked at Dick Hampton with puzzled eyes. Sud- denly recognition leaped into his face, and one astounded oath burst from him. = take me, I thought you were dead long ago!” he exclaimed in English, as he stared. He took a step forward, his predatory gaze drinking in every detail of Hampton’s figure. Then his teeth flashed out in a wide laugh. ‘“‘What a meeting, what a meeting!” he cried. “And how excellently this good wife of mine seems to have entertained you uv Dona Hermana put out a hand and touched his shoulder. “Talk to me, not to him,” she said quietly. ‘‘Come!’’ “Certainly, mz querida,’”’ responded Dias, and waved his hand to Hampton. ‘You are free, my friend! Enjoy your freedom. Go where you please. If you wish food and water, come and talk with me below.”’ He turned to his mule, mounted, and started for the path, Dofa Hermana at his side. Hampton caught a jesting word from one of the men that was illuminating. “This little sister of the devil puts our master in leading strings, eh? Now we shall see some fun down below!” They started down the trail, and Hamp- ton followed, understanding perfectly why Dias needed no fetters for his slave-gang. The ghastly mockery of those few words about food and water, explained many thaags. The rifle-armed guards were not posted to watch for any who might escape from the cafion, but to give notice of any who arrived. The very stones of this ter- rible desert were impassable to any one not wearing the native hide footgear of the peninsula; even during this short march, Hampton’s poor remnants of shoes had been cut to ribbons and rags by the in- credibly sharp flints of the desert trail. The down-path was not a long one, but was narrow and meandering along the cliff face, so that a few men might have held it against an army. Down below, Hamp- ton caught glimpses of a fair-sized little creek, whose waters were conducted by acequias into fields of cane and lucerne and corn; date-palms nodded somnolently, fruit trees were in bearing, and the low adobe houses stood dead-gray here and there. Of comicbooks.cO inn