Adventure Magazine, December 10, 1924 — page 41: what you’re looking at

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

The Blond Spiders added, staring at the glitter of deadly gauze, ‘chow are we going to get through?” “T don’t darn well know and I don’t darn well care!”’ put in Bodiker sullenly. “But I’m not going to try.” “Nor this baby neither,’ contributed Sawyer with decorated emphasis. For a while there was silence. Bodiker sat nursing his foot, and the others stared vaguely down the valley. “Rummy!” commented Plessons at last. “Can’t maike it aht.” “Whatre”’ “Why, yer see, Mr. Westlaike, why don’t them blokes—they’re yumans all right—why don’t they fire the bushe That’d burn aht these yere pests all right.”’ “That’s true. But how did those men— if they were men—get through last night? Think the beasts don’t bite at night? But then the old fellow would have known that. But say, can’t we get through that way? Burn em, I mean?” “Ain’t easy. Yer see, it’s all right ter start a fire at the bottom and get it ter burn “#; but it ull be a —— of a Job ter get it ter burn dakn. Hot air rises, yer know, and that’s hotter than ———’s hinges dahn ‘below, so of course it maikes a draft up all the time.” “That’s right. But couldn’t we burn a track bit by bit and rush through while the ashes are hot?” “Vus, we could cut a lot of brushwood, and we might—if we didn’t get kinder stuck in the middle; then they’d eat us alive, that’s what they’d do.” “Ugh!” groaned Bodiker. “I’m not going to try it.” “Ves, they’re evidently carnivorous,” as- sented) Tony. ‘And another thing: The fire would give us away to the whole valley —if there are other whites there.” “Vus. But what I wants ter know is how them blokes got through last night, them shiny-heads?”’ - “But was they yumans?”’ put in Sawyer. “Seemed kinda funny. No yumans don’t have shiny heads and eyes like torches like you said.” “Well, anyhow I’m going ter look,’’ said Plessons. “This yere tracks yuman all right, whether them moonlight mares come along it or not.” “By !? exclaimed Tony. “If they were humans we ought to look out. They 19 may have spotted us and come inquiring with a six-gun any time.” “Vus, that’s right,” agreed Plessons. “Better try this yere trail and see whether they ain’t in camp.” “Say, Tony!” protested Bodiker, fran- tically trying to drag on his boot. “Wait a moment. For ——’s sake don’t leave me here alone!”’ “‘Seems to have the wind up,” said Ples- sons sotto voce. “‘Ain’t it a pity we can’t use him to maike the fire burn!” PRK, Ploppl oo : Just as he turned to sit down on 3 a rock a bullet splashed beyond him. Simultaneously with the sharp report Plessons and Tony hit the ground as one man. Sawyer stared vaguely in the direc- tion of the sound, remarking— “Say, that was a shot!’ “Down, you fool’? commanded Tony and, springing, pulled him aside and down just as another messenger plunked between them. “Nah,” came Plessons’ voice with much satisfaction from behind a rock, “‘that ain’t no bleedin’ spider; that’s yuman!”’ Plopp! came still another bullet just over Tony’s head. “Feels like old: times, old scout!” he called out to Plessons. “But that fellow’s had his chance and missed it. I guess they must be the mystery beasts of last night and saw us trying out the spiders. Probably thought we’d walk into the trap. See here,” he continued to Bodiker, who was lying on his belly flat beneath a large rock, even having left his boot in the open in his haste, ‘‘be reasonable and let me take com- mand for a while. I know this game.” “Ves, yes,” assented Bodiker eagerly. “Go ahead, Tony. Anything you say.” “Right. Now you and Sawyer stop where you are and—don’t forget this— whenever they fire—and sometimes when they don’t—blaze away from your rocks, and then each crawl quickly to another and let rip again. Give ’em four shots every time they open fire.” “Sure; but—can’t I stop under this rock here?” “No. | You’ve got to kid them into thinking that there are four of us here. Get the idea?” “Y-yes.”’ “And you, Sawyer?” “Sure,” growled Sawyer. “T got yer.” CoMmiclhool. Wh) (© 5}