Adventure Magazine, December 10, 1924 — page 79: what you’re looking at

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

Tumbleweed but his voice was doubting as a man who is half convinced. With a smile, Andy stepped forward and handed him the pistol. “Investigation is all I ask, Mr. is “MacDermut—Angus MacDermut of Glasgow,” the engineer acknowledged. AND that is how the Sedalia came There remained three days of sus- picion and tension aboard her. Stivers glowered about the decks as he supervised the removal of the spar. MacDermut went so far as to take away the captain’s pistol, but he did not dare to deprive him of command, and even Andy was willing that the captain should bring the ship into port, now that even he would not dare to attempt to sink the vessel again. Nevertheless, Andy spent most of his time on the bridge, and for his presence to limp into port, a day overdue.» 37 there, and for his practical control of the ship, he had the authority given him by a message received just after the falsity of the ship’s papers had been verified by Mac- Dermut, and when the forehold was half pumped out. The message was signed “Thomas Luce.”’ It read: Prescott trustworthy has authority to represent owners now and will take command of ship on arrival in port. ‘Weel, ut makes yer standing offeecial,’ Mac Dermut conceded, ‘‘but yer ower young fer command.” ‘“Haven’t I earned it?” asked Andy indig- nantly, with the boyish grin of the sailor who has attained his great ambition. “Maybe.” MacDermut seemed to _ begrudge the praise, but in the way he slapped Andy on the back was respect and friendliness. TUMBLEWEED by Harold Willard Gleason UMBLEWEED a-twistin’ and a-rollin’ and a-dartin’ When the breeze sends puffs of dust along the sun-parched plain; Tumbleweed is restless—in the mornin’ I’]] be startin’, Roamin’ like a tumbleweed across the sand again. Minin’ down in Mexico—pay dirt an’ somethin’ over; Moonlight, curving Spanish lips and languishin’ guitars; Easy life and easy love—that couldn’t hold a rover, Roamin’ like a tumbleweed beneath the silent stars! Tended bar in Yukon, lights and action every minute, Games and gin and girls—one kind—an ounce of dust a day; Grub, and rake-offs on the side—but such a sameness in it! Roamin’ like a tumbleweed beneath the witch-lights’ play. Ridin’ range in Turner’s, Mont.—boss-wrangler, too, they made me— I could straddle hosses some, and throw a rope and brand; : First-class outfit, first-class cook; yet, the night they paid me, Roamin’ like a tumbleweed across this unfenced land! Shot a man in Texas, he was holdin’ extry aces, Blue-jowled sheriff locked me up in his calaboose; But mornin’ found me far away from such unhealthy places, Roamin’ like a tumbleweed—on Blue Jaws’ own cayuse! Tumbleweed, tumbleweed, rollin’, twistin’, turnin’, Somehow never satisfied; seekin’—who can tell? Ridin’ ever on and on, spurred by nameless yearnin’, Roamin’ like a tumbleweed, till all trails end in hell! CoMmicbhool ) (© 5}