Adventure Magazine Cover, March 20, 1925 — page 89: what you’re looking at

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

The War Cats of Dugan O’Day Leep went a shade white at this threat. When the carbureter was back in place he, looking pretty grim like a man highly re- solved, ordered Zuanich to run the launch out into the channel. As they drew away from the land Leep gave final directions: ‘Head for Seattle, Zuanich, and no tricks about getting there.” “Seattle! Fool, I tell the cops about you.” “You'll have a chance to all right,” re- torted Leep. “I’m going to turn you and Vike and these four immigrants of yours over to the officers if I go to jail in Missoury for a year. The rest o’ the gang will be Al witnesses against you. You—’ he turned to Smith—“‘T’ll let you off some place where you can catch a boat back to Canada.” “Canada nothing!” snorted the old man. “Me, I’m headin’ for home. All I ever done was to cyarve a couple of fouls— waiters in a rest’rant where I was cooking. Going back home and face it out with the law so’s I can live again in the old U. S. It come to me a minute ago as a sudden notion. Foreigners is all right, but I’m tired o’ being in foreign lands.” “Me too,” said Leep as if from a world of experience. ‘‘No place like the old U. S. To Seattle, Zuanich, and no tricks.” . t] |The War Cats Ke DuganODay lf | AComplete Novelette Uy ; ' Law as 3s ey bald AF a AO A ee 52 aay {7 a om if eee = ro 7 OF 2 ey 4 nA pe tk ee z cae ¥: ogy: ‘ . erect a oetis , és . | Nie $ ~~ — a = ss Y —- oS ( Y John Dorman Author of “The Lantern on the Cow,” “The Seven Who Went But Once, etc. TWO-INCH augur in ‘“Dum- my’s” bunk, and the afterhold of the laboring bark Blackfish al- ready full of water! A two-inch augur! Very grimly Dugan O’Day glanced up from the half concealing blankets which covered all the tool but an inch of its wooden handle and twice as much of the twisted pod. But his blue eyes had no grimness when he met those of the man in whose bunk the augur lay—the bunk of Captain Whitmore Johnstone, called “Dummy” everywhere but to his face, because of a throat trouble which at times rendered him incapable of coherent speech. Full of aguardiente, the captain was, and full of other things as well. Had he not owned the bark Blackfish he would long since have lost his berth aboard her. A good ship, once, that bark, but at the moment Dugan took from the captain’s hand a bit of paper she was little better than a derelict. “What do you want?” was the message on the paper scrap. “Look at the barometer,” Dugan re- plied, walking to that instrument. Rising rapidly. Silently he studied the convex end of the column of mercury, while behind him gibbering sounds came from the thick lips of Johnstone, who forgot that his dumbness was upon him. Ghastly sounds. “Tf she opens a seam forward she'll sink | hike a hunk of lead,”’ said Dugan reflectively, resolutely keeping his eyes from that tell- tale augur. “Last night,” continued Dugan, as the skipper nodded, ‘‘there was three feet of GOmiiGdoo CO