A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, February 1950 — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

THE SMOKING LAND 67, up my old ideas, and melted into a new world of ideas and tastes and desires.” I looked at his white head, and his sunken eyes. No, there was nothing left to him that resembled the man I had known before. Nothing except that glori- ous, great, smooth brow, that seemed to represent a capacity for all the high think- ing in the universe. The rest had been changed. Work, long hours, immense conceptions, might have altered him. But I had a feeling that there was something else. Pain—that was what it looked like to me. “Well, then, Cleve,” said I, “You've thrown the whole business smash out of your life. You’re not going back?” “No,” said he. “Well, I can’t be en- tirely sure. The fact is that I don’t know. I might pop up there among my old haunts at any time. It’s indefinite.” “Say it once more—you like this, up here—without a home, without your country, without your own West, without your friends—” “You don’t understand—” he began. “Say yes or no.” “Then it’s—yes,” said he. I eon in his face. “ You're a liar,” I told him. CHAPTER 19 Interlude HAT touched him, and to the quick, mind you. — He had a temper. I saw his nos- trils flare and his eyes flash, now. I was glad of it. “That’s a strong word,” said he. “You've been telling me some strong lies,” said I. He took a breath. again,” he remarked. I shrugged my shoulders. ‘I’ve earned a right to get something from you be- sides upstage hooey,” I told him. “You can’t talk me off like thts. I want to get at what’s behind you. And it’s up to you to let me know. You're not playing fair and square, and you know it.” “I know nothing of the kind,” said he. “You’re not a hound,” said I. “I know you too well for that. Your heart bleeds for that girl, And you’re aching inside “Don’t say that on account of your country, and the old barren range, and the jingle of spurs, and | all that. You’re lying to me, Cleve, be-: cause up here there’s something that holds you in the hollow of its hand. You’re afraid. That’s what’s aged you. Fear! You’ve been living with it, breathing x, eating it. Why don’t you come out with it? Why dodge and hide? I’ve fought my way through to your side. Tell me what’s got at you. If it’s not all algebra, maybe I can help. I’ve this, for a starter!” And I slid Judge Colt out of my clothes, and let him flash, and put him back again. Then I saw that he was look- ing at me with a sort of pity. And sud- cen I changed the talk altogether, and said: Well, then, you want to stay here. But I don’t. If I can’t help you; and if Sylvia is outside of my reach; then I want to get back to my country as fast as I can. Rubbing elbows with an active volcano may be your idea of a grand time. But I prefer to herd dudes on the old ranch. You tell me how I’m to get back, will | He sighed and shook his head. “Smoky, | | I can’t,” he said. “You can’t? Well, tell me just to! please my curiosity, how you got up here: lag He shook his head again. “I can’t do that, either,” said he. My anger fairly stifled me. “I’m to stay here and rot—you wouldn’t lift a hand to help me. Is that it?” At this, he took in a long breath; he couldn’t face me, but looked past me as he said, “I can tell you this much. My— associates—-have to be consulted in every- thing. Certainly I shall put your case before them.” “Don’t trouble yourself too much,” said I. “Suppose that they’re too busy when you want to talk about me?” “They are men,” said Darrell, “of brains so great, of interests so huge, Smoky, that I am no more than a child compared with them. You can be sure of one thing. Whatever they decide will be for your best interests—or rather, for interests greater than you or I, Smoky, can conceive.” “Oh, blast these wise men,” said I. “They’re the same lot that made the rule about killing the ‘priestess if she enters COMicaoo® S C@ in