A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, February 1950 — page 100: what you’re looking at

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

fe i eat RO MR SAAR CR me hy gO IE phe Vee OS eee Ls “7 ip the ee a ax“ 100 A. MERRITT’S FANTASY “T mean poor Cassidy, of course,” said Scanderov. “Out there on a fool’s errand, hunting for a friend who had disap- peared.” Then I pushed the door wide and stepped in, They looked at me with a good deal of surprise, but finally Scan- derov said, without showing the least emo- tion in his voice, “Why, it’s Cassidy. Cas- sidy, I’m glad to see you back. Where have you been these nine months?” “T’ve been north,” said I, “Ah?” says he, “Yes,” said I. “How far north, please?’ And then I thought the thing over. No, it was too much of a cock-and-bull yarn. Who could believe it? Could I myself have believed it? It was a mirage of the mind, and never could have been— so far away seemed the flaming altar of the goddess, and the dreadful beauty of the Fountain of Life, and the silver- skinned fish who swim so swiftly through the misty air of the Smoking Land. I saw that I could not tell them any- thing. ‘ ‘Make it a good one, while you’re about it,” said Chief Gunther. Finally I said, “Well, I’ve been where they weave this cloth, Do you know where that is?” I threw open my parka and showed them the fabric of my coat. _“Tt's homespun, all right,” said Gun- ther. But Scanderov leaned over and touched and rubbed the cloth, and then he pulled a thread. He unraveled it and stared at it and at me. “What's the matter?’’ asked Gunther. “Tt’s the wool of the musk-ox—that’s all!” said Scanderov. “Well, and why not?”’ said Gather eae y could weave ‘the wool of the musk- | right.” ; Who could?” asked Scanderov. “Who is weaving wool, in this part of the world? The Esquimaux?” Gunther blinked. “Hadn’t thought about that,” he admitted. Scanderov was staring at me hard. T had had a cup of coffee poured out for me, and I was sipping it with immense enjoyment, But I was not hungry. Scan- derov said, “Come in here and talk to own quarters and there he stood, beside a big lamp that gave both heat and light, and he was raveling and unraveling the thread of musk-ox wool between his fin- gers. “Tell me about it,” said he. “About what?” said I. “About where you've been,” said Scan- derov. I smiled at him. “You wouldn't be- lieve me, Scanderov.” “No?” “No,” said I. “But I’ve brought back Cleveland Darrell, for one thing.”’ Scanderov gaped at me. “You’ve done what?” “‘Darrell—the man I went for,”’ said I. CANDEROV lowered himself into a chair, and still kept a grip on the edge of the table as he scowled at the floor. “The Smoking Land?” said he. “The Smoking Land,” I said, to annoy him, “will know about us long before we know much about them. The Smoking Land knows most of the facts, about us right now!” Scanderov shook his head, like an im- patient man, troubled by flies. “You won't say any more, eh?” said he. ‘No, I won't. I wouldn’t be any good,” I said. “You couldn’t believe me. No- body could.” “You won't talk,” repeated the great explorer, talking mostly for his own ear, “You won't talk—because the yarn is too strange to be believed. Well, if you won't talk, what about Darrell?” “Darrell is all right,” said I, “but he has white hair.” “You're pretty well on the gray side yourself,” said he. I laughed at him. “It is, though,” said he. There was a small round mirror hang- ing ona wall, and I stepped before it. It was true. The beard en my face was a natural enough hue, but my hair was sil- ver gray and that wiglike effect made me appear so old that I hardly recognized my own features, Suddenly, as J was examining myself, Scanderov called out, “Bah! I see it, now!” “What do you see?” “You and Darrell have simply got to- gether in a complicated plot to give him (Please continue on page 128)