A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, February 1950 — page 45: what you’re looking at

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

THE SMOKING LAND eee NS Pat ny Ie EO Oa oe a ENE RI Oe ee pg Eee hg RT z * ‘~ 2 me nae ~ : wrt ~ VAR Hg fz = Pina 45 fashion against my legs from time to time just to let me know that he was there. And not a soul spoke to me on the way. I was pretty darned bewildered. First, I tried to believe that this was just a great big masquerade, and they were waiting for me to make a thorough fool of my- self, and then they would turn out of their skins, laughing, and introduce themselves as Smith, Jones, and Brown of such and such an exploring party, who had taken to using native weapons to a certain ex- tent because they had run short of am- munition for their rifles. But something told me that there was no joke about this affair at all. The way the guards marched along, for instance, with one eye fixed on me all the time, and the other eye on their footing, and the handy way in which they kept the points - of their spears at my ribs, made me decide that this party was no laughing matter— for me, anyway. Pretty soon we came to a village. It was not white, Indian, or Esquimau by the look of it. The houses were of a goodish size, and they were built of stone, low and massive; and the streets wound around in crooked’ lanes, and they were paved! Paved with big cobblestones! They brought us out finally on a big central square, In the meantime, we had picked up quite a crowd. Both women and children and other men, young and old, swarmed otit of the houses and came kiting along, pointing at me and jabbering to one another—and the language they used was —English! The crowd got so thick that we could hardly get through, and then the chief made a little speech. It was a simple and naive lie. He merely said that they were braver and bolder than he had expected to find them, for they freely exposed them- selves to the sight of a greater enchanter who might blast them, body and soul. These odd folk took the joke as if it was not a joke at all. The women covered up their faces and ran and the men drew back and bowed their heads, so that they might look at the ground, rather than at me. And some of them held up trinkets of one kind or another, and I heard them calling out prayers to the goddess to avert from them the evil eye! They were afraid. That, I thought, was’ going too far. It was putting the joke on too broad a foun- dation. After that, I kept my mind fallow, ready for a new idea to drop into it and bear seed. We marched on through the village, which I was glad to see the end of, and headed straight on for the great smoking mountain, and the big hills at the base of it. Before long, we came to a well used road. The snow on it was worn slick in spots, and rutted in others, and before we had gone long, we met the strangest rider and the strangest vehicle you ever clapped eyes on. It was Santa Claus with rein- deer, beard, and all. All he lacked was the bag of toys on his shoulders, Pulling the sled were six beautiful reindeer, all of a size—and in the sled was this big old man all wrapped up in furs, with a great white beard flowi down outside them. His face was red, his eyes were bleary with the wind of the gallop. He pulled up on the side of the road and watched us pass, and sang out, “What dost thou, Jenkin, son of Smith?” “Lo, father,” says the chief, as gravely as you pelase, “I bear to the judgement of the priestess a great enchanter, or liar—I know not which—who proclaims himself to have come from a southern land and of a people never before seen. His face is besmudged, but his body is white, and his soul likewise is stained, for he had laid impious hands upon the sacred cattle of the goddess.” “Ha!” says the old fellow. “I shall go along to hear the judgment. This should be a matter of burning, Jenkin.” “T doubt not,” says Jenkin. “The magi- cian has walked eight months over the ice of the southern sea, so he says.” “So he says,” adds White Beard, “and so I might say that I have walked for eight years over the southern wind, Jenkin, but would you believe me when I said it? Get on with him, or sit here and ride with me, for it is better by far than walking.” Jenkin preferred to walk, however. And on we went, with the old gentleman be- hind us. He was not alone. Others came, on foot, and then some with big-wheeled ~~ +comicbooks:c