A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, February 1950 — page 28: what you’re looking at

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

ioe Sider yee yg -, ant = = = - = So; ae Bier os es, 28 A. MERRITT’S FANTASY UNTIED the string, pulled it loose, and then, with a strong pull, I turned Mr. Esquimau out of his enchanted ar- mor. When he tumbled on his face in the snow, he came to himself with a start and got up, staggering, pulling the furs about his open breast, again, to keep out the stabbing knives of the cold. In the meantime, I put away my Colt and took up the fallen knife. It was a beautiful piece of bluish-gray steel with a blade that tapered like the dripping point of an icicle. It was supple as the wind, and as penetrating as a fork of lightning. With that in my hand—and with the white dog still neutral—I stepped up close to the man from the North and said to him, in something as near his own dialent as I could manage, that if he attempted to run away, I would stick him right through his middle. He blinked at me and said nothing, -but I knew that he had understood, “Now,” said I, “you speak to me with a tongue that cannot say the thing that is not.. Where did you get this thing?” I pointed to the armor on the snow. “T found it down by the shore, washing baek and forth in the driftwood. I had gone to pick up driftwood for a fire. And I found this.” “You have spoken, already, a thing that is not,’ I said. “A man does not pick up wet driftwood to make a fire. Where it is awash, there is a lot more of it safe and dry on the beach. Now try again, and tell me where you got this thing.” “It is clear that you are one of the wise ones,” said he. “It is true that I did not pick it up among the driftwood on the beach. But I worked one summer unload- ing a ship at Point Barrow, And I found this thing in the ship, and I took it away with me.” Take him all in all, he was a good liar of the hearty, natural school, one of the kind that looks you fairly in the eye and speaks out simply and bluntly—and knows not the truth at all. There was a raging fire in me. I began to know that my strange trail was not ending in nothing. I could not put all the pieces of evidence together, but | was will- ing to swear, now, that there was, some- where, a Smoking Land. “Twice you have told me the thing that is not,” I said. “The third time if you do so, I shall run your own knife through your heart and leave you for the wolves to eat. Yes, or my own dogs may have you before you are dead. And that white fel- low, yonder, may enjoy a taste of you. Tell me the truth. You brought this from the Smoking Land!” He grew smaller in a sudden jerk, as his knees sagged. “You brought it from the Smoking Land,” said I. “Tell me the truth.” “T know nothing,” said he. But his eyes were unsteady, and when a man cannot meet your glance, he is fight- ing a battle already more than half lost. “You came from the Smoking Land,” said I. ‘“That’s why you wanted to mur- der me. Because you don’t want the thing known.” “He laughed at me,” said he. “That is why I tried to kill him.” “T didn’t laugh at you,” said I, “T was already in the madness, when I ran at you,” said he. Yes, he had talent, great though unimproved talent. He was never without a word of answer. So I took the very long blade and laid its needle point on his breast, and as he winced, I knew that the burning finger was sinking through his skin, drawing out a trickle of blood. “You are less to me than a mad dog,” said I. “So now I am going to kill you, because I have promised to do so. But I give you one more chance to live. You came from the Smoking Land!”’ There was brightness and a shadow in his eyes, in quick succession, as he decided to throw himself at me, and then as he changed his mind, deciding that the knife was much too close to his heart for him to try it. And, after that, his face, his whole body loosened and weakened. He wavered as a rag sways in a light wind, a wet, heavy rag that dangles freshly soaked on the line. I waited, for I saw that speech of any kind was impossible to him, just then. Finally he said, ‘““Yes, I am from the Smoking Land! The wizards and the devils have told you! The witches have whispered it in your ear.” This was what he said that almost stopped my heart. The agony with which he spoke made me sure that he was not "comic books.com