Adventure, November 1915 — page 85: what you’re looking at

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

wor Sa 99 r x — » Sa ae af < a 5 “ ~*~ ~ < ‘ The Strength of Small did it cleverly enough, but none of their at- tempts escaped the little man who turned the pages of his book and now and then smiled softly at their shafts of sarcasm. He had left them severely alone. His attitude was that of a man who feels a little pity for other men who think they are demonstra- ting strength when they are but showing their weaknesses. They taunted Small because he dropped behind on those rare occasions when he went on a tramp with them. They laughed when he was unable to get a buck across his shoulders and carry it to the camp. They made sport of his short stride and his pale, student’s countenance, and his eye-glasses; and they hid his books and tried to bother him when he read in the evening. And Small continued to smile softly, since they did not descend to open and intended insult, and to pity them a bit. They had nothing to say of his marksman- ship. Small did not use a rifle, but he could use a revolver. Back in civilization he was the crack shot of a pistol club that had a national reputation. He could drill a bull’s- eye in a target as easily as he could point a finger. So they merely related to Pierre, in Small’s hearing, that such a little man could not be expected to carry a heavy rifle about; but they said nothing about the way he handled the smaller weapon—either by way of praise or blame. From his position before the fire, on this night of the blizzard, he glanced around as Holland spoke: “How much longer, Pierre, is this blamed blizzard going to last? When can we go after that big buck?” | “Two, t’ree day, maybe,” the guide re- plied. ‘“‘Heem no good to go now. Heem buck keep in out of storm.” “Make the time as short as possible, old boy,” Pearson put in. “We came up here to rough it, you know, not to sit before a fire and read a book.” Small turned away from them and faced the fire again, that soft smile playing over his face. Pierre attempted to divert Pear- son and Holland; he didn’t want Small bait- ed again this night. Pierre was afraid Sylvester Small would pack up his things after the storm and leave the camp, and Pierre wanted the money Small’s presence there meant for him. “‘Thees blizzard,” he said, ‘‘es no fun, al- though et seem lak et to some. Et es no PP A. OO ee oe ee a 4” a ‘n » pee Oe oe Ne ee ee eres + ° - . . 83 time for a man to be out. A strong man slip an’ fall on ze ice an’ no get up. There heem die. Et es no fun!” There was partial silence for a time then. Small read his book. Pierre poked at the fire. Pearson and Holland talked in low tones of victories on athletic fields, of foot- ball and baseball and polo. The wind shook the cabin walls. The sleet beat against the windows. The storm shrieked and howled like a gigantic wolf- pack on a hunger trail. Pearson sprang from his chair. “Listen!”’? he commanded. Complete silence then, save for the roar of the storm. ‘Then there came a wail, a sort of cry, lashed on its traveling by the whims of the wind until they could not tell whether it was a cry of human or beast. | “Wolf!” snorted Holland. ‘As I was 9? sayin “Wait!” Pierre exclaimed. ' Again the cry, nearer now; then some- thing beat against the door. “A man—in this storm!’ Small gasped, getting up from his chair, and shivering at the mere thought of a human being out in such a blizzard. Pierre sprang to the door, with Pearson and Holland close behind him. The big bolt was shot back, the door swung open by the force of the storm, and a blinding flash of snow and sleet came in, sweeping half way across the big room; and with it an ice- incrusted figure that slipped and fell full length upon the floor. Pierre threw his weight against the door, closed and bolted it, then whirled around. Pearson and Holland were lifting the way- farer from the floor. “Tt’s a woman—a womah!” Sylvester Small was crying. II feey PEARSON and Holland got her in- a to a chair and began taking off the hea muffler she had wrapped around her head. They took off her mit- tens, too, and Holland examined her hands. “Brandy, Pierre!’ Pearson cried. ‘‘She’s half frozen! Great Scott! A woman out in a storm like this ae Pierre stood in the center of the room, and for an instant did not move. He was looking at the girl’s face, which was uncovered now, a face beautiful in its way—and on Pierre’s COMNICGLOOOKS