Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 99: what you’re looking at

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

To Shed Blood as they approached nearer, and even the fiddlers pointed their bows at me and asked, ‘“‘Where is Ileana?” as they staggered on their feet. ‘How should I know?” I answered mood- ily without getting up. “He — can’t — throw —me —again, that scribbler,’’ Costa drawled. “That scribbler who fights like a woman—with bare hands.” “Check your tongue,” cried Murdo to the boy as he pushed him aside when I rose to my feet. The chief was again sober. And, turning to the fiddlers, he said: ‘Your night is full. I have paid you. Go!” And when the fiddlers had gone he said to his men: ‘‘Go! leave us alone.” “Son of Jancu,” he spoke softly as he sat near me. “Son of Jancu, sorrow is like a worm. It eats out the heart and the apple falls to the ground before it is ripe and is eaten by swine. I can hear your father, who was my friend, telling me, ‘Murdo, he ismyson. You are old and know his heart.’ You shall stay with us. told me many a time, during the long Win- ter nights in which I smoked my pipe sit- ting near him by the fire-place of his big house, your father has told me many a time, ‘I have built a big house for myself, but I feel as if in a prison in it.’ So he has told me. And your women are treacherous and want silks and jewels. But you, I have known your being nursed by one of our own women. You have drawn of our blood from her breasts. It flows in you. You will for- get the other woman. Just be like a son to me, Son of Jancu, to Murdo, who has lost his son who died because of kis love for one of your women. Sorrow had eaten his heart.” I did not answer, for as he spoke I saw myself seated again at the piano near Rita and felt the warmth of her arm as it touched mine while we played. “Why did you fight Costa?” Murdo asked suddenly after a long silence. ‘Because he insulted me,’”’ I answered slowly, wondering why he should have asked what he knew as well as I did. We sat silently facing each other for a while. ‘Now, go to sleep in my wagon. There are blankets a-plenty and tomorrow you drive my horses.” We were up and on the road to Con- stanza early the following morning. Murdo sat by me on the driver’s seat and pointed Your father has 93 the way at the cross-roads. About noon I began to look back trying to see Ileana. I just caught a glimpse of her during the eve- ning when she had gone to fetch water for the meal. I made as if to follow her, but Murdo called me to help him grease the wheels and kept me busy the whole eve- ning. I was too tired to eat and fell asleep as soon as the work was done. On the following day we were again on the road at sunrise. And as our wagon was the first one I had no chance to see Ileana while on the road. Neither had I seen her that morning before the caravan had started. The farther we went the more the past receded from me and instead of think- ing of Rita and my brother I pictured to myself the Gipsy girl in the company of Costa, playing and kissing with each other. Suffocating with jealousy, I began to drive the horses faster than their usual pace. “Hey, if you feel like murdering some one, don’t take it out.on my horses,” taunted Murdo as he took the reins out of my hands. Again I caught a glimpse of Ileana that night as we made camp. She was coming from the river, carrying two wooden pails, tilted backward as she walked; with feet wide apart. There was a red flower in her black hair that hung loosely over her bare, brown, broad shoulders, and there was a bunch of white lilies in the narrow yellow sash that held the two loose halves of her knee-short skirts together. I dropped the hammer out of my hand, ready to have a word with her; but Murdo was with me and we were busy straighten- Ing an axle. “Hey, you! Stay here,” he ordered. ‘Don’t run away when there is work to be done.” My hands itched for the dagger when I saw Costa running to help Ileana carry the water. He took one of the pails from her hands and she slowed her pace and rested every few steps as they talked together softly. It took them so long to reach Ghitza’s camp-fire that I heard the mother curse and call her daughter snail and cursed Costa for keeping her husband and children hun- gry while the wood burned to ashes and the kettle was empty. Costa passed by me and grinned when I looked at him. The following day was Sunday. They all cCOmiclboolks C©