Adventure Magazine Cover — page 68: what you’re looking at

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

58 up for them, confident in his self-belief, gazing on the birthmark as a magic talis- man. Only the black visaged giant, surly and jealous, still demurred. ‘And you, it seems, are to be the self- appointed leader and claim the major share,” he grumbled. ‘It is not the first cock that crows in the village that is always the best bird. If we obtain this boat and turn from buccaneers to pirates, it is the best man among us who should be captain. The best, I say.” He glared truculently around, one hand on the butt of his pistol. They shrank from him a little, except Sanderson who regarded him sardonically, and Pierre. “It is my mission to heal wounds rather than make them,” said the Scotchman. “You need not roll your bull eyes at me, Volin. A chirurgeon is apter needed at the tail of a fight than at the beginning.”’ Volin turned on Pierre, contemptuously apprais- ing his lesser bulk from head to foot. “Pierre le Grand!’’ he sneered. ‘Pierre le Petit would suit you better, [am thinking.” The eyes of the Norman seemed to dis- solve into little pools of blue flame about the black pupils in which shone points of light. ‘As you say, Volin, we have yet to get the boat,” he said in a voice that was cold and fine as the sweep of a steel blade. “That comes later. First’”—and the blue flame grew fiercer—‘‘there is this matter of height between us which seems to trouble you. My shadow may be less than yours, Volin, but a good sword makes arm lengths equal. ‘“‘When a man is dead,” he added softly, ‘it makes little difference what size his grave is dug. There is still light left and the beach is level. What say you, Volin, between you and me, shall we prove which is the better man?” He stepped aside and plucked his cutlas out of the sand, tossing it in the air to catch it again by the hilt. “The better man,” he repeated, running his thumb along the keen edge of the steel. “Or shall we make it to the death, Volin the Black?” _For just a moment the giant hesitated while the crowd held silence. “‘We will make the ring,” he said sullenly. Pierre laughed. “T thought so,” he said. ‘You have lost the fight already, Volin.” ! Adventure alam TWO men made a fairly true circle o" ‘6 in the sand on a spot that was level, hardened and still damp from the ebb, tracing the circumferetice with the point of their cutlases. The diameter was about eighteen feet, a radius of three paces from the center. Volin and Pierre stripped off their tunics and stood naked save for sash and belt and the wide breeches that came to their knees. The sun sank almost clear of clouds. The long shadows of the men ranged sharp over the white coral. Volin’s chest and stomach were shaggy with black hair, Pierre’s skin practically smooth. Pierre might have weighed a hundred and sixty pounds, his opponent fifty more. Volin’s muscles were bunched on his shoul- ders and arms. His breadth and depth of chest, as he expanded it, were prodigious, his calves enormous, his slightly bowed legs sturdy as the trunks of young oaks. He swung his cutlas like a cane and it whistled against the air. Pierre stood aside with point to the grit, waiting for the preparations to be com- pleted. Sanderson took a red silk cloth that some one stripped from his head and stood within the ring. “You'll take stations north an’ south,” he said dryly. “Cross blades on guard at the word, and watch the kerchief till it drops. Then at it, an’ may the Lord ha’ mercy on your souls. I’ll do the best I can wi’ your bodies.” Volin took place as if he were planted in the beach, his visage lowering. Pierre advanced, lithe as a panther, the supple muscles rippling over his torso like snakes under the skin, free but coordinate, a gay smile on his lips, his eyes still holding a light like burning alcohol. The blades touched with an earnest click of steel. Pierre’s feet were far apart, his left arm crooked, the wrist curved. Volin bent his behind his brawny back, the fist clenched. “The first to step fairly outside the ring loses the fight,” said Sanderson. ‘‘Are ye ready? On guard!’ The crowd gathered in a crescent between the fighters and the shore, to keep their shadows from interference. Sanderson re- treated to the border of the circle, equally between the pair who viewed the red signal held at arm’s length at shoulder level, from GOMIIGooOO S (©