Adventure Magazine Cover — page 56: what you’re looking at

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

The Bear-Tamer’s Daughter awkward movement of some animal dis- turbed some stone or boulder which rolled down the mountainside, filling the valley with sharp echoes that died in dull, hollow thuds as they ended in the valleys. Suddenly Costa began to sob. He cried easily after a glass of wine. It was his weak- est spot. And as he cried it seemed as if all the mountains cried with him, felt his sor- row and wept with him. Margarita sped her horse up, awakened from her own dreams. “Why have you waited twenty years?” she reproached her father, knowing the reason for his sorrow. ‘‘If I hada grudge to settle [ would not wait that long. The same day, the same day, or a day later at most.” “Oh, it was a bad year. A bad year,” moaned Costa. ‘Without a wife. Bears tame as kittens and Ursu lame, lame, lame! Oh! Oh! It was a bad year, a bad year, daughter.” 4 “You don’t even catch a live one now,” the daughter reproached him again. “‘Is it because you are getting old? Or are bears and men all tame now? You cry like a woman. Listen, the mountain cries too. Shame!”’ BE olde I old?..You are crazy Tie bears were tame last year. Too long a Winter. Too long. Without a» wife, and Ursu lame,” and the old man sobbed again. “Let the mountains cry with me. They un- derstand, they understand.” It was pitch darkness by the time they had reached their gully, and Costa stretched himself on the straw-pile as soon as he let the flap of his tent fall back again. _ Margarita stabled, watered and fed the horses before she thought again of herself. She touched her neck and felt again with her fingers the place where her heavy tresses had been cut off. She thought of him and cursed him for the insult. Yet although it seemed to her that she still felt the grip of his steel-like fingers on her flesh she had no desire to free herself, no desire to shake off the illusion of a sharp knee that pressed down her shoulders; and between a thousand curses and tears of rage she saw Petrackio’s sharp features, ‘the eyes set well apart, the small ears set back firmly, the mouth and nose and fore- head bespeaking courage and decision. Margarita could not sleep. As she re- viewed again what had happened in the morning she regretted that she had not 59 used the whip on Petrackio more than she had done. It would have been much better, she thought. He should know that Costa’s daughter was not a plaything. He would have gone home and found his father had returned. Petrackio would have come to see her. It would have been well he should have known that Costa’s daughter was not to be trifled with. She should have used the whip more rapidly. It might have saved her long tresses. She tried to place in her memory the exact instant the boy had knocked the whip out of her hand and thrown her to the ground. She was doubtlessly in his power then, ab- solutely in his power. He could have done what he pleased with her—he could have killed her. As she sat on the ground in front of her tent she suddenly heard the beat of a horse’s hoofs at a distance. Margarita listened and when she was sure the rider came toward the gully she entered her tent. The hoof-beats soon ceased. <A dog barked. After that she heard a sharp, long, pene- trating whistle. Margarita’s ears, accus- tomed to catch the sounds, soon» knew that the birds in the surrounding chestnut-trees were scenting danger. The flight of a chip- munk told her that the intruder was within sight of the camp. Again the dog barked; just one short yelp and no more. Some one had thrown him a piece of raw meat. She had heard the flop of it as it fell to the ground. Then some one whistled softly from very near. Margarita hardly contained herself for joy. It was Petrackio. He was a real one and she was taming him! It was the old sensa- tion of taming live bears with a thousand new thrills added. She forgot all about the loss of her tresses. What did they amount to when weighed against such pleasure? Something in her urged her to rush out to the man and have a talk with him. But. something stronger held her back, gave promise of greater pleasure if she but sit quiet and watch the taming. It was like drinking good wine in small gulps to pro- long the pleasure, to permeate oneself with the exquisite taste. She heard the whistling again and again and every time she heard the shrill sound it was the sweetest music to her ears. Not the loudest howl from the fiercest bear she had ever tamed could compare to that. He, Petrackio, was a real one, and she was EoOmichbooks: (S©)