Adventure Magazine Cover, June 18, 1921 — page 175: what you’re looking at

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

The Black Quag I could not speak; wrath closed my throat. But I caught Lily-White Hand from behind, my fingers deep in his lean throat, and plucked him from his victim, back-heeling him as he came. The man ran backward for a dozen steps and then fell flat; for I am strong. But he writhed catlike to his feet and crouched there, grinning hatefully. His right hand flashed up and back, plucking at something between his shoulder-blades— a gesture that brought back old times to me. Now, I am not particularly afraid of a man with a knife, having disarmed more than one such in my day. But I wore a brand-new suit, for which I had paid a most sinful price, and I hated to see it cut or bloodied. Also, as I saw from his very stance, this was an ugly knife-fighter; and I did not wish to kill him—dquite. So I resorted to moral suasion. While he yet crouched, knife poised for a spring, I reached into a vest pocket, brought forth a tiny roll of tissue-paper and undid it with exaggerated caution, exposing a surgeon’s needle. “Now, Mr. Hand,” said I, and my quiet voice and casual manner restrained him for the moment, as I knew it would. “Now, my friend, I’ve just come from Cranberry Hill, where they’re having black smallpox.” It was quite true; in that section were a number of the “Holiness People,’ Rollers and Schwenkfeldians, who had dodged vaccination for years because it was against their faith. This Spring a visiting Cana- dian co-religionist had brought them small- pox to reward their faith; and they had welcomed it so enthusiastically that even then I was meditating a shotgun quaran- tine. But of course my needle was clean. “Black smallpox,” I repeated. “I used this needle on two cases; it’s nicely covered with the virus. Now, dear friend, when- ever you’re ready, let the hostilities com- mence.”’ And I fell on guard like a swordsman, my needle well advanced. Lily-White Hand maintained his crouch. His evil eyes flared smokily—fire behind ice. If hell should freeze over, I know what a - skater would see beneath his feet. I am sure the man did not fear me, though I fancy that I could have taken him apart with my hands. I think he would have advanced coolly upon knife or gun. But smallpox! That was another thing. 168 Seeing him hesitate, I grinned openly. The man’s raised hand quivered; his thin lips writhed; his face became as‘the face of a devil with baffled hate and rage. Yet he did not charge. Instead, I saw those lid- less eyes hood themselves once more. Lily-White Hand blinked. Then he sheathed his knife and straight- ened his face until it was cold and hard again. ° “You win—this time,” he conceded, his voice quite colorless. ‘‘But only this time. This goes down on your score, Montgomery —and I always pay my debts!”’ He turned to the shrinking, fascinated girl. ‘And as for you, you 4s At the word he used, I leaped forward. The blood roared in my ears; I saw him through a red mist. _ Lily-White Hartd looked at me coolly for an instant, then gave his thinly ringing Jaugh and whirled. He fled through the wood at top speed, and I after him, raging so that for a hundred yards I did not know what weight dragged at my left side. Then the red mist faded from before me and I stopped, nauseated and shaken by the reaction of my temper. I looked down; Mary Belle hung desperately to my arm, and now I could hear her frightened voice. “Oh, Monty, no! Oh, Monty, no! Don’t kill him—don’t kill him!” I sat down on a stump, holding my head in both hands, panting and weak. “Y’m sorry, Mary Belle,” said I, pres- ently. “I—I must have lost my temper.” Mary Belle still clung to my arm. . She was sobbing fitfully; but now she clioked upon a hysterical giggle. “T should think you did! Oooh, Monty, you frightened me. Don’t be mad any more!” she begged childishly. CHAPTER X A WAY OF LIVING STROVE to smile at her, and succeeded very indifferently. Then I rose. “Come, Mary Belle; let’s go home.” But she held me back, and looked searchingly into my eyes. “Now, Monty!” she began severely. “‘You promised not to be angry any more. What are you going to do?” “T’m not angry,” I denied. “I’m a pacifist; I’m a Quaker! What am I going COmicloo CN Vp) (©