Adventure Magazine Cover, June 18, 1921 — page 179: what you’re looking at

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

The Black Quag fourth dimension, which Molly declares -is “just foolishness.” But I do not think our host was displeased—not that I cared. I am not easily Overawed, even by the great. And then, just as we had given him up, the porter brought in Lily-White Hand. He had not changed; he still wore his much-washed gray-green khaki, and he was booted and gloved as always. He stood in the doorway, grinning impudently; his pale, unblinking stare challenged. No doubt he knew what to expect. 7 For Stuart MacKenzie rose slowly in his place, hard black eyes fixed upon this latest guest, and his face set like a flint. “Mister-r R-r-rober-rts!”’ he began, and his r’s ripped like a circular saw; ‘“‘is this the man Hand of your-r r-repor-rts?”’ Warren was taken back. “Why—why, yes, sir,” he answered. “This is Mr. Hand; and the rcad wouldn’t have been done on time without him. I— I thought of recommending him for a per- manent place on your staff, sir.”’ The Ontario’s vice-president emitted an indescribable sound, waving the suggestion away; but his eyes were still for Hand. He saw no one else, I think. “Hand!” said he. ‘Lily-White Hand!” He stopped, and ground his teeth. “Tf I had known! Man, who brought ye out of Persia uncrucified? Ye canna worrk fr me, Lily-White -Hand—and I am minded to tear up y’r grade and have it done again. Now go! Y’r pay will be sent ye at once; see to it, Roberts! An’ I warrn ye off the Ontario’s right of way. Ye arre dismissed.” “Like a house-maid, without a character,” answered Hand, his voice controlled and colorless; but Lucifer cast out of heaven must have worn such a face as his. ‘Right, chief!’’ He made a burlesque salute and vanished, unabashed and insolent to the last. “There,” said our host, ‘‘goes a worrse than Judas Iscariot!’’ From which I gathered that he had had some acquaintance with Lily-White Hand. Naturally the incident rather put a damper upon our festivities; and I was not sorry when the porter brought in Jack Mack to tell me that I was wanted over in White Creek, the other side of Cranberry Hill. I made my excuses, and departed in mid-meal; and Warren Roberts looked 169 after me enviously. I was sorry for the boy. His pride of achievement had soured; although MacKenzie had given him no word of blame. Jack Mack had my car waiting; but I drove home first to discard my grandeur. “Never again!” I promised Molly, and ripped my collar thankfully from a chafed neck. “What have I to do with the rich and great? Where’s my gray flannel shirt?” “Oh, Kirke!’”’ she chided, but brought it none the less; and presently I climbed into the car and drove away, slouchily comfortable as a man could ask to be, and vowing to eschew frivolities from now on. The roads were tolerable, and I drove fast across Center Street, past the deserted and half-dismantled Camp One, across the new railroad grade and on toward the hill. And, as I breasted the last rise of Cran- berry Hill, I heard the distant whistling of the engine which was bringing the Ontario’s pay-car up from the south. What with final pay and bonuses, it must carry twenty thousand dollars, I reflected; per- haps more. My work on White Creek kept me late. It must have been two o’clock when my faithful flivver slid squealing down the slope of Cranberry Hill. I looked down upon the Black Quag, bisected now by twin lines of rail that gleamed bright be- neath the moon, and wondered at that sight. Discredited and dismissed, Lily- White Hand had yet left us a conqueror; for he had bridged the Quag. Or had he? Dirt the Quag had taken in plenty, and-piles and rails and machinery— pile-drivers, cars and engines, but no living thing. The Black Quag had not yet been fed; would it, still hungry, submit itself so tamely to the yoke of these rail- roaders? So pondering, I turned west into Center Street and began to cross the valley. And then, from far to the northward, I began to hear the rumble of an approaching train. I thought little of that; long trains had rattled and roared up and down the valley twenty-four hours a day for so long. I forgot that the work was finished now. As I approached the crossing, the head- light of an engine flared athwart my path so close that I must stop lest I be run COmicloo ZN ) C©