Adventure Magazine Cover — page 169: what you’re looking at

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

Don’t Swat a Flyer friendly to their uninvited guest— Hello, here comes an ambassador. He’s got a business-like walk——’”’ The man who was slopping through the puddles toward him came at a half-run. He was a giant in stature, dressed in a white shirt, khaki riding breeches and puttees. He was totally bald and wore no hat. “Yonder behemoth is somewhat wroth, I believe,” grinned the flyer as he crawled out to meet his guest. jeal “WHAT the do you mean, Me ruining our boiler?” was the big man’s opening remark. His full, hard face was red with exertion and fury. ““You’re a of a flyer, you are. Do you know what you did?” “T seem to have practically ruined your supply of steam,” admitted Brannon. ‘For which I’m sorry. However, the Govern- ment will settle any reasonable claim for damage——” “Settle ——!”” bellowed the oil man bel- ligerently. ‘“You know what you’ve done? Held us up for two days! You flyers, butting in where you’re not wanted! What right have you got to land here? Don’t you know better than to——”’ The unruffed Brannon expanded into a full grin. The breathless, beefy giant was ludicrous in his rage. “Tt was a slight matter of saving my neck—not such a valuable article, maybe, to any one else, but a fairly good neck at that.” “Lay off that smart stuff, mister,” snarled the oil man, stepping forward a trifle. Abruptly the situation changed, to the flyer’s mind. Evidently his companion was really sore. “‘T was caught in the rain, had to land at the first opportunity and didn’t see your boiler until too late,’’ he explained calmly. “Sorry, I’m sure, but really there was noth- ing I could do. Just one of those combina- tions of circumstance, you know. I hurt your boiler, and your boiler hurt my ship. So we must grin and bear it, let the Govern- ment fix ’°em both up——”’ ‘““You’re smart, aren’t you? You can get a good laugh out of it, can’t you? Well, let me tell you this, my hearty: Wipe that grin off your face when you’re talking to me!”’ Brannon’s untroubled, sleepy-looking eyes 163 met the ugly gaze of the towering oil man calmly. He remembered that he had seen the man in Lockville, two months before. He wondered why the accident had driven him into such a rage. It was unreasonable, and he, Brannon, did not like his attitude. “Would you mind repeating that last??? he requested politely. “T said wipe that grin off, or I’ll do it for you!”’ ‘‘Who appointed you as official censor, or were you elected?” inquired Brannon. “It’s my face.” The big man’s fingers moved convulsively. His prominent eyes, suffused with blood, measured the flyer from trim boots to bare head. For a second it seemed that he was about to spring forward. Perhaps it was the uniform that held him back. Finally he did come a step nearer. He thrust one huge, shaking hand toward the ship. “Tf you weren’t such a shrimp I’d take you apart,” he said furiously. ‘But by , you’re on my land and I won’t have you there. Get that! If that ship isn’t off here in just two hours : “What the hell will you do?” inquired Brannon casually. “T’ll get you off in pieces, and I won’t except the ship!” “That’s applesauce!’ rejoined Brannon without heat. ‘“‘The ship is Government property, and it’s out of order. It’s doin no harm, and I fear that it—and I, as well, for a few hours—will continue to clutter up your pasture. Just as man to man, don’t fiddle with it. There’s about ten thousand government dollars right here, not including myself. While we’re talking so sociably, don’t get beyond your depth.” This gratuitous advice, ‘delivered mock- ingly by the preternaturally calm flyer, supplied the well-known straw which was too much for the long suffering camel. The enraged recipient of it thrust out a hamlike fist with the speed of a rattlesnake. Bran- non ducked, but the glancing blow laid him flat on the ground and sent him slithering under a wing. He rolled to the other side, got to his feet and put the ship between himself and his assailant, who was now in a state of bloodthirsty wrath that left him speechless. ‘“You’re a wee bit too big for me to fight,’ Brannon remarked, the movement of his lips grotesque beneath the layer of mud that almost hid his face. “That is, cCOmiclboolks (©