Adventure Magazine Cover — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

Forward the Moskyas had lost their vessels because they could not manage the sails and be- cause the rigging was stiff. On the other hand the Turks were good seamen, and they were helped by the corsairs from the Bar- bary Coast. ‘John Paul is a hireling; he would betray us. Why do you bother your head about such things, Ivak? When you-have spent the rix-dollars and come back to the Win- ter Palace, I swear that you will have the rank of colonel and be at the head of the Don regiment. Your ataman, your colonel is a bad one, a wine swiller. He will lose his baton.” “Is the order about Paul Jones written and signed?” I asked, pretending to be pleased with all he said. “‘Nay—deuce take you, Ivak! Are such things to be written on paper?”’ I scratched my head, the way my chil- dren, the warriors, do when they are puz- zled. Now we Cossacks weigh down a horse a bit, but because a buffalo is fat it does not mean he is a fool. Nay, the weasel is the greatest of all fools because blood lust crazes him and he thinks only of killing, and the weasel is thin and sharp enough. Strelsky made me think of a weasel. I be- gan to smell so much smoke that the fire could not be far away. Strelsky was a fool. He thought to please me by promising me the promotion to col- onel in place of our ataman. As God lives I would have liked to be colonel and hold an ivory baton on my hip, but our officer was our little father. Why should he not drink when there was nothing else to do in this city that smelled of the sea? “True,” I nodded again. “An order is an order. God keep and reward you, Ensign— I must look to the horses.”’ Hs stared and said farewell doubtfully, and I went out, taking pains not to close the door tight. I walked down the hall, thumping my boots, and came back again, moving gently, like a cat. Without asking permission I pushed open the door. The screen had been moved and a man in a very fine silver coat was stand- ing by the table, yawning. On his breast was the badge of the Order of St. Anne, and some others. He had very tight panta- loons and polished Hessian boots, the kind that Edwards wore. Strelsky was speaking, and once he called the other ‘‘mon prince.’? When they saw 9 me they looked angry, and the pock- marked face of the prince grew dark. When I took my kalpack in hand and bowed several times to the girdle as if great- ly confused by sight of such a great noble, he swore in a language I did not know. “Pardon, Excellencies,” I muttered, ‘‘but I came back to ask again about the order. Is it the command of the Empress that Pavel —Paul Jones—is to be slain on the road to the Black Sea?” Neither answered, and the full red lips of the prince—lips like a woman’s they were— drew together as if he were biting them. Strelsky began to curse, then he laughed. ‘“‘Can’t you see beyond your horse’s ears, sotntk? WHaven’t you silver in your wallet? See to it that the river brigands or a band of Tatars seize the American and rub him out of the world. If this happens you will be colonel of the Don regiment; if not, you would better flee to the Turks, to keep from being flayed. Do you understand now, you dolt?”’ , But the prince seemed thoughtful, and it was clear that he was not a fool like Strelsky. Taking out a lace kerchief, scented like a woman’s hair, he waved it m the air and held it to his nose as if my sheepskins NOOK CO inn