Adventure Magazine Cover, March 20, 1925 — page 31: what you’re looking at

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

The Snow Driver Grimly he closed his lips, reflecting that it was ever the way of the Thornes to choose their own path in the world, to keep their own counsel and ask favors of no one. “TI did think that you were a follower of the worshipful Master Cornelius Durforth who is a ship’s captain upon Sir Hugh Willoughby’s fleet. Aye, he was pleased to make mention of your name, asking if you had come to Orfordnesse.” “Where abides Durforth?”’ “Tn the manor house, with my lord Ren- ard who is new come from London.” Thorne emptied his mug and looked in- to It thoughtfully. Durforth must have changed horses several times during the three days ride from London to reach Or- fordnesse ahead of him. He had not known until then that D’Alaber’s companion was one of Sir Hugh’s gentlemen, and captain of a ship. “Where did you speak Durforth?” he asked. “At the cottage.” The old cosmographer lifted his head and nodded proudly. ‘‘Aye, he had heard of my poor work. Master Durforth is a skilled navigant. He spared some praise for my charts of the northern seas, and did ask my aid in a vexatious problem.” “In what?” Master Thorne blinked shrewdly and lifted a warning finger. ‘“Nay, Ralph you were loutish indeed to think the secrets of cosmography are: to be blabbed in a pothouse.” Ralph had some knowledge of his father’s stubbornness. “Then must I talk with you this night.” “Nay, the reverend Master Cabot hath sent word that he will visit me, upon the evening Sir Hugh makes his landfall, or perhaps it was the next morning. "My memory—ah!”’ A boy had run im crying that the ships had come to anchor and boats were putting off. Straightway the throng in the tavern dwindled as the Orfordnesse folk went out to stare at the vessels and their crews. “Enough™ cried Master Thorne, hob- bling to his feet and seizing his stick. “We have tarried too long. Come, Ralph, we must greet these worshipful gentlemen; aye, and talk with them concerning the course they will sail and the charts. Now I wonder what charts they would have? What, will you not come?”’ 13 He stamped off, forgettmg everything else in his eagerness, leaving Ralph smiling at his father’s familiar eccentricity. But, once he had the tap room to himself, the smile vanished and he stared into space with a furrowed brow. Durforth was in Orfordnesse. Surely the man had been bound hither when he left London with D’Alaber. And the Fox himself was lying at the manor house near- by. Durforth had spoken with Renard. “Fulke,” he called to the landlord, who was leaving the room, “how many follow- ers hath lord Renard in his train?” “A round score of lusty fellows, who have turned out the stables to make place for ae nags,” responded the innkeeper sul- y. Stables! Thorne recalled the guard posted at Stratford’s gate, and the attack upon himself that followed. He had spoken. to no one of his mission, yet Durforth had known that he was riding to Orfordnesse. Stratford must have tcld the ship’s captain, or possibly D’Alaber. But why? “Fulke,” he called the landlord back again, “‘here is a fair purse of gold crowns. I fear me ’tis attained with Spanish treach- ery and so will have none of it. Will you take it?” He tossed the embroidered sack on the sand that lay underfoot and the tavern keeper caught it up, hefting it in his fist. Then, with a glance around to see that no one was looking he edged over to the armiger and bent down his hairy face. “Hark ’ee, Maister Ralph, what’s the lay? What’si’ the wind? Icandoa pretty trick for him as is free-handed. Is it a matter of trepanning, or a wench——” “°Od’s life, Fulke,: you have a belly that refuses naught. I’m over fanciful as to such tocls. Now get you gone and let me think.” SCRATCHING his head and with (es =) more than one backward glance, the innkeeper obeyed, and presently bethought him that Ralph was the son of the Mad Cosmographer and so might rea- sonably be expected to share his sire’s lunacy. And after the events of that night Fulke was certain of it, though he never showed the purse to prove his point. Meanwhile, head clasped between his clenched fists, the armiger was considering hew he was going to warn Sir Hugh—whom CORnNIECLOO S (©