Adventure Magazine Cover, March 20, 1925 — page 77: what you’re looking at

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

The Snow Driver - Shatong saw that Durforth’s face had changed, it had darkened, the beard jutting out, the forehead creased. The lips were drawn back, and Shatong saw in this face the likeness of a wolf. So, he reasoned, the taller outlander served the wolf spirit. The other, whose yellow mane gleamed in the firelight, who fought with closed lips, he fancied served the quoren vairgin, the reindeer spirit. And it was well known that the wolf-clan was powerful enough to tear to pieces a member of the reindeer clan. And, certainly, the clan of ermecin, the great white bear, would prevail over either. So . Shatong reasoned, while he crawled around the fire to watch the struggle of the white men. Durforth pressed the attack now, follow- ing thrust with thrust. Both men, the shaman thought, were tiring, and Thorne was staggering. It was clear to the Ostiak that Durforth’s kam was the stronger, and he began to breath quickly in anticipation of the end. He saw Thorne stumble in a drift over a fallen tree and go down on one knee. Dur- forth sprang in, cutting down his adversary’s blade, and struck with the knife. Thorne had not tried to rise, but gathered his strength and lunged as Durforth came down on him. i Shatong saw a point of steel through Durforth’s back; saw the big man rise to his toés and fall forward, soundlessly, into the drift. Freeing his blade, Thorne turned about in time to face the rush of the Ostiaks led by Shatong. The shaman had not expected to see Durforth go down, but now he knew that the other outlander must be exhausted. The three sled loads of goods from the ships would be his in another moment. Something whirred past the shaman and thudded into the back of the foremost Ostiak. It was a crossbow bolt and it knocked the man from his feet. The others turned to stare at the forest and yelled in shrill and astonished fear. Two figures were advancing on them from the trees, Kyrger running in advance, fitting an arrow to his small bow. Behind him, grasping the crossbow that he had picked up when the Samoyed let it fall, was Peter. Peter with the skin of the polar bear wrapped around him, the muzzle over his head, his face almost invisible between the gaping jaws. 59 Some hours since the shipman had awakened from the stupor into which he had fallen after the blow on the head dealt him by Shatong. His heavy leather cap and stout skull had brought him off none the worse except for a mighty bruise over one ear. Kyrger had roused him by thrust- ing the end of the crossbow into his ribs. By frantic signs the Samoyed had made it clear to Peter that trouble was brewing near at hand, and the shipman had lumbered off without delaying to rid himself of the bearskin. Heaving into sight of the fire, he was in time to see Durforth go down and the Ostiaks rise from. their haunches and rush at Thorne. “Stand to quarters, lad!” he bellowed. “Lay them by the board!” Shrewd Shatong saw what effect this ap- parition of the burly man in the white fell had upon his followers. They had not known that another outlander was present, so intent had they been upon the duel. And the skin of the white bear filled them with superstitious dread. ““Frmecini’’ they cried. No Ostiak had ever slain a white bear. And while they hung back, gripped alike by fear and the blood lust, Shatong ran at Peter from the side, swinging his club. Out of the corner of his eyes the shipman saw him, and swung the crossbow down and outward in a powerful hand. The steel bow, and the iron-tipped head struck the shaman on the temple. Without a cry Shatong’s body dropped upon the earth, seeming to shrink into its _ grotesque garb of leather and jangling iron, its long hair covering the shattered skull and the gap where his eyes had been. A shout from Kyrger, who had beheld what was in his estimation a miracle, brought home to the Ostiaks the fact that they were dealing with men, not spirits. One of the eight sent an arrow through the little hunter. Others swarmed upon Peter, screaming and stabbing. It was Thorne’s sword that checked their rush. The armiger, thrusting and warding, strengthened by the brief rest, put down two of his assailants, and drove another back on the huddle around Peter. In this hand to hand struggle the Easter- lings could not use their bows; but Peter, dropping the crossbow, used his fists. He knocked one man headlong, and Thorne, bruised by a thrown club, ran another COMiiclooe S (©