Adventure Magazine Cover — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

18 moody, another half was in festival. The night was clear and cold—a full moon soar- ing above the cloud wrack on the horizon. A company of buffoons and dwarfs passed noisily, bound for the Kremyl, shouting at the solemn, long-robed townspeople. They halted gleefully to warm themselves at a fire. Here a Venetian mountebank had set up a marionette theater, and the familiar images of an old husband and a young wife and Mephistopheles were dancing about on strings, to the edification of the onlook- ers—until the Italian ducked out from his stall to hold forth his hat and cry the merits of his performance. The Mongol—this being an excellent place to overhear talk—dropped a coin in the hat and watched gravely when the miniature actors began to dance again on their strings, while a hunchback tortured melody from an ancient fiddle. Horses entered the narrow street, and when the crowd turned to stare, the sable- clad Mongol glanced sidewise. A party of boyare were escorting a sleigh toward the Kremy], and in the sleigh was nothing but a long casket-like object wrapped in red silk. So solemn the riders, so fantastic the tas- seled sleigh with its inanimate burden—the procession seemed to be a ritual of some kind. By token of the bossed trappings of the horses, and the cloth-of-gold that covered the wooden saddles, the riders were men of rank. The crowd gave back, bowing, to clear the way, and the leaders were prepar- ing to move on, when a merry chiming of bells sounded and a three-horse sleigh en- tered the far end of the street, rounding the corner at a gallop, in a swirl of snow. At acry from the driver the three coal- black Tatar steeds checked and slid to a halt, obedient to the voice rather than to any tug of the reins. The bells jangled and tinkled musically as the horses stood, pawing at the trodden snow, their nostrils steaming. Kirdy eyed them admiringly before he spared a glance for the owner of the flying sleigh. Then he lifted his head, forgetting for an instant the part he played, the boyare, and the horses. A girl was in the sleigh, a white bearskin wrapped around her. Instead of the silver head-gear of a noble- woman, she wore a fur cap, as dark as the eyes that gleamed with suppressed amuse- ment at the cortége her horses had blocked. HAROLD LAMB She sat erect, her silk sarafan shining upon slim shoulders, and all at once she smiled. So unexpectedly friendly was this smile, the men around Kirdy laughed good-na- turedly. “ERK!” one muttered, “what a splendid beauty—and no one to sit at her side, the divchinal”’ The leader of the boyare motioned at her impatiently. “Out of the way, wanton The girl’s smile vanished, and her cheeks became colorless on the instant. She searched the faces of the riders, as if they were past all understanding. Kirdy knew that Muscovite women of rank were kept as Closely secluded as Muhammadan wives, and he suspected that it was unwonted for a young girl to ride through the streets after torchlight. But the occupant of the sleigh allowed scant time for thought. Springing to her feet, she snatched the whip from the driver’s hand and lashed across the face the boyarin who had spoken to her. It was along Cos- sack nagatka, and the flick of it drew blood on the noble’s cheek. ‘“‘A thousand devils take you!’ he roared, drawing back instinctively. “Go past!’ She pointed with the whip, eyes and lips defiant. ‘“‘Go—veltki gospodar —great seigneur, and take your grave thieves with you.” The bearded riders came forward to clus- ter about the leader and whisper to him. Whether they did not know how to deal with the young woman, or whether they dis- liked the attention they were attracting, they reined their horses past the sleigh, forc- ing the crowd still farther back so that their own vehicle could edge by the three blacks. But the leader, shaking off his compan- ions, trotted back to the sleigh and bent down to peer at the girl with the whip. “T shall look for you,” he said calmly, “tomorrow.” Paying him no further heed, she handed back the whip to the driver, and then glanced with quick interest at Karai. The gaunt wolfhound had come into the street to sniff at the horses’ tracks, and approached the sleigh at her call, placing his forepaws on the side of the vehicle. Kirdy strode after him with an exclamation, because the driver had started back and Karai was not tolerant of whips. ‘““He is more than half wolf!” the girl said. !?? COMICOOokKS C© S|