Adventure Magazine Cover — page 40: what you’re looking at

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

34 ““_____ take him!” Tatikof muttered, when his companions ran up at the shot, “TI had not thought there were brains in his skull.”’ A second time he read the missive, though it was short: Veliki boyare domnui; mighty nobles of the council—greeting! We are grievously angered by the rebellion of our servants in the city of our governance, Moscow. The time is not distant when your insolence will be chastened by our just anger! It was signed simply Dmitri Ivanovitch— Dmitri, Son of Ivan. And before he left Kolumna, Tatikof was careful to see that the priest who had been unfortunate enough to set eyes on this let- ter disappeared from human sight. This accomplished the boyare hastened on, east- ward, to the frontier. From time to time they heard of the sledge and the seven riders led by the daring impostor, and once they halted where the fugitives had camped. From this point on, there was only the one road, leading to the Volga. But they never saw the Volga. They ap- proached near enough to see the smoke of a burning frontier post, and to pick up several fugitives who told them the Tatar tribes across the Volga had risen only a few days before. Muscovite officials along the fron- tier had been slain, and isolated garrisons massacred. Clouds of fur-clad Nogai Tatars were visible on the sky-line, restless and merci- less as hungering eagles. By night, farms burned like torches along the river. Fur- ther pursuit of the false Dmitri was not to be thought of, when fire and sword gutted the border. Bewildered, encumbered by the fleeing, driven by fear of the Tatar arrows, the boyare reined back to Kolumna, and it was weeks before Nogai prisoners were brought in by a patrol of Muscovite cavalry. The elder princes put the captives to the torture at once. The Nogais swore that Dmitri himself had appeared among them and had shown them a golden apple and an imperial baton set with jewels. Surely he had been the great Khaghan, the Nogais said! He had summoned them to arms, they who lived by the sword and’ desired nothing more than raiding. For the rest, they knew nothing. The captives were put on stakes and left HAROLD LAMB to wriggle away their lives, and the council of the nobles met in solemn session. There was no longer the slightest doubt that the false Dmitri lived, and had taken with him many of the crown jewels. He had foreseen the conspiracy against him—and had fled before the boyare could seize him. He had slain the unfortunate Bouthinski in his own bed and had leaped from the window of the sleeping chamber. On fast horses, with his intimate followers, he had raced on to where the sledge with his plunder and stores awaited him. Had he intended the Muscovites to be- lieve him dead, or had he tricked them dar- ingly only to gain a few days’ start? They did not know. This strange being had valued a jest more than his own head, because he had made a last gesture of defiance, at Kolumna—the letter to the boyare. And yet—these gray- haired princes cherished grave doubts— was not this letter a new scheme? The career of the false Tsar had not ended. He had wealth, followers and allies of a sort among the tribes. What new evil would he bring forth, to add blood to that already shed? “As for Gregory Otrépiev” Tatikof coun- seled them—the impostor’s true name was known by now—“‘we can not slay him. He, who has blasphemed against God, will fall by the hand of the Almighty. Yet the ru- mors that he lives must be answered. Al- ready factions are forming against us, and soon brother may draw weapon against brother. Great seigneurs, let us say to the world that this Otrépiev was a fiend. Though we slew his body he has reappeared as a spirit.’”* And Monsieur Bertrand, who was pre- paring to leave Moscow and its savages, coined one of his bons mots upon hearing this: “Tf ever a fiend,” he pronounced, “de- served to be immortal, Otrépiev, the False Dmitri, is he.” More than once Tatikof pondered the fate of Nada and the strange Cathayan, but they had disappeared as if the steppe had swallowed them with their horses and woli- hound. *Rumors that the false Dmitri still lived were succeeded by a tale that he was a vourdalak, a vampire in human form. The Captain Margeret has left in his memoirs a picture of the chaos wrought by the impostor— ‘‘The council, the people, the country divided one against another, beginning new treasons. The provinces, unable to know for a long time what had happened, revolted.” MICLOOOK C©