Adventure Magazine Cover — page 42: what you’re looking at

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

36 offers gratitude and then bargains like a Jew.” “Tt is not so,” Kirdy said quietly. “To the sir brothers I made a pledge. Until that is redeemed, how can I do otherwise than follow the path upon which I set my foot?” “T have need, White Falcon, of a sword to guard me until I draw rein at my home. Such a sword as yours, for God has sent tumult and trouble upon this road.” Kirdy looked into the fire without answer- ing at once. He had meant to ask of Nada one of her ponies. By changing from the charger to this mustang he was sure of over- taking Otrépiev within a week. He knew now that the false Dmitri had escaped from Moscow, and he was glad that the issue be- tween them would be settled in open coun- try where the Cossack was at home. How he would manage to get his enemy within reach of his sword he had not thought. Cir- cumstances would decide that. “Nada,” he said, still pondering, ‘‘you wear the svitka and girdle of a warrior of the Siech. You speak as one—”’ they had ceased to avail themselves of the Manchu- Tatar, and it was clear that the Cossack speech was native to the girl. “My father is a Zaporoghian.”’ “Honor to him! What is his name?” ‘Come, and hear it!”’ “T may not.” Kirdy bent forward to look deep into Nada’s eyes. He stared so long that the blood darkened the girl’s cheeks. “TY will wager my life there is faith in you,” he said at last. A shadow touched her brow, and she seemed to be vexed, for a reason he did not understand. But she listened attentively while he told her how he had come to the Cossacks from the southern steppe, how the army of the Siech had been betrayed by Otrépiev, and how he had sworn to Khlit, the koshevort ataman, that Otrépiev should pay with his life for his treachery. “The brothers are more foolish than wolves,” she cried angrily. ‘For they fall into a trap; then they lick their wounds and begin to think of vengeance. It has always been like that, my father said. Why do you trust me?” “T do not know.” Flinging herself back on the bearskin, Nada rested her head on her crossed arms and gazed up at the shining sky. HAROLD LAMB ““Kai—give me horses, let me ride until a bullet brings me down! That is what you would say to me if you could find words. And the Cossack maiden must sit in her sleigh and pray for the young swordsman who has less sense than his charger that can not get at the grass under the snow! You would never overtake Otrépiev!”’ “He may be a fiend, as it is said; but if he is a man I will find him.” “Did ever a bogatyr of the Siech,” Nada asked of the stars, “swear so many vows or pledge so much in one short hour!” This time Kirdy flushed, unaware that dark eyes were watching him under long lashes, and Nada hastened to make him more uncomfortable. “In Holy Mother Moscow of the White Walls, I saw Gregory Otrépiev many times. He rides like a hero, and he is handsome, much more so than you are. The wife he took from the Poles is a painted puppet; he left her with little sorrow, nor did she re- main at his side. Otrépiev may be a fiend, but surely he is king of all the wanderers and monarch of the daring! I watched him at sword play with the Frankish officers. He laughed and tossed their blades first to one side, then the other, and to me he bowed to the knees, saying that I was more beautiful than any Muscovite. I wonder who he is?” “A soul,” Kirdy responded in his slow fashion, “‘that feels neither remorse nor any fear. A man who could have been the greatest of emperors, if he had faith and honor in him. In all things he succeeds himself, yet brings death and torment to others.” A moment of silence followed, while Nada studied Kirdy from the shadow of her arm. ‘“‘And yet—alone among men he can play with crowns for stakes. A beggar, he sat on the Eagle Throne of the Kremyl! An exile, he wrote a letter bidding the boyare fear! If I—” She paused and Kirdy remained grimly silent. “If I were to meet Gregory Otrépiev wandering in the steppe with his crown and his sword, I would share bread and salt with him.” “And pray for him?” Kirdy asked, smiling. He had not meant to mock the girl, for he could understand her spirit. But Nada was not inclined to endure a smile. “Aye, pray to St. Ulass, the Good, for him—and for all outcasts.” Co DOOK C©