Adventure Magazine Cover — page 53: what you’re looking at

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

THE WOLF MASTER “See the borzoi!”’ Just beyond the circle of light Karai could be made out, moving silently toward the pack. To the Cossack’s call the dog paid not the slightest attention, and when Kirdy started toward him Nada held back. “Tt is too late. We must go no farther.”’ There was hardly a sound—a rending snarl, the spluttering of the pine. To Kirdy’s surprize the wolves nearest Karai were sitting on their haunches in a rough half circle, and in front of them the scarred leader appeared of a sudden—a blotch of gray streaked with brown. Karai no longer trotted; he moved into the torchlight stiff from nose to tail, his throat rumbling, his fangs clashing. The borzoi and the gray wolf did not face each other —for the wolf sprang too swiftly, and slashed open the dog’s shoulder-blade. From that instant they were barely vis- ible—Kirdy thought that the wolf rushed again and was thrown off. The clatter of fangs, the thunderous snarls and the impact of the shaggy bodies dwarfed all other sounds. ‘The pack pressed closer, and the yellow eyes glowed more strongly. Once the ring of beasts started up, as Karai almost lost his footing. But he was up and whirling on his hind legs in the same instant, blood spattering from muzzle and shoulders. Again and again the gray wolf slashed at him, and Kirdy heard the unmistakable snap of a bone broken between steel jaws. Once more the wolf pack surged up, and now the leader was visible. The bleeding Karai had drawn away. But instead of whirling on powerful legs, the gray wolf staggered. Blood streamed from its throat. Maddened and fearful to see, the wolf bristled, snapping its fangs— as if to drive back by menace the fate that inevitably awaited it. It was bleeding to death, the throat torn open. Karai rushed in, and the wolf was thrown. Then the pack ran in, and a hideous snarl- ing arose as the wolves tore the living flesh from the crippled leader. Nada and Kirdy had drawn back to the door of the choutar, and the Cossack could make out Karai’s great form, a little apart from the others. Then the borzoi was lost to sight, and the shadows once more flitted from side to side. “Vain to call him now,” Nada said quiet- “He will run with the pack. Look!” 1 ly. 47 The clearing was empty. From the wooded slope of the valley was heard a single howl, quavering and plaintive as the call of water-fowl. A full throated chorus answered it, drifting farther away. ‘“‘At times he may come back,” the girl went on, ‘‘but you are not now his master, White Falcon. Aye, he has slain, and is hunting with the pack. A merry hunt to you, gray friend!”’ Kirdy listened in silence. He had loved the wild Karai, and he knew that what Nada said was true. More wolf than dog, the borzoi had cast off the fellowship of men for that of his own kind. “Go and sleep, little Nada.” He raised his hand, and a deeper note came into his voice. ‘‘May the holy angels watch over you!” She looked up at him quickly, but for once could read nothing in his eyes, or guess what was in his heart. On the threshold of her door she glanced back, anxiously, and found his eyes still upon her. They glowed an instant, and then were veiled, as if ashes had been thrown upon a fire within them. For once Kirdy sat quietly beside Omelko, who read aloud to him from the book of his dead wife, until Al-TAbir snored lustily in his corner, and the young warrior put out his hand, closing the sheets of the book of legends. “Time—it is time, Omelko. Do not wake your daughter or the Persian drone. I must go upon the road.” Omelko sighed and looked at him in- quiringly. During the last few days he had wished many times that the dark-browed hero were his son, that the White Falcon would remain at the Wolky Gorlo. “The wolf pack hunts along the valley,” Kirdy answered the unspoken question of his host. ‘The Nogais who have been watching will be afraid for their horses. They will build fires in the timber, or seek their yurtas. The way out of the Wolf’s Throat will be open this night.” “And after?” With his usual deliberateness—when there was no need of haste—Kirdy was filling his saddle-bags, taking dried meat, barley and other things of the Cossack’s store. Omelko saw that the warrior would not answer the question. After all, who could know what the future held? “Take what you need, my brother. An- other horse.” Co lOOOLK (C© 5}