Adventure Magazine Cover — page 71: what you’re looking at

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

THE WOLF MASTER might, even at that moment, carry him from her side. “Then take me to Otrépiev!”’ he responded gruffly, because of the pain of the wound in his side. And at that she flung up her head, her eyes blazing. “Am Iaspy? Nay, seek him among the hordes!”’ But Kirdy, leaning on his saddle horn, looked down into the tumult of battle. In that eddying of horsemen and maddened cattle and fire, no one could be found. He thought that if Otrépiev lived he would re- turn to the knoll where the standard had been, to seek Nada. Only Arslan—diligently stripping the slain of weapons—was near them. The Turkomans who had held the knoll had rid- den off when the main body of Tatars came up—in fact the standard of Ilbars Sultan was nowhere to be seen. Kirdy noticed a long cart near one of the tents and rode over to it, Nada trotting beside him. It was not a Tatar wagon, and narrow iron ‘runners were strapped to: the ‘sides. Perched on the fur packs that burdened it was a Muscovite saddle. “Aye,” laughed Nada, reading his face. “That is the kibitka of Otrépiev. In it he keeps his treasure. Look and see!”’ But Kirdy summoned Arslan and bade him take stand by the wagon and allow no one to carry off what was in it. “T give thee this as a duty.” And the Tatar came, swinging his ax, looking like a bear girdled with steel. He had everything from knives to breastplates hung to his belt. “Tf this be truly the wagon of the Fanga nialma,”’ he grunted, ‘“‘he himself will have a word to say in the matter because he is rid- ing like a devil to this place—now.”’ Before he had finished speaking Kirdy was off and Nada with him. At the crest of the knoll the girl drew in her breath sharply. “You are wounded. Do not go against him!” Four horsemen were approaching the mound at full gallop. Two were Muscovite boyare in armor, wearing rich cloaks, fur- edged. The man who rode in advance of the pair drew Kirdy’s eyes instantly. Beneath a silvered casque with a crest of eagle feathers, a broad, dark face was visi- ble. High cheek bones, thin, restless eyes, and a sure seat in the saddle—all these be- 65 spoke power. And there was power in the body of Otrépiev, and tranquillity in his spirit, because he rode through chaos as if he were a king reviewing a host. Even his horse, a big-boned black, swept on with an easy gait. And, seeing Nada, Otrépiev turned to fling a jest at his followers. Ris- ing in his stirrups, he saluted her with a blood-stained sword. Then he peered at Kirdy, who was urg- ing his kabarda down the slope. At this instant, as quail dart from a thicket, a bevy of dwarf Tatars came out of the shadows and bore down on Otrépiev, who turned his horse to meet them. “Yarou manda!’ Kirdy shouted at them, fearing that they might reach his foe before he did. But the Muscovites fired two pis- tols, and when one of the Tatars fell from the saddle, the others cried out in anger and closed in upon the four riders. Horses reared, and blades flashed up. The shrill cry of the nomads mingled with the screamed oaths of the Muscovites. Steel clattered. One of Otrépiev’s follow- ers went down, and Kirdy, plunging into the mélée, saw the false Dmitri split the skull of a warrior. With all the impetus of the rush down the slope the Cossack’s horse struck one of the Tatar ponies, and was jarred back to his haunches, Kirdy keeping his seat with an effort. When he looked up, Otrépiev had wheeled away, followed by only one man. The Ta- tars were springing from their saddles to snatch plunder from the two others, who were struggling weakly on the ground. Kirdy set his teeth and madeafter Otrépiev, who had a bow-shot’s start. Through a de- serted part of the camp they galloped, be- yond the glow of fire into the darkness of the plain. “Stay!” Kirdy called angrily. ‘Will you fly from one?” Out of the murk the voice of Otrépiev an- swered him: “Tis my hour for the road—for the long road to Satan. Follow if you will!’ Glancing over his shoulder Kirdy made out another rider at his heels, and, outlined against the distant glow of fire, the gnome- like figures of Tatars, casting about for the fleeing. Follow he did, with the kabarda going lame. For the first time he lashed the black racer madly, and the horse gathered himself to- gether to plunge ahead into the rush of COMICOOokKS C©