Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 18, 1928 — page 134: what you’re looking at

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

932 Carpeted with ice and snow, hewn from solid rock with a grandeur that only nature could achieve, entrance to a throne, it might have been, a throne of reward. They gained the far end of the pass, and paused to gaze downward into the basin that sloped gently away from them. On the south side of the hollow there was a crude log cabin. Before it stood the native they had seen the night before, and at sight of them he raised his arms in thanksgiving and made some sound which Raynor condemned with a sudden ejaculation. Their chance of a surprise attack van- ished with that idiotic welcome. The native whirled and ran toward them, his voice raised in babbling welcome. From behind the cabin appeared the form of French Pierre and he stood quite still for a mo- ment, his hands outspread in surprise at the sight that greeted his eyes. Then he bellowed his wild laugh again, and started directly toward them at a keen run. Tad Raynor set himself to meet the charge. He saw that Pierre was unarmed except for his mighty fists. As the great Frenchman drew nearer Raynor caught the light of mania in his eyes. He raised his own weapon and pointed it full upen Pierre’s breast. ‘“‘ Stop!” he shouted. Only the wild laugh sounded, and Tad Raynor half turned to the girl. “ Mad!” he said in hollow tone. ‘“ Mad as the March wind. I can’t just—murder him!” The native had gained the pass and was crouched theré now, behind the two, his babblings still pouring forth, his fear al- most as insane as the wild rush of the giant maniac who derisively laughed away the menace of blazing death. On the impulse, Raynor twisted his gun end for end and darted forward to meet Pierre’s attack. The native shrieked a warning, and Barbara Howland called fu- tilely to the younger man to come back. But Raynor went on. He met French Pierre just at the foot of the gentle slope. The Frenchman swung his mighty arms wide and lunged at Tad. The younger man avoided the charge and swung his rifle butt. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Pierre flung an arm upward and warded off the blow, though the crack of the wood against bone and flesh seemed to Darbara Howland to have crippled the man entirely. But no. Instead, Tad Raynor’s insecure grip on the barrel of the gun lost him his advantage. The weapon slipped through his mittens, and whirled into a cloud of snowdust ten feet from where Pierre stood. With a crazy shout, and no apparent effect from the crunching blow upon his arm, Pierre whirled to the attack. Desperately Tad fought him. He was quicker than Pierre, and twice dodged at- tack the while he lashed out with his mit- tened fists. Strong as he was, powerful as were the blows he directed, they bounced from the charging Pierre’s head and face much as though they had been cast against sheer rock. Then the girl screamed in terror. Ray- nor slipped on the snow, and Pierre’s great arm swept about his body. Raynor was lifted from his feet, struggling and kicking violently. Pierre roared his delight at the turn of affairs, slowly raised the huge Raynor above his head at arm’s length, then hurled him far off where he landed in a flurry of flying snow. Before he could gain his feet Pierre was upon him. His great fist raised -and thudded against Raynor’s head. Tad fell again—lay still. Pierre regarded him a moment, then whirled and ran toward Bar- bara Howland. The native behind her screamed in ter- ror and ran out of the pass, but the girl stood her ground, a strange calm spreading over her set face and her eyes, terrorized, watching the still and prone form of Tad Raynor. As Pierre swept toward her, his wild laugh waking the silences and his great and mighty arms flailing the air, he might well have been a devil, some creature im- mune to death and therefore fearless of it. Steadily the girl raised her ewn weapon. “‘ Stop!” she called. Pierre roared his de- light. There was no second command. The girl had seen what this mad giant would do. Her rifle roared its defiance, and French Pierre stumbled, one mighty hand slipping GEomichooks (E(0)