Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 2 — page 71: what you’re looking at

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

THE SON grasped his ax, even as Meng, seeing his enemy before him, and the girl free, rushed with the bellow of rage at the Carver of Tusks. But before En-ro could move to meet him, Nu-kzen, armed but with a dagger, leaped to defend the master whom he loved, and fronted the Bison. Roaring, Meng thrust fiercely at the little negro with his ax, and Nu-kzen reeled backward; the great ax whirled in the air and fell—the blow took Nu-kzen on the shoulder, and he fell, asprawl, his arms flung wildly abroad; the ax had turned in the Bison’s hands, but the terrific blow, even striking flatwise of the blade, had crushed the little negro’s shoulder, smashing collar-bone and _ ribs, and driving the shattered bones into the lung. Blood gushed from Nu-kzen’s mouth as he lay, and Meng rushed on. ‘Alive! Alive! Slay not!” shouted the priests, but Meng, blind with rage, cared for naught but to come to grips with the man he hated and feared, the man who had shamed him before his own warriors, the man who had defied him, who had taken his honor from him, and, heedless of the shouts, he dashed across to where stood the Carver of Tusks, waiting, quiet and self- contained, only his gleaming eyes showing the lust of battle that filled his bosom. Above, among the trees, the birds chat- tered and sang as though peace ruled through all the world; in the clearing the mists of dawn rolled and billowed, rising from the ground, sweeping about the forms of the two enemies, half hiding them from the sight of the warriors and priests who pressed closer to see the fight; a dozen paces away, Nu-kzen, conscious once more, raised himself to sweep from his eyes the fog of death that was spreading over them, that he, too, might watch the duel; vaguely, in the tense silence, En-ro heard a shout, far off, ring through the forest; fiercely the Carver of Tusks glared at the Bison, and not less fiercely, foam dribbling from his lips, the Bison glared back from where he had halted three paces away. ‘““Ape-man!”’ taunted En-ro. “ Ape- man! Coward! ‘Torturer of women! Woman! You shall carry water for me and cure skins before my cave!” OF THE RED GOD. 221 Shaking the foam from his chin, scream- ing with anger, the Bison whirled up his ax and leaped toward his foe. Warily En-ro watched, and as the ax swept down he leaped back—in again—and Meng, bleed- ing from a gash on the thigh, fell back a pace, as En-ro followed, his own ax raised. But the Bison was no new-fledged fight- er; as En-ro’s ax fell the blow was turned and Meng’s weapon jabbed at En-ro’s face —the Carver of Tusks jerked his head aside and the sharp blade tore his ear. So back and forth they fought, feinting, dodging, striking, advancing, retreating, ever seeking an opening, ever striving to land a deadly blow, till both were weary and blown. Both were bleeding from a score of cuts, little cuts that none the less drained their strength away, and both were panting; blood and sweat mingled and ran down their bodies, the salt taste of the sweat - was in their mouths—still back and forth they fought. Closer and closer pressed the watchers, and Va-m’rai still crouched against the oak, her hands, gripping the dagger, held tight to her bosom. The sharp edge of the flint had scratched her skin, and a trickle of blood flowed down her breast—she did not know it, so intently did she watch the fight! Suddenly her stifled cry came to En-ro’s ear—dodging, he had caught his heel in a projecting root—he flung out his arms to catch his balance—the ax flew from his hand—he fell! The Bison, a grin stretch- ing his thick-lipped mouth, sprang forward, lifting his ax for the blow that should end the fight—En-ro rolled swiftly over and over—seized his ax, and leaped to his feet— the Bison’s ax swept down, struck the ground—he tugged to free it—saw death coming on him—flung up his arm, scream- ing—and En-ro’s ax, driven with all the strength of his powerful arms, driven with hate behind it, struck full and square be- tween the Bison’s shoulders! The Bison pitched forward on his face, coughed, grunted, and lay dead at En-ro’s feet. En-ro freed his ax, leaned heavily on it, panting, and looked about him at the ring of faces, mingled white and black, that sur- rounded him. For a time—for perhaps ten breaths—no CORMICLOO <S (C@