Argosy, Vol. 117, No. 2 — page 85: what you’re looking at

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

THE TORCH. over fearfully into the ridges and valleys made by the folds of the Great Woman’s drapery. The slope of some of these folds seemed gentle enough for a man to crawl down them. He remembered now that when he was in his little boat, gazing up at the statue, he had seen a huge creeper dangling from the arm that clasped the tablet._Per- haps this great vine would sustain his weight —would prove a rope to let him into the forest. With cautious steps he began retracing his path around the neck of the figure, keeping one hand against the metal wall of throat to give him confidence, This led him past the opening beneath the throat whence he had crawled out, and he hurried, fearful that his pursuer would reach out a giant arm to detain him. It added nothing to his confidence to note that the opening was quite large enough to emit even a man of huge proportion. He realized that the need for hurry was desperate. Staring down from the opposite side, he could see, beyond the swell of breast, the great niche made by the crooked arm, and he even glimpsed a bit of the creeper that had found anchorage there. To gain that niche he must slide his body down a long, funnel-like trough where the draperies of the figure creased. Even the thought of it made him dizzy. His knees grew weak. | Desperation forced him to the edge of the slope—forced him to thrust one foot downward, tentatively. Then, beneath him, he caught a sight of a man’s head. The head had been thrust out of one of those ragged holes in the vast metal structure. It disappeared, ap- peared again, and then the man crawled out cautiously, lowered his body, hands grip- ping the edge of the hole, and dropped. From the height where Fortune peered any man would seem small, but there was semething in his brief glimpse of this fel- low that instantly impressed his brain as abnorial. It was only a second’s glimpse he had, for the body slipped down in a flash and Fortune knew the man had dropped into some niche of the metal work. 255 Instinct told him this man was moving to cut off his retreat. On hands and knees Fortune peered far over the edge, his eye sweeping the con- tours for some sign of the man’s progress. It came in a glimpse of moving shoulder, again a hand, gripping at the metal wall, and then a brief view of the back of the man’s head. He was moving rapidly toward the very niche of the bent arm Fortune had selected for a refuge. A loud shout from behind brought him instantly to his feet. He whirled about, drawing his sword, and ran back to the door in the neck of the figure. A huge hand grasped either side of the portal, and in the dusk within Fortune caught the gleam of the giant man’s eyes. His sword flashed, quick as light, against the nearest hand, but the fingers were with- drawn so quickly that the blade only grated on metal. Keeping his body well to one side, Fortune began a desperate defense of the door, his flashing sword quick to dart toward any part of the big fellow’s per- son that showed. To his sudden astonishment a huge peal of laughter, magnified by the hollow metal walls to a thunderous roll, issued from his foe’s throat. “ Well played, little wasp,” the big voice rumbled. ‘“ Well played!” “ Back, you dog!” Fortune shouted, angry at being laughed at. ‘“ This wasp can sting—” “Ho!” chuckled the giant, nevertheless keeping well out of sword thrust. “ Ho! Yield you quietly, my wasp, or I’ll flatten you under my foot. Will you come here and be killed in this spider’s web, or must the old spider come out?”’ “Come out, if you dare!” taunted. “Why, I don’t like your sting, Mr. Wasp ”—his foe bared his white teeth in a erin— nevertheless, I shall come get you when I’m ready, since your kind must be killed. I wonder do you soldiers of the Tower People ever attack men—ah, you would! Next time I’ll grab your leg for that and pull you in! A brave young sol- dier truly—against young girls!” Perhaps Fortune, in his rage, might have | Fortune CORNICLOOKS (C@