Avon Fantasy Reader No. 11 — page 87: what you’re looking at

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

He managed, after a time, to cook himself a few hot biscuits, which he ate with strawberry jam. He wiped his stained fingers on his shirt, blindly, trying not to think. “At least I know what I’m up against,” he thought. “Oh, Lord, what a world, What an innocent looking world, and what a monster it really is. It’s good no one ever explored it before. Or did they?” He shook his aching head. Pity them, who ever crashed here before, if any ever did. Warm sun, hard rocks, not a sign of hostility. A lovely world. you shut your eyes and relaxed your mind. And the night and the voices and the insanity and the death padded in on soft feet. “I'm alk right now, though,” he said, proudly. “Look at that!’ He dis- played his hand. By a supreme effort of will, it was no longer shaking. “I'll show you who in hell’s ruler here,’ he announced to the innocent sky. "I ara.” He tapped his chest. Xo think that shought could live that long! A million years, perhaps, edi these thoughts of death and disorder and conquest, lingering in the innocent but poisonous air of the planet, waiting for a real man to give them a channel through which they might issue again in all their senseless virulence. . Now that he was feeling better, it was all silly. All I have to do, he thought, is stay awake six nights. They won't bother me that way. When I’m awake, I’m dominant. I’m stronger than those crazy monarchs and their silly tribes of sword-flingers and shield-bearers and horn-blowers. I'll stay awake. But can you? he wondered. Six whole nights? Awake? There’s coffee and medicine and books and cards. But I’m tired vow, so tired, he thought. Can I hold out? Well, if not. There's always the gun. Where will these silly monarchs be if you put a bullet through their -stage? All the world’s a stage? No. You, Leonard Sale, are the small stage. And they the players. And what if you put a bullet through the wings, tear- ing down scenes, destroying curtains, ruining lines! Destroy the stage, the players, all, if they aren’t careful! First of all, he must radio through to Marsport, again. If there. was any way they could rush the rescue ship sooner, then maybe he could hang on. Anyway, he must warn them what sort of planet this was, this-so inno- cent-seeming spot of nightmare and fever viston He tapped on the radio key for a minute. His mouth tightened. The radio was dead. It had sent through the proper rescue message, received a reply, and then extinguished itself. The proper touch of irony, he thought. There was only one thing to do. Draw a plan. This he did. He got a yellow pencil and delineated his six-day plan of escape. Tonight, he wrote, read six more chapters of War and Peace. At four 85 Comicbooks.com