Avon Fantasy Reader No. 14 — page 104: what you’re looking at

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

The eye winked confidentially. “Maybe it ain’t a lie that Gran'pappy Kobolder was a boss man—a Knicht, they called ‘em in those days... . Yeah—a Knicht. Funny, ain’t it? He was a sinful man, murderin’ and thievin’—ycah. . . . They chased him plumb outen the land over there ‘cross the water . . . and he come here with a slew of people who, I reckon, had been share-croppin’ on his land. I reckon it was somethin’ like that... . They come here and settle down... . But all that’s a moughty long time ago, I reckon, Nobody knows how long. There’s an old book made o’ sheephide, seems-like, down yander in the Keep. Gran’- pap wrote it hisself. He was full o’ book-larnin’, they say. A boss Knicht had to be, I reckon. But I don’t figure it’s in English. . . . Queer-lookin’ printin’, Some furrin’ language they spoke in them days, I guess... .” The bulging blue eye regarded me contemplatively. I must have showed my excitement, “Whut’s on your mind?” he snarled, his black gums showing. “Who owns that property?” I asked, trying to repress my eagerness. “Who is living there now?” The old degenerate burst into a hilarious cackle. ““Who owns it?’ he says! ‘Who's livin’ there now!’ Hee, hee!” I snapped, “What's so funny?” “Tl tell you who owns it, mister! The feller that built it owns it! And the feller who built it is the feller who’s still livin’ in it right this very minute! It’s old Robin Kobolder—the gtcat-great-great-preat-gran pappy of us all down yander!” I didn’t press the point. The fellow, of course, was quite mad. The glistening eye studied me avidly. “How come you're so all-fired sot on comin’ here?” he inquired. “What you so het up about Gran’pappy Kobold and his ole mill?” T explained as patiently as I could that I might buy it if the price was right. Now that I was completely recovered and rested I was on pins and needles to be moving down before night overtook us. The huge blue eye rolled with high humor. “Let's get going,” I broke into his cackling. He scampered down the side of the precipice as nimbly as any lemur. Evi- dently he knew every step, ridge and cranny by heart. I followed slowly, la- boriously, clinging to the wall with trepidation, averting my eyes from the. sheer drop below me, yet considering at the same time that it would require careful preparation and much delicate work with block and tackle to remove any possible purchase I might make in this strange crater. When I got to the bottom I paused, sniffing disgustedly, for the smell of the ground was utterly fetid. I scuffed the sod with my boot, picked up a; handful. It was loose, granular and flinty, reeking with an unpleasant chemi-' cal cacosmia. No wonder vast stretches of this bottom land were dark and - barren. No possible thing might grow in it. Perhaps in some ancient day this had been the mouth of a monster volcano that had spewed up poisonous substances which, even today, carried the breath of death. bas A silence covered the valley like a choking blanket of dark swan’s-down. 102 comicbooks.com