Air Wonder Stories, July 1929 — page 75: what you’re looking at

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

MEN WITH WINGS 13 He looked at me in surprise at such a notion. “Tsn’t it always right to ‘help’, young fellow?” he asked with a quizzical twinkle in his blue eyes. “Ves... but in doing this you are being un- patriotic in giving yourself to these people who are rightfully the enemy. of our own nation!” “And what, my boy, is patriotism if it is not to follow the dictates of your own heart? Does a man have to be born to patriotism... can’t he adopt it?” “No,” he continued, “I do not feel at all traitorous because I have renounced my citizenship of the _ United States of America and substituted for it the citizenship of the Nation of Mentor. “A great many of the ‘original settlers’ of the States were criminals and convicts sent from England in order that the new colonies could be populated. Do we look down upon Britain because that was once her policy? Then why should we condemn these people for taking the best of woman- hood from the countries round about to establish themselves? “True, it is hard to see it in that light and you may say my argument is illogical, but I am with the Mentorites to the last man and I will do every- thing in the world to help establish them. Some day they will have their place in the world and they will prove the superiority of wings over ma- chinery !” That night Patriarch Mentor deigned us the favor of his presence in our ward. He came followed by the two aides that were never known to leave him, two large well-proportioned men of perhaps forty or fifty, winged and as stern-visaged as he. The Patriarch was a singularly tall man well over six feet, with wings of monster size. They were raven black, glossy and ashine in the shaded light of the room. His face was the face of a powerful man, a man whose entire life had been spent in attaining power; the sharp gimlet eyes and the hawk-like features with the sun-tanned swarthy skin accentuated all that. He was, I judged, forty years of age. He was clothed in a suit entirely coveted with long black silky feathers. Sometimes he wore white, but meyer any other color. As I studied him I was suddenly aware of the fact that the description fitting him so well, cor- responded with the newsbit- concerning the abduct- or of Marian Hally; he also was blackwinged and hawk-faced. Later I learned that Marian Hally was one of his wives! So the Patriarch was not above doing a little kidnapping on his own. T was seated in my chair and Wormley was sprawled on his bed. As the personage entered the room I unconsciously arose to my feet. His very bearing was enough to inspire one with a sense of his majesty. A Challenge E was the first to speak and his words came sharp and cutting. “Ah, Messers, you have indeed given Mentor an honor ‘in condescending to pay us a visit,” he said, “and to throw your lot in with ours! We trust that you will learn to look upon Mentor as your own.” The glitter that shone in the dark eyes was the Patriarch’s manner of expressing keen enjoyment as well as laughter, “However,” he continued, “I regret, my friends, that your arrival accidentally broke your little ma- chine and of course it will be impossible for you to find your way home through the jungles.” “In other words you are informing us that we are your prisoners, eh?” shot out Wormley. “One addresses the Patriarch as Sire!” One of the attendant aides spoke, fastening cold eyes upon the aviator. Wormley shrugged his shoulders, “You mean we are your prisoners . .. sire?” he repeated and I could only grin at the audacity of his slurred em- phasis on the word. Again the gimlet eyes glittered. It could be seen that Mentor enjoyed a show of spunk, “You are mistaken, Pilot Wormley,”’ said the cold harsh voice, “we have no prisoners. When you have been entirely healed and found to be in good physical condition you will be given the freedom of Mentor. What the jungle holds for you we can not answer, You will find Mentor a pleasant place to dwell in, our rules are simple, our food plentiful. True, our amusements are not many, but our women are said to be... pretty, and we trust you will be glad to make your home with us.” “And if I do not come up to your physical standards . . , sire?’ again the emphasis on the word. The Patriarch shrugged. “We allow no imperfect beings in our midst...” . pee would I be allowed to return to my home, sire?” “The jungle lies before you!” and with that laconic statement he turned on his heel and with his shadows departed as quickly and silently as he had come. “Well, that’s that, gentlemen,” concluded Worm- ley. “He dares us to try to get out!” “I’m making no attempts to leave here until I discover all there is to know,” I declared. “And then you will continue to stay, my dear friend, if I judge that nice amiable gentleman right!” We both laughed uproariously as if it were a good joke, but I am sure that Wormley as well as myself felt just how tight the net lay about us. Surely others had tried to escape ere this and had they reached safety the world would have known. More Sightseeing AEE following day I was given my discharge from the hospital after Doctor Morris had given me as thorough an examination as any man ever had. Evidently I proved to be physically fit as I was put in the charge of a youth whose wings were but little stumps between his shoulder blades. He led me to my new quarters through a long under- ground corridor. I have forgotten to note that from the first I had been wearing a suit of clothing exactly like the Mentorites, close fitting and feather embroidered. One could only marvel at the ingenuity of the Mentorttes in constructing their city under the ground; it had taken hard labor and fine engineer- ing to dig out the large chambers and tunnels be- neath the jungle giants whose roots often could be seen enclosed in cement. It must also take care to keep alive the trees whose roots were so em- bedded, : comnicloooks.com