Air Wonder Stories, July 1929 — page 78: what you’re looking at

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

16 I went back to Wormiey and told him of the rather one-sided interview. “He sure is-one cussed gentleman,” laughed the aviator, “but I don’t know but that I like him, Wouldn’t mind a good poker game with him!” Strange Stories A SECOND week went by and I heard nothing from the Patriarch. I was impatient to start something for time was hanging rather heavily on my hands. I visited and revisited the workshops, the schools, the playgrounds. I spent a great amount of time above ground in the clearings, People went past me as they hurried about their duties, and only during the hours of recreation could I mingle freely with them. I made the ac- quaintance of a number of the captives, girls who seemed happy in their new strange life. I heard some of them complain, but on the whole it ap- peared that they were content, or at least had ac- cepted their lot with proper spirit. They had all been given work according to their own interests and those who had no interests were being taught simple tasks. There were not only female captives, but quite a number of men who, like the women, had been spirited away. Several were aviators who like our- selves had fallen to the toil of the Machine. Of those that had been kidnapped two of them in- terested me the most with their stories. Charlie Broner told the tale of the flying girl who had appeared to him in a.moonlit garden in Buenos Aires while he strolled trying to sober up from a drinking party. Under the influence of liquor he had thought the winged creature an imagery of his besotted brain and gleefully de- manded that she give him a ride in the air. He awakened from his stupor to find himself being carried over a jungle when the sun was dawning. Twice he had tried to make his escape from Mentor, but each time had been brought back. Being an architect by profession he was now employed in construction of the underground cities. Eugene Fargo’s tale was of different tinder. His name was not unknown to me, and I recognized him immediately as a sculptor of great promise. I could even recall having seen an article in the News stating that the artist had purchased a cay off the Floridan coast where he planned to work unmo- lested by “lion hunters” that were his pests. With his negro valet he had sneaked off to the island with several uncompleted pieces of work. One morning as he came down to the water for his morning plunge he was startled to see what appeared to be a gigantic bird barely skimming the water and struggling with one wing to keep afloat. He watched it struggle nearer, but it was too weak and at last after a hard battle gave up, its strength ' gone, and fell into the water. There it continued to fight, keeping the one good wing above the water. : Admiring the heroic creature, Fargo called to his servant to help launch a boat and they rowed out to the stricken creature. One can picture their wonder in discovering the bird to be a woman! This was before the flying men had been dis- covered! AIR WONDER STORIES So he had nursed the winged girl back to health. Her wing had been broken in a storm that had carried her to his island. She allowed him to model her in clay, and it is needless to say that the sculp- tor fell in love with his model. Her name was Mary. She told him the stirring history of her people. They were in love, but Mary longed for her jungle home. She tried to prevail upon the artist to accompany her home. She begged that he come so he might model her people—to teach them his art. But Fargo refused. He hada small son and daughter though his wife was dead, and he had no wish to desert the world. The wing healed and the girl continued to plead, but the man was adamantine. The wing was strong again, and the girl took little flights to strengthen it. Fargo watched each flight fearful that the girl would fly away, for he loved her, more than he loved his wife. He won in his pleading to keep her with him another month and again another month. He longed to clip the wings of his love, but he was too much a man for that. He had a large fortune in trust for his children and they were well cared for by his sister. He al- most made the decision to go, but at the end he was still as uncertain. The day before, Mary de- clared she must return to her people and that night the two fell asleep after many hours of pleading for each to do his will, That is Fargo fell asleep, but not Mary. She must return to Mentor and the man must go with her. She slipped the clay model of herself in her bosom. There were to be no tale- tell marks left. So Fargo awoke with the dawn to find himself bound hand and foot more than a thousand feet above a watery expanse. With night they dropped on a deserted sandy beach. She fed him fruit and gave him water, but would not remove his bonds. The next night found them at Mentor. Thus had Eugene Fargo come to the jungles, and he confessed to me that he was happy that Mary had taken the matter into her hands! He missed his children, but he was happier than he had ever been before and was doing better work. He had a school for sculptoring started, in which he taught those who had a talent. He took me to his work- shop that he had fitted out in the lower branches of several trees. Life In Mentor HE floor was of strong branches interwoven, the leaves his walls, and the sun coming through the tree tops gave him his light. He climbed to his shop by means of a rope unless his pupils or Mary were kind enough to carry him up there. It was a pretty sight of a morning to see half a dozen or so of the winged youth seated in a semi-circle around their teacher working with clay near the city. The Patriarch had ordered some clay. He had discovered a bed of fine workable marble to be imported for him to work with, al- though it would be gruelling work for six winged men to bring the blocks of stone from afar in the dead of night. At present he was working on a full © length figure of the Patriarch, There were also other schools for art. The Mentorites were an artistic people as the paintings on their walls prove. And the Patriarch seemed comnliclooolks.cotn