A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, February 1950 — page 85: what you’re looking at

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

hae Te EPO Oy A Se ONL oe RRs 5 RTE AA al A oe ate Deeg de Lean ie nl Sig dS a SR Sel ew he THE SMOKING LAND 85 The last speech, and the look that went along with it, unsettled the dignity and poise of the old man. He swept the guards away with a ges- ture; he grabbed Darrell’s shoulder and marched him three steps away down the all, “What dost thou mean when. thou _ smiledst at the name of my son?” he asked. 667 MEAN,” said Darrell, with a sud- den heat of satisfaction, as he be- gan to guess that he had found a winning card, “T mean that the sneaking rat was caught spying, and murdering, and that now he’s lying tied and gagged in my room.’ Old Wilbur might have fallen, but the wall was near him, and he put his hand against it. Out of the corner of his eye, he glared at Darrell, muttering, ‘Never have I put faith in thee, thou dog! Never from the beginning! The fire “should have eaten ; thee long ago, if my judgment had been taken!” Darrell had recovered from his shock, by this time, and he could afford to smile with contempt and triumph at the older man. _ “Now what do you say? Have I come in your name, demanding the priestess ?”’ “Thou art a rash and a foolish man,” said old Wilbur. “What will come to thee hereafter from this—” He paused, and ground his teeth with rage and spite, But at length he muttered, “What dost thou gain from taking her?” “Not from this cell, only,” said Darrell, “but away from this whole cursed Smok- ing Land.” ‘This is madness,” said Wilbur. T have come in your name, demanding the girl,’ repeated Darrell. A groan of rage came from Wilbur’s throat; he turned sharply around and roared at the soldiers, ‘‘Fools, dolts, blockheads, ye have received orders, and still ye stand? Out with the girl—the priestess—the fool—whatever she may be, es drive her down the corridor before us!” They brought Sylvia out, however, with a sufficient reverence, and she saw be- fore her the man who had confirmed her sentence of death—Cleve Darrell! She could not realize, now, that this coming was through a feeling of friend- ship. She could only realize that death itself must now be only a step away from her. But her head went all the higher, and a faint smile came on her lips, and the color burned up in her devoted face. And Darrell found himself thinking, “Oh, beautiful fool and martyr!” The soldiers would have escorted the two dignitaries andthe priestess, but Darrell said, ““We walk alone!” _ This halted them, and Wilbur, after a silent struggle, did not countermand the order. They went on silently, the three of them, until they came to the door of Darrell’s room, and he waved to Wilbur to enter, The old man hesitated. “What do I find here?” said he. “Your son,” said Darrell. “Thou hast murdered him!” said Wil- bur, groaning in the depths of his throat. “No,” said Darrell. “He’s still alive. Open the door, and you'll find him,” He merely said, “We hold a conference, then?” “We confer,” said Darrell. And he frowned, to keep himself from laughing for joy, for he was beginning to see his way clearly out of the impasse. At any rate, what I inside the room, still talking to that venomous lad Arthur, first saw, was the tall form of Wilbur, the son of John, striding into the room like an angry fate. My heart turned to water; but then I saw Darrell, also, and no soldiers guard- ing the party, and last and best of all, Sylvia! I got to her side in three steps and took hold of her hands, as Darrell closed the heavy door behind him. “Tt is true, and you're here, and you shall not die, Sylvia!” said I, “What thing hast thou said?” -mur- mured the girl, looking gravely up to my face. “And dost thou speak it from certain knowledge or only from a tender heart?” Other things were happening then, that broke even through the happiness of see- ing her alive and sound, and free for that moment, at least. Old Wilbur was in a grand tantrum at the odd sight of his son lying on the floor ; and he ‘had out a knife in a jiffy to a ee oi ae Bee Late. | oh Se ek 7 AR iad £8