A. Merritt's Fantasy Magazine, February 1950 — page 81: what you’re looking at

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

Sees THE SMOKING LAND sea OO ee, the weapon bit vainly against the impenet- rable armor that covered Darrell’s breast. My fist landed flush on the side of the fellow’s jaw and knocked him against the wall. Then he fell loosely back into Dar- rell’s arms while Murder stood by, red- eyed, licking his lips, and looking at me for perimission to go to work. I cursed him out of the way and looked more closely at the stranger. He was still so stunned that his eyelids were lowered. And his skin looked as white and delicate as the skin of a woman. A short moustache was beginning to darken his upper lip, and a tuft of beard was form- ing on his chin. He looked to be about twenty-five years old, and he was a hand- some, clean-featured lad. He opened his eyes, and they were the blue of steel. A cold gray sheen was mixed with their blueness and gave him a cer- tain inhuman savagery of expression. My Colt was held like a club in my hand. “He can’t be anything except in our way, said I to Darrell. But Cleve shook his head. His lips were pinched tight and small with disgust and there was horror in his eyes. “Let him be,” he commanded. I stepped back a little while Murder sat down and cocked his head to keep one eye on the stranger, and another on me, waiting for orders. I saw Darrell take from the man a long, ponderous old pistol with a great and complicated lock, and a second and shorter knife, which the man wore in the breast of his doublet. Darrell asked me to tie the fellow’s hands, and I did so with a piece of strong twine that Darrell had in his pocket. In a little while, our captive was quite himself again, there was a decided swell- ing coming up on the side of his face, though, where my knuckles had smashed against his jawbone, He stood up as straight and calm as you please, and looked first me in the eye, and then Darrell. “Why did you try it?” Darrell asked. “IT was ordered to.” : “Who ordered you?” “T’'ll talk no more,” said the boy. “Té you murder me, they'll tear you to pieces —slowly, till you die.” “They may do that anyway,” said I to Darrell. ‘““They’re against you, and they've sent this one as their bloodhound to get the taste of your heart!” Darrell kept considering his prisoner with a mixture of loathing and pity and interest. “Murder, eh?” said he. “They wanted you to cut my throat, Arthur?” _ “Whatever they wanted,” said Arthur, “T’ve done with talking.” Ro took possession of me when I saw his calmness. I got him by the throat and jammed him back against the wall. I laid the muzzle of my revolver against his temple and snarled, close to his face: “You talk or you're dead. I don’t care, much, either way. I’d rather have you dead quick, than alive and talking!” Well, I had guessed right. Or my in- stinct, rather, had done the guessing for me. The red sap ran right out of his face, and his eyes turned wide and glassy. “He'll kill me!” he gasped to Darrell. “Yes, he’s a pretty wild man, Arthur. I can’t do anything with him. If I were you, I’d do what he wants.” “What do you want?” says Arthur to me. “Your answers to whatever’s asked of you,” said I. “Then I am dead a little later,” he groaned, “and by such a death as men cannot imagine. But what are the ques- tions?” ; “Who sent you after me?” asked Dar- rell, again. ' The young fellow answered, “Wilbur, son of John.” ‘He himself?” “Yes, he himself. He talked to me about you. He took me into his confid- ence.”” He seemed to gather up some of his lost pride, again, as he said this. Darrell was nodding. “He sent you to murder me?” “Tf thou shouldst leave thy chamber.” “Tf I so much as left my room.” “That was the order.” “And no warning to be given to me?” “None.” Dartell sighed. “You see what a nest of snakes this is?’’ he said to me. I grit- ted my teeth. “What was your reward to ~ fra yy