Adventure, November 1915 — page 91: what you’re looking at

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

The Strength of Small “You'll be a mighty sick man if you don’t, Pierre.” “T haf drink brandy while you work on heem. I am all right.” Small stepped nearer. “But I’m not,” he said, “and you’re go- ing to cook me something.” He had reached his coat before Pierre divined his intention, and had taken out the revolver. The guide had had ample chance to get possession of it, but had not attempted to do so. He had suppcsed all need for the revolver gone for Small, since he was at Rancour’s cabin. Small took the weapon and sat down at one side of the fire. “Cook!” he commanded. . “Not in thees house——” “Cook, curse you! Do you think I’m go- ing to lie down and die because you won’t touch this man’s supplies? ~Cook food — and a lot of it!” Small’s eyes were glittering again. Pierre got upon his feet and started toward a cupboard in one corner of the room. Half way there he stopped and looked back, but Small’s eyes were upon him and Small ‘held the revolver ready. So Pierre cooked. He made soup, and cooked beans and a heap of crisp bacon. He placed the food on the table, together with a pot of strong coffee, then turned back to the fire. Small drew a chair up to the table and began to eat. “Better drink some coffee, Pierre,’ he said. “If you come down with pneumonia or something like it, you can’t take Pearson and Holland after that buck, you know. Of course it doesn’t make much difference to me—I’m too little and weak to hunt a stag. I ain’t worth a cuss! But Pearson and Holland might not like it if they miss their sport.” “IT can not eat in zis house, Mistaire Small.” ‘ “You'll drink coffee, however. Come on, Pierre, or I’ll have to get ugly again. Tl pay Rancour for it afterward, if you insist. I’m not asking you to be Rancour’s guest— I’m asking you to be mine. Come over here and get busy!” The stubborn paid glanced up to find that Small had the revolver pointed at him again. And in Small’s eyes was that omin- a glitter that Pierre was beginning to ear. He crossed to the table and sat down and gulped at a cup of coffee. “Some soup, too,” warned Small. Pierre ate some, while Small scooped the hot food into his mouth with one hand and held the revolver ready in the other. “This is the first time on record,” he said, “where a man had to force another to eat and drink to save his life. I said man— I’m not talking of suffragettes. Take some more coffee!” A groan from Rancour. Small left the table and hurried across to the bunk. Ran- cour had regained consciousness, but his face was twisted with pain. “Who are you?” he gasped. “My name’s Small, Rancour. I’m at a cabin down the lake for the Winter. You were hurt—fell over a precipice. Your daughter came for me, and I’ve fixed you u Sig “Where is Mary?” “She’s all right. Wouldn’t let her come back in the storm. She’ll be here after day- light, I expect. The storm is dying down now. You’ve got a broken leg and arm, and a cracked rib and head. Just take it easy and don’t move more than is necessary and you'll come out all right. Wait—l’ll get you some brandy.” : ‘“‘Cabin—down the lake,” muttered Ran- cour. “At—Pierre’s?”’ “Ves. There are three of us there for a time. IT happened to be something of a doc- ter.’ elo ‘My girl—my Mary—went there—for h ?”? ‘Keep quiet now!” ‘She shouldn’t!”’ Rancour groaned. on be—the joke of the mountains. She went to my—enemy for help.” “That’s all right, Rancour. You keep quiet until I get the brandy.” Small hurried to the table and got the flask and a glass. A cry from the bunk made him turn. Rancour had raised himself on one elbow, despite the pain it caused him, and was looking at Pierre. “Vou?” he cried. “You here? Eating my bread?” “Lie down, sir!” thundered Small, rush- ing back to the bunk. Pierre had sprung to his feet, his face purple with rage. “T eat your bread because zis man make me do et,” he said. “Et es not because I would do so mesel’, He make me come with CORMICLOOOKS (E@)