Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 102: what you’re looking at

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

96 over the fairs of many lands,’ the chief impressed upon me. ‘And I like you better than I do Costa. One of you is too many.” As I left the camp, when night had set- tled, I was closely followed by Ileana. Sud- denly she yelled— “Run, run, run, scribbar; run to the rock.” I ran toward the rock as fast as I could and she followed at my heels. I was the first to reach the top. There was only one narrow path that led there. She followed me breathlessly and I helped her up on the platform. Costa had just begun to climb the rock. “Good. Now you have the better posi- tion. Keep yourself ready. He will strike as soon as he lands on the platform. Stand | in the center: like this. Back him to the edge. Don’t let him turn you. And watch his eyes. He knows how to make them squint and he will fool you,” Ileana ad- vised me rapidly. “Good-luck, scribbar,” she yelled, re- treating as Costa leaped upon the platform. I had the better position. The moon’s light was in my favor. I had a kingdom to fight for. All the savagery of the caveman possessed me in that minute. I had never before fought with a knife for life and death, but the handle of the dagger in my hand bridged the many centuries separating me from my ancestors in the caves of Mesopo- tamia. With my left hanging limply I followed my advantage and pressed him to the edge of the rock. His dagger fell out from his limp fingers. The moon shone full upon his face. It was pale green and the whites of his eyes were wide with fear. I put my hand out to push him into eternity. A tremor passed through me and my ears began to ring and then, instead of pushing Costa over the rock I dragged him with me to the center of the rock. Adventure I threw the dagger from me and rushed down the path as though I was running away from a pursuing enemy. After I had washed my face I waited for Ileana to come down. I would forgive Costa when I quieted down, I reasoned. He owes me his life. He will never feel any ill-will toward me. And Ileana! She has seen how I had him at my mercy. That was enough. But she did not come down. I waited and waited and waited. A sudden fear seized me. Had he murdered her, or what? I climed up again to the top. Ileana was holding Costa in her arms. “Tleana!’’ I screamed. “Coward,” she answered. ‘‘Coward, cow- ard. Coward, scribbar, coward, scribbler, coward!’’ “SO YOU have come back! I am happy, son,” Murdo greeted me when I had-climbed near him on the first wagon of the caravan waiting for the outcome. But where is Ileana?” “She is with him. I could not do it, Mur- do. I could not do it. I had him at my mercy! But I could not do it. I could not push him over into the dark water—I—I— could not.”’ “What?” Murdo yelled. ‘And I trusted you, had faith in you! Youcould not? You could not? Coward, coward, coward! You were afraid to take life. Coward, cow- ard!” And that very night I started on my way home followed by a mocking multitude of Gipsy folk yelling after me: “ Scribbar, scribbar, woman in man’s cloth- ing. Coward!” And it seemed to me that Ileana’s voice was the loudest and the most jeering of all the voices that pursued me _ that night. COmiclbook CO