Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 44: what you’re looking at

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

38 there was no sign of discouragement, save that there were no more vain assaults. It seemed that all his well-executed plans had succeeded only in tightening’,the iron ring about him. He scarcely dared meet the eyes of the men who toiled, watched and famished in his cause. When he looked at his daughter’s patient face and noted the hollows growing in her cheeks, he could scarcely hold back the tears. And Henry, of Anjou came not. IT WAS Umfraville who solved the bitter problem. On the morning of the third of July Bermond reported unwonted activity about the three pavilions that hung behind the lines, like three inani- mate Fates directing their cruel puppets. There had been a riding to and fro. Um- fraville himself had come from the Rotten Reiver’s tent, and all Sir Richard’s Flemish mercenaries had followed him to his own. Sir Giles climbed wearily to the ramparts. In the open space between the three pa- vilions and the trenches a little group of riders ambled toward the hill. Gislac recog- nized the massive frame and flowing black beard of Umfraville, attended by three of the king’s blue-coated spearmen. As the robber baron drew nearer, Gislac could see that he smiled. It was an insolent smile: a smile of triumph. As they came within arrow-flight, Witta the Saxon, ever ready, drew his bow, scowl- ing hatred. But one of the spearmen waved a white rag, and Sir Giles struck down the bow. “Let me in, Gislac!’”’ Umfraville bel- lowed in a voice hoarse from thirty years’ crying-on of his hard-fighting ruffans. “Let me in! I bring good luck.” “Not to me or mine,” Gislac muttered; but sending a soldier below with a whis- pered order, he commanded that his enemy be admitted. When Unftfraville rode under the raised portcullis—which was as promptly lowered after him—he found the stable doors shut, the grooms alert and armed and a smart odor of cooking horse-flesh rising from the kitchens. Sir Giles received him formally in the hall and poured the wine himself. It had cost much to spare that flagon from the thinning supply in the cellars. But Umfraville knew little and cared less; he drank deep and pushed over his cup to be refilled. Adventure “You are done for, Gislac,”’ he said at last, grinning wickedly. His helmet was off; his bald head shone like polished glass. But the thick jutting beard, with never a hint of gray, belied the age his crown bore witness to. He was a huge bear of a man, bull-necked, strong of arm and shoulder, running to paunch. Oneof his animal energy could stand much bad living. Gislac forced a smile. “Tone for?” he repeated -pleasantly. “TI have done for many of your devil-may-care riders, more of de Born’s and not a few of the Reiver’s. High Tower can stand much more than you have given her.” Umfraville shook with impudent laughter. “You have fought well,” he admitted. “TI have never seen better work done with so weak a garrison. Hard as you have hit me, you have hit Sir Richard harder. Sixteen of his best riders and nine foresters are planted in your earth; as many more are hurt. Monrepaire himself is badly stricken. His wound festers.”’ “T had not known we took such toll of him,” Sir Giles replied. “If you speak truth, why do you not break camp and get away before I grind you to pieces?” he asked amiably. “That is good wine. Give me some more. Why, you can not grind us to pieces, Gislac. You are cooped up like a tame jackdaw. Your eagle droops his feathers and starves. I read the riddle of those closed stable-doors. “Why, man! Do we not know your num- bers, the condition of your stores? This year’s harvest is not in; you have but the fag end of the last. One week more and you will be gnawing your stirrup-leathers. You must yield or starve, and that right soon.” Gislac said nothing. His eyes bored through Umifraville’s. “So I have come to offer you a way out,” Umfraville proceeded. “Sir Richard: would put you all to the sword or hang you from your own merlons, as soon as hunger should force you out. Make no mistake. Refuse the terms I bring you, and he will stay here till you starve or surrender. And if he stays de Born and I stay with him. He shan’t have all the pickings. But if you meet my terms, you may escape with your lives, though with little else.” He paused, and his beady eyes explored his enemy’s face. He saw there little but scorn. ‘So you would betray Monrepaire?” COmiclboolks CO