Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 68: what you’re looking at

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

62 Reiver, bold as he was, shuddered at the unguessed horror that could so harry Black John and his callous fellow veterans. Such as they feared no living man. For a moment forgetful of pursuit, Mon- repaire and his foresters stood still, gazing tremblingly down the path toward the road, fearfully fascinated, expectant of— they neither knew nor dared think what. At last they saw—a single horseman, bareheaded, riding toward them at a foot pace. The hoofs of his mount made no sound on the soft turf of the woodland path. H{[e came ghostly to meet them. The horse was white; the rider was white, with the awful pallor of death. Nay, he was whiter, the color of a shroud. Armor, weapons, all were white; his face glimmered, unearthly, in the gloom. Closer he came, very close. And still the Reiver stood his ground, though the hair rose on the back of his neck. Watch- ing, he felt his heart grow cold. A scream died on his lips. By the last dim light, as the dark enveloped all, he recognized his murdered nephew, Geoffrey de Monrepaire. CHAPTER XIV THE WHITE LADY | hts one grisly moment the spell of terror held them. Not a man there but could swear to Geoffrev’s death; not one, save Monrepaire alone, who had not believed their attack on High Tower to be revenge for their master’s slaughtered nephew. Wounded or hale, they all stood shivering while,a man might count ten. Thenvall who could use legs or mount a horse fled blindly into the black forest. Only the helpless remained, and they lay prostrate or knelt, trying to cross themselves or touch hidden relic with fingers that shook or babbled half-forgotten prayers. Richard de Monrepaire was at last alone with his soul. Fearless, scornful, remorse- less man that he was, he had hitherto known repentance only when facing his Maker in prayer, nor had the terrors of hell power to swerve him from his course. « But now, face to face with one he knew dead by his plots, guilt allied itself with fear, dethroning reason. The shock un- manned his will. A horrible certainty took possession of him. ‘This was indeed Geof- Adventure frey’s avenging spirit, come to bear his murderer’s soul to judgment and eternal torment. But, though his flesh crawled, the Reiver thought not once of flight. He was the Monrepaire, who had never faltered for danger, never shrunk from death. Knowing himself doomed and damned beyond hope, he was yet too bravea man for shame. His time was come. Well, he would meet it sword in hand. His will whipping his rec- reant flesh, he charged with uplifted sword straight at the ghostly horseman. As they met, he struck with all his strength. But the white horse swerved to let him pass. The pallid rider caught the blow on his spectral shield. A great joy flooded the Reiver’s veins, for he felt the impact of his blade on good solid leather and brass and linden-wood, and he knew his foe was a living man. For had this been a ghost, the sword would have passed through shield and rider as through unyielding air. Carried two spear-lengths past by the im- petus of his charge, the ear] reined in his mount and turned. Wild yells dinned in his ears; a host of half-seen figures danced where he had but nowridden. The path was filled with armed Saxons and their wounded pris- oners. Through the throng came striding a mightv figure in Norman mail, unhelmeted— Giles de Gislac. Torches of pine, waved through the air till they flamed, fell full on his face as Richard looked. Gislac! The sight of his ancient enemy restored all the Reiver’s poise and_ told much to his nimble brain. Geoffrey alive! Gislac with him! Of a surety the boy had been but wounded; Gislac had found him, nursed him back to life in High Tower, smuggled him thence after the siege to some safe hiding-place. Then they must have fled into the Murkwood, organized the re- volted serfs, intercepted the messenger on his way from de Born to Monrepaire and skilfully turned the Reiver’s own plans to his destruction. Shield up, sword ready, Richard de Mon- repaire waited for a hand to be laid on him. He saw the peasants move toward him, hate in their eyes. He saw Gislac’s upifted arm warn them away. The old Norman’s sense of fair play called for the arbitrament by duel, for now Geoffrey, turning his horse, spurred toward his kinsman. The Reiver’s eye was caught by a white smear on his own sword-blade. He touched COMmiclo©okKS.conm