Adventure Magazine Cover — page 57: what you’re looking at

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

Author of ‘‘Rose Face,” “The Gate in the Sky,” CHAPTER I ARUK AND THE KRIT OURAGUT, the great golden eagle, was flying high over the snows and rocks of the Altai Mountains. It was a brisk day in Spring, that year 1660—eventful year for Central Asia. Six feet from wing to wing, the golden eagle soared, alone and calmly bent on his own business. Rarely indeed was Bouragut to be tamed, to be hooded and shackled into a falcon, used by men to strike down prey. He went as he pleased, for he feared no one. Alone of the feathered folk he would sweep down, to attack with talons and curved beak foxes and even wolves. For that he was called the Wolf-Chaser, and men were proud to have him at their call. Unlike the vulture, the golden eagle did not wait for others to make his kill. His telescope-like eyes sought for game on the mountain slope, peering down between the cloud-flocks. He was Bouragut, the Wolf-Chaser; his brown, black - and - white - flecked coat of feathers glistened; his wings, moving lazily, supported him in the vastness where he had his kingdom by right. Yet it was not a king but an old falconer, SI * The _Wolf- Chaser Lae omplete Novelette i Harold Lamb SN elc. a native Mongol and Christian, who had made himself master of Bouragut. FROM a thicket by the snow of the Urkhogaitu Pass, Aruk the hunter looked up, recognized the golden eagle and waved cheerfully. He was a young Tatar with alert eyes. His hut was in the thicket, nearly two miles above the verdant plains of Tartary, to the north, because he was the keeper of the gate. It was his duty to watch for enemies coming over the pass from the south, where was the land of the Kalmuck and the Turk. Just now he was stringing his bow with fresh gut, in an excellent humor. That morning the omens on the mountainside had been good. A rainbow had come after dawn. Now the eagles were on the wing, and—yes; he cocked his head attentively— his horse neighed. All at once Aruk was on his feet, his bow strung. Up the pass another horse had neighed. Now the snow in the pass was stil unbroken, for no riders had come over the Urkhogaitu—the Gate of the Winds— that Winter, owing to the severe cold and the storms that swept the gorge between the rocky peaks of the Altai. Still, a horse had neighed, and where there was a horse in the Urkhogaitu, there was a rider. In a moment Aruk had GO .TOO = (©