Adventure Magazine Cover — page 53: what you’re looking at

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

52 young Gipsy prowled about the camp for a little while without seeing any one. It was Sunday. Suddenly he saw Margarita, who had come out of the tent, and yawned as she stretched her arms high over her head. “Hey, you!” he called to her. “Is your father dead or is he hibernating already?” “No,” she answered; “he is milking the goat for babies who have lost themselves in the mountains.” As she spoke she came nearer to the young Gipsy and looked him straight in the eye. It was a new face. They boy stood straight, with feet well apart, neck bent forward, and lips drawn away from the teeth. Mar- garita was thrilled. It was a “live one,” one that should fight the whole Summer. She had longed for a bear who would not tame easily and she almost ran for her whip after one good look at the boy who squared himself before her. She had never before seen a face that promised more fight, more sport, than the one before her. “And who are you?” he asked the girl as he returned her fierce glances. “T am Costa’s daughter,’ she answered, without moving an inch from where she stood. “And who are you? Have you come to buy a tame bear, a very tame bear?” she mocked, ‘one who dances as soon as you say ‘Martino,’ like this, like that?” “T want none of your puppets. When I want a bear I go and get him in his lair with my bare hands,” the youth answered. Then after a while he continued, narrow- ing his eyes as he spoke: “So you are Margarita, Costa’s daugh- ter! So you are Margarita! So—so! The daughter of that Cherkez woman. So— so! Well, I am Petrackio, Ursu’s son. And I have come for revenge. Where is your father?” Margarita knew well what the trouble was. been away to the Dobrudja more than a month and had returned only the night be- fore. She could have said so and assured Petrackio. Instead of that she laughed loudly, tossing her head this way and that, hissing afterward. between her teeth, with neck stretching out toward the boy: “Why don’t you wait another twenty years, when my father will be lame and blind, and fight him? Why, it was be- tween old men, Ursu’s son. If you want to fight, why not fight me?” She also knew that her father had- Adventure “You, a girl?” It drew fire. In a flash Margarita was in her tent and back. She held her whip in one hand when she returned. Her body was as taut as a steel spring. “So, that’s what you think of me? Not good enough to fight with? I will show you who I am.” Chained to a stout tree, not far from where they were, a huge brown she-bear was standing on its haunches and grunt- ing. Before Petrackio had known what had happened Margarita, with one tug at the chain, had torn the ring from the nose of the bear. Bellowing from the depths of its lungs the bleeding animal charged ahead, kicking, pawing, shaking its head viciously back and forth as it charged the girl whose only weapon was the cowhide whip in her hand. When the bear had approached near enough she let the whip fall upon its head again and again. Her arm worked like a piston rod. The bear repeated its charge yet the girl gave no ground, but kept on whipping the beast over the head until it reeled and retreated to seek shelter behind the tree where it had been fastened. “Will you fight me now?” Margarita asked, turning savagely on the boy who had not moved from his place. “No,” he answered. “I won’t fight a woman.” “Tt is because you are afraid. You want to fight an old man.” ‘“‘Afraid, IP Have you never heard of Petrackio? I will fight a dozen of your brothers. The whole tribe of your men.” ‘We have no men, only old women; fight me if you dare. Here, I begin,’’ and Mar- garita brought her whip across the boy’s face. It was as if a thousand bees had suddenly stung the boy. It was as if a swiftly turning wheel had suddenly been set on fire. Before Margarita had had time to know what hap- pened her whip had been jerked loose from her hand and she was thrown face down- ward in the dirt. Petrackio’s knee was be- tween her shoulders, holding her down as one holds a squirming, wriggling, stinging snake. Margarita felt the cold steel blade as it touched the back of her neck and thought the last breath was near. “Snake! I will not kill you. I don’t kill women. I want your father to know that I COMME OOKSsEC)