Adventure Magazine Cover — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

8 Adventure can not hunt without a head. Give us the sword-slayer for a leader!” “Aye, he is a sword-slayer,’’ admitted the sotntk, ‘“‘the finest to be found in the frontier. But he was only weaned a few Winters ago; along the Dnieper he kept his feet, true enough, and his enemies were laid to rest on their backs. But where are his gray hairs, where his Cossack cunninge”’ “May the dogs bite you!’ Broad Breeches pushed through the throng. “You are brave enough when words are in the air; but as God is my witness no man can find you when swords are out. You drink the fal- con’s vodka, and that gives you a little courage——” “Death to you!” “The lie to you, ox-tail! Did not Rurik betroth his granddaughter, Ileana of Ku- dak, to our falcon? He found no better man than Demid, and who says otherwise will cover himself with his legs.” The officer stood his ground sturdily, although the snarling face of the Don war- rior was thrust close to his eyes. “What I say,” he maintained, ‘is known to all the brethren. Your chieftain is a hero, but he is a wild one, a mad-cap. At Kudak a white-armed maid awaits him, like a dove. But he takes the snow road, beyond the frontier, and leaves the castle of Kudak without a master.”’ Broad Breeches laughed tauntingly. “Ts that otherwise than a Cossack would do? Isay Demid will bring back a mighty treasure, enough to ransom all the captives!”’ The eyes of the other brightened for an instant; then he shook his head. “It cannot be. At this season the storms are on the Black Sea, and our boats would founder; the large treasure-ships of the Turks stick to the southern shore, as fleas stick where a dog can’t scratch.” “Then he will seek the southern shore!’’ “How, seek it, when no one of you knows a rudder from a centerboard, or a compass from a Nurenburg watch?”’ The sotntk took his hand from his sword hilt and turned to the listeners: “Tt is true that Demid is mad. [If he could lead a horde without falling into the pagan’s traps—if he could take a walled city, or outwit one of those accursed pashas of the janizaries—if he were a wolf like Khht who could catch a Tatar khan asleep, or Rurik who could take a ship through the Dardanelles——”’ “He can, you toad!’’ “Then let him show how he can! If he does, he will be our koshevo1, and we will not say that he is young and mad.” Some murmurs of assent greeted this, and the Don warrior had no answer to the argu- ment. “Too much talk, too much talk alto- gether,’ he muttered angrily. “Out of the way, old women: stand aside dish- cloths, that a man may drink!’ Elbowing aside the other Cossacks who did not resent his hard words, as the warrior was going on the road, the man from the Don gained the side of the nearest keg, re- fusing all proffers of beakers and dippers. “Hail to the fair young mistress,” he roared, throwing back his head, “‘the round- armed, the soft-eyed maiden! Hail to her whose embrace is the warmest, whose kiss awaits a Cossack ss ‘To Lady Death!” echoed the sotntk. At this Broad Breeches plunged his head in the cask, and sprang up, panting, shak- ing the liquor from his long scalp-lock, not quite oblivious to the admiring glances of the younger brethren. The pent-up passions of the throng sought an outlet and one offered in the prison pen. Two criminals had been confined there, awaiting execution: one for striking the priest some time since—the other for the lesser matter of knifing a Cossack. The men of the Siech- were accustomed to fight- ing, but they used their fists. To draw a knife was held to be a shameful act, natural enough for a Greek or Syrian, but contrary to the ethics of Cossackdom. Warriors were already beating down the gate when the party from the brandy-cask came up. Axes appeared at once, and made short work of the beams of the door, so that a black gap showed in the high palisade. Torches flickered above the heads of the crowd and voices shouted for the gallows birds to come out. Before a second summons could be ut- tered, a tall man walked through the gate. So singular was his appearance that for a moment it distracted the attention of the throng. His head, wrapped in a crimson scarf, did not come to the level of the long Cossacks, but he carried himself erect, and walked slowly forward, eyeing his captors. One eye, in fact was half-closed by a scar that ran down to his lip, lifting it in a kind of perpetual sneer. Instead of the usual (i) cComicloooks CO