Adventure Magazine Cover — page 27: what you’re looking at

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

Forward I spurred on the Turani instead of pulling him in, and stood up in the saddle just as we came upon the two. By feinting a slash at one I made him throw up his saber to guard his head. Then, leaning down as the three ponies came together, I cut at the other’s neck, getting home over his blade. His mount reared and shelled him out of the saddle like a pea out of a pod. His mate had raked my shoulder blades with a slash that was too late to cut deep. Twisting the big black around, I crowded the outlaw as he was turning. He warded desperately with his sticker, leaning back to do so when he should have spurred his nag clear. The shoulder of the Turani struck his pony and the man lost his stirrups, falling to earth like a clown. Such riders! I had not a moment to lose, and so kept the black dancing around the outlaw. “Speak up, you dog!’ I cried at him. ‘‘Where is your officer and the American?” “Only a little span ahead, noble sir! Truly, it is all our officer’s doing! He came to us with papers from the government, promising many things if we would rub out— At-a, spare a poor chap, noble lord!” I hastened on, wasting no more time on the outlaw. And in no time at all I heard the music of steel kissing steel. Eh, a great fear came upon me that John Paul was being sliced by the leader of the dog company. But when I rode up to them, only two men were to be seen where the trail dipped through a hollow. Two ponies were stand- ing riderless, with heaving flanks and spraddled legs, foundered. And in a spot where the grass was short John Paul made play with his rapier, and his antagonist was Strelsky the ensign. Swift hope flashed into Strelsky’s red face as I trotted up, until he saw out of the cor- ner of his eye that Ivak had come instead of his two murderers. John Paul mo- tioned me away with his free hand and I drew rein to watch. Strelsky was the prettier sword of the two by odds. But the American had an arm like a wrestler and an eye like a wolf. He did not seem tired in the least. His brow was placid though his black eyes darted fire. Until I looked him over I had felt that it was folly to let him risk a stab when the Turani could have ridden Strelsky down. By then the Russian knew that his men 29 would not come up, and his face showed strain; moreover he kept trying to watth me, trusting in his greater skill to keep John Paul’s blade in play. So it happened that the point of the American’s rapier picked his cheek and drew blood. It angered the ensign and he began to attack, making many feints that pulled John Paul’s guard aside, but failing to get home. A second time his cheek was raked, a piece of flesh falling out. Then ‘Strelsky lunged fiercely at the throat and John Paul parried just in time, making a swift ripost that caught the Rus- sian’s blade under his. The American stiffened his wrist and Strelsky tried des- perately to disengage, but suffered a deep cut over the eyes. Blood ran down into his eyes and he stood helpless. John Paul stepped back and lowered his point, while the Russian cursed and gripped his sword, expecting to be spitted at once. His face was scarred for life, if he lived. This pleased me because Strelsky was not a fellow to love. He wore the uniform of the Empress, but he had given me an order that held treachery in it. The American was a foreigner, yet, after the fight on the raft, my heart warmed to him. He could stand his ground and take blows, and he kept his hand up even though the Russians for some reason had schemed to take his life on the journey, though this he did not know as yet. Some words he spoke to Strelsky, and the ensign answered slowly, clearing the blood out of his eyes as he did so. I caught the name Edwards and the words “the prince.” Whatever passed between them, it en- lightened John Paul, because he sheathed his rapier and Jooked at Strelsky as if a snake had come up out of the ground. I think the ensign told much truth, being fearful of his life. Then Paul Jones point- ed out over the steppe and said in French— ““Va-t-en!”’ And Strelsky turned away, after drop- ping his sword. At the edge of the hollow he began to run and though I called a barbed word after him he did not halt again. It angered me to see him go free even in such a state. But from this time forward John Paul took advice from no man. Indeed, how was I to consult with him? Why did I stand aside, to remain with him when Strelsky went off? An order had Co NOOK ©