Avon Fantasy Reader No. 14 — page 101: what you’re looking at

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

presently returned leading as ancient and woebegone-looking a beast as I’ve ever seen, alive or dead. He led the blind, spavined creature to within thirty feet of the old freak when the hobbling bag of bones suddenly snorted, as if he’d scented a mountain lion, reared up in terror, planted his front legs down with a crash, and refused to budge. “Do ye git whut I mean?” the attendant leered. Frankly, I didn’t. But I could hardly afford to waste any more time trying to get around the patent stupidities of my filling-station mountaineer. I got down to business. How much did he want for the use of the mule for a couple of days? I was willing to pay a reasonable rental. “Rent this mule?” he grinned sardonically. “I ain't rentin’, mister. I’m sellin’. I ain't so sure you’re coming back.” I flared with anger. Hadn’t he my car as security? He shrugged. “I'm sellin’. One hunnert dollars. Take it or leave 1t.” It was an outrageous price to pay for that moribund animal, but it was too early to be looking around and I was too much in a hurry, anyway. I took tt. He drove my car into the shed, then got out and threw a mildewed old saddle on the mule. “Must be moughty important business you've got in Kobold’s Keep,” he muttered as he tightened the cinch strap. “You've been there, I suppose?” I ventured casually. He looked up—shook his head slowly. “Naw, mister. Once, when I was a young sprout, I clumb to the top of the Pass and looked down into the Millhop. I could see the shacks of the place way off below. Yeah. I could even see some of the critters who live there. But I never went down to take a closer look. I got better sense.” “That doesn’t sound reasonable!” I protested. “What's there to be scared of? What kind of people live there?” He glanced at the cyclops. The great eye in the center of the freak’s fore- head winked weirdly, the toothless black gums showing in a lipless grin. “Same kind as he is, I reckon. On’y this’n seems like the best-lookin’ critter that ever came outen the Devil’s Millhop. That’s why he’s still here now, [ reckon. The others what tried it got kilt or chased back. There was no puttin’ up with the sight of them!” Black Knicht Pass... the Devil's Millhop ... Kobold’s Keep... it all sounded like a Barnum’s paradise. I guess I must have grinned, for the mountaineer scowled and I could get no further word out of him. The cyclops hopped to his feet with surprising agility as 1 mounted my decrepit steed, and plunged down a steep embankment into a ravine that ran at right angles to the road. I hesitated, met the jaundiced sneer of the station attendant, then kicked the ribs of my blind mule so that he half slid, half dived down the road bank. The cyclops, turning, winked, then plunged into the woods, leading a good thirty feet or more. Through silent, needle-cushioned pine forest, across dark and rocky moun- tain flanks, over verdant, flower-studded meadows the strange old fellow guided me. For all his apparent senility he was possessed of an astonishing vigor. His thin old legs skipped along with the spring and easy grace of youth. 99 comiclooks.com