Start of Part 3 (May, 1928Weird Talesmagazine)
start part 3“He was hidden from view in a mass of stabbing figures.”
“He was hidden from view in a mass of stabbing figures.”
15
The sun sank thunderously behind the mountain-range and tinted the tips of all the peaks with gold. Little fleecy clouds floated overhead in contented indolence. The wind of the heights was still. The pine-clad hills seemed very soft and restful as the shadows deepened on the eastern slopes, and contrasted strangely with the still-bright golden fields of the valleys yet unshadowed by the mountains.
Stephan held out a weary hand, pointing. A sullen column of smoke rose from a point far distant. He pointed again, where a thin wisp of vapor grew steadily thicker and denser.
“Our houses,” he said bitterly. “They are being burned. Vladimir has spoken, and we die.”
Cunningham clenched his fists as the sullen gray clouds rose slowly upward in the still air. Once he saw figures moving about the base of the smoke. Once he thought he heard yelling.
“I don’t think he’s told your secret,” he said after an instant. “That’s the mob. Gray promised that help would come. He said it was coming by airplane. And Vladimir——”
He told Stephan swiftly what Vladimir had said to the sheriff: that the Strangers were to be surrounded by the mob, and that then he would speak to them; that they would submit, and that some would go away in chains to be hung for the murder of his brother, and that he would take the others away with him forever; that they would follow when he spoke to them and obey him in all things.
Stephan’s eyes flashed fire for a second.
“Is life so sweet or peace so dear,” he quoted bitterly, “as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery?” He stopped short. “No,” he said quietly. “We will not obey him. No!”
Cunningham felt again that curious impotent bafflement. Stephan had just quoted Patrick Henry’s speech to the House of Burgesses, the famous “Give me liberty or give me death” speech. And Stephan had never seen a revolver until Cunningham showed him one, nor a shotgun save at a distance and in the hands of the farmers about him. None of the Strange People were better informed. Keeping passionately to themselves, it was possible that they would never have seen a pistol if they were ignorant of them before they came mysteriously to these hills. Revolvers are not common in country places, nor are those possessed displayed.
“You see,” said Stephan with a faint smile, “how I was able to spare you for a time. It is likely that we will all soon be dead. And then it does not matter if you know our secret or not.”
“Tell me now,” begged Cunningham. “It will make no difference to you, and it may mean everything——”
Stephan smiled slowly at Maria, who was clinging to Cunningham’s arm as if she feared that at any instant he might be torn away.
“You say you do not know,” he said with a wretched attempt at lightness. “Maria loves you. You would despise her if you knew. Let her be happy as long as may be.” He paused and surveyed the hillside with keen eyes, then added: “We trust you. We might have killed many of that mob already. They were careless. But we have fled before them. We will keep from killing them as long as we can, because you have asked it.”
“Gray will be here!” said Cunningham passionately. “He has promised! Help will come!”
Stephan shrugged his shoulders and gave a low-voiced order in the unknown tongue which the Strangers spoke among themselves.
“Help,” he said in a moment more, and smiled very wearily indeed. “The soldiers will come, no doubt. And then we die indeed. We move now, my son.”
Half a dozen Strangers hovered near Cunningham. They were guards, to prevent his escape at any cost. That they would kill him to keep him from getting away there was no doubt. That they hated him was totally improbable. The faces of all the Strangers wore a settled, fatalistic look. Every one was now clad in the barbaric costume they had worn about the fires the night before, as if they had abandoned all hope of pretending longer that they were of the same sort as the inhabitants of the valleys.
Cunningham followed as the Strangers moved on. Little bands of them were constantly appearing unexpectedly from the woods and joining the main body. There were quite two hundred in all when they passed over a hill-crest and settled themselves in the valley beyond.
The mob had appeared from Bendale. On horse-back, in motor-cars and in wagons drawn by teams, what seemed to be the whole population had come raging out to Coulters. The farmers of the valley had put their women-folk together and come armed with weapons, from shotguns to pitchforks. And they had surged into the hills in quest of the Strange People. All had forgotten that the only thing genuinely proved against the Strangers was the death of Valdimir’s brother. All were hysterically convinced that the Strangers made a practise of kidnaping children and sacrificing adults in devilish orgies by their fires.
The belief was not unparalleled. To be peculiar is to invite suspicion. The Strangers were peculiar. Suspicion is always based on fear. What fear is more terrible than that of harm to one’s children? Every unknown man or race of men has been accused of the one crime. Gipsies are not yet freed of the suspicion of kidnaping. A lurking tramp or wanderer is instantly and invariably suspected of intent to commit the same offense.
Was it odd, then, that the secretive folk of the hills had been classed as doubtful? The mysterious ceremony of the fires, as described by the ignorant and frightened constables, was capable of any interpretation. What had been doubts and vague surmises became certainties when coupled with the ceremony which was meaningless unless sinister.
Now the Strangers had withdrawn from the first of the mountain-slopes. They abandoned their homes to the mob without a struggle. The houses went up in flames. The Strangers had seen the columns of smoke rising to the sky.
Men and women wore a look of settled calm. A mob that vastly outnumbered them, and was vastly better armed, was seeking them in raging madness. They waited to die. Some of the younger men chafed at the delay in fighting. With their throwing-knives they might have picked off many of their persecutors, but Stephan had forbidden it.
They waited. Darkness fell. Through the stillness of early night came the sound of a shot, then another and another. Wild yells broke loose below.
After a long time a runner came panting to the bivouac. He had bound the embroidered sash that was part of his costume about his arm, but it was stained—a dark purple in the moonlight.
Stephan ordered another move. Uncomplainingly the Strangers rose and plodded farther into the hills. The children were weary. Fretful little cries rose from the long line. Women hushed them gently. There was little talk. Just a long line of barbarously clad people plodding with bowed heads onward, onward, onward, while a shouting, raving mob raged through the woods in quest of them.
Cunningham went with them. He had no choice, but it is doubtful if he would have done otherwise had he been able to.
Again the weary people settled for a little rest. Yells sounded faintly, far to the right. A red glow began and grew larger and became a house burning with a crackling noise in the wilderness. Cunningham saw an old man rise on one elbow and peer at the flames. His face was apathetic. Then he lay down again.
“That was my house,” he said quietly to the man nearest him, and was silent.
Again came runners, panting. One man was sobbing in rage and humiliation, begging leave to plunge into the mob and die fighting—alone, if need be.
Stephan refused him gently.
“I think we die,” he said grimly, “but he”—Stephan pointed at Cunningham—“has promised that help will come. I do not believe it, but we can miss no chance. We have women with us, and children. We must hold ourselves for them. While the least chance remains, we must live.”
Once more came the order to move. And once more the weary march began. It had no object and it had no hope. But beneath the full moon the Strangers plodded on and on, until the baying of dogs set up behind them.
“They’ve sent down in the valley and got dogs!” raged Cunningham in a blend of fury and sick horror.
Stephan stroked his chin and gazed at Cunningham.
“What now, my son?” he asked.
Cunningham shook his head in despair.
“This is the end,” said Stephan quietly. “I think—I think we may let you go on alone, if you wish. You may escape.”
“Maria?” demanded Cunningham, very white. He would feel like a coward and a scoundrel if he deserted these people, but if he could save Maria he would do it.
“No,” said Stephan. “She is my daughter and I would save her life. But if our secret is known it is best that she die quickly with the rest.”
Cunningham groaned and clenched his fists.
“I stay,” he said harshly. “And—I fight with you!”
Sunrise broke upon the Strangers huddled high up on a bare and windswept peak. Its first cold rays aroused them. Gradually it warmed them. And it showed them clearly to a ring of still-raging men who were made savage by the ruin they had wrought during the night. From fifty places in the hills thin columns of smoke still rose wanly to the sky, from as many heaps of ashes that had been the Strangers’ homes.
And shots began to be fired from the besiegers of the Strange People. Then Vladimir rode forward on a white horse and shouted to them in that unknown language.
Cunningham could not understand the speech of Vladimir, nor the replies that Stephan made. Only, once Maria clung to his arm in an access of hope.
“He has not spoken!” she whispered. “He is threatening now to tell them who we are——”
Then Vladimir was shouting promises, to judge by his tone. A moment later his voice was stern.
Maria sobbed suddenly. A growl went up from the Strangers, running all about among the huddled figures.
Far away over the hills a low-toned buzzing set up. It strengthened and grew louder. A black dot hung between earth and sky. It grew larger. A second black dot appeared; a third. Wings could be seen upon the first of the airplanes. More and more appeared until there were six in all, flying in formation and winging their way steadily toward the hills.
They darted back and forth, searching. Cunningham shouted joyously.
“There they are!” he yelled. “Tell Vladimir to go to hell, Stephan! We’ve got help with us now!”
Vladimir had heard the sound of the engines and stared upward. Then foam appeared upon his lips and he shrieked with rage.
“There will be soldiers upon those things?” asked Stephan quietly. The Strangers were gazing up at the swooping aircraft that quartered the hills like monster hawks, in quest of the Strangers and their enemies.
“Surely,” Cunningham told him joyously. “They’ll carry five men apiece, with the pilots.”
Stephan rose and stepped forward, where he shouted in a stentorian voice to Vladimir. Maria gasped in terror and clung close to Cunningham.
“He is—he is going to do as Vladimir says!” she cried. “Do not let him do it! Oh, do not——”
Stephan turned and spoke in a low tone in the unknown tongue of the Strangers. And where there had been rebellion among the defiant folk on the peak before he spoke, afterward there were grim smiles. Men’s hands loosened the knives in their belts.
Stephan shouted again in apparent panic, pointing up to the flying things that circled suddenly above them. And Vladimir’s face contorted in a grin of direst cruelty. He called over his shoulder and rode forward until he was just out of throwing-knife range. Then he shouted once more.
At Stephan’s low-toned order a cloud of knives went licking through the air and fell at his horse’s feet. And Vladimir grinned savagely and rode up, quite up, among the Strange People.
They cowered as he drew close to them. They crawled upon the ground as he stared savagely about him. They shook in seeming terror as he snarled a phrase or two at them. Cunningham gripped his revolver, his eyes blazing amid all his bewilderment. He had never seen such beastly cruelty upon the face of any living man. Maria clung close to him, shaking in unearthly terror.
Vladimir rode his horse toward a cowering group. They rolled away, gasping in apparent horror, as the horse was upon them. Not one lifted a finger to defend himself. They seemed stricken with utter, craven terror. They crawled abjectly upon the ground before him.
Vladimir came upon the bullet-headed servant he had sent to kill Cunningham. The man fawned up at his master, bound hand and foot as he was. Vladimir gazed at him sardonically and spoke in a purring tone. Then he deliberately shot the man dead.
The Strange People cringed. Then Vladimir saw Cunningham. He rode over and stared down with cold, beastly eyes.
“Ah, my friend,” he purred. “You know the secret of my folk, you say. Perhaps you lie, but it does not matter. You saw the end of my servant, did you not? That was for failing to kill you as I ordered. Do you remember that after that you struck me?”
Cunningham’s fingers itched on trigger.
“I do,” he said curtly. “You’d better run away, Vladimir. My friend Gray has some unbribed officers in those planes that are going to land in a minute or so.”
Vladimir laughed.
“What difference?” he asked amusedly. “My people are cowed, now. They will swear to anything I choose to tell them. All that I need to do is hand over some of them to be hanged. One or two will go for killing my servant. They will confess to whatever I say. And I will take the others away with me.”
“You’re sure?” asked Cunningham grimly. “Quite sure?”
“But certainly,” Vladimir laughed again. “They are afraid I will tell who they are. But you—— Time is short.” He glanced at Stephan and his voice rasped. “Take away his weapons!”
Stephan approached Cunningham, cowering from the menace of Vladimir’s eyes. He seemed to be in the ultimate of terror, but as he drew near to Cunningham, and Vladimir could not see his face, he smiled grimly. There was no terror on his face then. He made a reassuring gesture.
“Take it!” rasped Vladimir harshly. “Disarm him!”
Stephan’s lips moved but Cunningham could not quite understand what he wished to convey. But he had two revolvers and he thrust one into Stephan’s hand and drew and jerked the other behind him while Stephan’s body covered the movement.
“Ah,” purred Vladimir as Stephan drew back and handed over the weapon. “You see it is necessary to kill you, Cunningham. My folk will take the blame for it. I shall probably let Stephan hang for your murder. They need a lesson, you understand. But I will be merciful. A bullet through the heart——”
He raised Cunningham’s own revolver, but he never fired it. As his arm lifted, Cunningham’s own weapon came around. But Cunningham did not fire either. There was a panted ejaculation and a dozen Strangers seemed to spring from the earth. With the savagery and directness of so many panthers they leaped upon Vladimir. He was hidden from view in a mass of savagely stabbing figures who clung to him in a grim silence. Vladimir screamed just once, and his revolver went off with a deafening explosion. One of the Strangers rolled to the ground, coughing, while he grinned in spite of his agony.
And then Vladimir fell with a crash to the ground and lay still.
There was a shout from the Strangers. Men yelled and the younger ones darted out to where their knives had been tossed before Vladimir. They came racing back with armfuls of the shining blades. They distributed them swiftly, grinning as they did so.
And in less than two minutes from the time Vladimir had ridden up to the peak where the Strangers lay barricaded, he had died and the Strangers were again lying in wait for the attack that they were sure would result in their annihilation.
But the great airplanes came coasting down heavily. Their motors shut off one by one and they zoomed to lose speed and pancaked with sudden awkwardness to the earth. This was no ideal landing-place. Three of them alighted safely. One was tilted sidewise by a sudden gust of wing and crumpled up a wing against a tree. Two others crashed their landing-gear on boulders on the rocky hillside.
Then Gray leaped out of the first to land, shouting frantically to the besiegers to fire no more. Men jumped from the others and spread themselves about the peak. They were alert grim figures with rifles which they handled with familiar ease. And Gray came running up to the embattled Strangers, his hands high above his head, and shouting that he was a friend.
“Planes had to land at the Junction last night,” said Gray curtly to Cunningham. “Didn’t get here until sunset and couldn’t land in unfamiliar territory after dark, particularly this kind of territory. I went on and met them last night. We took off at sunrise. What happened? Any fighting?”
“Several of us shot,” said Cunningham grimly. “Nobody killed that I know of. But every house in the hills has been looted and burnt.”
“Fools!” snapped Gray. “But they’d do that.—What’s that?”
He was staring at a sprawled heap on the ground.
“That was Vladimir,” said Cunningham calmly. “He’d just shot his servant for failing to kill me, and was shooting me down in cold blood when the Strangers jumped him. You don’t get a murder case out of this, Gray. They killed him to save my life.”
“Glad of it,” said Gray restlessly. “Now——”
“By the badge you’ve stuck on your coat,” said Cunningham grimly, “you’re a detective of some sort. And I suppose those chaps who came in the planes are Federal men. What do you want with the Strangers, Gray?”
Gray stirred uneasily. Then he faced Cunningham squarely.
“I’m in the immigration service,” he said flatly. “These people are aliens, smuggled in. You can guess the rest of it yourself.”
“I can’t,” said Cunningham savagely. “There’s more to it than that, and they won’t tell me; not even Maria.”
Stephan spoke quietly. “Do you know who and what we are?”
“I do,” said Gray curtly. “You’re——”
Stephan stopped him with an upraised palm. His face was the color of ashes.
“Then you know,” he said tonelessly, “why we prefer to die here. And since our young friend will not leave us of his own will, my young men will carry him, bound——”
“Try it,” said Cunningham briefly. “If there’s fighting, I fight. If Maria dies, I die. That’s all.”
He brought his remaining weapon into view and held it grimly.
Gray stared from one to the other.
He shrugged his shoulders almost up to his ears and waved his hands helplessly. And then he said quickly, “Since I know, and the soldiers know, there’s no harm in telling Cunningham.”
Maria, her lips bloodless, whispered, “Tell him. It is best.”
But it was to Gray that Stephan turned. His back was toward Cunningham as he made a gesture for Gray’s benefit alone. Cunningham could not see, but it seemed as if Stephan had thrust up the wide sleeve of his embroidered jacket. And Gray licked his lips and said, “Oh, my God!”
“I tell you my own story,” said Stephan quietly. “The others are much the same. Twenty years ago I was the son of a village headman in Daghestan, which is in southern Russia. And there came upon me suddenly this—this thing which has made me one of the Strangers.”
Gray, shuddering, nodded. Cunningham raised his head.
“What thing?” he demanded.
“My own people would have stoned me when they knew,” said Stephan grimly. “My own father would have killed me. And I was a fool then. I desired still to live. I had heard whispers of this America, in which the son of the Governor of Daghestan had found a mine of gold so rich that he must work it secretly. It lay in a hidden valley, unknown to other men, and it was worked by—Strangers, who were safe in that one small valley so long as they served the lord Vladimir, while anywhere else in the world all men would kill them.”
“Why?” demanded Cunningham fiercely.
Stephan did not answer directly.
“I went down from the mountains that I loved, away from all my kin, and I went to the Governor of Daghestan and said that I wished to work in the mine of his son. And he sent me to a place, closely guarded, where there were others who were—as I was. And a long time later a boat came, and it took us many days upon the sea, and landed us secretly by night, and we traveled secretly, hiding, for many more days. And we came to the hidden valley ruled by the lord Vladimir and found two hundred other Strangers turned to slaves and working in the gold-mine he had discovered. They told us we would have done better to be stoned in our own villages than to come. We were driven to work with whips. If we rebelled we were shot down by the guards, who carried guns.”
Gray moved suddenly.
“This was twenty years ago?” he demanded. “And you were kept a prisoner in that valley all that time, by guards with guns?”
“All of us,” said Stephan quietly. He thrust with his foot at the body of Vladimir, lying in the dust before him. “That was our master. He had us taught the English language so that if other people came upon the valley we would seem to be of this nation. Three times—no, four times—wandering men came into the valley. None of them ever left it. They were killed by the guards....”
Gray stirred, his eyes moving fascinatedly from one to another of the Strange People.
“But we had been free men, once,” said Stephan proudly. “We wept at first because we were—Strangers. Then we grew ready to fight because we were men. Many times, in those twenty years, we planned revolt. There were two or three Strangers among us who were from this nation. One of them became my wife and the mother of Maria. She had been a teacher in the schools, and she taught us much. But Vladimir seemed to hear our secret thoughts. Every time he forestalled our plans and punished us horribly for daring to think of revolt. Men said that he stretched threads of metal to our houses and that our words traveled to him along those threads, so that he knew always what we planned.”
“Telephones,” said Gray, fascinated, “but in the walls. Of course he could listen in.”
“So at last we made our plans in the woods of the valley.” Stephan spread out his hands. “We stole of the gold we dug. We gave it to five of our number, and they fled away. They bought horses and food—many horses and much food. They found a hiding-place for us. And while they were doing that, Vladimir was torturing us to learn where they had gone and why. But though four men and a woman died, they did not tell. And suddenly, in a night, we Strangers who were slaves of Vladimir, we fled from the valley. We killed the guards with our knives and vanished, hiding in the secret place the first five men had found. It was secret and secure. And then——”
Stephan hesitated.
“My wife, who was of this nation, had been born in these hills here. She told us of these hills as of Paradise. So we sent again a few of our number here. With the gold we had brought away, we bought ground. Then, a little by a little, all of us came. We kept far from other people. We did them no harm. Now they want to kill us, because Vladimir doubtless told them before he died that we were lepers, and because we are lepers, we must die.”
He turned grimly to Cunningham and bared his forearm. And the skin of that forearm was silvery.
Cunningham’s tongue would not move. Gray shivered.
“I’ll—I’ll admit,” he said shakenly, “I didn’t bargain for this. Good God!” He stared at the somber-faced Strangers with a queer terror. Then he shook himself suddenly. “But look here——!”
Cunningham found himself speaking hoarsely. “Not Maria!” he gasped. “Not Maria!”
Stephan’s face, the color of ashes, had only compassion upon it as he watched Cunningham.
“Wait a bit,” cried Gray. “Wait a bit! Stephan! That—that thing on your arm. It comes first on the elbows and knees, where the clothing rubs! Redness first, then this?”
“That is it,” said Stephan quietly. “We have seen our children appear so. We have tried—ah, how we have tried!—to keep them from being Strangers too. But it is in the blood. Maria has showed it not even yet. But in time to come——”
“Nobody,” panted Gray excitedly, “ever got it over fifty years of age!”
“Those who have come to us,” said Stephan, “have always been young.”
Gray struck his hands together.
“But it shouldn’t be that way!” he cried. “It should take all ages. It should show on the face and hands! Not one of you shows it on the face or hands. There should be a dark band across the forehead. The fingertips should be silver, and the fingers should be twisted and bent. . . . Have you ever seen a doctor?”
Stephan smiled grimly. “That”—he pointed again to Vladimir’s body—“when that was our master, he had a doctor to keep us alive. And there was never any doubt.”
“I was at Ellis Island,” said Gray excitedly. “I know what I’m talking——”
“It is finished,” said Stephan grimly. “We die. Go and send your soldiers or your people to kill us.”
“Cunningham, make him listen——”
“Go on, Gray,” said Cunningham hoarsely. His face was ashen. “They’d only put us in some—some horrible colony somewhere. I—I don’t want to live after this. If they want to die, let them. I’m going to stay and—and get killed with them, if I can.”
“Idiot!” snapped Gray. “I’ve been telling you for half an hour that the symptoms are all wrong. And I was on Ellis Island and I know what they have got! And I know how they got it. Why, you idiot, don’t you see that Vladimir was getting his father to send him slaves to work that damned mine? That the only way they could be kept as slaves would be to make them think they’d be killed if anybody else knew what he knew about them? They didn’t get that thing naturally. They were deliberately inoculated withpsoriasis, a sub-tropical skin affection that looks enough like leprosy to give anybody a start, but doesn’t make a person unfit to work! These poor devils thought they were lepers, and they had a skin affection that is about as serious as dandruff! Creosote ointment or arsenic taken internally will cure it in ten days, and without one of those two things it lasts for years. Cooped up as they were, they reinfected each other. Believing themselves pariahs, they were afraid to run away from Vladimir until they had to. And he was trying to bluff them back to work in his mine. Don’t you see, you idiot? Don’t you see? It was a trick to get workers for his mine, workers who wouldn’t dare be disloyal to him. And when they had run away, why, he had to get them back or they might find out themselves what he’d done and tell where his mine was and about all the crimes he’s committed these twenty years back. Don’t you see, Cunningham, don’t you see?”
He turned to Stephan, who was staring at him incredulously.
“If you don’t think I’m telling the truth,” he snapped, “I’ll go and kiss every pretty girl in camp to prove it! You’ve been here twenty years. I can’t touch you. I can’t deport you. And I’m mighty glad of it! As for killing Vladimir and his brother, I’m going to do my best to get you medals for the performance. I’m going to set my men on these fool farmers and chase ’em home. We’ll sue them for the houses they’ve burnt. We’ll put that sheriff in jail. We’ll—we’ll—— Cunningham, you lucky son-of-a-gun, I’m going to be best man and kiss the bride!”
But Cunningham was already preceding him in that occupation.
It was a very, very long time later. Cunningham was sitting peacefully upon the veranda of a house among tall mountains. His eyes roved the length of a valley that was closed in at the farther end by precipitous cliffs. There were small, contented sounds from the house behind him.
A motor-car rolled up a smooth, graded roadway. A man by the road saw the occupant of the car and shouted a greeting. Cunningham sprang to his feet and ran down to meet it.
Gray tumbled out of the car and gripped Cunningham’s hand.
“I brought my fishing-rods,” he announced exuberantly. “Where’s that stream you were writing about?”
“Find it in the morning,” said Cunningham happily. “How d’you like our valley?”
Gray came up the steps and stared out at the empty space below him. There were tall buildings down in the valley floor—great concrete buildings, with a tall shaft-house where motors whirred and an engine puffed.
“There ain’t any such place!” announced Gray firmly. “I’m dreaming it! I found a concrete road leading here. I passed half a dozen motor-trucks on the way. And one scoundrel waved at me from a steering-wheel and I’ll swear he’s the chap that had a knife in the small of my back once, ready to stick it in.”
“Quite likely,” admitted Cunningham, grinning. “He is quite glad, now, that he did not stick it in. I’ve spread the news that you were the one who proved their title to the valley, through twenty years’ occupation.”
Gray squirmed, then grinned.
“Might be useful,” he admitted, “to be popular here, in case there are any more fire-ceremonies going on.”
Cunningham’s face was serious for a moment.
“They were desperate, then,” he said. “They’d tried the Christian God and things still looked black. So they called upon some ancient deities that their forefathers had worshiped.... You mustn’t blame them, Gray.”
“I don’t.” Gray grinned. “But I do want to study their dialect, Cunningham.”
“Go ahead. It’s disappearing. We’re going in for politics, and boy scouts, and radios. We are a long way from a railroad, but our mine has built a road to it, and we have a motor-truck line that’s as good as a trolley any day. We’re highly civilized now, Gray.”
He opened the door into the house. And there was Maria to smile and give Gray her hand.
“Your husband,” said Gray, “has been boasting outrageously about what’s happened in the valley since you people came back.”
“He did it all,” said Maria proudly. “Nobody does anything, ever, without asking him.”
Gray chuckled and lifted an eyebrow at Cunningham.
“You haven’t seen the prize exhibit yet,” said Cunningham hastily. “Chief!”
There was a movement and Stephan came up a flight of steps that led outside. There was a tiny figure balanced on his shoulders. Stephan twinkled as he saw Gray, and he set his burden on the ground.
“I found him,” he announced proudly, “going down the hillside with his air-rifle. He was going to hunt bears. That is a grandson!”
Gray stooped and beckoned. The small figure came shyly forward.
“Son,” said Gray gravely, “don’t you waste your time on small game like bears. Wait until you grow up a bit, and see a picture of a pretty girl in a magazine, and you find out where she is. And then—why, then you can start out on the route to romance and adventure.”
[THE END]
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in serial form in the March, April and May, 1928 issues ofWeird TalesMagazine.
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in serial form in the March, April and May, 1928 issues ofWeird TalesMagazine.