Weird Tales volume 24 number 03 (22 page)

THE COMING OF ABEL BEHENNA

387

burst on the part of her impetuous lover. But the window was empty; Eric had taken himself off, and with a pout she resumed her work.

She saw Eric no more till Sunday afternoon, after the bans had been called the third time, when he came up to her before all the people with an air of proprietorship which half pleased and half annoyed her.

"Not yet, mister!" she said, pushing him away, as the other girls giggled. "Wait till Sunday next, if you please— the day after Saturday!" she added, looking at him saucily.

The girls giggled again, and the young men guffawed. They thought it was the snub that touched him so that he became as white as a sheet as he turned away. But Sarah, who knew more than they did, laughed, for she saw triumph through the spasm of pain that overspread his face.

The week passed uneventfully; however, as Saturday drew nigh, Sarah had occasional moments of anxiety, and Eric went about at night-time like a man possessed. He restrained himself when others were by, but now and again he went down amongst the rocks and caves and shouted aloud. This seemed to relieve him somewhat, and he was better able to restrain himself for some time after. All Saturday he stayed in his own house and never left it. As he was to be married on the morrow, the neighbors thought it was shyness on his part, and did not trouble or notice him. Only once was he disturbed, and that was when the chief boatman came to him and sat down, and after a pause said:

"Eric, I was over in Bristol yesterday. I was in the ropemaker's getting a coil to replace the one you lost the night of the storm, and there I saw Michael Heavens of this place, who is salesman there. He told me that Abel Behenna had come

home the week ere last on the Star of the Sea from Canton, and that he had lodged a sight of money in the Bristol Bank in the name of Sarah Behenna. He told Michael so himself—and that he had taken a passage on the Lovely Alice to Pencastle. Bear up, man," for Eric had with a groan dropped his head on his knees, with his face between his hands. "He was your old comrade, I know, but you couldn't help him. He must have gone down with the rest that awful night. I thought I'd better tell you, lest it might come some other way, and you might keep Sarah Trefusis from being frightened. They were good friends once, and women take these things to heart. It would not do to let her be pained with such a thing on her wedding day."

Then he rose and went away, leaving Eric still sitting disconsolately with his head on his knees.

"Poor fellow!" murmured the chief boatman to himself; "he takes it to heart. Well, well! right enough! They were true comrades once, and Abel saved him!"

The afternoon of that day, when the children had left school, they strayed as usual on half-holidays along the quay and the paths by the cliffs. Presently some of them came running in a state of great excitement to the harbor, where a few men were unloading a coal ketch, and a great many were superintending the operation. One of the children called out:

"There is a porpoise in the harbor mouth! We saw it come through the blow-hole! It had a long tail, and was deep under the water!"

"It was no porpoise," said another; "it was a seal; but it had a long tail! It came out of the seal cave."

The other children bore various testimony, but on two points they were unanimous—it, whatever it was, had come through the blow-hole deep under the

WEIRD TALES

water, and had a long, thin tail—a tail so long that they could not see the end of it. There was much unmerciful chaffing of the children by the men on this point, but as it was evident that they had seen something, quite a number of persons, young and old, male and female, went along the high paths on either side of the harbor-mouth to catch a glimpse of this new addition to the fauna of the sea, a long-tailed porpoise or seal. The tide was now coming in. There was a slight breeze, and the surface of the water was rippled so that it was only at moments that any one could see clearly into the deep water. After a spell of watching, a woman called out that she saw something moving up the channel, just below where she was standing. There was a stampede to the spot, but by the time the crowd had gathered, the breeze had freshened, and it was impossible to see with any distinctness below the surface of the water. On being questioned, the woman described what she had seen, but in such an incoherent way that the whole thing was put down as an effect of imagination; had it not been for the children'si report she would not have been credited at all. Her semi-hysterical statement that what she saw was "like a pig with the entrails out" was only thought anything of by an old coast guard, who shook his head but did not make any remark. For the remainder of the daylight this man was seen always on the bank, looking into the water, but always with disappointment manifest on his face.

Eric arose early on the next morning— he had not slept all night, and it was a relief to him to move about in the light. He shaved himself with a hand that did not tremble, and dressed himself in his wedding clothes. There was a haggard look on his face, and he seemed as though

he had grown years older in the last few days. Still there was a wild, uneasy light of triumph in his eyes, and he kept murmuring to himself over and over again:

"This is my wedding day! Abel can not claim her now—living or dead!—living or dead! Living or dead!"

He sat in his armchair, waiting with an uncanny quietness for the church hour to arrive. When the bell began to ring he arose and passed out of his house, closing the door behind him. He looked at the river and saw that the tide had just turned. In the church he sat with Sarah and her mother, holding Sarah's hand tightly in his all the time, as though he feared to lose her. When the service was over they stood up together, and were married in the presence of the entire congregation; for no one left the church. Both made the responses clearly—Eric's being even on the defiant side. When the wedding was over Sarah took her husband's arm, and they walked away together, the boys and younger girls being cuffed by their elders into a decorous behavior, for they would fain have followed close behind their heels.

The way from the church led down to the back of Eric's cottage, a narrow passage being between it and that of his next neighbor. When the bridal couple had passed through this, the remainder of the congregation, who had followed them at a little distance, were startled by a long, shrill scream from the bride. They rushed through the passage and found her on the bank with wild eyes, pointing to the river bed opposite Eric Sanson's door.

The falling tide had deposited there the body of Abel Behenna stark upon the broken rocks. The rope trailing from its waist had been twisted by the current round the mooring-post, and had held it back whilst the tide had ebbed away from

THE COMING OF ABEL BEHENNA

389

it. The right elbow had fallen in a chink in the rock, leaving the hand outstretched toward Sarah, with the open palm upward as though it were extended to receive hers, the pale, drooping fingers open to the clasp.

All that happened afterward was never quite known to Sarah Sanson. Whenever she would try to recollect there

would come a buzzing in her ears and a dimness in her eyes, and all would pass away. The only thing that she could remember of it at all—and this she never forgot—was Eric's breathing heavily, with his face whiter than that of the dead man, as he muttered under his breath:

"Devil's help! Devil's faith! Devil's price!"

Coming Next Month

A N OLD man, withered and disreputable-looking, in a robe that appeared no less /% antique and unsavory than himself, was standing near to the fire. He was not en-"r •*■ gaged in any visible culinary operations; and, in view of the torrid sun, it hardly seemed that he required the warmth given by the queer-colored blaze. Aside from this individual, Ralibar Vooz looked in vain for the participants of the muttered conversation he had just overheard. He thought there was an evanescent fluttering of dim, grotesque shadows around the obsidian block; but the shadows faded and vanished in an instant; and, since there were no objects or beings that could have cast them, Ralibar Vooz deemed that he had been victimized by another of those highly disagreeable optic illusions in which that part of the mountain seemed to abound.

The old man eyed the hunter with a fiery gaze and began to curse him in fluent but somewhat archaic diction as he descended into the hollow. At the same time, a lizard-tailed and sooty-feathered bird, which seemed to belong to some night-flying species of archaeopteryx, began to snap its toothed beak and flap its digited wings on the objectionably shapen stela that served it for a perch. This stela, standing on the lee side of the fire and very close to it, had not been perceived by Ralibar Vooz at first glance.

"May the ordure of demons bemire you from heel to crown!" cried the venomous ancient. "O lumbering, bawling idiot! you have ruined a most promising and important evocation. How you came here I can not imagine. I have surrounded this place with twelve circles of illusion, whose effect is multiplied by their myriad intersections; and the chance that any intruder would ever find his way to my abode was mathematically small and insignificant. Ill was that chance which brought you here: for They that you have frightened away will not return until the high stars repeat a certain rare and quickly passing conjunction; and much wisdom is lost to me in the interim." . . .

The astounding adventures of Ralibar Vooz, which followed his affront to the old man, make a saga as unusual as it is interest-gripping. You can not afford to miss this strange tale, which will be published complete in Weird Tales for October:

THE SEVEN GEASES

By CLARK ASHTON SMITH

—ALSO—

THE BLACK GOD'S KISS OLD SLEDGE

By C. L. Moore By Paul Ernst

A gripping story of a warrior maid who went A strange piece of science-fiction—the story

down into a land of unthinkable evil in search of an eccentric inventor who foretold the future of a strange weapon. by means of a weird machine.

THE SLEEPER

By H. Bedford-Jones

Ranjit Singh, the East Indian necromancer and stage magician, was dead and buried, so they said—but what was that thing in the mummy-case?

THE PISTOL

By S. Gordon Gurwit A i so a thrilling installment of Robert E. How-

An appealing story of a love so strong that it ard's vivid novel, The People of the Black Circle. broke through the barriers of Death.

Oct. WEIRD TALES Out Oct. 1

/ 393

FROM time to time we are importuned by our readers to devote several pages of Weird Tales each month to a forum in which the lovers of fantastic fiction can exchange views. We are asked to have articles on weird fiction generally, information about our authors, debates between the fans. It has been suggested that we expand the Eyrie for this purpose, and make it a battleground for the conflicts of the weird fiction fans. This we have stedfastly refused to do, for Weird Tales, after all, is a magazine of fiction, and undue expansion of the Eyrie, or the opening of a new department to satisfy the fans, would take just that much space away from weird stories, which are our primary interest. So, instead of reducing our story space to make room for such a department, we suggest to those of you who are interested that you write to Charles D. Hornig, editor of The Fantasy Fan, whose home address is 137 West Grand Street, Elizabeth, New Jersey. We have been receiving The Fantasy Fan for several months, and we think it is just the forum you want—that is, those of you who make weird fiction your hobby. The Fantasy Fan does not appear on the news stands, but Mr. Hornig can supply you with detailed information about it.

Constant Reader Airs His Thoughts

Joseph T. Ryerson, of Muskegon Heights, Michigan, writes to the Eyrie: "Having been a constant reader of WT ever since its conception, I feel it's about time I aired my thoughts. I just read in the July issue the reprint from your first issue, The Dead Man's Tale, and feel that your present authors will have to keep on their toes in order to maintain the standard of that story. But for sheer pathos and beauty, One Christmas 394

Eve stands out above the rest. It was a very fortunate circumstance that Robert E. Howard did not have a hand in writing Through the Gates of the Silver Key, for it is a humdinger as it is. . . . No biographies of authors, please."

A New High Mark

B. M. Reynolds, of North Adams, Massachusetts, writes: "Congratulations on your July issue. It was a knockout and then some. I don't believe you have ever put out an issue containing so many stories of superb quality and high standard. You have certainly set a new high mark. Through the Gates of the Silver Key was a classic, and positively the best piece of work those incomparable artists Lovecraft and Price have ever done. Its cosmic scope and imaginative brilliance certainly give one plenty of food for thought. By all means give us a sequel to this story, and get Randolph Carter or one of his 'facets' back to earth again. Arlton Eadie takes second honors with his new mystery serial, The Trail of the Cloven Hoof. This is the best serial since Golden Blood and the best work I have ever seen by Eadie. If he can sustain the present high mark of eery mystery and nameless horror throughout the forthcoming chapters, he will have written a masterpiece. The Master of Souls by Harold Ward was also a very entertaining and unusual story, having a most bizarre and original theme. Ward's work has been steadily improving, and I am surprized he does not receive more comment."

Don't Enlarge the Eyrie

Edgar Hurd, of Crescent City, California, writes: "I have been reading Weird Tales for about four years and I think it has im-(Please turn to page 396)

Back Copies

Because of the many requests for back issues of Weird Tales, the publishers do their best to keep a sufficient supply on hand to meet all demands. This magazine was established in early 1923 and there has been a steady drain on the supply of back copies ever since. At present, we have the following back numbers on hand for sale:

1930

July

Dec.

These back numbers contain many fascinating stories. If you are interested in obtaining any of the back copies on this list please hurry your order because we can not guarantee that the list will be as complete as it now is within the next 30 days. The price on all back issues is 25c per copy. Mail all orders to:

WEIRD TALES

840 N. Michigan Ave. Chicago, Illinois

WEIRD TALES

(Continued from page 394)

proved constantly and is the best magazine of any type on the market. I like Brun-dage's covers, though I think some weird monsters in addition to the human figures would be good. Please don't enlarge the Eyrie until it crowds out a couple of short stories. The plan of making extracts of the important parts of the letters is best. And I hope the majority of the readers vote against an author's page. In the July issue, Through the Gates of the Silver Key was my first choice. It was marvelous. It filled my head with mighty thoughts and great yearnings. I give The Illusion of Flame by Paul Ernst second place. . . . Your newest author, C. L. Moore, is excellent, I am eagerly waiting for his story, Dust of Gods. My favorite story characters are Conan and Northwest Smith. The bloody adventures of Conan are very interesting, and C. L. Moore has such unusual and original conceptions that reading his stories is a pleasure. I am fed up with stories of animated corpses and vampires. ... I like the fantastic and imaginative story better than the scary one. Espe--eiall? do I like stories about undeveloped -and unknown powers of the mind."

About Our Authors

Robert Bloch, of Milwaukee, writes: "In heaven's name, publish that author's page! WT has a very interesting staff of authors, indeed. No one could claim a more interesting career than Price, soldier of fortune, etc.; Howard, a typical barbarian like his own Conan; Lovecraft, the recluse; Derleth, the descendant of a count who fled the French revolution; Quinn and his interesting job. Yet the bulk of your readers know nothing of these fascinating facts. Loosen up with them!"

Arltoa Eadie's Stories

Emil Petaja, .of Milltown, Montana, writes: "Although I have just had time to glance over the July issue of Weird Tales, the stories appear to be unusually excellent. I am glad to see a novel by Arlton Eadie. It seems to me that his stories have never been fully appreciated by your readers. One of his tales, The Avenging Shadow, which appeared in 1931, was never mentioned in the Eyrie, but it struck me as being one of the best tales you have ever published. . . .

I want to say a word regarding suggestions made of late with reference to a quarterly or mid-monthly magazine, to be devoted to longer stories, reprints, etc. I consider this a splendid idea. You could publish in it long serial reprints, both from back issues of Weird Tales and stories such as The Wolf-Leader by Dumas, which appeared serially as a reprint in WT. This could appear quarterly and be twice as large as WT, and sell for fifty cents. In this, you could give information on old, forbidden magic, true weird tales, and old writers like Cagliostro, Roger Bacon, etc. With regard to a page giving information about your authors, I agree with you, by ali means don't have one. In many cases these would detract from the author's popularity. I can see no reason for kicking about your covers. Individually, each is a work of art, and the weird atmosphere is uppermost in each."

More Vampire Stories

Miss Andre Cross, of Hollywood, California, writes: "For three years I have been a faithful reader of Weird Tales and I have never found anything to make a comment about. I was never very interested in writing fan letters, but it seems I must write to you and say how much I enjoy every word of your magazine. It is simply supreme. Your cover designs are extremely attractive, and if they are not actually done by a woman, they have the fine, delicate touch of a woman. ... I think you should have more stories of vampires and stories such as The Return of Balkis, The Sapphire Goddess, and Revelations in Black. Give us more of the charming fascinating character Monsieur Jules de Grandin, the gallant Frenchman, and his adventures."

By Air Mail

Fred Anger, of Berkeley, California, writes: "Weird Tales is certainly improving steadily. Every new copy gets better and better; evidently there is no end to your progress. The first installment of The Trail of the Cloven Hoof is as good a piece of weird fiction as it is possible to find. Mr. Eadie has given us nothing but the best in all the years he has been writing. The Trail of the Cloven Hoof equals if not excels The World-Wrecker of several years ago. Congratulations, Mr. Eadie. Through the Gates

THOUSANDS ARE «V///^/V^,OVIRTHE ffcW/93S MIDWEST* 16

Thrffffo tf&eqaa fled tVorfd* Wide Performance ut ifAf hfs-

9TO r 2,400 METERS

(12,000 MILE \TUNING RANGE)

(fvartmfceif

WORLD-WIDE RECEPTION I

BEFORE you buy any radio, write for FREE the new 193d Midwesl "lii teenth Anniversary" catalog. See foryounself the many reasons why over 110,090 satisfied cus-

3have bought (heir radios direct from Midwest Laboratories . . - and saved fron ; L .. Learn why Midwest radios out-perforra sets costing up toS200 and more.You,too, can make a positive saving of from 30' oto50^ by buying this more economical w Why be content with on died "Ail-Wave",

, "Skip Wave'"' or "Tri-Wave" receivers when Midwesl you more wave lengths in today's most perfectly developed 16-tube Super ile luxe ALL-WAVE radio that are proven by tour years of success . .. that carry' an iron-clad guarantee of foreign reception! These bigger, better, more powerf ul, clearer-toned, super selective radios have FIVE distinct wave bands; ultra short, short, medium, broadcast, and long. Their greater all-wave tuning of 9 to 2100 meters (33 megacycles to 125 KC) enables you to tune in stations 12,000 miles away with clear loud speaker reception. Write TODAY for new FREE*

WORLD'S GREATEST" RADIO VALUE

t, you can enjoy super American, Canadian, police, nateur, commercial, airplane and ship bron :

and derive new delight and ih-w excitement from un-; equal fed u aoce. Xuw, youcan DX-ing hobb:

[>nfl from more of