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90
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ELECTRONIC REPRODUCTION PROHIBITED
THE WENDIC
By Algernon Blackwood
Taken from "The Tales of Algernon Blackwood/' publisJied and copyright iy E. P. Button < Co., Inc.,
New York.
*'An amazingly potent tale . . .

horrible evidences of a vast forest daemon about which North
Woods lumbermen whisper at
evening. . . . A marked triumph
in craftsmanship."
H. P. Lovecraft
CONSIDERABLE number of hunting

parties were out that year without
finding so much as a fresh trail; for
the moose were uncommonly shy, and the
various Nimrods returned to the bosoms
of their respective families with the best
excuses the facts or their imaginations
could suggest. Dr. Cathcart, among others,
came back without a trophy; but he
brought instead the memory of an experi-
"Ob, my feet of fire! My burning feet of

fire!"
91
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FAMOUS FANTASTIC MYSTERIES

92
ence which he declares was worth all the tion" that induced the attacks, for a few
bull-moose that had ever been shot. But days of the wilderness invariably cured
then Cathcart, of Aberdeen, was interested them.
This, then, was the party of four that
in other things besides mooseamongst
them the vagaries of the human mind. found themselves in camp the last week
This particular story, however, found no in October of that "shy moose year" 'way
mention in his book on Collective Hallu- up in the wilderness north of Rat Portage
cination for the simple reason (so he con- a forsaken and desolate country. There
fided once to a fellow colleague) that he was also Punk, an Indian, who had achimself played too intimate a part in it companied Dr. Cathcart and Hank on
to form a competent judgment of the af- their hunting trips in previous years, and
who acted as cook. His duty was merely
fair as a w h o l e . . . .
Besides himself and his guide. Hank to stay in camp, catch fish, and prepare
Davis, there was yoimg Simpson, his venison steaks and coffee at a few minnephew, a divinity student destined for utes' notice. He dressed in the worn-out
the "Wee Kirk" (then on his first visit to clothes bequeathed to him by former paCanadian backwoods), and the latter's trons, and, except for his coarse black hair
guide, Defago. Joseph D6fago was a and dark skin, he looked in these city
French "Canuck," who had.strayed from garments no more like a real redskin than
his native Province of Quebec years be- a stage Negro looks like a real African.
fore, and had got caught in Rat Portage For all that, however, Punk had in him
when the Canadian Pacific Railway was still the instincts of his dying race; his
a-building; a man who, in addition to his taciturn silence and his endurance surunparalleled knowledge of woodcraft and vived; also his superstition.
bush-lore, could also sing the old voyageur
The party round the blazing fire that
songs and tell a capital hunting yarn into night were despondent, for a week had
the bargain. He was deeply susceptible, passed without a single sign of recent
moreover, to that singular spell which the moose discovering Itself. D6fago had sung
wilderness lays upon certain lonely na- his song and plunged into a story, but
tures, and he loved the wild solitudes with Hank,în bad humour, reminded him so
a kind of romantic passion that amounted often that "he kep' mussing-up the fac's
almost to an obsession. The life of the so, that it was 'most all nothin' but a
backwoods fascinated him whence, petered-out lie," that the Frenchman had
doubtless, his surpassing efficiency in deal- finally subsided into a sulky silence which
ing with their mysteries.
nothing seemed likely to break. Dr. CathOn this particular expedition he was cart and his nephew were fairly done after
Hank's choice. Hank knew him and swore an exhausting day. Punk was washing up
by him. He also swore at him, "jest as a the dishes, grunting to himself under the
pal might," and since he had a vocabulary lean-to of branches, where he later also
of picturesque. If utterly meaningless, slept. No one troubled to stir the slowly
oaths, the conversation between the two dying fire. Overhead the stars were brilstalwart and hardy woodsmen was often liant in a sky quite wintry, and there was
of a rather lively description., This river so little wind that ice was already formof expletives, however. Hank agreed to ing stealthily along the shores of the still
dam a little out of respect for his old lake behind them. The silence of the vast
"hunting boss," Dr. Cathcart, whom of listening forest stole forward and envelcourse he addressed after the fashion of oped them. Hank broke in suddenly with
the country as "Doc"; and also because his nasal voice.
he understood that young Simpson was al"I'm in favour of breaking new ground
ready a "bit of a parson." He had, how- to-morrow. Doc," he observed with energy,
ever, one objection to D6fago, and one looking across at his employer. "We don't
onlywhich was, that the French Cana- stand a dead Dago's chance about here."
dian sometimes exhibited what Hank de"Agreed," said Cathcart, always a man
scribed as "the output of a cursed and of few words. "Think the idea's good."
dismal mind," meaning apparently that
"Sure pop, it's good," Hank resumed with
he sometimes was true to type, Latin type, confidence. "S'pose, now, you and I strike
and suffered fits of a kind of silent morose- west, up Garden Lake way for a change!
ness when nothing could induce him to None of us ain't touched that land yet
utter speech. D6fago, that is to say, was
"And you, D6fago, take Mr. Simpson
imaginative and melancholy. And, as a along in the small canoe, skip across the
rule, it was too long a spell of "civiliza- lake, portage over into Fifty Island Water.
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93
THE WENDIGO
and take a good squint down that thar with a laugh to ease matters a little, while
southern shore. The moose 'yarded' there Simpson too sleepy to notice this subtle
like hell last year, and for all we know by-play moved off to bed with a prodigious
they may be doin' it agin this year jest to yawn; "oror anything wrong with the
country?" he added, when his nephew was
spite us."
out of hearing.
EFAGO, keeping his eyes on the fire,
Hank met his eye with something less
said nothing by way of reply. He was than his usual frankness.
"He's jest skeered," he replied goodstill offended, possibly, about his interhumouredly, "skeered stiff about some ole
rupted story.
"No one's been up that way this year, feery tale! That's all, ain't it, ole pard?"
an' I'll lay my bottom dollar on that\" And he gave Defago a friendly kick on the
Hank added with emphasis, as though he moccasined foot that lay nearest the fire.
Defago looked up quickly, as from an inhad a reason for knowing. He looked over
at his partner sharply. "Better take the terrupted reverie, a reverie, however, that
little silk tent and stay away a couple o' had not prevented his seeing all that went
nights/' he concluded, as though the mat- on about him.
"Skeecednuthin'l" he answered, with
ter were definitely settled. For Hank was
recognized as general organiser of the a flush of defiance. "There's nuthin' in
the Bush that can skeer Joseph Defago,
hunt, and in charge of the party.
It was obvious to anyone that Defago and don't you forget it!" And the natural
did not jump at the plan, but his silence energy with which he spoke made it imseemed to convey something more than possible to know whether he told the
ordinary disapproval, and across his sen- whole truth or only a part of it.
sitive dark face there passed a curious exHank turned towards the doctor. He
pression like a flash of firelightnot so was just going to add something when he
quickly, however, that the three men had stopped abruptly and looked round. A
not time to catch it. "He funked for some sound close behind them in the ârkness
reason / thought," Simpson said after- made all three start. It was old Punk,
wards in the tent he shared with his uncle. who had moved up from his lean-to while
Dr. Cathcart made no immediate reply, they talked and now stood there just bealthough the look had interested him yond the circle of firelightlistening.
enough at the time for him to make a
"'Nother time. Doc!" Hank whispered,
mental note of it. The expression had with a wink, "when the gallery ain't
caused him a passing uneasiness he could stepped down into the stalls!" And, springnot quite account for at the moment. ' ing to his feet, he slapped the Indian on
But Hank, of course, had been the first his back and cried noisily, "Come up t' the
to notice it, and the odd thing was that fire an' warm yer dirty red skin a bit."
instead of becoming explosive or angry He dragged him towards the blaze and
over the other's reluctance, he at once be- threw more wood on. "That was a mighty
good feed you give us an hour or two
gan to humour him a bit.
"But there ain't no speshul reason why back," he continued heartily, as though
no one's been up there this year," he said, to set the man's thoughts on .another
with a perceptible hush in his tone; "not scent, "and it ain't Christian to let you
the reason you mean, anyway! Las' year stand out there freezln' yer ole soul to
it was the fires that kep' folks out, and hell while we're getting all good an'
this year I guessI guess it jest happened toasted!" Punk moved in and warmed his
so, that's all!" His manner was clearly feet, smiling darkly at the other's volubility which he only half understood, but
meant to be encouraging.
Joseph Defago raised his eyes a mo- saying nothing. And presently Dr. Cathment, then dropped them again. A breath cart, seeing that further conversation was
of wind stole out of the forest and stirred impossible, followed his nephew's example
the embers into a passing blaze. Dr. Cath- and moved off to the tent leaving the
cart again noticed the expression in the three men smoking over the now blazing
guide's face, and again he did not like it. fire.
But this time the nature of the look beIt is not easy to undress in a small tent
trayed itself. In those eyes, for an instant, without waking one's companion, and
he caught the gleam of a man scared in Cathcart, hardened and warmblooded as
his very soul. It disquieted him more than he was in spite of his fifty odd years, did
he cared to admit.
what Hank would have described as "con"Bad Indians up that way?" he asked, siderable of his twilight" in the open. He
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94
noticed, during the process, that Punk a sheet of black glass beneath the stars.
had meanwhile gone back to his lean-to, The cold air pricked. In the draughts of
and that Hank and D6fago were at it night that poured thieir silent tide from
hammer and tongs, or, rather, hammer the depths of the forest, with messages
and anvil, the little French Canadian be- from distant ridges and from lakes just
ing the anvil. It was all very like the con- beginning to freeze, there lay already the
ventional stage picture of Western melo- faint, bleak odours of coming winter.
drama: the fire Ughting up their faces White men, with their dull scent, might
with patches of alternate red and black; never have divined them; the fragrance
D6fago, in slouch hat and moccasins in the of the wood-fire would have concealed
part of the "badlands'" villain; Hank, from them these almost electrical hints of
open-faced and hatless, with that reck- moss and bark and hardening swamp a
less fling of his shoulders, the honest and hundred miles away. Even Hank and
deceived hero; and old Punk, eavesdrop- Defago, subtly in league with the soul of
ping in the background, supplying the at- the woods as they were, would probably
mosphere of mystery. The doctor smiled have spread their delicate nostrils in
as he noticed the details; but at the same vain. . . .
time something deep within himhe
But an hour later, when all slept like
hardly knew whatshrank a little, as the dead, old Punk crept from his blankets
though an almost imperceptible breath of and went down to the shore of the lake
warning had touched the surface of his like a shadowsilently, as only Indian
soul and was gone again before he could blood can move. He raised his head and
seize it. Probably it was traceable to the looked about him. The thick darkness
"scared expression" he had seen in the rendered sight of small avail, but, like the
eyes of D6fago; "probably"for this hint animals, he possessed other senses that
of fugitive emotion otherwise escaped his darkness could not mute. He listened
usually so keen analysis. D6fago, he was then sniffed the air. Motionless as a hemvaguely aware, might cause trouble some- lock-stem he stood there. After five minhow. . . . He was not as steady a guide as utes again he lifted his head and sniffed,
Hank, for instance. . . . Further than that and yet once again. A tingling of the wonhe could not get. . . .
derful nerves that betrayed itself by no
outer sign, ran through him as he tasted
E WATCHED the men a moment long- the keen air. Then, merging his figure
er before diving into the stuffy tent into the surrounding blackness in a way
where Simpson already slept soundly. that only wild men and animals underHank, he saw, was swearing like a mad- stand, he turned, still moving like a
man; but it was the swearing of "affec- shadow, and went stealthily back to his
lean-to and his bed.
tion."
The ridiculous oaths flew freely now
And soon after he slept, the change of
that the cause of their obstruction was wind he had divined stirred gently the reasleep. Presently he put his arm almost flection of the stars within the lake. Ristenderly upon his comrade's shoulder, and ing among the far ridges of the covmtry
they moved off together into the shadows beyond Fifty Island Water, it came from
where their tent stood faintly glimmering. the direction in which he had stared, and
Punk, too, a moment later followed their it passed over the sleeping camp with a
example and disappeared between his faint and sighing murmur through the
odorous blankets in the opposite direction. tops of the big trees that was almost too
Dr. Cathcart then likewise turned in, delicate to be audible. With it, down the
weariness and sleep still fighting in his desert paths of night, though too faint, "
mind with an obscure curiosity to know too high even for the Indian's hair-like
what it was had scared D6fago about the nerves, there passed a curious, thin odour,
country up Fifty Island Water waywon- strangely disquieting, an odour of somedering, too, why Punk's presence had pre- thing that seemed unfamiliarûtterly unvented the completion of what Hank had known.
to say. Then sleep overtook him. He would
The French Canadian and the man of
know to-morrow. Hank would tell him the Indian blood each stirred uneasily In his
story while they trudged after the elusive sleep just about this time, though neither
moose.
of them woke. Then the ghost of that
Deep silence fell about the little camp, unforgettably strange odour passed away
planted there so audaciously in the jaws and was lost among the leagues of tenantof the wilderness. The lake gleamed like less forest beyond.
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THE WENDIGO
N THE morning the camp was astir be- control, and the younger man fell withfore the sun. There had been a light out a second thought into the quasi-subfall of snow during the night and the air ordinate position. He never dreamed of
was sharp. Punk had done his duty be- objecting when Defago dropped the "Mr.,"
times, for the odours of coffee and fried and addressed him as "Say, Simpson," or
bacon reached every tent. All were in good "Simpson, boss," which was invariably the
case before they reached the farther shore
spirits.
"Wind's shifted!" cried Hank vigorously, after a stiff paddle of twelve miles against
watching Simpson and his guide already a head wind. He only laughed, and liked
loading the small canoe. "It's across the it; then ceased to notice it at all.
For this "divinity student" was a young
lakedead right for you fellers. And the
snow'll make bully trails! If there's any man of parts and character, though as
moose mussing around up thar, they'll not yet, of course, untravelled; and on this
get so much as a taU-end scent of you tripthe first time he had seen any coun- .
with the wind as it is. Good luck, Mon- try but his own and little Switzerland
sieur Defago!" he added, facetiously giv- the huge scale of things somewhat being the name its French pronunciation for wildered him. It was one thing, he realised, to hear about primeval forests, but
once, "bonne chance!"
Defago returned the good wishes, ap- quite another to see them. While to dwell
parently in the best of spirits, the silent in them and seek acquaintance with their
mood gone. Before eight o'clock old Punk wild life was, again, an initiation that no
had the camp to himself, Cathcart and intelligent man could undergo without
Hank were far along the trail that led a certain shifting of personal values
westwards, while the canoe that carried hitherto held for permanent and sacred.
Simpson knew the first faint indication
Defago and Simpson, with silk tent and
grub for two days, was already a dark of this emotion when he held the new
speck bobbing on the bosom of the lake, .303 rifle in his hands and looked along
its pair of faultless, gleaming barrels. The
going due east.
The wintry sharpness of the air was three days' journey to their headquarters,
tempered now by a sun that topped the by lake and portage, had carried the procwooded ridges and blazed with a luxurious ess a stage farther. And now that he was
warmth upon the world of lake and forest about to plunge beyond even the fringe
below; loons flew skimming through the of wilderness where they were camped
sparkling spray that the wind lifted; div- into the virgin heart of uninhabited reers shook their dripping heads to the sun gions as vast as Europe itself, the true naand popped smartly out of sight again; ture of the situation stole upon him with
and as far as eye could reach rose the an effect of delight and awe that his
leagues of endless, crowding Bush, desolate imagination was fully capable of apin its lonely sweep and grandeur, untrod- preciating. It was himself and D6fago
den by foot of man, and stretching its against a multitudeat least, against a
mighty and unbroken carpet right up to Titan!
The bleak splendours of these remote
the frozen shores of Hudson Bay.
Simpson, who saw it all for the first and lonely forests rather overwhelmed
time as he paddled hard in the bows of him with the sense of his own littleness.
the dancing canoe, was enchanted by its That stern quality of the tangled backaustere beauty. His heart drank in the woods which can only be described as
sense of freedom and great spaces just merciless and terrible, rose out of these
as his lungs drank in the cool and per- far blue woods swimming upon the horifumed wind. Behind him in the stern seat, zon, and revealed itself. He understood
singing fragments of his native chanties, the silent warning. He realized his own
Defago steered the craft of birchbark like utter helplessness. Only Defago, as a syma thing of life, answering cheerfully all ' bol of a distant civilization where man
his companion's questions. Both were gay was master, stood between him and a pitiand light-hearted. On such occasions men less death by exhaustion and starvation.
lose the superficial, wordly distinctions;
It was thrilling to him, therefore, to
they become himian beings working to- watch Defago turn over the canoe upon
gether for a common end. Simpson, the the shore, pack the paddles carefully unemployer, and D6fago the employed, derneath, and then proceed to "blaze" the
among these primitive forces, were simply spruce stems for some distance on either
two men, the "guider" and the "guided." side of an almost invisible trail, with the
Superior knowledge, of course, assumed careless remark thrown in, "Say, SimpPRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG

son, if anything happens to me, you'll find
the canoe all correc' by these marks;
then strike doo west into the sun to hit
the home camp agin, see?"
It was the most natural thing in the
world to say, and he said it without any
noticeable inflexion of the voice, only it
happened to express the youth's emiotions
at the moment with an utterance that was
symbolic of the situation and of his own
helplessness as a factor in it. He was alone
with D6fago in a primitive world: that
was all. The canoe, another symbol of
man's ascendancy, was now to be left behind. Those small yellow patches, made
on the trees by the axe, were the only
indications of its hiding-place.
prostrate monsters, and the boulders of

grey rock that thrust uncouth shoulders
here and there out of the ground, it might
well have been a bit of park In the Old
Country. Almost, one might have seen in
it the hand of man. A little to ttie right,
however, began the great burnt section,
miles in extent, proclaiming its real character hruU, as it is called, where the
fires of the previous year had raged for
weeks, and the blackened stumps now rose
gaunt and ugly, bereft of branches, like
gigantic match-heads stuck into the
groimd, savage and desolate beyond words.
The perfume of charcoal and rain-soaked
ashes still hung faintly about it.
The dusk rapidly deepened; the glades
grew dark; the crackling of the fire and
EANWHILE, shoulderhig the packs be- the wash of little waves along the rocky
tween them, each man carrying his lake shore were the only sounds audible.
own rifle, they followed the slender trail The wind had dropped with the sun, and
over rocks and fallen trunks and across in all that vast world of branches nothing
half-frozen swamps; skirting numerous stirred. Any moment, it seemed, the woodlakes that fairly gemmed the forest, their land gods, who are to be worshipped in siborders fringed with mist; and towards lence and loneliness, might sketch their
five o'clock found themselves suddenly on mighty and terrific outlines among the
the edge of the woods, looking out across trees. In front, through doorways pillared
a large sheet of water in front of them, by huge straight stems, lay the stretch
dotted with pine-clad islands of all de- of Fifty Island Water, a crescent-shaped
scribable shapes and sizes.
lake some fifteen miles from tip to tip, and
"Fifty Island Water," announced D6fago perhaps five miles across where they were
wearily, "and the sun jest goin' to dip his camped. A sky of rose and saffron, more
bald old head into it!" he added, with un- clear than any atmosphere Simpson had
conscious poetry; and immediately they ever known, still dropped its pale streaming fires across the waves, where, the isset about pitching camp for the night.
In a very few minutes, under those skill- landsa hundred, surely, rather than
ful hands that never made a movement fifty^floated like the fairy barques of
too much or a movement too little, the some enchanted fieet. Fringed with pines,
silk tent stood taut and cozy, the beds of whose crests fingered most delicately the
balsam, boughs ready laid, and a brisk sky, they almost seemed to move upwards
cooking-fire burned with the minimum of as the light fadedabout to weigh anchor
smoke. While the young Scotchman and navigate the pathways of the heavens
cleaned the fish they had caught trolling instead of the currents of their native
behind the canoe, D6fago "guessed" he and desolate lake.
And strips of coloured cloud, like flauntwould "jest as soon" take a turn through
the Bush for indications of moose. "May ing pennons, signalled their departure to
come across a trunk where they bin and the stars. . . .
rubbed horns," he said, as he moved off,
The beauty of the scene was strangely
"or feedin' on the last of the maple leaves" uplifting. Simpson smoked the fish and
and he was gone.
burnt his fingers into the bargain In his
His small figure melted away like a efforts to enjoy it and at the same time
shadow in the dusk, while Simpson noted tend the frying-pan and the fire. Yet, ever
with a kind of admiration how easily the at the back of his thoughts, lay that other
forest absorbed him into herself. A few aspect of the wilderness: the indifference
to human life, the merciless spirit of
steps, and he was no longer visible.
Yet there was little underbrush here- desolation which took no note of man.
abouts; the trees stood somewhat apart, The sense of his utter loneliness, now
well spaced; and in the clearings grew that even D^fago had gone, came close as
silver-birch and maple, spear-like andi he looked about him and listened for the
slender, against the immense stems of sound of his companion's returning footspruce and hemlock. But for occasional steps.
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THE WENDIGO
97
There was pleasure in the sensation, yet over the picture. But the casual mention
with it a perfectly comprehensible alarm.' of those sixty miles again made Simpson
And instinctively the thought stirred in realise the prodigious scale of this land
him: "What should Icould I, doîf any- where they hunted; sixty miles was a mere
thing happened and he did not come step; two hundred miles little more than
a step. Stories of lost hunters rose persisback?"
They enjoyed their well-earned supper, tently before his memory. The passion and
eatinguntold quantities of fish, arid drink- mystery of homeless and wandering men,
ing unmilked tea strong enough to kill seduced by the beauty of great forests,
men who had not covered thirty miles of swept his soul in a way too vivid to be quite
hard "going," eating little on the way. pleasant. He wondered vaguely whether
And when it was over, they smoked and it was the mood of his companion that
told stories round the blazing fire, laugh- invited the unwelcome suggestion with
ing, stretching weary limbs, and discuss- such persistence.
ing plans for the morrow. Defago was in
"Sing us a song, Defago, if you're not
excellent spirits, though disappointed at too tired," he asked; "one of those old
having no signs of moose to report. But voyageur songs you sang the other night."
it was dark and he had not gone far. The He handed his tobacco pouch to the guide
brule, too, was bad. His clothes and hands and then filled his own pipe, while the
were smeared with charcoal. Simpson, Canadian, nothing loth, sent his light
watching him, realised with renewed vivid- voice across the lake in one of those plainness their positionalone together in the tive, almost melancholy chanties with
wilderness.
which lumbermen and trappers lessen the
"D6fago," he said presently, "these burden of their labour. There was an apwoods, you know, are a bit too big to feel pealing and romantic flavour about it,
quite at home into feel comfortable in, something that recalled the atmosphere
I mean! . . . Eh?" He merely gave expres- of the old pioneer days when Indians and
sion to the mood of the moment; he was wilderness were leagued together, battles
hardly prepared for the earnestness, the frequent, and the Old Country farther off
solemnity even, with which the guide took than it is to-day. The sound travelled
pleasantly over the water, but the forest
him up.
"You've hit it right, Simpson, boss," he at their backs seemed to swallow it down
replied, fixing his searching brown eyes with a single gulp that permitted neither
on his face, "and that's the truth, sure. echo nor resonance.
There's no end to 'emno end at all."
T WAS in the middle of the third verse
Then he added in a lowered tone as if to
that Simpson noticed something unhimself, "There's lots found out that, and
usual something that brought his
gone plumb to pieces!"
But the man's gravity of manner was thoughts back with a rush from far-away
not quite to the other's liking; it was a scenes. A curious change had come into
little too suggestive forHhis scenery and the man's voice. Even before he knew
setting; he was sorry he had broached what it was, uneasiness caught him, and
the subject. He remembered suddenly how looking up quickly, he saw that D6fago,
his uncle had told him that men were though still singing, was peering about
sometimes stricken with a strange fever him into the Bush, as though he heard or
of the wilderness, when the seduction of saw something. His voice grew 'fainter
the uninhabited wastes caught them so dropped to a hushthen ceased altogethfiercely that they went forth, half fas- er. The same instant, with a movement
cinated, half deluded, to their death. And amazingly alert, he started to his feet and
he had a shrewd idea that his companion stood uprightsniffing the air. Like a dog
held something in sympathy with that scenting game, he drew the air into his
queer type. He led the conversation on to nostrils in short, sharp breaths, turning
other topics, on to Hank and the doctor, quickly as he did so in all directions, and
for instance, and the natural rivalry as to finally "pointing" down the lake shore,
which of them should get the first sight of eastwards. It was a performance unpleasantly suggestive and at the same time
moose.
"If they went doo west," observed De- singularly dramatic. Simpson's heart flutfago carelessly, "there's sixty nules be- tered disagreeably as he watched it.
tween us nowwith old Punk at half-way
"Lord, man! How you made me jump!"
house eatin' himself full to bustin' with he exclaimed, on his feet beside him the
fish and corfee." They laughed together same instant, and peering over his shoulPRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG

der into the sea of darkness. "What's up? it was only a part of the truth, was a lie,
Are you frightened?"
and he knew perfectly well that Simpson
Even before the question was out of his was not deceived by it. For nothing could
mouth he knew it was foolish, for any man explain. away the livid terror that had
with a pair of eyes in his head could see dropped over his face while he stood there
that the Canadian had turned white down sniffing the air. And nothingno amount
to his very gills. Not even sunburn and of blazing fire, or chatting on ordinary
the glare of the fire could hide that.
subjectscould make that camp exactly
The student felt himself trembling a as it had been before. The shadow of an
little, weakish in the knees. "What's up?" unknown horror, naked if unguessed, that
he repeated quickly. "D'you smell moose? had flashed for an instant in the face and
Or ans^thlng queer, anythingwrong?" gestures of the guide, had also communicated itself, vaguely and therefore more
He lowered his voice instinctively.
The forest pressed round him with its potently, to his companion. The guide's
encircling wall; the nearer tree-stems visible efforts to dissemble the truth only
gleamed like bronze in the firelight; be- made things worse. Moreover, to-add to
yond thatblackness, and, so far as he the younger man's uneasiness, was the difcould tell, a silence of death. Just behind ficulty, nay, the impossibility he felt of
them a passing puff of *ind lifted a single asking questions, and also his complete
leaf, looked at it, then laid it softly down ignorance'as to the c a u s e . . . . Indians, wild
again without disturbing the rest of the animals, forest firesall these, he knew,
covey. It seemed as if a million Invisible were wholly out of the question. His
causes had combined just to produce that imagination searched vigorously, but in
single visible effect. Other life pulsed vain. . . .
about themand was gone.
ST, somehow or other, after another
Defago turned abruptly; the livid hue
^long spell of smoking, talking and
of.his face had turned to a dirty grey.
"I never said I heeredor smelt roasting themselves before the great fire,
nuthiri'," he said slowly and emphatically, the shadow that had so suddenly invaded
in an oddly altered voice that conveyed their peaceful camp began to lift. Persomehow a touch of defiance. "I was only haps D6fago's efforts, or the retiirn of his
takin' a look roundso to speak. It's al- quiet and normal attitude acconiplished
ways a mistake to be too previous with yer this; perhaps Simpson himself had exquestions." Then he added suddenly with aggerated the affair out of all proportion
obvious effort, in his more natural voice, to the truth; or possibly the vigorous air
"Have you got the matches. Boss Simp- of the wilderness brought its oWn powers
son?" and proceeded to light the pipe he of healing. Whatever the cause, the feelhad half filled just before he began to ing of immediate horror seemed to have
passed away as mysteriously as it had
sing.
Without speaking another word they sat come, for nothing occurred to feed it.
down again by the fire. Defago changing Simpson began to feel that he had perhis side so that he could face the direc- mitted himself the unreasoning terror of
tion the wind came from. For even a a child. He put it down partly to a certain
tenderfoot could tell that. Defago changed subconscious excitement that this wild
his position in order to hear and smell and immense scenery generated in his
all there was to be heard and smelt. And, blood, partly to the spell of solitude, and
since he now faced the lake with his back partly to over fatigue. The pallor of the
to the trees it was evidently nothing in guide's face was, of course, uncommonly
the forest that had sent so strange and hard to explain, yet it might have been
sudden a warning to his marvellously due in some way to an effect of firelight,
or his own imagination.... He gave it the
trained nerves.
"Guess now I don't feel like singing benefit of the doubt; he was Scotch.
any," he explained presently of his own
When a somewhat unordinary emotion
accord. "That song kinder brings back has disappeared, the mind always finds
memories that's troublesome to me; I a dozen ways of explaining away its
never oughter've begun it. It sets me on causes. . . . Simpson lit a vast pipe and
t' imagining things, see?"
tried to laugh to himself. On getting
Clearly the man was still fighting with home to Scotland it would make quite a
some profoundly moving emotion. He good story. He did not realise that this
wished to excuse himself in the eyes of laughter was a sign that terror still lurked
the other. But the explanation, In t h a t . in the recesses of his soul^that, in fact,
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99
THE WENDIGO
Defago's face cleared. "That's good!"
it was merely one of the conventional
signs by which a man, seriously alarmed, he exclaimed, with evident relief. "That's
tries to persuade himself that he is not so. good to hear."
"Have you?" asked Simpson sharply,
Defago, however, heard that low laughter and looked up with surprise on his and the same instant regretted the quesface. The two men stood, side by side, tion.
The Canadian came closer in the .darkkicking the embers about before going to
bed. It was ten o'clocka late hour for ness. He shook his head. "I guess not,"
he said, though without overwhelming
hunters to be still awake.
"What's ticklin' yer?" he asked in his conviction. "It must've been jest that song
of mine that did it. It's the song they sing
ordinary tone, yet gravely.
"II was thinking of our little toy in lumber-camps and god-forsaken places
woods at home, just at that moment," like that, when they're skeered the Wenstammered Simpson, coming back to what digo's somewheres around, doin' a bit of
really dominated his mind, and startled swift, travellin'"
by the question, "and comparing them to
"And what's the Wendigo, pray?"
to all this," and he swept his arm round Simpson asked quickly, irritated because
to indicate the Bush.
again he could not prevent that sudden
A pause followed in which neither of shiver of the nerves. He knew that he was
close upon the man's terror and the cause
them said anything.
"All the same I wouldn't laugh about it, of it. Yet a rushing passionate curiosity
if I was you," Defago added, looking over overcame his better judgment, and his
Simpson's shoulder into the shadows. fear.
"There's places in there nobody won't
Defago turned swiftly and looked at him
never see intonobody knows what lives as though he were suddenly about to
in there either."
shriek. His eyes shone, his mouth was
"Too bigtoo far off?" The suggestion wide open. Yet all he said, or whispered
in the guide's manner was immense and rather, for his voice sank very low, was:
horrible.
"It's nuthin'nuthin' but what those
Defago nodded. The expression on his lousy fellers believe when they've bin hitface was dark. He, too, felt uneasy. The. tin' the bottle too longa sort of great
younger man understood that in a hinter- animal that lives up yonder," he jerked
land of this size there might well be his head northwards, "quick as lightning
depths of wood that would never in the in its tracks, an' bigger'n anything else
life of the world be known or trodden. The in the Bush, an' ain't supposed to be very
thought was not exactly the sort he wel- good to look atthat's "all!"
comed. In a loud voice, cheerfully, he sug"A backwoods' superstition" began
gested that it was time for bed. But the Simpson, moving hastily towards the tent
guide lingered, tinkering with the fire, ar- in order to shake off the hand of the guide
ranging the stones needlessly, doing a doz- that clutched his arm. "Come, come,
en things that did not really need doing. hurry up for God's sake, and get the lanEvidently there was something he warjted tern going! It's time we were in bed and
to say, yet found it difficult to "get at."
asleep if we're to be up with the sun to"Say, you. Boss Simpson," he began sud- morrow. . . ."
denly, as the last shower of sparks went
The guide was close on his heels. "I'm
up into the air, "you don'tsmell nothing, coming," he answered out of the darkdo younothing pertickler, I mean?" The ness, "I'm coming." And after a slight decommonplace question, Simpson realised, lay he appeared with the lantern and
veiled a dreadfully serious thought in his hung it from- a-nail in the front pole of
mind. A shiver ran down his back.
the tent. The shadows of a hundred trees
"Nothing but this burning wood," he shifted their places quickly as he did so,
replied firmly, kicking again at the em- and when, he stumbled over the rope, divbers. The sound of his own foot made him ing swiftly inside, the whole tent trembled
as though a gust of wind struck it.
start.
The two men lay down, without un"And all the evenin' you ain't smelt
nothing?" persisted the guide, peering at dressing, upon their beds of soft balsam
him through the gloom; "nothing ex- boughs, cunningly arranged. Inside, all
trordiny, and different to anything else was warm and cosy, but outside the world
of crowding trees pressed close about
you ever smelt before?"
"No, no, man; nothing at all!" he re- them, marshalling their million shadows,
and smothering the little tent that stood
plied aggressively, half angrily.
PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG
100
. FAMOUS FANTASTIC MYSTERIES
there like a wee white shell facing the ceased abruptly. He stretched his hand out
and touched him. The body did not stir.
ocean of tremendous forest.
"Are you awake?" for it occurred to him
Between the two lonely figures within,
however, there pressed another shadow that the man was crying in his sleep. "Are
that was not a shadow from the night. It you cold?" He noticed that his feet, which
was the Shadow cast by the strange Fear, were uncovered, projected beyond the
never wholly exorcised, that had leaped mouth of the tent. He spread an extra fold
suddenly upon Defago in the middle of his of his own blankets over them. The guide
singing. And Simpson, as he lay there, had slipped down in his bed, and the
watching the darkness through the open branches seemed to have been dragged
flap of the tent, ready to plunge into the with him. He was afraid to pull the body
fragrant abyss of sleep, knew first that back again, for fear of waking him.
unique and profound stillness of a priOne or two tentative questions he venmeval forest when no wind stirs . . . and tured softly, but though he waited for sevwhen the night has weight and substance eral minutes there came no reply, nor any
that enters into the soul to bind a veil sign of movement. Presently he heard his
about it. . . . Then sleep took him. . . .
regular and quiet breathing, and putting
his hand again gently on the breast, felt
HUS it seemed to him, at least. Yet it the steady rise and fall beneath.
was true that the lap of the water, just
"Let me know if anything's wrong," lie
beyond the tent door, still beat time with whispered, "or if I can do anything. Wake
his lessening pulses when he realised that me at once if you feelqueer."
he was lying with his eyes open and that
He hardly knew quite what to say. He
another sound had recently introduced it- lay down again, thinking and wondering
self, with cunning softness between the what it all meant. Defago, of course, had
splash and murmur of the little waves.
been crying in his sleep. Some dream or
And, long before he understood what this other had afflicted him. Yet never in his
sound was, it had stirred in him the cen- life would he forget that pitiful sound of
tres of pity and alarm. He listened intent- sobbing, and the feeling that the whole
ly, though at first in vain, for the running awful wilderness of woods listened. . . .
His own mind busied itself for a long
blood beat all its drums too noisily in his
ears. Did it come,-he wondered, from the time with the recent events, of which this
took its mysterious place as one, and
lake, or from the woods? . . .
Then, suddenly, with a rush and a flutter though this reason successfully argued
of the heart, he knew that it was close away all unwelcome suggestions, a sensabeside him in the tent; and, when he tion of uneasiness remained, resisting ejecturned over for a better hearing, it focused tion, very deep-seatedpeculiar beyond
itself unmistakably not two feet away. It ordinary.
was a sound of weeping: Defago upoii his
bed of branches was sobbing in the darkUT sleep, in the long run, proves greatness as though his heart would break, the
er than all emotions. His thoughts
blankets evidently stuffed against his soon wandered again; he lay there, warm
mouth to stifle it.
as a toast, exceedingly weary; the night
And his first feeling, before he could soothed and comforted, blimting the edges
think or reflect, was the rush of a poignant of memory and alarm. Half an hour later
and searching tenderness. This intimate, he was oblivious of everything in the outer
human sound, heard amid the desolation world about him.
about them, woke pity. It was so inconYet sleep, in this case, was his great
gruous, so pitifully incongruousand so enemy, concealing all approaches, smothvain! Tearsin this vast and cruel wilder- ering the warning of his nerves.
ness: of what avail? He thought of a little
As, sometimes in a nightmare, events
child crying in mid-Atlantic. . . . Then, of crowd upon each other's heels with a concourse, with fuller realisation, and the viction of dreadfuUest reality, yet some inmemory of what had gone before, came the consistent detail accuses the whole disdescent of the terror upon him, and his play of incompleteness and disguise, so the
blood ran cold.
events that now followed, though they ac"Defago," he whispered quickly, "what's tually happened, persuaded the mind
the matter?" He tried to make his voice somehow that the detail which could exvery gentle. "Are you in painunhap- plain them had been overlooked in the
py?" There was no reply, but the sounds confusion, and that therefore they were
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101
THE WENDIGO
but partly true, the rest delusion. At the trary qualities. "A sort of windy, crying
back of the sleeper's mind something re- voice," he calls it, "as of something lonely
mains awake, ready to let slip the judg- and untamed, wild and of abominable
ment, "All this is not quite real; when you power. . . ."
wake up you'll understand."
And, even before it ceased, dropping
And thus, in a way, it was with Simpson. back into the great gulfs of silence, the
The events, not wholly inexplicable or in- guide beside him had sprung to his feet
credible in themselves, yet remain for the with an answering though unintelligible
man who saw and heard them a sequence cry. He blundered against the tent-pole
of separate facts of cold horror, because with violence, shaking the whole structhe little piece that might have made the ture, spreading his arms out frantically
for more room, and kicking his legs impuzzle clear lay concealed or overlooked.
So far as he can recall, it was a violent petuously free of the clinging blankets.
movement, running downwards through For a second, perhaps two, he stood upthe tent towards the door, that first woke right by the door, his outline dark against
him and made him aware that his com- the pallor of the dawn; then, with a furipanion was sitting bolt upright beside him ous, rushing speed, before his companion
quivering. Hours must have passed, for could move a hand to stop him, he shot
it was the pale gleam of the dawn that re- with a plunge through the flaps of canvas
vealed his outline against the canvas. This and was gone. And as he wentso astime the man was not crying; he was tonishingly fast that the voice could actuquaking like a leaf; the trembling he felt ally be heard dying in the distancehe
plainly through the blankets down the en- called aloud in tones of anguished terror
tire length of his own body. Defago had that at the same time held something
huddled down against him for protection, strangely like the frenzied exultation of
shrinking away from something that ap- delight:
parently concealed itself near the door"Oh! oh! My feet of fire! My burning
flaps of the little tent.
feet of fire! Oh! oh! This height and fiery
Simpson thereupon called out in a loud speed!"
And then the distance quickly buried
voice some question or otherin the first
bewilderment-of waking he does not re-, it, and the deep silence of very early mornmember exactly whatand the man made ing descended upon the forest as before.
no reply. The atmosphere and feeling of
true nightmare lay horribly about him,
T had aU come about with such rapidity
making movement and speech both diffithat, but for the evidence of the empty
cult. At first, indeed, he was not sure bed beside him, Simpson coiild almost
where he waswhether in one of the ear- have believed it to have been the memory
lier camps, or at home in his bed at Aber- of a nightmare carried over from sleep.
deen. The sense of confusion was very He still felt the warm pressure of that
troubling.
vanished body against his side; there lay
And nextalmost simultaneous with his the twisted blankets in a heap; the very
waking, it seemedthe profound stillness tent yet trembled with the vehemence of
of the dawn outside was shattered by a the impetuous departure. The strange
most uncommon sound. It came without words rarig in his ea,rs, as though he still
warning, or audible approach; and it was heard them in the distancewild language
unspeakably dreadful. It was a voice, of a suddenly stricken mind. Moreover, it
Simpson declares, possibly a human voice; was not only the senses of sight and hearhoarse yet plaintivea soft, roaring voice ing that reported uncommon things to his
close outside the tent, overhead rather brain, for even while the man cried and
than upon the ground, of immense vol- ran, he had become aware that a strange
ume, while in some strange way most perfume, faint yet pungent, pervaded the
penetratingly and seductively sweet. It interior of the tent. And it was at this
rang out, too, in three separate and dis- point, it seems, brought to himself by the
tinct notes, or cries, that bore in some odd consciousness that his nostrils were taking
fashion a resemblance, far-fetched yet this distressing odour down into his
recognisable, to the name of the guide: throat, that he found his courage, sprang
quickly to his feet^-and went out.
"Defago!"
The student admits he is unable to deThe grey light of dawn that dropped,
scribe it quite intelligently, for it was un- cold and glimmering, betweeii the trees
like any sound he had ever heard in his revealed the scene tolerably well. There
life, and combined a blending of such con- stood the tent behind him, soaked with
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102
dew; the dark ashes of the fire, still warm; succour his poor , vanished companion.
Make an effort, accordingly, he did,
the lake, white beneath a coating of mist,
the islands rising darkly out of it like ob- though an ill-calculated and futile one.
jects packed in wool; and patches of snow With that wilderness of trees about him,
beyond among the clearer spaces of the ' the sheet of water cutting him off behind,
Busheverything cold, still, waiting for and the horror of that wild cr-y in his
the sun. But nowhere a sign of the van- blood, he did what any other inexperienced
ished guidestill, doubtless, flying at fran- man would have done in similar bewiltic speed through the frozen woods. There derment: he ran about, without any sense
was not even the sound of disappearing of direction, like a frantic child, and called
footsteps, nor the echoes of the dying loudly without ceasing the name of the
guide:
voice. He had goneutterly.
"Defago! Defago! Defago!" he yelled,
There was nothing; nothing but the
sense of his recent presence, so strongly and the trees gave him back the name as
left behind about the camp; andthis often as he shouted, only a little softened.
"Defago! Defago! Defago!"
penetrating, all-pervading odour.
He followed the trail that lay for a short
And even this was now rapidly disappearing in its turn. .In spite of his exceed- distance across the patches of snow, and
ing mental, perturbation, Simpson strug- then lost it again where the trees grew too
gled hard to detect its nature, and define thickly for snow to lie. He shouted till he
it, but the ascertaining of an elusive scent, was hoarse, and till the sound of his own
not recognised subconsciously and at once, voice in all that unanswering and listenis a very subtle operation of the mjnd. And ing world began to frighten him. His conhe failed. It was gone before he could prop- fusion increased in direct ratio to the vioerly seize or name it. Approximate de- lence of his efforts. His distress became
scription, even, seems to have been diffi- formidably acute, till at length ^his exercult, for it was unlike any smell he knew. tions defeated their own object, and from
Acrid rather, not unlike the odour of a sheer exhaustion he headed back to the
lion, he thinks, yet softer and not wholly camp again. It remains a wonder that he
unpleasing, with something almost sweet ever found his way. It was with great difin it that reminded him of the scent of de- ficulty, and only after nuiflberless false
caying garden leaves, earth, and the clues, that he at last saw the white~ tent
myriad, nameless perfumes that make up -between the trees, and so reached safety.
the odour of a big forest. Yet the "odour
Exhaustion then applied its own remof lions" is the phrase with which he edy, and he grew calmer. He made the
usually sums it all up.
fire and breakfasted. Hot coffee and bacon
Thenit was wholly gone, and he found put a little sense and judgment into him
himself standing by the ashes of the fire again, and he realised that he had been
in a state of amazement and stupid terror behaving like a boy. He now made another,
that left him the helpless prey of any- and more successful attempt to face the
thing that chose to happen. Had a musk- situation collectedly, and, a nature naturrat poked its pointed muzzle over a rock, ally plucky coming to his assistance, he deor a squirrel scuttled in that instant down cided that he must first make as thorough
the bark of a tree, he would most likely a search as possible, failing success in
have collapsed without more ado and which, he must find his way to the home
fainted. For he felt about the whole affair camp as best he could and bring help.
the touch somewhere of a great Outer
And this was what he did. Taking food,
Horrorand his scattered powers had not matches and rifle with him, and a small
as yet had time to collect themselves into axe to blaze the trees against his return
a definite attitude of fighting self-control. journey, he set forth. It was eight o'clock
Nothing did happen, however. A great when he started, the sun shining over the
kiss of wind ran softly through the awak- tops of the trees in a sky without clouds.
ening forest, and a few maple leaves here Pinned to a stake by the fire he left a note
and there rustled tremblingly to earth. in case Defago returned while he was
The sky seemed to grow suddenly much away.
lighter. Simpson felt the cool air upon his
cheek and uncovered head; realised that
HIS time, according to a careful plan,
he was shivering with the cold; and, makhe took a new direction, intending to
ing a great effort, realised next that he was make a wide sweep that must sooner or
alone in the Bushand that he was called later cut into" indications of the guide's
upon to take immediate steps to find and trail; and, before he had gone a quarter
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THE WENDIGO
103
The figure came forward spasmodically in the fire's glareas if moved by wires
ot a mue he came across the tracks of a

large animal in the snow, and beside it
the light and smaller tracks of what were
beyond question human feetthe feet of
Defago. The relief he at once experienced
was natural, though brief; for at first sight
he saw in these tracks a simple explanation of the whole matter: these big marks
had surely been left by a bull moose that,
wind against it, had blundered upon the
camp, and uttered its singular cry of
warning and alarm the moment its mistake was apparent. Defago, in whom the
hunting instinct was developed to the
point of uncanny perfection, had scented
the brute coming down the wind hours
before. His excitement and disappearance
were due, of course, toto his
Then the impossible explanation at
which he grasped faded, as common sense
showed him mercilessly that none of this
was true. No guide, much less a guide
like Defago, could have acted in so irrational a way, going off even without his
rifle. . . ! The whole affair demanded a
far more complicated elucidation, when he
remembered the details of it allthe cry
of terror, the amazing language, the grey

face of horror when his nostrils first
caught the new odour; that mufDed sobbing in the darkness, andfor this, too,
now came back to him dimlythe man's
original aversion for this particular bit of
country. . . .
Besides, now that he examined them
closer, these were not the tracks of a moose
at all! Hank had explained to him the
outline of a bull's hoofs, of a cow's or calf's,
too, for that matter; he had drawn them
clearly on a strip of birch bark. And these
were wholly different. They were big,
round, ample, and with no pointed outline
as of sharp hoofs. He wondered for a moment whether bear-tracks were like that.
There was no other animal he could think
of, for caribou did not come so far south
at this season, and, even if they did, would
leave hoof-marks.
They were ominous signsthese mysterious writings left in the snow by the
unknown creature that had lured a human
being away from safetyand when he
coupled them in his imagination with that
haunting sound that broke the stillness of
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104
the dawn, a momentary dizziness shook his snow between the extreme points. But
mind, distressing him again beyond belief. what perplexed him even more, making
He felt the threatening aspect of it all. him feel his vision had gone utterly awry,
And,' stooping down to examine the marks was that Defago's stride increased in the
more closely, he caught a faint whiff of same manner, and finally covered the
that sweet yet pungent odour that made same incredible distances. It looked as if
him instantly straighten up again, fighting the great beast had lifted him with it and
a sensation almost of nausea.
carried him across these astonishing inThen his memory played him another tervals. Simpson, who was much longer in
evil trick. He suddenly recalled those un- the limb, found that he could not compass
covered feet projecting beyond the edge of even half the stretch by taking a running
the tent, and the body's appearance of jump.
having been dragged towards the openAnd the sight of these huge tracks, runing; the man's shrinking from something ning side by side, silent evidence of a
by the door when he woke later. The de- dreadful journey in which terror or madtails now beat against his trembling mind ness had urged to impossible results, was
with concerted attack. They seemed to profoundly moving. It shocked him in the
gather in those deep spaces of the silent secret depths of his soul. It was the most
forest about him, where the host of trees horrible thing his eyes had ever looked
stood waiting, listening, watching to see upon. He began to follow them mechanicwhat he would do. The woods were closing ally, absent-mindedly almost, ever peerround him.
ing over his shoulder to see if he, too, were
With the persistence of true pluck, how- being followed by something with a giganever, Simpson went forward, following the tic t r e a d . . . . And soon it came about that
tracks as best he could, smothering these he no longer quite realised what it was
ugly einotions that sought to weaken his they signifiedthese impressions left upon
will. He blazed innumerable trees as he the snow by something nameless and unwent, ever fearful of being unable to find tamed, always accompanied by the footthe way back, and calling aloud at inter- marks of the little-French Canadian, his
vals of a few seconds the name of the guide, his comrade, the man who had
guide. The dull tapping of the axe upon shared his tent a few hours before, chatthe massive trunks, and the unnatural acting, laughing, even singing by his side. . ..
cents of his own voice became at length
sounds that he even dreaded to make,
OR a man of his years and inexperidreaded to hear. For they drew attention
ence, only a canny Scot, perhaps,
without ceasing to his presence and exact grounded in common sense and established
whereabouts, and if it were really the case in logic, could have preserved even that
that something was hunting himself down measure of balance that this youth somein the same way that he was hunting how or other did manage to preserve
down another
through the whole adventure. Otherwise,
With a strong effort, he crushed the two things he presently noticed, while
thought out the instant it rose. It was the forging pluckily ahead, must have sent
beginning, he realised, of a bewilderment him headlong back to the comparative
utterly diabolical in kind that would safety of his tent, instead of only making
speedily destroy him.
his hands close more tightly upon the
rifle-stock, while his heart, trained for the
LTHOUGH the snow was not continu- Wee Kirk, sent a wordless prayer winging
ous, lying merely in shallow flurries its way to heaven. Both tracks, he saw,
over the more open spaces, he found no had undergone a change, and this change,
difficulty in following the tracks for the so far as it concerned the footsteps of the
first few miles. They were straight as a man, was in some undecipherable manner
ruled line wherever the trees permitted. appalling.
The stride soon began to increase in
It was in the bigger tracks he first nolength, till it finally assumed proportions ticed this, and for a long time he could not
that seemed absolutely impossible for any quite believe his eyes. Was it the blown
ordinary animal to have made. Like huge leaves that produced odd effects of light
flying leaps they became. One of these he and shade, or that the dry snow, drifting
measured, and though he knew that like finely-ground rice about the edges,
"stretch" of eighteen feet must be some- cast shadows and high lights? Or was it
how wrong, he was at a complete loss to actually the fact that the great marks
understand why he found no signs on the had become faintly coloured? For round
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105
THE WENDIGO
about the deep, plunging holes of the ani- still, wintry sky with an effect of dismay
mal there now appeared a mysterious, red- and terror unsurpassed. The rifte fell to
dish tinge that was more like an effect of his feet. He stood motionless an instant,
light than of anything that dyed the sub- listening as it were with his whole body,
stance of the snow itself. Every mark had then staggered back against the nearest
it, and had it increasinglythis indistinct tree for support, disorganised hopelessly
fiery tinge that painted a new touch of in mind and spirit. To him, in that moment, it seemed the most shattering and
ghastliness into the picture.
But when, wholly unable to explain or dislocating experience he had ever known,
credit it, he turned his attention to the so that his heart emptied itself of all feelother tracks to discover if they, too, bore' ing whatsover as by a sudden draught.
similar witness, he noticed that these had
"Oh! oh! This fiery height! Oh, my
meanwhile undergone a change that was feet of fire! My burning feet of fire. . . !"
infinitely worse, and charged with far ran in far, beseeching accents of indeinore horrible suggestion. For, in the last scribable appeal this voice of anguish
hundred yards or so, he saw that they had down the sky. Once it called^then silence "
grown gradually into the semblance of the through all the listening wilderness of
parent tread. Imperceptibly the change trees.
had 'Come about, yet unmistakably. It was
And Simpson, scarcely knowing what he
hard to see where the change first began. did, presently found himself running wildThe result, however, was beyond question. ly to and fro, searching, calling, tripping
Smaller, neater, more cleanly modelled, over roots and boulders, and flinging himthey formed now an exact and careful du- self in a frenzy of undirected pursuit after
plicate of the larger tracks beside them. the Caller. Behind the screen of memory
The feet that produced them had, there- and emotion with which experience veils
fore, also changed. And something in his events, he plunged, distracted and halfmind reared up with loathing and with deranged, picking up false lights, like a
terror as he saw it.
ship at sea, terror in his eyes and heart
Simpson, for the first time, hesitated; and soul. For the Panic of the Wilderness
then, ashamed of his alarm and inde- had called to him in that far voicethe
cision, took a few hurried steps ahead; Power of untamed Distancethe Enticethe next instant stopped dead in his ment of the Desolation that destroys. He
tracks. Immediately in front of him all knew in that moment all the pains of
signs of the trail ceased; both tracks came someone hopelessly and irretrievably lost,
to an abrupt end. On all sides, for a hun- suffering the lust and travail of a soul in
dred yards and more, he searched in vain the final Loneliness. A vision of Defago,
for the least indication of their continu- eternally hunted, driven and pursued
across the skiey vastness of those ancient
ance. There was^nothing.
The trees were very thick just there, big forests fled like a flame across the dark
trees aU of them, spruce, cedar, hemlock; ruin of his thoughts. . . .
It seemed ages before he could find anythere was no underbrush. He stood, looking about him, all distraught; bereft of thing in the chaos of his disorganised senany power of judgment. Then he set to sations to which he could anchor himself
work to search again, and again, and yet steady for a moment, and think. . . .
The cry was riot repeated; his own
again, but always with the same result:
nothing. The feet that printed the surface hoarse calling brought no response; the
of the snow thus far had now, apparently, inscrutable forces of the Wild had summoned their victim beyond recalland
left the ground!
And it was in that moment of distress held him fast.
and confusion that the whip of terror laid
ST he searched and called, it seems,
its most nicely calculated lash about his
heart. It dropped with deadly effect upon
for hours afterwards, for it was late in
the sorest spot of all, completely unnerv- the afternoon when at length he decided
ing him. He had been secretly dreading to abandon a useless pursuit and return to
all the time that it would comeand come his camp on the shores of Fifty Island
it did.
Water. Even then he went with reluctance,
Far overhead, muted by great height that crying voice still echoing in his ears.
and distance, strangely thinned and wail- With difficulty he found his rifle and the
ing, he heard the crying voice of Defago, homeward trail. The concentration necesthe guide.
sary to follow the badly blazed trees, and
The sound dropped upon him out of that a biting hunger that gnawed, helped to
PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG
106
keep his mind steady. Otherwise, he ad- guiding of the unconscious mind, which is
mits, the temporary aberration he had instinct. Perhaps, too, some sense of
suffered might have been prolonged to the orientation, known to animals and primipoint of positive disaster. Gradually the tive men, may have helped as well, for
ballast shifted back again, and he regained through all that tangled region he sucsomething that approached his normal ceeded in reaching the exact spot where
equilibrium.
Defago had hidden the canoe nearly three
But for all that the journey through the days before with the remark, "Strike doo
gathering dusk was miserably haunted. west across the lake into the sun to find
He heard innimierable following footsteps; the camp."
voices that laughed and whispered; and
There was not much sun left to guide
saw figures crouching behind trees and him, but he used his compass to the best
boulders, making signs to one another for of his ability, embarking in the frail craft
a concerted attack the moment he had for the last twelve miles of his journey
passed. The creeping murmur of the wind with a sensation of immense relief that
'made him start and listen. He went the forest was at last behind him. And,
stealthily, trying to hide where possible, fortunately, the water was calm; he took
and making as little sound as he could. his line across the centre of the lake inThe shadows of the woods, hitherto pro- stead of coasting round the shores for.antective or covering merely, had now be- other twenty miles. Fortunately, too, the
come menacing, challenging; and the other hunters were back. The light of
pageantry in his frightened mind masked their fires furnished a steering-point
a host of possibilities that were all the without which he might have searched
more ominous for being obscure. The pre- all night long for the actual position of
sentiment of a nameless doom lurked ill- the camp.
concealed behind every detail of what had
It was close upon midnight all the same
happened.
when his canoe grated on the sandy cove,
It was really admirable how he emerged and Hank, Punk and his uncle, disturbed
victor in the end; men of riper powers and in their sleep by his cries, ran quickly
experience might have come through the down arid helped a very exhausted and
ordeal with less success. He had himself broken specimen of Scotch humanity over
tolerably well in hand, all things consid- the rocks towards a dying flre.
ered, and his plan of action proves it.
Sleep being absolutely out of the question,
HE sudden entrance of his prosaic
and travelling an unknown trail in the
uncle into this world of wizardry and
darkness equally impracticable, he sat up horror that had haunted him without inthe whole of that night, rifle in hand, be- terruption now for two days and two
fore a fire he never for a single moment nights, had the immediate effect of giving
allowed to die down. The severity of the to the affair an entirely new aspect.' The
haunted vigil marked his soul for life; sound of that crisp "Hulloa, my boy! And
but it was successfully accomplished; and what's up now?" and the grasp of that dry
with the very first signs of dawn he set and vigorous hand introduced another
forth upon the long return Journey to the standard of judgment. A revulsion of feelhome-camp to get help. As before, he left ing washed through him. He realised that
a written note to explain his absence, and he had let himself "go" rather badly. He
to indicate where he had left a plentiful even felt vaguely ashamed of himself.
cache of food and matchesthough he The native hard-headedness of his race
had no expectation that any human hands reclaimed him.
would find them!
And this doubtless explains why he
How Simpson found his way alone by found it so hard to "Wf'that' group round
lake and forest might well make a story in the fireeverything. He told enough, howitself, for to hear him tell it is to know the ever, for the immediate decision to be
passionate loneliness of soul that a man arrived at that a relief party must start
can feel when the Wilderness holds him at the earliest possible moment, and that
in the hollow of its illimitable handand Simpson, in order to guide it capably, must
laughs. It is also to admire his indomitable first have food and, above all, sleep. Dr.
pluck.
Cathcart observing the lad's condition
- He claims no skill, declaring that he fol- more shrewdly than his patient knew, gave
lowed the almost invisible trail mechanic- him a very slight injection of morphine.
ally, and without thinking. And this, For six hours he slept like the dead.
doubtless, is the truth. He,relied upon the
From the description carefully written
PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG
107
THE WENDIGO
out afterwards by this student of divinity, self to be, had assured him clearly enough
it appears that the account he gave to the exactly where his mind, influenced by
astonished group omitted sundry vital and loneliness, bewilderment and terror, had
important details. He declares that, with yielded to the strain and invited delusion.
his uncle's wholesome, matter-of-fact While praising his conduct, he managed at
countenance staring him in the face, he the same time to point out where, when,
simply had not the courage to mention and how his mind had gone astray. He
them. Thus, all the search-party gathered, made his nephew think himself finer than
it would seem, was that Defago had suf- he was by judicious praise, yet more foolfered in the night an acute and inexplica- ish than he was by mimimising the value
ble attack of mania, had imagined himself of his evidence. Like many another mate"called" by someone or something, and had rialist, that is, he lied cleverly on the basis
plunged into the Bush after it without of insufficient knowledge, because the
food or rifle, where he must die a horrible knowledge supplied seemed to his own
and lingering death by cold and starvation particular intelligence inadmissible.
"The spell of these terrible solitudes," he
unless he' could be found and rescued in
time. "In time", moreover, meant "at said, "cannot leave any mind untouched,
any mind, that is, possessed of the higher
once".
In the course of the following day, how- imaginative qualities. It has worked upon
everthey were off by seven, leaving Punk yours exactly as it worked upon my own
in charge with instructions to have food when I was your age. The animal that
and fire always readySimpson found it haunted your little camp was undoubtedly
possible to tell his uncle a good deal more a moose, for the 'belling' of a moose may
of the story's true inwardness, without^ have, sometimes, a very peculiar quality of
divining that it was dravrai out of him as sound.
a matter of fact by a very subtle form of
"The coloured appearance of the big
cross-examination. By the time they tracks was obviously a defect of vision In
reached the beginning of the trail, where your own eyes produced by excitement.
the canoe was laid up against the return The size and stretch of the tracks we shall
journey, he had mentioned how Defago prove when we come to them. But the
spoke vaguely of "something he called a hallucination of an audible voice, of course,
'Wendigo'"; how he cried in hs sleep; how is one of the commonest forms of delusion
he imagined an unusual scent about the due to mental excitementan excitement,
camp; and had betrayed other symptoms my dear boy, perfectly excusable, and, let
of mental excitement. He also admitted me add, wonderfully controlled by you unthe bewildering effect of "that extraordi- der the circumstances. For the rest, I am
nary odour" upon himself, "pungent and bound to say, you have acted with a splenacrid like the odour of lions". And by the did courage, for the terror of feeling onetime they were within an easy hour of self lost in this wilderness is nothing short
Fifty Island Water he had let slip the of awful, and, had I been in your place, I
further facta foolish avowal of his own don't for a moment believe I could have
hysterical condition, as he felt afterwards behaved with one-quarter of your wisdom
that he had heard the vanished guide and decision. The only thing I find it uncall "for help". He omitted the singular commonly difficult to explain isthat
phrases used, for he simply could not damned odour."
bring himself to repeat the preposterous
"It made me feel sick, I assure you," delanguage.
clared his nephew, "positively dizzy!" His
Also, while he was describing how the uncle's attitude of calm omniscience, mereman's footsteps in the snow had gradually ly because he knew more psychological
assumed an exact miniature likeness of formulae, made him slightly defiant. It
the animal's plunging tracks, he left out was so easy to be wise in the explanation
the fact that they measured a wholly in- of an experience one has not personally
credible distance. It seemed a question, witnessed. "A kind of desolate and terrible
nicely balanced between individual pride odour is the only way I can describe it,"
and honesty, what he should reveal and he concluded, glancing at the features of
what suppress. He mentioned the fiery the quiet, unemotional man beside him.
tinge in the snow, for instance, yet shrank
"I can only marvel," was the reply, "that
from telling that body and bed had been under the circumstances it did not seem
partly dragged out of the tent. . . .
to you even worse." The dry words, SimpWith the net result that Dr. Cathcart, son knew, hovered between the truth, and
adroit psychologist that he fancied him- his uncle's interpretation of "the truth".
PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG

"And where you heered him callin* an'
ND so at last they came to the little
camp and found the tent still stand- caught the stench, an' all the rest of the
ing, the remains of the fire, and the piece wicked entertainment," cried Hank, with
of paper pinned to a stake beside itun- a volubility that betrayed his keen distress.
"And where your. excitement overcame
touched. The cache, poorly contrived by
inexperienced hands, however, had been you to the point of producing illusions,"
discovered and opened upby muskrats, added Dr. Cathcart under his breath, yet
mink and squirrel. The matches lay scat- not so low that his nephew did not hear it..
tered about the opening, but the food had
T WAS early in the afternoon, for they
been taken to the last crumb.
had travelled quickly, and there were
"Well, fellers, he ain't here," exclaimed
Hank loudly after his fashion, "and that's still a good two hours of daylight left. Dr.
as sartain as the coal supply down below! Cathcart and Hank lost no time in beginBut whar he's got to by this time is 'bout ning the search, but Simpson was too exas onsartain as the trade in crowns in hausted to accompany them. They would
t'other place." The presence of a divinity follow the blazed marks on the trees,_and
student was no barrier to his language at where possible, his footsteps. Meanwhile
such a time, though for the reader's sake the best thing he could do was to keep a
it may be severely edited. "I propose," he good fire going, and rest.
But after something like three hours'
added, "that we start out at once an' hunt
search, the darkness already down, the
for'm like hell!"
The gloom of Defago's probable fate two men returned to camp with nothing to
oppressed the whole party with a sense of report. Fresh snow had covered all signs,
dreadful gravity the moment they saw the and though they had followed the blazed
familiar signs of'recent occupancy. Espe- trees to the spot where Simpson had
cially the tent, with the bed of balsam turned back, they had not discovered the
branches still smoothed and flattened by smallest Indications of a human being
the pressure of his body, seemed to bring or, for that matter, of an animal. There
his presence near to them. Simpson, feel- were no fresh tracks of any kind; the snow
ing vaguely as if his word were somehow lay undisturbed.
at stake, went about explaining particuIt was difficult to know what was best
lars in a hushed tone. He was much calm- to do, though in reality there was nothing
er now, .though over-wearied with the more they could do. They might stay and
strain of his many journeys. His uncle's search for weeks without much chance of
method of explaining"explaining away", success. The fresh snow destroyed their
ratherthe details still fresh in his haunt- only hope, and they gathered round the
ed memory helped, too, to put ice upon his fire for supper, a gloomy and despondent
emotions.
party. The facts, indeed, were sad enough,
"And that's the direction he ran off in," for D6fago had a wife at Rat Portage, and
he said to his two companions, pointing in his earnings were the family's sole means
the direction where the guide had van- of support.
ished that morning in the grey dawn.
Now that the whole truth in all its ugli"Straight down there he ran like a deer, ness was out, it seemed useless to deal in
in between the birch and the hemlock...." further disguise or pretense. They talked
Hank and Dr. Cathcart exchanged openly of the facts and probabilties. It
glances.
was not the first time, even in the experi"And it was about two miles down there, ence- of Dr. Cathcart, that a man had
in a straight line," continued the other, yielded to the singular seduction of the
speaking with something of the former Solitudes and gone out of his mind; Deterror in his voice, "that I followed his fago moreover, was predisposed to sometrail to the place whereit stopped thing of the sort, for he already had the
dead!"
touch of melancholia in his blood, and his
108
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PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG
109
THE WENDIGO
ing
of
the
story,
and,
so
far
as
he
rememflbre was weakened by bouts of drinking
that often lasted for weeks at a time. bered, had never even read about it. Even
Something on this tripone might never the word was unfamiliar.
know precisely whathad sufficed to push
Of course he was telling the truth, and
him over the line, that was all. And he Dr. Cathcart was reluctantly compelled to
had gone, gone off into the great wilder- admit the singular character of the whole
ness of trees and lakes to die by starva- affair. He did not do this in words so much
tion and exhaustion. The chances against as in manner, however. He kept his back
his finding camp again were overwhelm- against a good, stout tree; he poked the
ing; the delirium that was upon him would fire into a blaze the moment it showed
also doubtless have increased, and it was signs of dying down; he was quicker than
quite likely he might do violence to him,- any of them to notice the least sound in
self and so hasten his cruel fate. Even the night about thema fish jumping in
while they talked, indeed, the end had. the lake, a twig snapping in the bush, the
probably come. On the suggestion of Hank, dropping of occasional fragments of frozen
his old pal, however, they proposed to wait snow from the branches overhead where
a little longer and devote the whole of the the heat loosened them. His voice, too,
following day, from dawn to darkness, to chaiiged a little in quality, becoming a
the most systematic search they could de- shade less confident, lower also in tone.
vise. They would divide the territory be- Fear, to put it plainly, hovered close about
tween them. They discussed their plan in that little camp, and though all three
great detail. All that men could do they would have been glad to speak of other
would do.
matters, the only thing they seemed able
And, meanwhile, they talked about the to discuss was thisthe source of their
particular form in which the ^singular fear. They tried other subjects in vain;
Panic of the Wilderness had made its there was nothing to say about them.
attack upon the mind of the unfortunate Hank was the most honest of the group;
guide. Hank, though familiar with the he said next to nothing. He never once,
legend in its general outline, obviously did however, turned his back to the darkness.
not welcome the turn the conversation His face was always to the forest, and
had taken. He contributed little, though when wood was needed he didn't go farthat little was illuminating. For he ad- ^ther than was necessary to get it.
mitted that a story ran over all this section of country to the effect that several
WALL of silence wrapped them in, for
Indians had "seen the Wendigo" along the
the snow, though not thick, was suffishores of Fifty Island Water in the "fall" cient to deaden any noise, and the frost
of last year, and this was the true reason held things pretty tight besides. No sound
of Defago's disinclination to hunt there. but their voices and the soft roar of the
Hank doubtless felt that he had in a sense flames made itself heard. Only, from time
helped his old pal to death by over-per-. to time, something soft as the flutter of a
suading him. "When an Indian goes pine-moth's wings went past them through
crazy," he explained, talking to himself the air. No one seemed anxious to go to
more than to the others, it seemed, "it's bed. The hours slipped towards midnight.
always put that he's 'seen the Wendigo.'
"The legend is picturesque enough," obAn' pore old Defaygo was superstitious
served the doctor after one of the longer
down to his very heels. . . !"
pauses, speaking.to break it rather than
And then Simpson, feeling the atmos- because he had anything to say, "for the
phere more sympathetic, told over again Wendigo is simply the Call of the Wild
the full story of his astonishing tale; he personified, which some natures hear to
left out no details this time; he mentioned their own destruction."
his own sensations and gripping fears. He
"That's about it," Hank said presently. '
only omitted the strange language used.
"An' there's no misunderstandin' when you
"But Defago surely had already told you hear it. It calls you by name right 'nough."
all these details of the Wendigo legend, my
Another pause followed. Then Dr. Cathdear fellow," insisted the doctor. "I mean, cart came back to the forbidden subject
he had talked about it, and thus put Into with a rush that made the others jump.
your mind the ideas which your own ex"The allegory is significant," he recitement afterwards developed?"
marked, looking about him into the darkWhereupon Simpson again repeated the ness, "for the Voice, they say, resembles
facts. Defago, he declared, had barely men- all the minor sounds of the Bushwind,
tioned the beast. He, Simpson, knew noth- falling water, cries of animals, and so
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110
forth. And, once the victim hears that haunting legend. It was an unequal conhe's off for good, of course! His most vul- test, all things considered, for the wildernerable points, moreover, are said to be the ness had already the advantage of first
feet and the eyes; the feet, you see, for the attackand of a hostage. The fate of
lust of wandering, and the eyes for the their comrade hung over them with a
lust of beauty. The poor beggar goes at steadily increasing weight of oppression
such a dreadful speed that he bleeds be- that finally became insupportable.
It was Hank, after a pause longer than
neath the eyes, and his feet burn."
Dr. Cathcart, as he spoke, continued to the preceding ones that no one seemed
peer uneasily into the surrounding gloom. able to break, who first let loose all this
pent-up emotion in very unexpected fashHis voice sank to a hushed tone.
"The Wendigo," he added, "is said to ion, by springing suddenly to his feet and
burn his feetowing to the friction, letting out the most ear-shattering yell
apparently caused by its tremendous vel- imaginable into the night. He could not
ocitytill they drop off, and new ones contain himself any longer, it seemed. To
make it carry even beyond an ordinary cry
form exactly like its own."
Simpson listened in horrified amaze- he interrupted its rhythm by shaking the
ment; but it was the pallor on Hank's face palm of his hand before his mouth.
that fascinated him most. He would will"That's for Defago," he said, looking
ingly have stopped his ears and closed his down at the other two with a queer, deeyes, had he dared.
fiant laugh, "for it's my belief"the sand"It don't always keep to the ground wiched oaths may be omitted"that my
neither," came in Hank's slow, heavy old partner's not far from us at this very
drawl, "for it goes so high that he thinks minute."
the stars have set him all a-fire. An' it'll
There was a vehemence and recklesstake great thumpin' jumps sometimes, an' ness about his performance that made
run along the tops of the trees, carrying its Simpson, too, start to his feet in amazepartner with it, an' then droppin' him jest ment, and betrayed even the doctor into
as a fish-hawk'll drop a pickerel to kill it letting the pipe slip from between his lips.
before eatin'. An' its food, of all the muck Hank's face was ghastly, but Cathcart's
in the whole Bush ismoss!" And he showed a sudden weaknessa loosening of
laughed a short, unnatural laugh. "It's a all his faculties, as it were. Then a momoss-eater, is the Wendigo," he added, mentary anger blazed into his eyes, and
looking up excitedly into the faces of his he too, though with deliberation born of
companions, "moss-eater," he repeated, habitual self-control, got upon his feet and
with a string of the most outlandish oaths faced the excited guide. For this was unhe could invent.
permissible, foolish, dangerous, and he
But Simpson now understood the true meant to stop it in the bud.
purpose of all this talk. What those two
What might have happened in the next
men, each strong and "experienced" in his minute or two one may speculate about,
own way, dreaded more than anything else yet never definitely know, for in the inwassilence. They were talking against stant of profound silence that followed
time. They were also talking against dark- Hank's roaring voice, and as though in
ness, against the invasion of panic, against answer to it, something went past through
the admission reflection might bring that the darkness of the sky overhead at terthey were in an enemy's countryagainst rific speedsomething of necessity very
anything, in fact, rather than allow their large, for it displaced much air, while
inmost thoughts to assume control. He down between the trees there fell a faint
himself, already initiated by the awful and windy cry of a human voice, calling
vigil with terror, was beyond both of them in tones of indescribable anguish and
in this respect. He had reached the stage appeal:
where he was immune. But these two, the
"Oh, oh! this fiery height! Oh, oh! My
scoffing, analytical=doctor,-.ând the-hbn.est;i fcfeet-of.fire!..My. burning feet of fire!"
dogged backwoodsman, each sat trembling
White to the very edge of his shirt.
in the depths of his being.
Hank looked stupidly about him like a
child. Dr. Cathcart uttered some kind of
HUS the hours passed; and thus, with unintelligible cry, turning as he did so with
lowered voices and a kind of taut inner an instinctive movement of blind terror
resistance of spirit, this little group of hu- towards the protection of the tent, then
manity sat in the jaws of the wilderness halting in the act as though frozen. Simpand talked foolishly of the terrible and son, alone of the three, retained his pres-
PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG
111
THE WENDIGO
ence of mind a little. His own horror was of uncertain light where fire and shadows
too deep to allow of any immediate re- mingled, not ten feet away; then halted,
action. He had heard that cry before.
staring at them fixedly. The same instant
Turning to his stricken companions, he it started forward again with the spassaid almost calmly:
modic motion as of a thing moved by
"That's exactly the cry I heardthe wires, and coming up closer to them, full
very words he used!"
into the glare of the fire, they perceived
Then, lifting his face to the sky, he cried then thatit was a man; and apparently
aloud, "Defago, Defago! Come down here that this man was^Defago.
to us! Come down!"
Something like a skin of horror almost
And before there was. time for anybody perceptibly drew down in that moment
to take definite action one way or another, over every face, and three pairs of eyes
there came the sound of something drop- shone through it as though they saw
ping heavily between the trees, striking across frontiers of normal vision into the
the branches on the way down, and land- Unknown.
ing with a dreadful thud upon the frozen
Defago advanced, his tread faltering
earth below. The crash and thunder of it and uncertain; he made his way straight
was really terrific.
up to them as a group first, then turned
"That's him, s'help me the good Gawd!" sharply and peered close into the face of
came from Hank in a whispering cry half Simpson. The sound of a voice issued from
choked, his hand going automatically to- his lips:
wards the hunting-knife in his belt. "And
"Here I am, Boss Simpson. I heered
he's coming! He's coming!" he added, with someone calling me." It was a faint, driedan irrational laugh of terror, as the sounds up voice, made wheezy and breathless as
of heavy footsteps crunching over the by immense exertion. "I'm havin' a reglar
snow became distinctly audible, approach- hell-fire kind of a trip, I am." And he
ing through the blackness towards the laughed, thrusting his head forward into
circle of light.
the other's face.
And while the steps, with their stumBut that laugh started the machinery
bling motion, moved nearer and nearer of the group of wax-work figures with
upon them, the three men stood round the wax-white skins. Hank immediately
that fire, motionless and dumb. Dr. Cath- sprang forward with a stream of oaths so
cart had the appearance as of a man sud- far-fetched that Simpson did not recogdenly withered; even his eyes did not move. nize them as English at all, but thought
Hank, suffering shockingly, seemed on "the he had lapsed into Indian or some other
verge again of violent action; yet did lingo. He only realized that Hank's presnothing: He, too, was hewn of stone. Like ence, thrust thus between them, was welstricken children they seemed. The picture comeuncommonly welcome. Dr. Cathwas hideous. And, meanwhile, their owner cart, though more calmly and leisurely,
still invisible, the footsteps came closer, advanced behind him, heavily stumbling.
crunching the frozen snow. It was endless
Simpson seems hazy, as to what was
too prolonged to be quite realthis actually said" and done in those next few
measured and pitiless approach. It was seconds, for the eyes of that detestable
accursed.
and blasted visage peering at such close
quarters into his own utterly bewildered
HEN at length the darkness, having his senses at first. He merely stood still.
thus laborious conceived, brought forth He said nothing. He had not the trained
a figure. It' drew forward into the zone will of the older men that forced them
Bonds A N D Taxes
W i l l Beat the A x i s !
Your Dollars Fight Too!
PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG

112
into action in defiance of all emotional serts that thus might have looked a face
stress. He watched them moving as be- and body that had: been in air so rarified
hind a glass that half destroyed their real- that, the weight of atmosphere being reity; it was dream-like, perverted. Yet, moved, the entire structure threatened to
through the torrent of Hank's meaning- fly asunder and becomeincoherent. . . .
less phrases, he remembers hearing his
It was Hank, though all distraught and
uncle's tone of authorityhard and forced shaking with a tearing volume of emotion
saying several things about food and he could neither handle nor understand,
warmth, blankets, whisky and the rest . . . who brought things to a head without
and, further, that whiffs of that penetrat- much ado. He went off to a little distance
ing, unaccustomed odour, vile, yet sweetly from the fire, apparently so that the light
bewildering, assailed his nostrils during all should not dazzle him too much, and shadthat followed.
ing his eyes for a moment with both
It was no less a person than himself, hands, shouted in a loud voice that held
howeverless experienced and adroit than anger and affection dreadfully mingled:
the others though he waswho gave in"You ain't Ddfaygo! You ain't Defaygo
stinctive utterance to the sentence that at all! I don't give a damn, but that
brought a measure of relief into the ghast- ain;t you, my ole pal of twenty years!"
ly situation by expressing. the doubt and He glared upon the huddled figure as
thought in each one's heart.
though he would destroy him with his
"It isYOU, isn't it Defago?" he asked eyes. "An' if it is I'll swab the floor of
under his breath, horror breaking his hell with a wad of cotton-wool on a toothpick, s'help me the good Gawd!" he added,
speech.
And at once Cathcart burst out with the with a violent fling of horror and disgust.
loud answer before the other had time to
It was impossible to silence him. He
move his lips. "Of course it is! Of course stood there shouting like one possessed,
it is! Onlycan't you seehe's nearly horrible to see, horrible to hearbecause
dead with exhaustion, cold and terror. it was the truth. He repeated himself in
Isn't that enough to change a man beyond fifty different ways, each more outlandish
all recognition?" It was said in order to than the last. The woods rang with echoes.
convince himself as much as to convince At one time it looked as if he meant to
the others. The over-emphasis alone fling, himself upon "the intruder",,for his
proved that. And continually, while he hand continually jerked towards the long
spoke and acted, he held a handkerchief hunting-knife in his belt.
to his nose. That odour pervaded the whole
But in the end he did nothing, and the
camp.
whole tempest completed itself very nearly
For the "Defago" who sat huddled by with tears. Hank's voice suddenly broke,
the big fire, wrapped in blankets, drinking he collapsed on the ground, and Cathcart
hot whiskey and holding food in wasted somehow or other persuaded him at last
hands, was no more like the guide they to go into the tent and lie quiet. The rehad last seen alive than the picture of a mainder of the affair, indeed, was witman of sixty is like a daguerreotype of his nessed by him from behind the canvas,
early youth in the costume of another gen- his white and terrified face peeping
eration. Nothing really can describe that through the crack of the tent door-flap.
ghastly caricature that parody, masqueThen Dr. Cathcart, closely followed by
rading there in the firelight as Defago. his nephew who so far had kept his courFrom the ruins of the dark and awful age better than all of them, went up with
memories he still retains, Simpson declares a determined air and stood opposite to the
that the face was more animal than hu- figure of Defago huddled over the fire. He
man, the features drawn about into wrong looked him squarely in the face and spoke.
proportions, the skin loose and hanging, At first his voice was firm.
as though he had been subjected to extra"Defago, tell us what's happenedjust
ordinary pressures and tensions. It made a little, so that we can know how best to
him think vaguely of those bladder-faces help you?" he asked in a tone of authority,
blown up by the hawkers on Ludgate Hill, almost of command. And at that point, it
that change their expression as they swell, was command. At once afterwards, howand as they collapse emit a faint and wail- ever, it changed in quality, for the figure
ing imitation of a voice. Both face and turned up to him a face so piteous, so tervoice suggested some such abominable re- rible and-so little like humanity, that the
semblance. But Cathcart long afterwards, doctor shrank back from him as from
seeking to describe the indescribable, as- something spiritually unclean. Simpson
PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG
113
THE WENDIGO
watching close behind him says he got the seen my fiery, burning feet! And now
impression of a mask that was on the that is, unless you kin save me an' prevent
verge of dropping off, and that underneath it's 'bout time for"
they would discover something black and
His piteous and beseeching voice was indiabolical, revealed in utter nakedness. terrupted by a sound that was like the
"Out with it, man, out with it!" Cathcart roar of wind coming across the lake. The
cried, terror running neck and neck with trees overhead shook their tangled branchentreaty. "None of us can stand this much es. The blazing fire bent its flames as belonger. . . !" It was the cry of instinct fore a blast. And something swept with
over reason.
a terrific, rushing noise about the little
And then "Defago", smiling whitely, an- camp and seemed to surround it entirely
swered in that thin and fading voice that in a single moment of time. Defago shook
already seemed passing over into a sound the clinging blankets from his body,
turned towards the woods behind, and
of quite another character
"I seen that great Wendigo thing," he with the same stumbling motion that had
whispered, sniffing the air about him ex- brought himwas gone: gone, before anyactly like an animal. "I been with it too" one could move muscle to prevent him,
gone vnth an amazing, blundering swiftHETHER the poor devil would have ness that left no time to act. The darksaid more, or whether Dr. Cathcart ness positively swallowed him; and less
would have continued the impossible cross- than a dozen seconds later, above the roar
examination cannot be known, for at that of the swaying trees and the shout of the
moment the voice of Hank was heard yell- sudden wind, ah three men, watching and
ing at the top of his shout from behind listening with stricken hearts, heard a cry
the canvas that concealed all but his terri- that seemed to drop dpwn upon them
fied eyes. Such a howling was never heard. from a great height of sky and distance
"Oh, oh! This fiery height! Oh, oh!
"His feet! Oh, Gawd, his feet! Look at
My feet of fire! My burning feet of
his great changedfeet!"
Defago, shufBing where he sat, had fire. . . !" then died away, into untold
moved in such a way that for the first space and silence.
Dr. Cathcartsuddenly master of himtime his legs were in full light and his
feet were visible. Yet Simpson had no self, and therefore of the otherswas just
time, himself, to see properly what Hank able to seize Hank violently by the arm as
had seen. And Hank has never seen fit to he tried to dash headlong into the Bush.
tell. That same instant, with a leap like
"But I want ter knowyou!" shrieked
that of a frightened tiger, Cathcart was the guide. "I want ter see! That ain't him
upon him, bundling the folds of blanket at all, but somedevil that's shunted into
about his legs with such speed that the his place. . . !"
young student caught little more than a
Somehow or otherhe admits he never
passing glimpse of something dark and quite knew how he accomplished ithe
oddly massed where moccasined feet ought managed to keep him in the tent and
to have been, and saw even that but with pacify him. The doctor, apparently, liad
uncertain vision.
reached the stage where reaction had set
Then, before the doctor had time to do in and allowed his own innate force to
more, or Simpson time to even think a conquer. Certainly he "managed" Hank
question, much less ask it, Defago was admirably. It was his nephew, however,
standing upright in front of them, balanc- hitherto so wonderfully controlled, who
ing with pain and difficulty, and upon his gave him most cause for anxiety, for the
shapeless and twisted visage an expression cumulative strain had now produced a
so dark and so malicious that it was, in condition of lachrymose hysteria which
made it necessary to isolate him upon a
the true sense, monstrous..
"Now you seen it too," he wheezed, "you bed of boughs and blankets as far removed
SAVING W A S T E P A P E R WILL H E L P W I N T H E
Remember
this-and
WAR!
d o y o u r bit t o b r i n g Victory c l o s e r !
PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG
114
from Hanl^ as was possible under the cir- prehistoric ages, when superstitions, gicumstances.
gantic and uncouth, still oppressed the
And there he lay, as the watches of that hearts of men; when the forces of nature
haunted night passed over the lonely were still untamed, the Powers that may
camp, crying startled sentences, and frag- have haunted a primeval universe not yet
ments of sentences, into the folds of his withdrawn. To this day he thinks of what
blankets. A quantity of gibberish about he termed years later in a sermon "savage
speed and height and fire mingled oddly and formidable Potencies lurking behind
with biblical memories of the class-room. the souls of men, not evil perhaps in them"People with broken faces all on fire are selves, yet instinctively hostile to humancoming at a most awful, awful, pace ity as it exists."
towards the camp!" he would moan one
With his uncle he never discussed the
minute; and the next would sit up and matter in detail, for the barrier between
stare into the woods, intently listening, the two types of mind made it difficult.
and whisper, "How terrible in the wilder- Only once, years later, something led them
ness areare the feet of them that" un- to the frontier of the subjectof a' single
til his uncle came across to change the detail of the subject, rather:
direction of his thoughts and comfort him.
"Can't you even tell me whatthey were
The hysteria, fortunately, proved but like?" he asked; and the reply, though
temporary. Sleep cured him, just as it conceived in wisdom, was not encouraging,
"It is far better you should not try to
cured Hank.
Till the first signs of daylight came, ,soon know, or to find out."
"Wellthat odour?" persisted the
after five o'clock, Dr. Cathcart kept his
vigil. His face was the colour of chalk and nephew. "What do you make of that?"
there were strange flushes beneath the
Dr. Cathcart looked at him and raised
eyes. An appalling terror of the soul bat- his eyebrows. tled with his will all through those silent
"Odours," he replied, "are not so easy as
hours. These were some of the outer sounds and sights of telepathic communisigns. . . .
cation. I make as much, or as little, probAt dawn he lit the fire himself, made ably, as you do yourself."
breakfast, and woke the others, ^ n d by
He was not quite so glib as usual with
seven they were well on their way back to his explanations. That was all.
the home campthree perplexed and afT THE fall of day, cold, exhausted,
flicted men, but each in his own way havfamished, the party came to the end
ing 'reduced his inner turmoil to a condition of more or less systematised order of the long portage and dragged themselves into a camp that at first glimpse
again.
seemed empty. Fire there was none, and
HEY talked little,, and then only of the no Punk came forward to welcome them.
most wholesome and common things, The emotional capacity of all three was
for their minds were charged with painful too over-spent to recognise either surprise
thoughts that clamoured for explanation, or annoyance; but the cry of spontaneous
though no one dared refer to them. Hank, affection that burst from the lips of Hank,
being nearest to primitive conditions, was as he rushed ahead of them towards the
the first to find himself, for he was also fireplace, came prtbably as a warning that
less complex. In Dr. Cathcart "civilisa- the end of the amazing affair was not
tion" championed his forces against an quite yet. And both Cathcart and his
attack singular enough. To this day, per- nephew confessed afterwards that when
haps, he is not quite sure of certain things. they saw' him kneel down in his exciteAnyhow,, he took longer to "find himself." ment and embrace something that reSimpson, the student of divinity, it was clined, gently moving, beside the extinwho arranged his conclusions probably guished ashes, they felt in their very bones
with the best, though not most scientific, that this -"something'!, would.,prove-to.be
appearance of order. Out there, in the Defagothe true Defago returned.
heart of unreclaimed wilderness, they had
And so, indeed, it was.
surely witnessed something crudely and
It is soon told. Exhausted to the point
essentially primitive. Something that had of. emaciation, the French Canadian
survived somehow the advance of human- what was left of him, that isfumbled
ity had emerged terrifically, betraying a among the ashes, trying to make a fire.
scale of life still monstrous and immature. His body crouched there, the weak fingers
He envisaged it rather as a glimpse into obeying feebly the instinctive habit of a
PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG
THE WENDIGO
115
lifetime with twigs and matches. But en. Beneath the eyes there were faint inthere was no longer any mind to direct dications of recent bleeding.
the simple operation. The mind had fled
The details of how he survived the probeyond recall. And with it, too, had fled longed exposure, of where he had been, or
memory. Not only recent events, but all of how he covered the great distance from
previous life was a blank.
one camp to the other, including an imThis time it was the real man, though mense detour of the lake on foot since he
incredibly and horribly shrunken. On his I'ad no canoeall this remains unknown.
face was no expression of any kind what- His memory had vanished completely. And
everfear, welcome, or recognition. He before the end of the winter whose begindid not seem to know who it was that ning witnessed this strange occurrence,
embraced him, or who it was that fed, Defago, bereft of mind, memory and soul,
warmed and spoke to him the words of had gone with it. He lingered only a few
comfort and relief. Forlorn and broken weeks.
beyond all reach of human aid, the little
And what Punk was able, to contribute
man did meekly as he was bidden. The to the story throws no further light upon
"something" that had constituted him "in- it.
dividual" had vanished for ever.
He was cleaning fish by the lake shore
In some ways it was more terribly mov-. about five o'clock in the eveningan hour,
ing than anything they had yet seenthat that is, before the search party returned
idiot smile as he drew wads of coarse moss when he saw this shadow of the guide
from his swollen cheeks and told them picking its way weakly into camp. In adthat he was "a damned moss-eater"; the vance of him, he declares, came the faint
continued vomiting of even the simplest whifl of a certain singular odour.
food; and, worst of all, the piteous and
That same instant 'old Punk started for
childish voice of complaint in which he home. He covered the entire journey of
told them that his feet pained him three days as only Indian blood could have
"burn like fire"which was natural covered it. The terror of a whole race
enough when Dr. Cathcart examined them drove him. He knew what it all meant.
and found that both were dreadfully froz- Defago had "seen the Wendigo."
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PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG
116
(Continued from page 6)

lousy adventure stories," I thought to myseU
without giving it a second glance. Soon afterward, I was in a h u r r y and was desperate for
some reading matter. It was a little stand and
the only thirig that in the least interested me
w a s F.F.M. So I bought a copy. It's one of the
best purchases I ever made, for it introduced
me to hours of t h e most pleasant reading I've
ever had.
I merely glanced at the cover. Hm, not bad.
I looked at t h e ; contents page. "The Golden
City" . . . probably adventure, but what's this
"Into the Infinite"? Sounds interesting. But
it was the sight of the Finlay illustration for
"The Golden City" that really sold me. And
w h e n I saw "Ship of Ishtar" coming up for
February, hallelujah! But you know the rest.
It was not t o be.
All that was just to show you how the p r e s ent title nearly lost you a reader. Change it to
something like Famous Fantasy Classics. You
ought to publish a list of tentative titles and
let the readers vote on them.
Enough for t h e gripes. Wait a minute, I forgot
about trimmed edges. To the person that
doesn't collect magazines, they don't m e a n a
thing. But it you do collect the things, trimmed
edges a r e a blessing. I've had t h e latest issue
of F.F.M. for just about two weeks, b u t I've
got magazines from almost ten years ago that
are in better condition. How about it, h u h ?
I'm pretty sure that that's all the gripes. Now
for things more pleasant to the editor's eyes.
You have maintained the best art staff of any
magazine. Finlay was superb, naturally. P a u l
was fine as long as he stuck to things sciencefictional. Bok hasn't really cut loose yet. His
"King in Yellow" drawings w e r e fine, though.
I'm waiting for h i m to m a k e with the full page
drawings. W h e n h e really works on a picture,
it's a masterpiece.
L a w r e n c e is a good illustrator, b u t I wish h e
would get back to that fine shaded style h e
used in Astonishing and Super
Science.
T h a n k s for printing those stories of Hodgson's. Some more of his I would like to see in
F.F.M. are: "The Boats of the Glen Carrig,"
"The House on the Borderland," "The Night
L a n d " and "Carnacki, the Ghost Finder." M a y be you could print some individual stories
from t h e latter.
Some Blackwood would be appreciated.
"The Willows," "The Wendigp," "An Episode
in a Lodging House," "The Listener," and some
stories from "Incredible Adventures." Maybe
a tale or two from "John SilencePhysician
Extraordinary," too.
Maybe some of the stories of Montague
Rhodes J a m e s could be obtained.
A n d last, b u t certainly not least, A r t h u r
Machen. Some of his I would like you to print
are: "The Three Impostors," "The Novel of
" t h e Black Seal," "Novel of the White Powder,"
"The Red Hand," and "The Shining Pyramid,"
and "The Great God Pan."
(Suggestions b y courtesy of Lovecraft's
"Supernatural Horror in Literature.")
Finally I arrive at the March '44 issue. I won't
t r y to r a n k the two stories. I don't think I
could do it fairly until I r e a d "The Man Who

Was Thursday" at least two or t h r e e times.
It's a finely written story, and a classic, b u t
when you start reading it, you can't tell where
t h e story is leading. When I started, I thought
I was reading a mystery story. B u t t h a t end,
it left m e wondering just w h a t h a d happened.
But I liked the thing tremendously.
" T h e ' G h o s t Pirates" w a s a classic, in m y
opinion. The shadow that h u n g over the ship,
the first faint manifestations, and t h e n the increasing boldness of the creatures of the sea,
and then the final, overwhelming catastrophe
gave it atmosphere that is seldohi equaled.
There were innumerable touches that added to
t h e atmosphere of the story. T h e silence that
surrounded the ship, the disappearing lights,
the mist, and the ships in t h e sea were the
touches of a genius. I s u r e hope you give us
some of his other stories, such as t h e above.
I think you should devote a full page to next
month's story. Give it more space t h a n one of
the detective story advertisements. That'brings
up another point. How come detective stories
continue to be monthlies while our fine literary
magazine has to be a m e r e quarterly? I know
there's a terrific paper, shortage, b u t those other
things seem to keep going same as ever. It's
a conspiracy.
That's about all for this time, except to offer
you thanks. Thanks for introducing m e to Merritt, whose death I deeply m o u r n along with
all lovers of fantasy, l l i a n k s for the stories ,
that have graced your pages throughout
F.F.M.'s existence. Since I began reading
F.F.M., I've managed to get all b u t five or six
issues. Some day I'll go over t h e whole bunch
and m a k e a list of my favorites for m y own
amusement. Thanks for introducing m e to
J o h n Taine. He's become one of m y favorites.
How about getting someone to finish M e r ritt's stories? I nominate C. L. Moore, b u t w h o ever you get, give them plenty of time.
I could go on like that indefinitely, b u t I
think I'd better bring this to an end. In closing, bring back the reprints, go bi-monthly or
monthly, m a k e with the t r i m m e d edges, and
change the name.
A faithful reader,
STANLEY SKIRVIN.
STAR ROUTE, LICKING P I K E ,
NEWPORT, KENTUCKY
P.S. I need Nov. 12 and Nov. 26, 1938 issues

of Argosy, containing the 3rd and 5th parts of
Merritt's "Ship of Ishtar." Can anyone help?
" T H U R S D A Y " INCREDIBLY GOOD
This current issue is a knock-put! Handsome
cover, superb interior art, splendid fiction, a
long "Reader's Viewpoint"ahhh! Lawrence is
really excellent; I've liked his w o r k since h e
first appeared in Astonishing or Super Science,
and he has surpassed himself in t h e March
issue. I only hope he keeps up this high s t a n d ardand I do not think he imitates Finlay;
there is some resemblance, b u t Lawrence's
style' is quite distinctive. T h e first drawings
for both novels are especially handsome (that
for the Hodgson story suggesting the m a g n i -
PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG
117
THE READERS',VIEWPOINT
to say, the story renewed the old axiom about
ficently grisly work of Harry Clarkehave
you seen his illustrations of Poe and Wilde?).. the editor knowing best.
I'd be willing to wager a tidy sum that "The
And X notice a curious symbolism in the picture of the Professor hobbling through the Man Who Was Thursday" will evoke, quite an
snow:- his shadow is backwards! If you can argument among the readers. Some^like mycontinue to get drawings from Bok I certainly selfare going to praise it to the skies; others
will have no complaints on the score of the are going to condemn it as pointless drivel.
art-work.
Some few stories^Merritt's "Moon Pool,"
"The Man Who Was Thursday" really isn't Burroughs' first Mars trilogy, Clark Ashton
fcuitasy, in the sense in which we fans use the Smith's "Second Internment"hit the reader
word, but it certainly has a fantastic atmos- with a solid impact; stating flatly that here is a
-' phere and plenty of strangeness^more impor- real classic. Others sort of grow on one; and
tant, it is so incredibly good I wouldn't have it is to this latter category that the Chesterton
the heart to object to your publishing it even tale belongs. I've read it twice alreadyhigh
if it were less closely allied to the fantasy field. praise in itself.
I'm not entirely clear yet on just who Sunday
The story is an amazing mixture of dead
was, but as of now I think of him as an em- seriousness and mad, incongruous humorand,
bodiment of Nature, the Cosmos, in its totality, underlying it all, an elusive something that
partly beneficent and partly inimical. If Ches- counts for more than the story itself, beautiterton wrote any more stories suitable for fully written as it was. Yes, and whoor what
F J.M., let's have them, by all means.
was Sunday? Or was he anything? Usually
I regret to say I do not consider "The Ghost an author gives some hint in the story as to a
Pirates" a truly great story; it simply fciiled to person like this, but if Chesterton did so here
excite me. Still, it was scary and well written, he did it subtly enough to escape detection
with a remarkable atmosphere of reality. I after two careful readings. He mentions Pan
could have dispensed with some of the more several timesbut, obviously, Sunday is not
technical passages, but perhaps they helped Pan. Nor can he be Satan, it seems to me.
. Early in the story it became clear that the
create atmosphere. The story impressed me
very favorably, you understand, but not nearly council was nothing more nor less than detecso much as the Chesterton novel. I'm still tives, and that Svmday and the man in the dark
room were the same. Only one point remained
anxious to read "The Night Land." . . .
be cleared up: why? Upon-finishing the
Delighted to learn that "The Greatest Adven- to
story, it still remains an enigma. The reader
^
ture" comes next; I hope you will reprint all gets
an inkling; nothing more. But enough of
of Taine's novels (though perhaps the percent- thisChesterton
hereby given an honored
age of fantasy in "The Gold Tooth" and "The seat in my Hall ofisFame,
and three loud, rousPurple Sapphire" isn't large enough to justify ing cheers.
their reprinting, good though they are).
Lawrence caught the mood of the story beauAnent the recent suggestion that you secure
the magazine rights to Lovecraft's "The Dream- tifully, I thought, both on the cover'tis accuQuest of Unknown Kadath," I'd like to say I've rate, lo and behold!and on the interior. The
read this novel and believe it belongs in F.F.M. picture of the old man on Page 33 was esIt is easily one of H.P.L.'s very finest works, pecially fine. When Lawrence was introduced
and should be made more generally available. to fantasy some time back, in Super Science
This issue's "Reader's Viewpoint" contains a and Astonishing I knew he would go places
suggestion that you use the fantasies of Arthur and he isbut fast!
William Hope Hodgson's "The Ghost Pirates"
Machen. I second the motion, most emphatically. Also, how about Chambers' "The Maker was a terrific flop after "The Derelict." It was
incredibly crude in writing, and overall ridicuof Moons"?
Also in this issue I notice a letter from "Pvc. lous. The repeated phrases "My God!" and
Paul H. Spence." Dear me. I can understand "you know" just about drove me nuts. Nor did
how "Spencer" might look like "Spence" in the asinine mass of sea lingo help the story any
my abominable handwriting, but where on such a thing can be overdone. To steal a
earth did you dig up "Pvc"? That's a rank I phrase from the authorMy God!
The letter department was excellent as usual,
hadn't heard about!
and I was especially glad to see the various reBest wishes for a most prosperous future.
quests for some . of Edgar Rice Burroughs'
PFC. PAUL H . SPENCER.
stories^for he holds a sort of special place on
my list of favorites. Burroughs wrote a great
FANTASY'S PRIDEF.F.M.
many novels, most of which are excellent. But,
The March F.F.M. struck me as being a rath- like any human being, he slipped occasionally
er surprising combination of the very good and produced some hack that reeks of mediocand the very poor. And, strangely enough, the rity. The- suggested "Ben, King of Beasts"
two novels placed exactly opposite from what I sounds as it it might well be one of his less
thought they would upon procuring this issue. notable efforts. However, titles are often rftisWhen I read the blurb in the last issue anent leading"The Monster Men," for example, is
rather crude name, but the story certainly
Chesterton's "The Man Who Was Thursday," awas
a humdinger.
. / I could not for the life of me figure out why
Personally, if any of E.R.B.'s work is to be
- such a story had been selected for a magazine
such as F.F.M. I thought that perhaps Ye presented in F.F.M., I would prefer one of the
Editore had made a ghastly mistake. Needless Martian yarns. Almost all of them have ap-
PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG
118
peared in magazines, however. I'm not sure

about "Swords of Mars." But, at any rate, anything by Burroughs would be most welcome
and get J. Allen St. John to illustrate it. Ha
just call me The Dreamer. . . .
Other requests: Anything by Merritt, policy
or no; monthly publication now; Hannes Bok
on the cover; continued sky-high quality in
fantasy's pride and joy, Famous Fantastic
Mysteries.
into strange lands of make-believe and shared

his adventures of the mind?
Yours in fantasy,
NANEK
MRS. CARL ANDERSON.
1109 S. 22D STREET.
MILWAUKEE, (4) Wise.
WELCOMING "GREATEST ADVENTURE"
CHAD OLIVER.
There are a number of things I want to mention in this letter, the first being the current
(March, '44) issue. I wrote to you some time
ago, right after reading the announcement of
the scheduled "The Man Who Was Thursday,"
OBJECTION
and told you it didn't sound so good. I owe
A more, inane, asinine, pointless, disjointed your judgement an apology. "T M W W T" is
unreadable, uninteresting, idiotic story in the truly excellent, a fine fantasy, beautifully writfantastic field I have never read than "The ten and definitely deserving a place in F.F.M.
Man Who Was Thursday."
Oddly enough, on the other hand, I was
I dare say you won't publish this letter, and somewhat disappointed i n "The Ghost Pirates."
I can't say I'll blame you, but why a magazine It's nicely written, building up an atmosphere
whose stories are usually good would publish of eeriness and suspense, but in the final analysuch a story, and how G. K. Chesterton could sis, it's just a short storya very longan
write such a one is beyond me.
unnecessarily long short story^but not a novel
To say I was disappointed and disillusioned or novelette in any sense of the word. I hope
would hardly express my feelingsÎ was flab- Hodgson's other books are less drawn out and
bergasted that such a downright awful story. more plotty than this one. . . . This issue, by
would appear in your magazine.
the way, is the first issue which is 100% new
My htmiblest apologies to Mr. Chesterton, to me.
but my letter was unavoidable.
I'm glad to see "The Greatest Adventure" by
I sincerely hope that in the future you will John Taine scheduled for the next issue, even
not continue such actions.
though I've read it several times. It's a fine
In the meantime I remain.
fantastic novel, truly one of the best.
Wishfully yours,
L. A. E.
3956 LEDGEWOOD,
CINCINNATI, OHIO.
JUDY WALKER.
ROUTE 12, Box 1160,
HOUSTON, TEXAS.
A. MERRITT^
I confess that 1 cried like a baby when I got
your confirmation of Merritt's death. I have
just been reading over "Dwellers in the Mirage"
and for the first time I really appreciated it . . .
perhaps because we never appreciate the sotirce
of the spring until it runs dry. And suddenly
I am overwhelmed with grief . . . grief for
splendid, Lur and her creator. But it is selfish
of us to grieve his pleasure, for let us think of
him hunting with the shadow pack of white
Dahut: now he rests awhile with Lur beside the
lake of ghosts, and the scream of the falcon is
stilled, the drums are silent there in the Usunhi'yi, darkening land. Or yet in Yu-Atlanchi
beneath the purple gaze of the serpent woman,
under the spell of Adana, (and I have often
wondered if Merritt did not transplant her bodily from the myths of India's past, make her
the last of the Nagi, the sacred serpent race,
half-brothers to the gods.)
And yet again he dwells a space beyond the
Dragon Glass, and the menace removed, forever
happy. Yes, in what strange Valhalla that has
received his splendid pagan spirit, does he
, dwell? Our grief is selfish, we cannot weep for
him, but for ourselves, for the loss is ours. His
niche in literature must remain forever empty,
for who could master the art of writing as
Merritt mastered it, until one went with him
WANTS MORE HODGSON

H'm-m ; . . I believe I can construct a letter
of sorts from various parts of the letters appearing in the March issue of Famous Fantastic
Mysteries.
Ben Indick's lament on the old guard is
wrong in one respect. Clark Ashton Smith,
author of superb fantasy, is still with us. If
Ben includes a young one like Weinbaum in
his list of immortals, then I think that the older
Smith rightfully belongs in the line-up of the
old guard. I also humbly suggest that Clark
Ashton Smith complete the three partially written Merrittales, with the possible co-operation
of August W. Derleth, himself no mean craftsman of fantasy gems. Then Private Paul H.
Spencer need have no fear of Merritt's unfinished legacies being "completed" by some hack.
Let all of us get behind my suggestion and
never relax for a moment xmtil it becomes a
reality. Then our senses will revel in priceless
Merrittmagic! "When Old Gods Wake," "White
Road," interlocking worlds . . . Ahhh!!
Ho! Bob Smith! Someone who at last agrees
with me about Burroughs in F.F.M.
You dream of an "Argosied" Famous Fantastic Mysteries," Private Paul? The very
thought of it gives me a nightmare!
Does John Taine really have several unpublished novels, besides his six published ones?
If so, make him come across!
C. L. Moore's "Doorway Into Time" is one of
the best shorts of all time! Utterly alien in
PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG
THE READERS' VIEWPOINT

concept a n d composition and in viewpoint!
If B r a d b u r y writes more like "King of the
G r a y Spaces" the fans will have a n author they
* can depend on and look forward to.
T h e Hodgson stories you've printed so far
whet m y appetite for more. Let us have "The
Night Land," "The House on t h e Borderland."
None of Tiffany Thayer's despicable b l a s phemies in F.F.M. please, Charles Wolfe.
"Fantasy Classics" is the best new title for
F.F.M. of those suggested by the readers.
It's very interesting to note that almost all
of the readers differ in rating t h e various
tales from "King in Yellow." I wonder which
one I'll choose, if and w h e n I have time to
r e a d t h e book, which reposes in m y library.
T h e new owners of F.F.M. would do well to
t h r o w their no reprint policy in t h e wastebasket
a n d allow some reprints. Famous books, famous reprints, exceptional new stories and
monthly publication would m a k e F.F.M. a
"Heaven on Earth"!
Ben Indick states his viewpoint nicely; I'll
p u t it this way: So m a n y Love, Western a n d
Detective magazines a r e published they m a k e
t h e newsstand sag!
I'm not making a vicious, u n w a r r a n t e d attack
on the types of magazines mentioned above b u t
there's too m a n y of t h e m a n d there's only one
Famous Fantastic Mysteries, which we should
have more often.
J. WASSO J R .
^
^
119 JACKSON AVE.

P E N AEGYL, PENNA.
H E L P F U L CRITICISM
This is t h e last letter you'll read from t h e
h a n d of the great B. Indick, civilian.
Yep, that erstwhile critic of fantasy a n d
staunch supporter of F.F.M. is A r m y bound.
Now to get down to business! First of all, I
am somewhat suspicious of this "Indick
Approves" stuff as title of m y letter in last Viewpoints. Do I see a suggestion of sarcasm? I
m a y sound like it b u t I really don't think I am
"the great I." When I m a k e a suggestion or a
gripe, I mean it^în a helpful sense. I just want
to keep our mag u p t h e r e at the top of the field.
As for the March '44 issue:
1. Stories.
Two book-length novels! In the possible
words of G. K. Chestrton himself"Capital!
Bally, indeed!"
(a.) "Man Who Was Thursday."
did I say I didn't w a n t this tale? Gad,
b u t I was wrong! It was a honeyfascinating
throughout . . . full of suspense, mystery, fantasy, fine writingeverythhig! I liked the leisu r e l y style in which the story was told. Slowly
it develops to the reader that all the " a n a r chists" are really government agents . . . only
Sunday remains a mystery . . . there is the d e n o u e m e n t . . . no, I cannot comment on this
story without another reading. But I can praise
highly the constant suspense, the hectic crosscountry chase.
Think w h a t a great motion pictiu:e could be
m a d e from this novel^particularly by Alfred
Hitchcock!
119
If you h a v e any more novels like this in y o u r

bag of possible novels, t h e n kindly pop out with
'em!
(b.) "The Ghost Pirates."
This novel rounded out t h e issue very well.
It was an o u t - a n d - o u t ghost story, something
very r a r e in F.F.M. It w a s quite similar to
one of Edgar Allan Poe's tales (I think it was
",MSS. F o u n d in a Bottle.") Nevertheless, I w a s
somewhat disappointed in the tale. P e r h a p s
because it was " o u t - a n d - o u t " ghost stxjiS. I n
m y humble opinion, it didn't compare with
Fisher's "Ship of Silent Men"; m a y b e this is
because a shorter story can pack a greater
punch. I found t h a t t h e story did not completely engross meit did not hold one as did t h e
Chesterton tale. However, one might say that
certain parts of t h e Hodgson story were g r i p ping.
As Lovecraft said, "It sometimes reaches e n viable peeiks of power." The story never lags,
and I particularly liked the descriptions of t h e
ghost ship. Yes, on reconsideration, I'll say the
story is quite good!
Which means t h a t I hope you'll b e able to
get more Hodgson tales. The story entitled
"The Night L a n d " sounds good as described b y
Lovecraft in his "Supernatural Horror in Literature," and "The House on t h e Borderland"
is described b y H . P X . as W.H.H.'s greatest
story.
2. Illustrations.
Terrific ! ! Wonderful! Etc!
Lawrence really comes into his own in this
issue; the cover is not only an excellent piece
of symbolism, b u t a fine piece of drawing. T h e
style is exactly Finlay's. I really can't get over
this cover; it ranks, in m y opinion, with F i n lay's best symbolic cover . . . that for "The
Elixir of Hate." It is also incomparably better
t h a n the "caveman" cover on the December
issue. . . . Chessboard, pawnsah! What a
cover!
A n d the interior illustrations! Almost w i t h out exception, they a r e wonderfid. The two
frontispieces, the "evil old man," and t h e "ghost
ship" were t h e best. Though the latter was
sketchy, it was darned good. But the "evU old
m a n " stole the show for me; the meticulous
care, the thought behind itall excellent. A n d
the opener for "T M W W T"or should I say
"eye-opener"!^well, it was simply great. I
realize I'm tossing superlatives around, b u t I
feel Lawrence really deserves them!
I won't comment on the Tribute to Merritt,
as this is not called for. As you indicate, he is
irreplaceable. His stories can never be forgotten b y the fans. Incidentally, it is a shame
that all the rest of his stories cannot be p r e sented in Famous Fantastic Mysteries because
his work helped m a k e it a great magazine.
As for next month's (ha, ha . . . month!)
story, it sounds entertaining. At any rate, it will
be interesting as Taine always is.
A n d w h e r e is t h e Editor's page? G r - r !
Letters Dept.
Thanks for editing m y letter so deftly, b u t
in the editing you lost one meaning . . . t h a t
in t h e last paragraph; true, I said fantasy w a s
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120
MYSTERIES
popular long before c u t - a n d - d r i e d sciencefiction, and that there is not much likelihood
for more "Blind Spots" to appear . . . b u t I
gave a hope that a writer miglit appear to give
us a story of this type, combining S - F with fantasy . . . writing to m a k e a really beautiful
adult story. Who can forget t h e girl, of t h e
moonbeams . . . or t h e weariness of the "explorers of the u n k n o w n " (to use a trite p h r a s e ) .
After all, this story is n o more dated t h a n one
fresh off the prolific hands of a hack of today "
. . . isn't there anyone who will take time and
thought and t u r n out a new great classic?
Stanley G. Weinbaum was the last great author
of S-F who was capable of building a masterpiece . . . his "Dawn of F l a m e " shows that it
wasn't t h e p e n n y - a - w o r d h e w a s after, b u t the
quality. . . . Yes, maybemaybe there won't
be any more "Blind Spots" coming . . . b u t we
can hope!
Incidentally, don't neglect "The King in
Yellow."
The black background on t h e cover looked
swell! Let's keep it there. . . . H o w about some
more stories by C. L. Moore? The short fantasy which she gave us in the September issue
was, after all, a mere indication of h e r power
and style. A story by this authoress of the
length of "The Ghost Pirates" would, I think,
be excellent. When "Earth's Last Citadel," by
Miss Moore and Mr. K u t t n e r , appeared in
Argosy I felt that much of it was similar to the
style of Merritt or Hall. How about it . . . canC
w e get a book from C.L.M.?
B E N INDICK.
MERRITT THE
FINEST
A friend of mine and I have been partners

(so to speak) in the realm of fantasy and science-fiction for three years and w e would like
to acquaint you with some of our-views r e g a r d ing Famous Fantastic
Mysteries.
Only recently did w e begin to r e a d y o u r
magazine when the December '42 issue came
into our hands. Since then w e have been fortunate in securing almost every issue of F.F.M.
and F.N. Due to these magazines I have come
to prefer fantasy to science-fiction, and I feel
that my friend has too. When w e read of your
change in policy we were inclined to be s o m e what infuriated as we had been enjoying those
Munsey classics. However, "Ark of F i r e "
cooled us off a little, (there was a story) b u t
"The Iron Star," which would have been a t o p notch story in any other magazine, was only
average according to the standard of F.F.M.,
and neither of us thought very m u c h of "Three
Go Back." We are pretty well agreed, though,
that "The Derelict" is one of the finest shorty
stories w e ever read. Please keep Hodgson
coming. And those selections from "The King
in Yellow" aren't halt bad either.
We noted with sorrow the death of A. Merritt. He was the finest author fantasy has ever
seen, and his passing closes a great era of fantasy.
B u t the real purpose of this letter is to d i s -
PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG

cuss the question of reprints; This has become
by far the most widely talked about in your
excellent reader's column. My friend and I wish
to come out in favor of reprints for the same
reasons so well expressed by such fans as G. H.
Laird, E. V. Albright, and C. M. Hinote. But
we would like to add one or two arguments
of our own.
We don't ask you to give up your new policy
altogether, but wouldn't it be possible to compromise, as has already been suggested, and
have, say, every other issue made up of reprints?
If you do agree to publish some reprints,
(happy day) the first I'd like to see would be
"Ship of Ishtar." It would take the place of
that new Merrittale we'll never get. It might
interest you to know that that story has been
asked for at least 40 times and the only other
story near that record is the request for the
complete "Moon Pool."
Sic maximum Merrittes est.
Yours in fantasy,
A. E. METZGER.
1750 DAVIDSON AVE.,
BRONX, 53, NEW YORK.
HODGSON FAN
While not up to the par of some previous issues, the March edition was good reading. I
thoroughly enjoyed the "Ghost Pirates." Hodgson is a master at weaving an eerie atmosphere
of fear and suspense. It was every bit as good
as the "Derelict," which was tops.
While a very interesting story, I do not believe "The Man Who Was Thursday" is the least
bit a fantastic mystery; rather an excellently
written classic detective story. A bit too much
allegory, and far too little fantasy.
May I make a plea? Please, two or three
short stories and one long per issue in preference to two novelettes.
More "King in Yellow." They are your best.
Lawrence is okay. He did splendid work this
issue, but wasn't the gown in the cover drawing the wrong color? I believe your cover title
would be more impressive in electric blue and
white, rather than yellow and red.
Any chance of your appearing every two
months?
Any chance of a Munsey tale or one of Merritt's unfinished ones?
I believe that Pvt. Berry will find that Neanderthal,and not Cro-Magnon is usually the
"bestial monstrosity of time travel yarns."
Cro-Magnon is considered the direct forerunner
of homo-sapiens and many people believe the
Basques are his direct descendants. I'm afraid
the author of "Three Go Back" placed his
story too early to coincide with their existence.
It's too bad "The Land That Time Forgot" is
too long to publish. That's a real fantastic mystery.
I don't anticipate "The Great Adventure,"
' but I'm sure its companions will be good. It
sounds too much like a trite plot weighed down
with blood and thunder.
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NEW ZEALAND SPEAKING

I have not been able to' buy F.F.M. since the
end of 1940, and not lintil recently have I made
contacts which enable me to get a stray copy
now and then. Anyway, I have the December
'43 issue and have just finished reading it and
I'ni going to tell you what I think about it
wHether you like it or not.
I'm very sorry about the new policy, although I realize, of course, that it can't be
helped; but surely you could stretch a point
and print "The Ship of Ishtar"; this, in my
opinion, is second only to "The Metal Monster"
among Merritt's stories, and I am sure there are
thousands of readers who would welcome this
story. I suggest, too, that you reprint "Green
Mansions," by W. H. Hudson; this story speaks
for itself.
Your magazine has suffered a great loss now
that Finlay has gone; I hope that you can get
him back occasionally; Lawrence at his best is
not a patch on Finlay, who, I am sure,- will be
sadly missed by everyone; the current cover is
not bad, but it doesn't compare very favorably
with Finlay's masterpieces, nor is it in any
way fantastic that I can see; nevertheless, it
could be a lot worse, and at least it is not
dazzlingly gaudy like a good many pulp covers
are. Nor can Lawrence handle dotwork and
cross-hatching the same way as Finlay can.
For this reason the illustration for "King of the
Gray Spaces" is not so good as it might have
been.
I was very pleased with Bok's artwork for
"The Mask," although no artist-will ever be
equal to Finlay in my estimation; these are
about the best of Bok's that I have ever seen,
although 1 have seen very little, comparatively,
of his work; by all means give him plenty to
do; let him illustrate a novel, but don't let him
get lazy as some of his work is a long way
below his best. I suggest that you have him
do a nice cut for the contents page, or else use
a reproduction of the first cover that Finlay
did for you; I think that this would -be an improvement over the'lettering that you have at
present. Please, too, have plenty of full-page
illustrations.
Concerning the lettering on the cover: why
not cut out the spark effect and include more
of'the cover picture? I think Famous Fantasy
would be a better title, too, than the present
one.
Now, to the stories: I enjoyed "Three Go
Back" as I read it, but I think it will be quite
a long time before I feel like reading it again;
whereas, when I read one of Merritt's tales I'm
able to go back to it again and again and get
the same enjoyment from it at each re-reading;
this tale lacked those little climaxes, moments
PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG

of suspense, clashes of personality, wonderful
half-veiled suggestions which go so much to
make a story, such as, say "The Conquest of
the Moon Pool," so wonderfully and indescribably entertaining.
Even so, this tale was enjoyable and the
philosophy expressed all through was very
pleasing indeed; moreover, this is one timetraveling story that was convincing, and to me
it is usually very hard to swallow this type.
The author seems to have a different slant on
time-travel, too; at least this tale was out of
the usual run; refreshing, anyway. Please be
a little more careful in what you say in the
"blurb"; the three castaways did not wage a
fight to get back again; the same with "The
Derelict." The Bheotpte was not the living ship.
Surely there's no need for errors like this.
"The Derelict" was all right, but 1 could tell
what was going to happen before I had got very
far into it; rather obvious; the background did
help, though, just as you mention in your little
editor's piece in "The Reader's Viewpoint."
"The Mask" is surprisingly enjoyable for so
old a story; please have some more of this
series; I don't get this "King in Yellow" angle,
though; perhaps I'd know what heit?was
if I'd read "The Yellow Sign."
"King of the Gray Spaces" is very good for
so short a story; it is sincere, somehow, and
arouses sympathy; but, please remember that
your magazine is for fantasy, so don't have too
much Science-Fiction, please.
Quite a few good letters in "The Reader's
Viewpoint." Keep this feature up by all means,
and be sure to print plenty of letters.
I hope that you will print this letter, as I'd
like to have some pen-friends in the States;
anyone good enough to write a lonely NZ fan
can be sure of a prompt reply.
I think I've said enough for now.
ElECTROniCS
TElEUISIOn
now.'
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WANTS F.F.M. MONTHLY

I read the last two issues of Famous Fantastic
Mysteries. So this is my first letter to you.
First, I think you are doing an injustice to the
readers. Why do you go quarterly? I see no
adequate reason. Plenty of good mags go
monthly still. Four issues per year is horrible.
Every letter I read in your mag tells you to go
monthly. And yet you do nothing. That's curious. Come one now, have some consideration
for us fans. Now on to the March issue. "The
Man Who Was Thursday" was excellent. Can
you supply us with more of Chesterton? "The
Ghost Pirates" was all right. I don't like sea
stories, though. The art work is grand. Lawrence is wonderful. (Yow, what praise! I can't
help it anyway.) Bok is sometimes a little "off
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123
IT SPELLS TOPS!
taut of all, where can you buy- it? I've looked

and looked and walked and walked but to no
avail. Okay I better sign off now because my
time is rimning short. Please, don't forget, go
monthly again or at least bi-monthly please.
HERBY BELL.
2195 EAST 22ND ST.,
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
imction!
FROM THE NAVY
R omance!
G
lorious Adventure!
utstandingly different
J ^ tories and articles by

M.our favorite authors!
This is a note of praise for "The Man Who

Was Thursday" which rates with me for the
following reasons:
1. It was an academic masterpiece from the
.literary standpoint.
2. liie characters were fascinating.
3. The idea was truly unique.
4. The story had a depth of philosophy that
appealed to me^for I dearly love a story that
has more than a glittering surface.
I'll wager your sea and ghost story was a
classic, too, but before I read it I let a fellow
sailor talk me into lending it to him. Then
the ornery cuss let someone tear the magazine
up. Now I must dig up another copy before I
can let you know what I think of the story.
Since I'm in the Navy that won't be easy^jut
I'll try to get a copy, and if I do you may be
certain 111 express myself concerning it.
Rosio D. WRIGHT, A* S.
HAWKINS FAN
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124
P R O D . CO.,
c
This is the first time I have written a letter to
your publication and hope that you will accept
a few criticisms.
Of the four issues you have published I think
Hawkins' "Ark of Fire" was the best, followed
by Taine's "Iron Star," and "King of the Gray
Spaces" by Bradbury. Your latest issue was
inferior to previous issues mainly because of
its uninteresting novel, "The Man Who Was
Thursday."
I, as many others, am in favor of reprints as
well as never before published magazine stories.
Reprints I would be glad to see are Cummings
"Princess of Light Country," "Fire Planet,"
and "Tama, Princess of Mercury." Also Taine's
"Before the Dawn" and "Green Fire." And
possibly some of Burroughs old short stories
and Merritt's "Ship of Ishtar."
In answer to one of your readers questions,
Arkham House Publishers' address is just Sauk
City, Wisconsin, t can supply your readers
with Merritt's "Moon Pool," "Burn Witch
Bum" and "Seven Footprints to Satan" in book
form, the latter two being first editions and
the former second. I may add that I can also
supply many SF and Fantasy magazines including F.F.M. and F.N. and many books.
FREDERICK I. ORDWAY.
MERRITT AND TAINE FAN

I always read the Readers' Viewpoint and
find the letters very interesting, especially because so many agree with me about Merritt's
works. The most fascinating stories in the world
PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG

to me. I was very sorry to hear of h i s ' d e a t h .
T h e r e will never b e another like him.
Now I would like to m a k e a complaint about
t h e last issue, which I think had the worst
story yet printed. It j u s t simply h a d no appeal
to me whatever. I feel that my twenty-five
cents would have been wasted ijE it were not
for "The Ghost Pirates," which certainly was a
weird story.
Of course everybody doesn't like the same
stories, b u t "The Man Who Was Thursday" w a s
very uninteresting, in my opinion. I didn't
care much for "Three Go Back," either. "The
Iron Star" was good. I liked the characters
especially the poor Captain. "The A r k of F i r e "
was good, too. It seems an awfully long time
to wait for t h e n e x t issue, b u t it sounds interesting.
I have all t h e Famous Fantastic
Mysteries
and Fantastic Novels with the exception of t h e
ones containing "The Moon Pool," the second
part of "The Conquest of the Moon Pool" and
"Through the Dragon Glass."
I can't understand w h y you won't print
stories that have appeared in magazines before.
How are w e to get "Jason, Son of Jason" or
"Minos of Sardanes"?
I have been reading fantastic stories ever
since I was ten years old, starting in with a
copy of an old Argosy, containing "The W a r lord of Mars" by Edgar Rice Burroughs. I waited years before I ever got the end of it. My
favorites of all t h e fantasties I ever read are
"The Face in t h e Abyss" and "The Snake
Mother," "Dweller in t h e Mirage" and "The
Conquest of t h e Moon Pool." I would also like
to p u t in a note asking for an issue containing
these two latter stories.
I never expect to miss a copy of F.F.M.' so
long as I have a quarter.
PMIVacc u m i i l a t e d
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P . H. MALONE.
R. 1, Box 577
EUREKA, CALIFORNIA
" G H O S T P I R A T E S " PRAISED

The March issue of F.F.M. was reviewed by
three fans and myself h e r e in Buffalo and w e
rated the stories as: "The Man Who Was T h u r s day"7; "The Ghost Pirates"8.5. I, myself,
was a bit disappointed with "T M W W T" as
the story was more like a detective story, a l though I enjoyed Hodgson's piece.
I enjoyed Mr. Charles Wolfe's letter and think
that you could p u t out a companion magazine
with the Munsey classics.
The illustrations were fine as usual. I hope
that J o h n Taine novel, coming next issue, will
be better t h a n his "Iron Star."
Again I wish to state that I have complete
files of F,^.M. a n d F.N. to swap.
Also I am publishing the newest fanzine out
"Microcosmos."
Keep u p t h e good w o r k a n d t r y to go m o n t h ly. How about some h a r d - t o - g e t stories by
Ashby, Blackwood and Bierce?
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such as " B u m , Witch, B u m ! " "Creep, Shadow!"
"The Afterglow," "Radio Planet a n d t h e Ant
Men." After finishing off these stories in a few
hours, I went out bought t h e December issue of
your mag. It (the December issue) a n d t h e
March, 1944 w e r e very good, although, t h e
story 'The M a n Who Was T h u r s d a y " w a s a
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TRIBUTE TO MERRITT
There a r e no words to use; h e m e a n t more
to some of u s t h a n just a m a n or a writer of
stories.. A. Merritt filled a need t h a t is present
in all of us "children who never grow u p . " I t
seems, after reading h i m that h e h a s topped
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it with t h e glamour, beauty, a n d power of d e scription that only he possessed. His loss is
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Certainly, you owe it to Merritt a n d to your
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have not been given u s to date. Though t h e
loss of t h e Munsey reprints is a blow to m a n y
of us, still you a r e doing a n excellent job with
your n e w source of material. My small congratulations! May I second any requests for
A r t h u r Machen and Sax Rohmer? A n d please
^-more C. L. Moore a n d J o h n Taine! If t h i ^
should see print, m a y I request correspondents?
PAUL L E W I S MCCLEAVE.
661 58TH ST.,
BROOKLYN, N . Y .
ON NEW MERRITT MATERIAL

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at all t h e good fantasy w o r k s it cuts outforever (?)of F.F.M. Couldn't, you have one
M u n s e y reprint e v e r y . o t h e r month?
Since F.F.M. is a quarterly now (because of
t h e war, no doubt) w h y don't y o u h a v e Spring,
Summer, A u t u m n , and Winter numbers, i n stead of March, etc., which m a y lead one to b e lieve t h a t there were issues in between which
h a v e been missed?
W h y not call F.F.M. "Classics of F a n t a s y " as
suggested by W. A. Carrithers?
I see no reason to get excited over " A r k of
Fire." The plot is so old"plot B . "
Bok's illustrations for "The Mask" were good.
Why don't you publish t h e unfinished Novels
of Merritt, as they are in a seriesI'm sure all
t h e Merritt fans wotild like t h e m that w a y ;
they'd be unusual, and very interesting. . . .
Don't, don't have them.finished b y some other
author . . . it would upset t h e story, and would
do no credit to t h e m a n who did t h e work
Voterra gained nothing b y doing Michelangelo's
"Last J u d g e m e n t " over except t h e nickname
"11 Brackettone,"
"The Breeches-maker." But
do.publish t h e vmpublished w o r k s of Merritt;
please?
Also, I do think you might lift the b a n for
Merritt, a t least.
Incidentally, if somebody does publish t h e
complete Fantasy Works of Merritt, they should
make it a Memorial Edition.
I enjoyed "The Mjisk" very m u c h although
w h a t tiie Pallid Mask has to do with the general
trend of the story, I could not tell.
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601 WASHINGTON S T . , S . W . ,
ATLANTA, GEORGIA
I enjoyed "The M a n Who Was T h u r s d a y "

but fail to see w h y y o u published it as fantasy.
"The Ghost P i r a t e s " w a s every bit as good as I
. PEB
'-ol< roUNGEfi
f'^^lUUEH
1600 CAMINA SIERRA,

BAKERSFIELD, CALIF.
ASKING F O R MACHEN
Appear nmm
RicHABD STOCKTON.
Say, that Lawrence fellow isn't so bad. His

March cover is good, as good as a Finlay cover,
if that is possible.
When are we, t h e readers, going to get s o m e thing b y Merritt? It's been a long time since
I r e a d anything by h i m in F J ' . M . His death
came as a shock. Who can t a k e his place as
"Lord of Fantasy"?
"The Man Who Was T h u r s d a y " proved to be
more t h a n the common detective y a r n . S u r prises came so fast t h a t I can't believe anything
that happened . . . even now, I'm having t r o u ble thiticing t h r o u g h t h e ending. I haven't r e a d
"The Ghost Pirates"" yet, b u t it should b e
worthwhile.
Give us m o r e b y Chambers. Let's have
F.F.M. m o r e often.
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expected. I practically demand more Hodgson.

He ranks high with me and only after two
stories, "The Derelict" and "The Ghost Pirates."
How about publishing some of Arthur
Machen's work, namely "The Great God Pan"?
I!ve always wanted to read it; also "The Novel
of the Black Seal" by the same author. Machen
ranks high with me.
If any fan has extra copies of the F.F.M.
that contain Francis Stevens' "Claimed" and
"Citadel of Fear," I would like to get hold of
these and any other back copy of F.F.M. and
F.N.
Yours in Fcintasy, .
Old Money Wanted
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Poems-Songwriters
SONGWRITERS: Melodies supplied without charge by
recognized Hollywood composers. Lead sheets and records
furnished. Cinema Song Company, Box 670A-6, Beverly
Hills, Calif.
SONGWRITERS: Send x>oem for Immediate Examination' and FREE Rhyming Dictionary. RICHARD BROTHERS, 30 Woods Building, Chicago.
SONGWRITERS: PROTECT YOUR IDEAS I Hold Your
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CAN YOU HELP HIM?

I have long read your magazine and.enjoyed
it, having started with "Palos of the Dog Star
Pack." I have been handicapped by not being
able to buy your magazine for some months,
being away from towns very much and so, I
have decided to get a subscription rallier than
miss any of the great stories that I seem to have
missed.
I am interested in getting hold of any issues
of F.F.M. or F.N. that are available. I had
never heard of or seen F.N. until I read your
last issue (March '44).
, I can't say how much your two stories _jn the
last issue appealed to mei because there are no
words to express my feelings. The two' sea
stories by William-Hope Hodgson, "The Derelict" and' "The Ghost Pirates" were excellent,
spine chilling fantasies and I found it impossible to lay the G.P. down iintil the end.
Enclosed please find $1.00 for a year's subscription.
DAVID LAWRENCE.
1007 HIGHLAND ROAD,
CHARLESTON, 2,
WEST VIRGINIA
CAN ANYONE TELL HIM?

I just bought the March issue of F.F.M. and
got the good news that Taine's "Greatest A d venture" will be next.
That is great!! I sure hope you publish
Taine's "Purple Sapphire" and "Gold Tooth."
i notice in other letters you get, both of these
are asked for quite a bit.
Could you possibly give me the dates that
Merritt's "Woman of the Wood," "Drone Man"
and "Rhythm of the Spheres" were published
and in what magazines. Thank you very-much.
ANTHONY RICCARDI.
5718 So. GRAMERCY PL.,
Los ANGELES 37, CALIF.
Salesmen Wanted
LIKED MITCHELL'S STORY
SOMEWHERE THERE.IS A MAN OR WOMAN who

should add $10 to $15 a week to their present income. That
person may be you. Nearby Rawleigh Routes available,
full or part time. Write at once. Rawleigh Co., Dept. E186-PBL, Freeport, 111.
Since you are no longer-publishing reprints,

and since the Palos trilogy weis one of the
(Continued on page ISO)
128
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129
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(Continued from page 128)
series that suffered due to your change, I wonder if someone could inform me as to where I
could get hold of a copy of the All-Story
Weekly Magazine that contained J. U. Giesy's
story 'Jason, Son of Jason."
I'think that the book "Yezad, a Romance ofthe Unknown," by George Babcock would fit
nicely as a story in your magazine, I don't
know how rare it is, but I wager there are few
readers, who have read it. It deals with the
theory of reincarnation, and, in my opinion,
handles it very well and very interestingly. If
you have not read or heard of this book I
could loan it to the editor, for, unless it is too
long, I think it would make good reading.
So far yoiu: stories have been very good, and
I enjoyed "Three Go Back" by Mitchell in the
December issue. Keep up the good work.
JOHN O . PREVE, JR.
EAST SIDE DRIVE,
CONCOBD, N . H .
T M W W T GREAT STORY
Although I have never read any of Merritt's
works, I can say that if he wrote fantasy as
well as Weinbaum handled science fiction, he
deserves all the good things you and the readers say about him.
"The Man Who Was Thursday" was a great
story, hard to understand, but great nevertheless. And it has a subtle sort of humor, to say
nothing of being ridiculous in spots. It was
everything C.S.G.'s letter said, and more. But,
ask him for me, what is the thought behind it?
I don't like Hodgson's two stories in F.F.M.
Namely "The Derelict" and "Ghost Pirates."
They were flat, squashed, something from Inner Sanctum, or Lights-outish. Ghost ships,
a haunted vessel! Horror tripe, anything you
want to call it, you may, but, by the shades of
Jules Verne, don't call it fantasy! Fantasy is
not a lot of sea-demon yarns, or haunted house
stuff, but diferent literature, like "T M W W T,"
"Doorway Into Time," or "The Mask."
When I saw the cover, the first thought that
came to my mind was that I, believe it or not,
was attacked. A square-bearded guy was limging at me with a sword, a red-haired gent in a
Christopher Columbus costume was about to
send a smoking bomb over home plate, a bluerobed Nostradamus was trying to stop him,
assisted by what looked like Father Time in a
Bing Crosbyish cloak. Then off to the left side
stood a fellow looking like a missionary making faces in an effort to adjust his false teeth.
In the right center a gent, answering to the description of a hermit, was beating on a giant
hand, with a revolver, in an effort to be free
himself. And hardly noticeable, in the background, five peopletwo women, three men
cowering from the huge hands. Good!
E. E. GBEENLEAF JR.
1303 MYSTERY ST.,
NEW ORLEANS, LA.
130
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90

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(Continued from page 6)

could do it fairly until I r e a d "The Man Who

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