Adventure Magazine Cover — page 135: what you’re looking at

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

The Land of Ophir Nudging me, he unrolled the first band of his vozzah and wrapped it across his face mask fashion, leaving only the eyes exposed. That we should do so meant little in this country. A Tuareg would always wear his veil, which was really used to keep out the desert sand, even in a town; and anyway bandits and other gentry who don’t wish to be recognized adopt the same method without raising comment on a féte day. Scarcely had we done so than right under my nose appeared the very Hausa who had knocked me out from behind when I was foolishly staring at the giant monitor. I sure did long to reach out and get a grip of that man, but it couldn’t be done. The drums were still going. Presently we swung with the crowd to the right. At the bottom of the great square were two big, arched gates evidently leading into the temple, which was, I knew, attached to the palace. Outside the crowd surged and swayed and chattered just like a bunch waiting to get into Madison Square Garden. It was too risky to talk, in case some one spotted our accent, but to keep up ap- pearances I fumbled beneath my jelab as if I were telling my beads and mumbled incessantly— “‘Allah-lah, lah-Allah?’’ Billy, tumbling to the idea, followed suit, so no doubt as extra holy guys we attracted little attention. We drifted with the tide to the northern gate. Fortunately, in the cast they’re not great on tickets, particularly for a sacred stunt such as this was, so that except for the guards lounging about the gate oi the entrance there was no one to challenge us. As we approached, the crowd of course be- came denser and denser until we were packed as tight as sardines in a can and, whew! How they stank! At length, without mishap, we got through the zigzag gate and into the temple, which of course I had seen before with the Gandhi. All the steps running up to the buildings walling in three sides were white with humanity, and the roofs were packed with women looking with dark faces stick- ing out of their hazks like penguins on an ice- berg. Driven in the rush, as we entered we found ourselves to the left. Thinking of possible eventualities, I risked some- thing by whispering into Billy’s ear in Arabic— “Up against the wall!” 127 By furious elbow and shoulder work, and guttural grunts by way of retaliatory oaths, we gained at last not the wall, but pretty near and beneath the arched portico. The swimming-pool was empty, and the waters or the lake, ending in the sacred grove where we had hidden, glittered in the brilliant sun. The ivory-and-gold throne of the Gandhi, directly beneath us and about fifty yards’ ritle-shot away, was empty, and about it was a large space. Behind this kind of stage was another dais filled with men in white robes and green turbans. The drums and wailing of the pipes came from somewhere hidden behind. Evidently we had just got in in time, for above the hum of general talk came out- cries as the guards were closing out the rest. The stream of people ceased, and the rhythm of the drums suddenly increased and stopped abruptly. An iman standing by a large gate in the palace building side began to cry out in the wailing voice of the Muezzin, and the crowd became silent. The door opened, and the Gandhi appeared—in white from head to foot, as I had seen him, with the great emerald glittering on his turban. About him was a bunch of some two dozen of the gorgeously dressed nobles. As he walked in silence to the throne all bent low their heads, and we had to follow suit. When he was seated the noble fellows squatted down between him and_ the priests. There was silence for a few moments, and I wondered what was going to happen. Then I spotted a commotion in the same door from which the Gandhi had emerged, and amid a rushing sound of approval and satisfaction there appeared a party of eunuchs carrying, bound to a cross, the naked form of Fieldmorre. I recognized him instantly by the blob of the bleeding wound on his thigh. “My !” T exclaimed, half-starting to my feet. “Shut up, you fool!’ whispered Billy, grabbing my wrist. ‘‘Wait!” Fortunately our neighbors were too ab- sorbed in this pleasant spectacle to notice my diversion. After Fie:dmorre were borne Pexton, Hibbert and O’Donnell; and the four were staked in ready-made holes on the edge of the water. C@ (Cc DOOKS ©