Adventure Magazine Cover — page 25: what you’re looking at

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

The Witch of Aleppo “Tf any one of you,’’ Demid glanced at Michael and Balaban, “‘has no heart for the stake, let him take his horse out of the line and fill his saddle-bags with fodder. No blame to him.” Togrukh ran his eye over his detach- ment menacingly, but the warriors did not draw back. ‘“Then,’’ went on Demid, ‘‘from here, we are on the march. If one of you is found drunk—a pistol-ball in the forehead. If a brother turns aside to gather up silks or trinkets or silver, his saber will be broken.” “Father, we hear! Shall we go against the ship before dinner or after?” “ALE? Demid took Michael aside. “It will not be like snaring birds—tack- ling the galley. You are not one of us and you need not go in the boats. —Two men must guard the horses Ms ‘Not I, ataman.”’ The adventurer smote his hip with relish of a sudden thought. “With your leave—I will snare some birds. Aye, the nets are ready.” While the chief listened, he explained carefully what was in his mind. Demid considered a while, with deepening interest. “But who would cast the nets?” he asked at length. Near them, outlined against the sunset, the giant form of Ayub stood. The Cos- sack, with his companions, was praying be- fore the evening meal, his arms raised, facing in turn to each quarter of the horizon. ‘“‘There is one who could do it.”? Michael pointed him out. WHEN the Great Bear, glittering overhead, indicated midnight, the Cossacks embarked. All the clumsy arquebuses were left with the horse guard, and Demid gave command that no pistol was to be fired until they gained the gal- ley’s deck; he himself took one of the cazques, the long skiffs, that were to approach the stern—Togrukh the other. Ayub, with ten warriors guided the third skiff toward the bow of the Turkish ship and with him went Michael. : In the waist of the skiff the Tatar fisher- men, brought for that purpose by the Cos- ‘sacks, moved the oars slowly through the water; the warriors, with drawn sabers, knelt in the bow, their heads concealed by the fringe of rushes fastened to the skiff’s 19 side. Michael made himself comfortable on the great fishing-net at Ayub’s knees. The night was bright—too bright “for concealment—yet, obscure against the Joom of the shore, the skiffs covered two-thirds of the distance to the galley without being observed. -:Michael made out the tall mast, with the clewed-up lateen sail, the hanging pennons and burgees; he could hear the low voices of men in the lookout over the beak of the galley, mingled with the tinkle of a guitar from the poop where colored lanterns gleamed. A figure passed slowly back and forth along the bridge above the slaves, snoring on their benches. A faint breath of wind, and he caught the odor of the rowing-benches which is not easily forgotten—the stench of sweated rags, of foul water and human flesh. The skin on his back prickled over the healed scars that had been given him by a warden’s whip. Another scent came to him, the in- cense and rose-perfume of the poop that served to keep the stink of the rowing- benches from the masters of the galley. By its rig and the cut of the beak he was now satisfied that the galley was from Bar- bary—an Algerine, most likely, on business of the Sultan—a swift craft, adapted for fighting. This meant that a good watch would be kept, and that the two light cannon in the forepart would be shotted. This fact he could not make known to Ayub. Besides, it was then too late to withdraw. A voice hailed them sharply— ‘“‘What is there?” Ayub muttered under his breath, and a Tatar made answer as instructed. ‘“‘We have fish for the noble lords.” The sounds from the poop ceased, and a man in gilt mail and a green turban stood up by the lanterns. “Kubardar—have care! We will make fishes of you, filth eaters. Be off!” But the skiff rowed nearer, more swiftly now, and there was a moment’s silence while the watchers on the galley puzzled over the screen of rushes. A lanthorn was thrust over the forward rail, hardly eight feet above the surface of the black water. By its gleam Michael made out the muzzles of two perriers peering over the beak, and Ayub thrust the tiller to one side, turning the skiff to avoid the ram. A shout from the look-out, a pattering of feet, and the clash of cymbals, as the oO cComicloooks (©