Adventure Magazine Cover — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

The Witch of Aleppo the sick men, and Michael watched Demid stagger up and lie down beside him. A drunken Arab and another leper with a boy for guide aroused no interest in the unfortunate people of the well, and no ques- tions were put to the three. Demid waited until Michael had eaten a little, and then rolled over to whisper: “Sleep will help you, for you are weary. Yet hearken first to what is to be done. The fight at the stake can not change my plans because Lali acts with us, and we may not get word to her before night.” ‘‘Lali—do you trust her?” “Why not? She could have betrayed me, yet she has been faithful.” ““Aye, she had me taken from Sivas and sold! She was jealous, because you cherished me.’ Demid swore under his breath. “What a girl! There is a demon in her, and she boasted of her prank to me, then wept because she was not forgiven. We were close upon the heels of your caravan when the Arabs raided it; then I made Lali play the spy upon them, and bring us the tidings that you were being taken to Aleppo. The rakb—the fast camels went too swiftly for our pursuit. Yet that is past and now we have work to do.”’ He cuffed Hassan, who had crept closer to listen, upon the ear and promised him a bath in the lepers’ pool if he tried to over- hear what was said. “I owe you my life,” said Michael, start- ing to hold out his hand but remembering that he was a leper for the time being. Demid wrinkled his nose and spat. “Hide of the , what a smell is here. I would rather bed down with the goats of than in here. Nay, you saved my skin on the galley when I was burdened with the girl. You owe me naught.” ‘Balaban!’’ Michael started, at mention of the galley. ‘He is here and he is the pasha, Sidi Ahmad. The other is a mask in his place.” “T saw that.” Demid was silent for several moments, his lips set in hard lines as he listened. to the tale of what had befallen his friend. “So we had the leader of these Moslems on the galley, and knew it not. The thought came to me at the Cossack camp that Bala- ban was a spy. So I took him with us, to point out the way across the sea, and he escaped our hand.” 59 The young Cossack frowned, gnawing at his beard, his arms crossed on his knees. ‘At this is an evil place. Here there was once the church of a Christian saint, and now over its ruins stands a nest of thieves. How is that to be endured?”’ His dark eyes fell moody, and Michael knew that one of the fits of brooding had gripped him. Yet the Cossack was not thinking of the opportunity he had lost. He was musing upon the work to be done, and this he explained to Michael, slowly, making sure that the cavalier understood the part he was to play. Demid never hur- ried himself or his men. When the time for quick action came he took the offensive at once, Cossack fashion; but, always, he had thought out beforehand what was to be done. So it seemed to his enemies that he acted on impulse, and they spoke of him as a falcon that strikes on swift wings from an open sky; but even that morning at the stake he had seen in his mind’s eye how Michael might be saved. In this he was different from Michael, who—utterly daring as Demid—acted altogether on impulse. “This night,’’ said the Cossack, ‘‘we will lift the treasure of Sidi Ahmad.” ‘“‘*Swounds! That disguise of yours will never pass you into the Wolf’s Ear!’ Demid nodded. ‘“‘True, my friend, and that is why Sidi Ahmad will not look to find me within the Wolf’s Ear. So, the fight at the stake has aided us, when all is counted—aye, because it has given a messenger to send to Ayub and my children.” ‘“‘What messenger?”’ ‘You, a leprous man.”’ Michael shivered, for the well of the lepers did not strike him as much better abiding place than the torture stake. ‘“‘Where have you quartered Ayub and his blades—in the lazar house?”’ ‘“‘Nay, with the dead, in the burial place of the Moslems without the city wall. Even Sidi Ahmad did not think to search the grove of trees among the tombs on yonder hill by the Bab el-Nasr. The Moslem war- riors do not visit the graves, and the women who go there fear the spirits of the place. Ibnol Hammamgi told me of it—he has taken to cover there, in other days.” ‘“‘Good!”’ Michael grinned a little, think- ing of Avub. “But that is without the gate, and the gate is closed.” COmiclbook (©