Adventure Magazine Cover — page 160: what you’re looking at

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

150 “But that,” said the American, over- whelmed by the significance of this simple bit of news, “is certainly the beginning! {t is an open avowal!”’ ee) HICKSON and Cohusac took many ‘i minutes negotiating the long, dark ! stairway of stone that led straight down to the street, Cohusac groaning and staggering at every step but making a joke of his progress nevertheless until they stepped out into the dust and moonlight. The declining moon cast deep, inky shadows along one side of the silent street, but bathed the opposite side in a light that was as clear and pervasive as a sunless day. With Cohusac leaning heavily on his shoulder the Englishman kept well to the center of the street. On the lighted side the white walls were unbroken except by heavy bolted doors; but on the shaded side several narrow alleyways, thrown completely into deep darkness by the high buildings that flanked them, opened into the broad street. “Tt’s an instinct with me,” said Hickson apologetically; ‘‘but I think we’ll keep more on the sunny side!” “I wish you’d have as much regard for my comfort as for our safety,”’ said Cohusac plaintively. “Tcan wellspare the extra steps.” “Ah, say you so!” exclaimed the English- man loudly, pushing Cohusac violently so that he staggered, stumbled forward several paces and collapsed inconspicuously in his white jacket against the white wall, uttering a cry of mingled pain and fury. At the same instant Hickson fumbled desperately in his pocket for his revolver, cursing the lack of a holster, and finally brought it forth, ducking his head in- voluntarily as a sound like the fluttering of bats passed over his head. Hickson fired three shots into the mouth of the alleyway—the reports shattering the calm stillness of the night as if the air were porcelain—and backed toward the wall where Cohusac was beginnning to rise to his feet. With his left hand Hickson jerked out his whistle and began to blow a shrill, continuous alarm. The calm night awoke with clamorous sounds—ckarpoys overturning; a yabble-yabble of high- pitched, frightened voices; a tinkle of broken glass; the rattle of whistles as the askaris took up the alarm and thudded in their bare feet through the dusty streets looking for the disturbance. Adventure Cohusac had regained his feet, but stooped again to pick up the spears that had clattered against the wall above his head and fallen down upon him as harm- lessly as light sticks. To him it seemed that the affair was over. He claimed the souvenir. ‘There they are!’ said Hickson, spitting out his whistle and firing two more shots into the shadows. “By -——!’’ he ex- claimed sharply. ‘“They’re rushing us!”’ A half-dozen scattered figures, swathed in black cloaks, came out of the shadows, converging toward them like clouds of black dust whipped up by a squall. They came without a sound, determined, merci- less. The Englishman, with tight-drawn lips, cursing under his breath, fired his last shot, halting one of the attackers; then he flung the empty weapon with all his strength at another. Unarmed, with his back toa wall, unable to run because of his crippled friend, Hickson looked down in an instinc- tive frenzy for some rocks. “Here you are, copain!’”’ said Cohusac calmly, and thrust one of the spears into his hand, at the same time placing himself on guard with another. They were safe from knives. The six men swerved, halted, hesitated. One exclaimed explosively— “Deen Mohammed!” At that instant a huge flower-pot, flung from Sevier’s barasa (piazza), burst like a bomb at his feet. The six promptly whirled and fled in the shadow. “Ah!” said Hickson angrily. “I thought it was about time we had a demonstration from that quarter.” “Here come the askarts,’’ said Cohusac; and, taking three very awkward steps, he flung his spear after their assailants. “Bismillah! That’s not so bad!” The askaris came panting upon the scene, long, gangling, frowning Somalis, towering over Hickson’s slim, taut figure and the diminutive Cohusac. Sevier appeared in his wrapper, with a knobkerry in his hand. A well-greased and odoriferous crowd rap- idly assembled, all yammering, like an orchestra of wind-instruments tuning up. Hickson began to explain to the Bengali in- spector of police: “Attempted dacoity, that’s the whole sum and substance of it. Thugs! They saw Mr. Cohusac there, who’s crippled as you know, staggering on my arm, and probably thought we were drunk and easy -——”’ ’ cConmicloool o(CO)