Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 146 No. 4 — page 44: what you’re looking at

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

5s. +614 ee eae Barbar- roja stepped forward, viewed the senseless figure complacently, and twirled his im- mense mustache. ‘There was a proper blow! Hold! Not so fast—” He whirled suddenly, caught the arm of Gholam Mahmoud, stayed the dagger thrust meant for the unconscious Spence. The two men glared into each other’s eyes for an instant. “He is mine!” snarled Gholam Mah- moud. “ Not at all,” retorted Barbarroja coolly. “He is mine, and I am entirely ready to enforce the claim with three inches of steel in your ribs, caballero! I do not want the fool killed, just yet. Suit yourself whether we are to talk profitably, or to fight!” The other calmed himself by an effort. Barbarroja released him. ‘Now let us bind and gag him, wrap his head in a cloth, and throw him in the next room. Then we may talk in peace.” * He is a devil!” snapped Gholam Mabh- moud. The other twirled his mustache and laughed. “JT am something of a devil myself, as my master, the Sherif Abdallah, is aware. You and your master, Pasha Ripperda, are devils twain; but there are many ranks of devils, no less than of angels. So look to it! Now let us attend to him, and then have our talk.” Spence disposed of, Barbarroja whirled jauntily upon the sulky Gholam Mahmoud. “You have desired to see me? I am here. My master, the sherif, is in Fez. Your master, Pasha Ripperda, is somewhere up north like a lion on the prowl. Let us talk, and make history!”’ Gholam Mahmoud scowled. Stripped of his black burnoose, this white man with the Persian name showed himself to be a bony man of huge strength. His naked arms were in full sight. To an intelligent eye one of those arms betrayed a terrible and significant thing. Upon the right arm was boldly tattooed { baie cakes: adaon ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. _ “Neatly taken on the wing!” Moslem world, this symbol spoke louder 3 than letters of gold. It told that this man was born a Chris- tian, made captive in youth, and educated in the schools of the Janissaries; that so was his ability as to win place in the’ Thirty- first Orta, or cohort, stationed around the Sultan. This entire body were the picked men of Islam, and upon the right arm of each man was tattooed the insignia of their cohort—the proudest token of the Sultan’s army, the dolphin crest! This man stood and scowled at Barbar- roja, his twisted features malignant. “We might work together,” he said. “We have heard of each other. I am on business of my master, Ripperda; you are on business of the sherif. Does our business lie with the same man?” “It does,” affirmed Barbarroja. “ Your Ripperda has burned his fingers with Mulai Ali, eh? And perhaps your master wants to regain a certain little box of leather?” At this Gholam Mahmoud started. “Ah! Does the sherif know about that casket ?”’ Barbarroja grinned. ‘““No, but I do! What use informing the sherif of everything? I shall take the casket to him—” “What, you have it?” “No, no, but I have it under my thumb. Come, let us be frank. Will your Ripperda Pasha pay well for the casket, caballero? I need money. Come, speak frankly! Let us join forces.” “Good,” said Gholam Mahmoud. “ My orders are to kill Mulai Ali before he reaches Udjde, and to regain the box of leather. Ripperda will destroy Mulai Ali utterly.” ‘“‘ Having changed his mind ”—Barbarro- ja chuckled—“ our affairs coincide, cabal- lero! My master, the sherif, is particular about keeping his seat on the throne. So, then! You wish to kill Mulai Ali because Ripperda has changed his mind; I wish to ai Ali because the sherif has not