Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 146 No. 4 — page 53: what you’re looking at

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

DOWN THE COAST OF BARBARY. - At this instant a second slave dashed in and presented a second bird. With trem- bling fingers the governor detached the mis- sive. He read it, then crumpled the thin paper in his hand and sat staring before him, like a man who sees utter disaster ahead. In reality, his fertile old brain was scheming and planning, but Shaw did not know this. “What is it?’”” demanded the divine eager- ly. “ News from Mulai Ali?” For a long moment the Moor made no re- sponse. He stared straight before him, as though the question had been unheard. Shaw, unable to bear the suspense, reached out for the paper, but the Moor hastily tore it across. “Catch Ripperda when he comes!” ex- claimed Dr. Shaw swiftly. ‘“ You see your chance? Catch him at the city gates, cap- ture him, raise the flag of Mulai Ali—” The old Moor turned, lifted his head, re- garded Shaw steadily. “ Ali,” he said slowly, “is dead. The red-beard has done his work. The troops reached the place too late—Ali had been stricken by a bullet.” Shaw quivered under the blow. Then, silently, he resumed his seat and folded his hands on the table. Mulai Ali dead! Everything was lost. He did not observe that, while speaking, the eyelids of the Moor had fluttered slightly—an involuntary low- ering of the lids, which is nature’s signal of a lie issuing from the lips. Swiftly the governor clapped his hands. A slave brought writing materials, and the old Moor dashed off several notes, which he sealed and dispatched. Then the captain of the troops, a splendid Berber of the hills, strode in and received rapid orders. “The Pasha Ripperda arrives to-morrow. Prepare rooms in the citadel for his use. In the name of Allah, greet him as one who is the right hand of our lord the sherif!” Again the two men were alone. The old governor turned to Shaw with a quiet ges- ture. “ You have eaten my salt. I cannot pro- tect you against Ripperda. What wish you to do?” Dr. Shaw had gathered his wits by this time, and his brain was working shrewdly. 523 “My friend Spence was not mentioned in that message? Then let us hope that he is alive. I shall remain here. Ripperda will not harm us, for I have a nominal errand to the sherif—regardless of his name! And I must await news of my friend, also. We shall remain here.” The Moor nodded. His eyes were nar- rowed in calculation, anxiety sat beneath the lids. “May Allah further your undertakings! I have my own head to look after.” Dr. Shaw took the hint, rose, and de- parted to tell Mistress Betty his news. In another portion of this town was a house, outwardly inconspicuous, inwardly © a mass of sumptuous furnishings. Many slaves were here, white and black; the harem was large. In a small room sat the master of this house, upon a thick rug before a writing table such as scribes use. A tiny shaded lamp burned before him; his face was in- visible, only his sinewy arms showing in the circle of light. He clapped his hands, and a slave entered. “When a man comes showing the signet of the sherif, bring him to me at once.” Alone again, the man went on writing. As his right arm moved in the light, one could see a design upon the skin—the figure of a dolphin, tattooed there. This man was Gholam Mahmoud. Suddenly, almost without a sound, the door opened. A man clad in a dark bur- noose came into the room; he threw back the hood and disclosed the flaming beard of Barbarroja. A weary oath broke from him as he sank down on the rug. “ Diantre! Get me some wine. I had to shout for half an hour before they would open the city gates—even the signet of the sherif barely satisfied the dogs. Allah upon - them! I rode my horse to death and walked the last two miles of the way here.” A slave brought wine. Barbarroja twice drained a goblet, then sighed contentedly. “You should have stayed with me.” He grinned at his host. ‘ You lost money, ca- ballero!. That is what comes of running after women. As it is, the reward is mine.” “ Reward!” Gholam Mahmoud started. “ Then—Mulai Ali—O lini ovoxo <acevoy na)