Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 146 No. 4 — page 56: what you’re looking at

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

a : sy CN nA wt Bs “Decoyed you into a pretty trap—ex- actly!” Barbarroja flourished his sword. “ But there is no credit in decoying a weak partridge like you, little man.” One glance around showed Dr. Shaw that he was lost. He instantly became calm.and cold. “ What is the reason for this treachery?” he demanded, hand on sword. “It is twofold,” was the cool response. “The pretty seforita would be reason enough for most men; but honor comes first with me. I owe you a debt for what you did to me at the Cisterns, and I shall settle the debt.” Barbarroja advanced, glaring at Shaw. Behind the latter stood Mistress Betty, mo- tionless, watching and listening in utter despair. “Oh, traitorous rascal!” groaned Shaw. “It is all your doing that—” “My doing, indeed!” Barbarroja strut- ted with huge gusto. “‘ Poor little chicken of a man. Was not I, Lazaro de Polan, sent to kill Mulai Ali? Well, he is dead as yonder marabout! And you are in my power, and my friend Gholam Mahmoud will take the leather box when Spence shows up, as he must soon do!” He laughed at the despair of Shaw. It was a proud moment for Barbarroja, whose vanity was the greatest part of him. He stood there and laughed, while that great flaming beard of his curled and matted over his chest. Already Barbarroja was a little drunk with the prowess of his arm and his- wits. His three ruffians watched him in proper awe. “ Now to our debt, little man,” he went on. ‘“ You insulted me both in Christian and Moslem fashion. You kicked me, for which the ancestry of Lazaro de Polan de- mands recompense; and you tweaked my beard, for which the ancestry of Barbar- roja demands vengeance. To what end om Ia ae caballero, entered the por- if I am not to enjoy the rights of that faith? So, as.a caballero of To- ‘Tedo oon a devout page I demand sat- ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY,. ‘Not at all,” said Barbarroja grandly. “T, Lazaro de Polan, am no slaughterer of © poor fools! In my eapacity asa good Mos- — lem, I should at once put steel into you; but in my capacity as a good caballero, I do not desire to sully my sword. Look. at this sword, little man! Look at the spring of it! A true Toledo blade out of the sherif’s treasury!” He seized the long blade, bent it double, let it spring back again. Passion seized upon Shaw—the angry passion of one to whom all hope is lost. “Vile renegade!” he spat out bitterly. “If you have the courage to face me, do so! Dog that you are, I suppose you will have your bandits pistol me in the back!” A look of astonished fury swept into Barbarroja’s face. He stared at Shaw, then swung and faced his men. At an or- der from him, they retired. He turned again to Shaw. “For those words, I kill you!” He threw away his hat, bowed mockingly. ‘In my capacity as a caballero of Toledo, I salute you! To you is the honor of crossing blades with Lazaro.” Shaw, swift as light, lunged forward. The rapiers touched, clashed, hung sus- pended; they ground against each other, steel against steel, wrist against wrist. With his free hand, Barbarroja carelessly twirled his mustache. Shaw disengaged and lunged again. Once more the steel slithered and twined and hung futile against the sky. “Not bad, Englishman!” observed Bar- barroja patronizingly. ‘“ Not bad! Come, thrust the point into this red beard of mine —thrust in the point! I recall a French- man who had learned the Italian blade and who fancied himself greatly, back at Ceuta.” Shaw attacked furiously, a silent dead- liness in his manner. Barbarroja ace the attack, laughing, and continued his careless speech, “ He was a clever Frenchman! He had a thrust not unlike yours, a stiff and i his wrist. wae