Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 146 No. 4 — page 74: what you’re looking at

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

' _hono. iy a visit from so brave a soldier as the captain of the rajah’s guard.” He noticed, too, with inward satisfac- tion, that the jamadars had left their weap- ons behind, which they had done in a way of not arousing their victim’s fears. “Would not it be deemed a courtesy,” the merchant asked, “if one like myself, who is a poor trader, should go to pay his respects to the rajah ere he retires, for, of course, it would be beneath his dignity to come to his servant?” “No, indeed,” declared Hunsa quickly, thinking of the graves that were even then being dug. ‘He is a man of a haughty temper, and when he is in the society of the beautiful dancing girl who is with him, he cares not to be disturbed. Even now he is about to escort her in the cart down the road to where there is a shrine that women of that caste make offering to.” It had been arranged that Ajeet would escort Bootea, with two Bagrees as attend- ants, to the grove of trees half a mile down the road. He had insisted on this in the way of a negative support to the murder. As there would be no fighting this did not reflect on his courage as a leader. And as to complicity, Hunsa knew that as the leader of the party, Ajeet would be held the chief culprit. It was always the leader of a gang of decoits who was beheaded when captured, the others perhaps escaping with years of jail. And Hunsa himself, even Sookdee, would be safe, for they were in league with the Dewan. There was an hour of social talk. Many times Hunsa fingered the roomal that was about his waist; the yellow and white stran- gling cloth with which Bhowanee had com- manded her disciples, the thugs, to kill their victims. In one corner of it was tied a sil- ver rupee for luck. The natural ferocity of his mind threw him into an eager anticipa- are he took pride in his proficiency as a -strangler; his coarse, heavy hands, like hos of a esiae wrestler, were suited to task. Grasping the cloth at the base of “ A poor trader feels ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. gretted that; — ng t Around the fat paunch of the merchant was a silver-studded belt. Hunsa eyed his speculatively. Beyond doubt in its neigh- borhood would be the key to the iron box; — and when its owner lay on his back, his — bulbous eyes glaring upward to where the moon trickled through the thick foliage of the mango tree beneath which they sat, he would seize the keys and be the first to dabble his grimy fingers in the glittering gems. Beyond, the village had hushed, the stri- dent call of voices had ceased. Somewhere a woman was pounding grain in a wooden mortar—a dull, monotonous thud, thud, swish, thud carrying on the dead air. Night- jars were circling above the trees, their plaintive call, “‘ Chy-eece, chy-e-ece!” filter- ing downward like the weird cry of spirits. Once the deep, sonorous bugling note of the saurus, like the bass pipe of an organ, smote the stillness as the giant crane winged its way up the river that lay beyond, a mighty ribbon of silver in the moonlight. A jackal from the far side of the village, in the fields, raised a tremulous moan. Sookdee looked into the eyes of Hunsa, and he understood. It was the #ibao, the happiest augury of success, for it came over the right shoulder of the victim. Hunsa, feeling that the moment to strike had come, rose carelessly, saying: “ Give me tobacco.” That was a universal signal among thugs, the command to strike. Even as he uttered the words Hunsa had slipped behind the merchant and his towel was about the victim’s neck. Each man who had been assigned as a strangler had pounced upon his individual victim, while Sookdee stood erect, a knife in his hand, ready to plunge it into the heart of any one who was likely to overcome his . ant. Hunsa had thrown the helpless nei upon his face, and with one knee b his shoulder blades, had broken th No sound we ve the g 3