Argosy All-Story Weekly, January 13, 1923 — page 32: what you’re looking at

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

do it knowing that he may be leading you into a trap, and yet knowing that you are playing the one and only desperate move that may save your fiancée!” “Love is greater than the jungle!” the chuprassi purred softly. ‘ Meet me to-night in the recess of the dry well behind the dak- bungalow. I will have two horses saddled and ready!” Dunboyne stared through the iron bars of the window. Beyond the minarets of the city he could see the simmering hills and the dense vapor of the khudds and ravines. The jungle reached toward him, its rough black hand spread out like a hand that hov- ers over a fly ready to strike. “ At what time shall I meet you?” Dun- boyne asked. “When it is pitch dark in the tope. No man will know that we have departed on this journey.” “JT will be there,’ Dunboyne said. The chuprassi touched his forehead to the cement floor again and remained there until the major remarked, “‘/° :t up and get out.” Dunboyne was not disposed to have the man gone so abruptly. “ Wait,” he said, ‘““T want to ask you something: just who the devil are you anyway?” ‘A very miserable wretch, Heaven-born. A son of two pigs who is offering his life to a heavenly cause.” ‘“ And why?” Dunboyne prodded. “ Why are you doing this? You were drugged last night and I caught you watching at the threshold of the girl while she slept. Why is jit. you’re bent on throwing your life away-—” ‘* A miserable life, sahib,” the man said. ‘A pig’s life is not miserable to itself. What’s the reason?” ‘‘ A very reprehensible reason, sahib,’’ the man rejoined. ‘‘I am a despicable thing. In a word, I am doing this for gain—per- sonal gain, filthy gain. My grimy palm itches as if it were covered with dhobie. I am lower and more despicable than the shrewdest Khatri—a miserable caste! I am baser than a money-lender for I am setting upon this quest to save a woman’s soul for my own personal filthy gain: I must be paid in rupees for What mortal can money. saving a woman’s soul. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, be more foul than this incarnation which is myself! When I was a pig surely I was greater than I am now—and when my soul goes into the soul of a jackal- dog surely I will have cause for pride! Money!” “T will pay you any amount you ask,” Dunboyne snorted, “Three rupees a day, sahib. I am a wretched dog.” “Gladly. For every day you’re in my service—three rupees.” ‘““ Make it five, sahib. offal.” “ Certainly! Five rupees. Agreed Dunboyne said, breathing a sigh of enor- mous relief upon finding the key to this puzzle. : “ Make it ten, sahib. My soul is the soul of a sow!” ‘Ten, then. And shut up!” Dunboyne shouted, bracing himself, preparatory to let- ting fly a good kick. The chuprassi salaamed. ‘‘ Twice-born, I kiss your foot,” he purred reverently. I am a heap of 1? CHAPTER VY. INTO THE JUNGLE. ARKNESS came over the compound of the dak-bungalow at eight o’clock that night. Surgeon-Major Kesh bade good-by to Dunboyne at sundown and left for Ganj. Dunboyne waited an hour in the dak-bungalow and at eight slipped out into the mango tope and found the well where he had agreed to meet his guide. He had scarcely reached the low mortar wall which surrounded the dry well before a turbaned head popped out from the black abyss. ‘“T am here, O presence,” the chuprassi said. ‘‘ Even as Karma has ordained. I come as a forerunner of the pale moon into your presence, O descendant of the glorious Sun!” “Well, climb out of that hole, get your horses and shut up,” was Dunboyne’s an- swer. “ First, there is a little point to settle,” the chuprassi said. ‘“ The jungle whither our way leads is a fearful place. ECORNICOOOKS