The Argosy, March 1907 — page 53: what you’re looking at

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

~~ ero ae = - yen Mule e _ ‘“‘ And I shall not demand the five med- jidie,” he resumed, with a smirk, bring- ing his flabby face close to hers; “all the payment I shall ask is one little kiss —payable in advance, of course——’”’ She could feel his hot breath on her cheek. Tossing back her head just in time, she struck him full.in the face with her little clenched fist. He recoiled a step in amaze. Then, maddened by the amusement of his fel- lows more than by the sting of the blow, he sprang forward, gripping Madge by the shoulder. ‘When payments are not made will- ingly,” he snarled, with a sort of sav- age humor, “they must be collected by force!” Regardless of her mad struggles, he once more bent his face toward her. She cried out in horror, and—the fat man went spinning backward into the crowd like a tee-totum, caroming off from the impact with his comrades, and at last landing in a sitting posture on the dirt of the ground. Almost before he fell he was up again, with an agility marvelous in one so obese. A curved knife was in his hand, and he was glaring about him like a wild beast. In a small cleared space directly in front of Madge stood a man in black. Of no great height or bulk, and dressed in plain civilian garb, his presence yet seemed to dominate that \ whole noisy rabble. His back was to the light; and the fat man, judging the stranger, from his attitude, to be the assailant who had balked him of his dainty sport of tor- turing a defenseless girl, gripped the knife tighter and took a step forward. “Abou Saoud!” said the newcomer. . He did not speak loudly, nor threat- eningly, as he thus pronounced the oth- er’s name; but the effect was electrical. The fat man stopped in his tracks. By the torch-flare Madge could see the color ebb from his yellow-brown face, leaving it ashen. His very bulk seemed to collapse. The knife dropped from his nerveless fingers and tinkled dully on the ground. “ Saadat-el-Basha!” (Excellency!) he gasped. At the words a murmur, as of a rising wind, swept the mob. Madge could hear whispers of amazement, of fear, on every. 4A “THEIR LAST HOPE. hand, mingled with cries of “ Z fendi!’ 9 “ Mamour!” and “Welee!” (Lord! Master! Divine One!) Thé crowd melted away as by magic, leaving in a moment none in the center of the erstwhile thronged-square save the New York girl on her donkey, the stranger in black, and the trembling Abou Saoud. And now the stranger was speaking again to the frightened native—speaking in deep-toned, guttural Arabic. Though Madge could not understand a syllable that was said, she noted the stinging ef- fect of each stern word on the cringing Abou. ; The fat man cowered wilting and crushed under the invective, attempting no reply, making no sign of remon- strance. At length the stranger pointed to the knife on the ground, and then to the shadows beyond the radius of light. Like a whipped cur, Abou Saoud stooped, picked up the ugly weapon, and slunk away in silence. As the darkness swallowed the depart- ing native the stranger for the first time turned toward Madge Brant. ‘The torchlight fell full on his tanned face and slender, erect figure, the glare bringing out each detail of the high fore- head, the stern yet kindly mouth half hidden by the crisp grizzled mustache, the level gray brows beneath which shone alert blue eyes of almost hypnotic keen- ness, yet in whose depths there lurked a profound gentleness mingled with a sort of fanaticism. The whole face and bearing bespoke — a strange blending of the warrior, the man of thought, and the mystic, while the key-note of the ensemble seemed an intense gentleness whose basis was gran- ite strength. At first glance, Madge leaped forward with an eager smile of welcome. Here was a friend, one whom she knew and - loved. Then, on second thought, she blankly realized that she now looked on the man for the first time. Yet his face seemed as familiar to her as that of her own father. Somewhere, she was sure, she had seen him; not once or twice, but often. For every line of the weather-stained hand- some face was known to her. > - CoOmIecbooks.com: +i ae r4 » Watt pak ede) ¢ “TALS Me) i} ‘fa\ Le Made) AN ha Gott