Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 1 — page 101: what you’re looking at

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

en LAS rf Harold Lamb YY | of * Marching Sande,” “ The Sunwise Turn,”’ ete. “The stars are setting and the caravan Starts for the dawn of Nothing. CHAPTER XXIV. FEAR. HERE was no mistaking the intent of the flattened body, the purpose in the head pressed close to the gun- stock. The ferns must conceal the native from the keen glance of the Arab. Iskander moved slightly, to draw a ciga- rette from the packet he carried in his girdle. At this the man behind the ferns looked up, only to settle down to his sight again. A brown hand closed upon the trigger-guard. ‘‘ Iskander!”’ she cried, almost screamed, “look out, in front of you!” Startling as the girl’s voice coming from directly overhead must have been, the quick-witted Arab did not look up. He slipped behind the boll of the tree while Edith was still speaking. ‘There he drew a long, first puff at his cigarette, and ex- changed a low warning with Mahmoud— the hakim being still unseen by the slayer behind the thicket. Not even then did Iskander, experienced in the vicissitudes of mountain warfare, raise his eyes from the surrounding forest. “How many men, Mees Rand?” he asked quickly. ‘“ And where?” “One, that I can see,” breathed the girl. ‘“‘ Behind the ferns under the tamarisks. He was going to shoot you with a rifle.” “ Good. Is he a white man or a native?” For a fleeting instant Edith’s newly O, make haste!’ cherished hope flamed at this mention of the nearness of possible rescuers. Then she reflected that a follower of Major Iraser-Carnie, or her father, would hardly act in the manner of the skulker behind the ferns. At her answer Iskander spoke briefly with Mahmoud. ‘Tt was the will of Allah that I should not have my revolver this morning,” he remarked indifferently to the apprehensive girl. ‘“‘ But watch! You will see an unbe- liever taste his own fear.” He remained where he was. Mahmoud advanced swiftly from the underbrush, his slits of eyes flickering over the ferns in front of him. He seemed to have no fear. Edith glanced at the man who, by now, had seen Mahmoud. His broad, ugly face changed. His mouth opened, and he gaped as if in the fascination of utter dread. The girl noticed that his hands trembled. Then, with an animal-like grunt, the Sart sprang up and ran, plunging through the thickets up the mountainside. Iskander smiled and placed his hand to his lips. ‘“ Sayak!”’ he called, in a long, high note that carried far. ‘‘Sayak! Zikr!” | As if an echo, a wailing cry answered from the upper forest. Another took up the word, more distant. Still another voice pope faintly from a far-off height: * Sayak!”” “You see.” Iskander shrugged his This story began in The Argosy for June 12. QI Giook C@