Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 16, 1921 — page 66: what you’re looking at

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

EYES OF THE DEAD. unearthly voice came to Pierre, oddly clear, across the sand billows. The old man leaned toward him, and Pierre could see how hollow, how vaguely mystifying, were his eyes as he replied: 3 “Then mayhap it was in jest. old—and ramble’ at times.”’ He leaned. back—clapped his hands thrice. A turbaned servitor appeared out of the shadow of the nearest hair tent and scudded away at a word. ‘“T have sent him,” the old sheik in- formed Pierre, ‘ for Merim, our dancer. She is my—my daughter.” ée Bat” “Tt is my wish that you see her. She will come veiled. We of this sect are at variance in customs with the other desert- Il am born, in some things, but our women go- veiled before strangers.’” “A strange sect, truly.”’ The old man’s slow chuckle was his only answer. “There, Merim is coming.” He waved his hand down the line of tents. Pierre saw a slender figure ap- proaching. The two men were standing to receive her when she came to the edge of the rug. CHAPTER IL. UNDER THE SAND. " HIS,” Pierre heard the sheik say to _ the woman, who stood, veil strictly let down, “is a friend whom for- tune has sent to us. He will remain for the dance.”’ Pierre thought that a shudder swept her form. But the tremor passed, leaving her firmly erect again. “Sit with us, Merim, and help me to make pleasant the stay of our new friend.” He waved his hand, and she sank easily to the rug, seating herself with the indolent grace of the woman of the Orient. The westering moon by now looked down at an angle that told of her setting soon.. The ‘old sheik and Pierre sat on the rug, Pierre opposite the woman. The moon-sheen was on his face; hers was in shadow. The old man clapped his hands again, and the si- 57 lent attendant came, this time with a tray on which were sweets and three cups, of common ware, dull-brownish, sun-baked. ‘“Some pomegranate sherbet,” the sheik urged upon Pierre. He took one of the cups, Merim another. Pierre took the third. The servitor disappeared. Somewhere off down the line of tents a drum began softly to throb with dull reso- nance. A reed pipe sent its keen skirl through the muffled beat of the drum. At the sounds ‘the woman stirred, and a little of her drink spilled on the white cloth of her ample robe, and it left a stain, as of blood, that, seen against the ghostly white of the robe even under ‘that waning moon, showed crimson. She paid no heed to this, but continued to gaze, Pierre could feel, through veil and dim light, out through her eye-holes worked in the veil, at him. “The players are at practise for the dance,” the sheik explained. * “ As for my Merim, she has no need to practise; she is perfect in her part; but come, friend, drink your sherbet.” : La Forge lifted his cup, looking into its depths as it passed his chin, on the way to his lips. It seemed as though filled with some carnal liquid that had an aroma that allured yet repelled. “Stay! Take you the cup from Merim; let her drink of yours,” Ben Yousef called. “ See, she has barely touched hers with her lips.”’ .Pierre paused, his lips at the edge of the cup. He took the cup, and was dimly aware that she had reached her cup over to him. He took it, gave her his. He felt on the rim for the place she had wet with her lips—found it. He thought he heard the old man’s hollow chuckle as he drank. He saw the woman drink, as well. The old - man placed his cup on the mat’s edge, un- tasted. The attendant came and removed the cups silently. .The drum_ throbbed softly; the reed-pipe skirled weirdly. A tiny breeze stirred the tent-flaps; a night- bird called out in the more distant wastes; a bat flew past, squeaking evilly. In Pierre’s throat was a touch of fire— the tang of the red liquid from the cup her lips had touched. Desire began to stir COmiclbooks (©