Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 16, 1921 — page 81: what you’re looking at

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

72 Pierre’s hand went to the knife’s hilt. Major Cherimande struck his hand aside and he retrieved the knife. Troiville reit- erated: ‘“T reneat, he did it intentionally.” Pierre straightened up, agile as a pan- ther. He leaned over, slapped Troiville’s cheek with a force that reddened it, leaving the mark of each supple finger. _ “ Monsieur, you lie!” he said calmly, clearly. ‘You are safe in saying that,” Troiville snarled. “An officer of France cannot fight a thalf-breed—aq part-blood—a no- body.” “My father was an officer of the Legion; my mother the daughter of the sheik—of highest desert blood.’’ ’ ee Pah! ”? Troiville turned upon his heel and stalked out of the café, and Pierre, held back by Cherimande, became quiet after a few mo- ments, “Your duty lies—there,” he reminded Pierre, pointing to the stricken girl. La Forge bent over her. “JT thank you for reminding me,” he murmured. ‘She is barely alive. Let me take her to my house across the way. Do with me as you think best.” “You shall remain in your house, under guard, a nominal guard, until I can sift this,” the major said quietly. “I do not accuse you.” Pierre’s grateful glance thanked him. Stooping, he gathered the limp, inert bur- den into his strong arms. As he strained forward with it his eyes searched for Merim, but she was nowhere to be seen. His eyes were clear, cool. “Martin,” he called, as he went past the desk where the old man was staring, “ box up my knives for me, as usual.” “ Oui, monsieur.” “ And send me a native healer.” “No; get a nurse only; I will attend her,” the major said, at his heels. He carried the girl out of doors, across the dim, star-lighted street. Cherimande ordered all the others back and came after Pierre up the stairs. In the room he laid the silent load down on his divan and cush- ioned it there. The slender stream of life ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. trickled into her corsage. Her face was white, drawn. The major tested her breath with a hand-mirror; found that it barely clouded the shimmering surface. ‘““T fear,” Cherimande said, his brows knit, this eyes intent, “ the wound is very, very deep. How did it happen?” “I do not know; I cast as usual; I missed.” So Pierre simply felt that nothing mat- tered to him now; that there was no use to tell of the apparition of Merim, of his ex- periences of the night before. They are unbelievable; too eery for a matter-of-fact man of Mars to grasp. And then an inner voice warned him not to speak—something gripped the roots of his tongue and held him mute. “If you had entered into a long explana- tion, I should have suspected you more. But as it is, no! Then, no one but Troi- ville accuses you, and he—vwell, monsieur, I told him plainly when I relieved him of command that the proofs of his villainy against the tribesfolks were complete and that he might best go get himself decently slain than to face the scowl of La Belle France over his black’ crimes.” He paused, laid his ear against the wounded breast over which his cool, expert fingers had been straying as he had talked. The steps of a woman were heard on the stair. She came in, one of the bazar heal- ers, shrouded in dun robes. “Go, now,’’ Cherimande ordered Pierre; “‘T shall stay a few moments to tell the nurse what to do. You may go where you will, in reason, until I decide what more is to be done. What can be done for her I shall do, monsieur.” Pierre arose softly and went out. Cheri- mande called to the soldier below: “Let La Forge pass until further or- ders.” : The stars told Pierre it was almost mid- night. Many folk still loitered about the Café Diable. They were quiet, gossiping. He passed in, intent upon ordering a drink. At the desk old Martin twitched his sleeve. ‘“‘ How is she?” he asked. “* Bad, very bad.” “Tam sorry, monsieur. You have both comiclbool< (©