Adventure Magazine Cover — page 165: what you’re looking at

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

The Village of the Ghost they had been there not later than noon, as the ashes of the fire were still warm and water in the jars stillfresh—Rawul Singh remounted and rode on to the outskirts of Bhir, no more than a gunshot away. Overhead towered the crumbling walls of the castle outlined by ruddy shafts of sun- set. As the Rajput passed, hurrying to es- cape a storm that was overcasting the sky behind him, an eye of light winked out from the battlements of Bhir castle. Rawul Singh noticed it as he did everything within his field of vision: A moment later his keen glance picked out a white blotch in the dull glimmer of the road. It was his daughter’s shawl, worn threadbare. The Rajput looked quickly about, mark- ing the place where the shawi had lain. Within the village men turned away from Rawul Singh, and yet stared after him when his broad back was toward them. No one could tell him anything of his children until a water-carrier in a dark corner of the bazaar muttered that the boy and gir] had been in the village that afternoon, to ask after Rawul Singh. The boy had stood guard over the cattle outside the wall while Tala made her inquiries. They had started back a good hour before twilight. “Didst thou see, bheestie,” asked Rawul Singh, ‘‘this shawl upon the girl?” “Aye.” The carrier of water bent over his goatskin. “Her face is like the moon, good sir. She smiled at me and her eves were like dark stars. Perhaps another looked upon her beauty. Beware of the man of Bhir castle who wears a cloak.” With a hiss of rage the soldier clutched at the beggar, to learn more. But the bheestie and his goatskin had vanished into the shadows of an alley. Rawul Singh remem- bered that more than once he had given sil- ver to the man. At the house of the potai/—village chief — a servant looked lorig into the Rajput’s dark face and shivered. ‘Ai, Rawul Singh,” he whispered, “‘the heart of the honorable potazl has turned to water at news of thy grief. He can not give aid, and knows naught of the fate of “thy children—except this. There is a feringhi in the ggstle who has seen the face of thy daughter and lusted after her. When the sun had changed (in the afternoon) this day, he waited for her and the boy outside the village gate——” 155 “And the boy?” interrupted Rawul Singh, speaking very slowly and dis- tinctly. ‘““He defended her, and he was killed by the feringht.”’ “Who buried him? Where?” But the servant, looking into the stricken face that was thrust near his eyes, turned and fled. Rawul Singh loosened the folds of his tur- ban and drew them down over his brow so that no prying eyes should behold his-grief. Sitting very erect in the saddle, he rode back to his home, pausing only once when he came to the place where he had sighted the scarf, to glance up at the ray of candle-light that winked from the castle. He could make out a break in the jungle mesh where a path ran from the road in the direction of Bhir castle. A hot wind was blowing the dust of the road into his face and the treetops were threshing under the approach of a storm. “By Ram and Vishnu, by the sun-born gods and Siva,” breathed the Rajput, “may I be avenged for this day!” Dismounting before his home, he took che shawl of Tala and wrapped within it the two gifts he had brought for his children. The bundle he laid at his feet and squatted on the earth floor. He was praying that the gods would bring the body of “-his enemy within reach of his sword. On the morrow he would seek out the body of his boy and show it to the murderer. Outside the hut lightning flashed and a rush of rain swept over the jungle. With the rain came the sound of horses’ hoofs. A man pushed open the closed door of the hut and entered. Apparently he had not perceived the oc- cupant of the place, for he busied himself with a lantern, striking steel on flint until he had it lighted. Captain LSD) faced Rawul Singh. - ‘“‘T am the sahib from the ease ’ said the Scot. ‘The storm has driven me under thy roof. What is thy name, Rajput?” He spoke Hindustani fluently. Rawul Singh did not rise as Malcolm expected. Instead he sat on his heels, his black eyes boring into the gray eyes of the visitor. The Rajput had fasted for two days, except for the stimulant of bhang that he had chewed as he rode. The influence of the drug had left his nerves frayed. CoMmicbhook C©