Adventure Magazine Cover — page 173: what you’re looking at

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

The Village of the Ghost son, and its existence was just becoming known to the English officials. So much Malcolm knew. Cunningham’s story had led him to suspect there were thugsin Bhir. What puzzled him was that, until now, the native slayers had not ven- tured to number an Englishman among their victims. Moreover there was the peculiar individ- ual known as the ghost to be accounted for. ‘What, then?” he repeated grimly. The reply of the Rajput came like a flood when a dam is loosed. Malcolm’s accusa- tion had stirred his sense of honor, which was very high-indeed. “Sahib, it is true that thou couldst aid me in my revenge, and that these words—if they are overheard—may mean the death of Tala. I have-sworn to serve thee. Judge whether I am faithful to my oath. Two sahibs that were here before thee were slain. Thou art a brave man. Thou wouldst not go from: this place until the revenues were collected. As it is, the thugs seek only to drive thee away, or to harm thee secretly. Once they suspect that thou knowest their secret, thy fate is sealed. Thou wilt lie beside my son.’ He pointed quietly to the grave of Cheetoo. “Thus! But there is still a chance for thee to escape. I say—go. ‘Sahib, thou art well enough to travel. Mount, then, this night for Agra and ride fast. If there are thugs in Bhir, they have marked thee for slaying. Know, sahib, that secrecy is the veil that shields the servants of Kali; my son they buried, but Cheetoo they left under our eyes. That means that they have determined thou shalt not leave _ Bhir, to report their presence. Otherwise they would have dragged away the body be- fore slashing it and we would have thought that a tiger had struck him down.”’ “Ves,” acknowledged Malcolm, “TI thought of thugs when I first heard the tale of the servant of Cunningham safib. But what of the man who visits the castle and who is niy enemy?” “T know not. But consider this.” Rawul Singh pointed at the fresh mound of stones. ‘‘They know now that thou wilt not die by tiie poisoned air, nor by my sword. So they may attack thee ai once.” “Ves,” said the Scot dryly. “T will stay, sahib, and search for Tala aione. But you must go at once.” 39 163 UN oO.’ That night two men watched on the ter- race where the moonlight threw a jagged _ shadow from the walls of the ruins. Under the tower where his outline blended with the wall Rawul Singh squatted, his drawn sword | across his knees. Lying on his cot in the tent, Malcolm | watched, pistol in hand, the play of light and shadow over the cotton roof. He was wondering whether Rawul Singh was not an ' ally of the man in the cloak—who took upon | himself the resemblance of a demon—Rawul , Singh, who might have slain the unfortu-. nate Cheetoo, and who was now urging him | to fly from Bhir, which was the thing his enemies wished. Tossing on his cot in the hot hours of early night, Malcolm could hear the sounds of the near-by jungle, a buffalo crashing down to water somewhere at the edge of the rice fields—an owl hooting—the slipping passage of a -leopard—the snarl of a jackal. Wearied by his sickness, his senses sharp- ened by edged nerves, Malcolm felt that hostile forces were gathering around him. He knew that he was cut off from his kind— the chit bearer who had been gone ten days had not returned. Worst of all, he won- dered whether he could feel certain of Rawul Singh. Through the opening in his tent he could see the moonlight on the roofs of Bhir village, could glimpse a torch passing down the bazaar front or a turbaned group of men moving quietly across the central square. These groups merged together, and lights danced across his eyes that persisted in clos- ing with the lengthening of the night. It seemed to him as if the beasts of the jungle had halted in their tracks and were crouch- ing, their eyes shining in the darkness as they looked toward him. A cold wind blew into his face and he seemed to be lifted into the starlit air. A high voice shrilled down the wind, laughter sounded in mocking words of a tongue he did not know. .It was strange, he thought dully, that the voice in the night air should laugh. It was very cold among the stars and their light hurt his eyes. , Malcolm awoke to find himself stiff from the chill of dawn and a gray light filling the tent. Rawul Singh was standing beside him, cCoMmicbhook CO