Adventure Magazine Cover — page 70: what you’re looking at

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

62 It was Springtime, and even the harsh Jand of Palestine smiled bravely. The straggling trees were blooming, flowers grew by the wayside, and the hills looked less brown and bare than they would after the Summer heat had come to scorch the foliage and bake the rocks. Beyond the last peasant’s cot in the valley below Mount Zorash Matteo reined in, pondering his plans. Ali and he always had ridden south toward the Dead Sea. Northward, his father’s lands marched with those of the “‘foreign’”’ lord who dwelt in the castle of Mardan. Matteo knew there was small love lost between this man and his father, but he could see no reason why that should prevent his exploring new territory, which, after all, had not been expressly for- bidden to him. The southern hills promised monotony; to the north adventure beckoned. Matteo urged his horse from the path, and turned northward, riding at ease. The country was deserted, but that was not unusual. Everywhere, along the border betwixt Saracen and Christian, human life stopped outside the narrow radius of cultivation which surrounded each town and castle. The open country was given over to the wild things. Presently, Matteo strung his bow, and pulled an arrow from his quiver. He missed a fox which darted into a burrow; but brought down a hare that hovered upwind, slung the creature to his saddle, and rode on, arrow loosely on the string, eyes scanning the landscape. It was thus his first adventure came to him. He noticed suddenly a running figure that topped a long ridge to the west. For an instant this figure stood forth distinctly on the ridge crest. Then it dipped down into a fold of the ground, apparently running toward him. Matteo waited curiously, wondering what the man fled from. He was answered when several larger dots which were men on horseback appeared on the ridge crest, the sun rays flashing from helm and spear tip. : Matteo’s interest grew. He held his bow ready, and rode slowly toward the field which he guessed the fugitive would tra- verse. Sure enough, from behind a clump of olive trees he viewed the fellow, running furiously. “Stand!” called Matteo. Adventure The man continued to advance, and Matteo repeated the command in the Saracen tongue. This time the fellow halted, with arms raised above his head. “Mercy, lord!” he gasped, the sweat and dust griming his face. “I have done no injury to any one.” “Who are you?” demanded Matteo. “T am Kafur.” ‘“‘And whose man are you?” “Sinan’s.”’ ‘“‘Whose?”’ repeated Matteo, for the name meant nothing to him then. ‘‘Sinan’s—he who is the Lord of Death.” “He can not be a good lord to have, . Kafur,” replied Matteo thoughtfully. The fugitive looked over his shoulder fearfully, but the pursuers were still hidden by a low intervening hill. “In the name of mercy, young lord, let me pass,” pleaded the man. “If the Tem- plars come up, they will slay me.”’ “The Templars? Why should they pur- sue you? We have a truce with your eople.”’ “With the Saracens, yes, lord; but not with my people. The Templars slay us whenever they can.” Matteo stared hard at the man. Under the mask of dirt and sweat he saw a mobile face that combined a certain sensitiveness with determination. The man’s eyes met Matteo’s unflinchingly. “Quick!” decided Matteo, snatching the hare from his saddle. ‘Hold this! You are my attendant. ’Tis too late to run.” Kafur’s face lightened with gratitude. “Kafur will not forget, lord. Come with me behind the olives.”’ Matteo rode back with him under the shelter of the trees. A hoarse shout echoed from the slope of the near-by hill. The fugi- tive drew a small box from his girdle, opened it and rapidly smeared his face and neck with the black paste it contained. In a trice he presented the appearance of a negro. Matteo watched him, fascinated, and as the man commenced to smear his hands he drew from one finger a ring bearing a massy signet. “Will you take this, lord?” he asked. “It means death for me if ’tis found about me.” Mechanically, Matteo pouched the ring and watched the man conceal the box of paste, beneath a stone. Then Kafur bound a cloth around his head and stood up, a COMmicaoo® S (C@