Adventure Magazine Cover — page 106: what you’re looking at

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

I0o “Baby monkey,” I told him, and he swallowed. “Well, of course I wasn’t supposed to see the bride—but—I saw her.”’ I expressed surprise. That is one thing ‘which is not likely to happen in Morocco. “It was an accident—and I didn’t let on, of course. But I saw her face. Only for a flash. She was rather small for a Moorish girl—and very beautiful. Wonderful eyes— and lips.”’ 3 “You told no one?” I asked, to make cer- tain. It is not well for a foreigner to have seen a Moorish bride. “Of course not. Well—about a month later zt happened. Bel Larbi came to me one morning and asked for leave for two days. He wanted, he said, to go and see his sister, who had gone with her husband to his tribe, the Beni M’Sora, up in the mountains. He had arranged for another to take his place while he was away. I told him to go ahead, but not to forget to come back. He hesitated, and then said: ““T think, Sidi, there is wild pig to be found on the way. If Szdi would like a baked pig when I return—if Sidi would let me take the little gun which shoots the bullet which grows big— He meant my 30-30 carbine with the soft-nosed bullets— ‘T think I can promise him at least one pig. And I shall return on the second day, with- out fail.’ “So I told him to take the gun and a hand- ful of cartridges, and he rode off with a smile.” Bobbie Burton grew silent for a space. Then: ‘‘What? Oh yes; he came back all right. On the second day, as he had promised. He brought with him a fine fat pig with a hole in its breast you could have stuck your fist through. Those 30-30s are : “He pointed out the hole to me. He thanked me for the use of the gun, wiped a speck of dust from it with his sulham, and placed it carefully in the rack. Then he took a handful of cartridges from his shak- arah, and put them back. Adventure “ “Only two I used, Sidi,’ he said. ‘One for the pig, and the other—for another pig. And many thanks, Szdi, for your kind- ness.” ”’ 7 Again a silence which I forbore to break: I foresaw something of what was to follow, having lived some years in the country. And at last Bobbie took up the tale again, with a queer undertone in his voice. ““One for the pig, and the other—for another pig,’”’ he repeated. “And a hole as big as your fist. : ‘“T heard the story a week later, from Richards, the British Consular Agent. He referred to it quite casually—auntil I asked for details. My man’s sister, it seems, had not been pleased with the husband chosen for her. “He was old—and infected with many things. And there was a youth in the husband’s village. And—of course—well, she was indiscreet, and was caught——’”’ “And,” I offered, in the pause, “‘bel Larbi, her brother, was sent for.’ “Bel Larbi, her brother, was sent for. True. It is also true that bel Larbi, her brother, asked leave of me for two days, and the loan of the little gun which shoots the dum-dum bullets. And it is still fur- ther true, that he used one bullet on a fat pig, and that it tore a hole you could stick your fist through. Richards says that he called her to the door in the sun- light, and shot her through the breast. And he wiped the speck of dirt off the gun so carefully, and he counted the cartridges, and 2 Bobbie was nearing hysteria, so I said: “But, after all, it 2s the native custom.. Your man had to do it.” “T suppose so. That’s what Richards says too. But—‘One was for *the pig, and the other And she was a beautiful thing ss “T think we had better go back,” I said, turning my horse. I raced Bobby Burton to the fonda arch. There I left him. There are some things an artist. must fight out for himself. DOOLK C@©