Adventure Magazine Cover, December 10, 1922 — page 25: what you’re looking at

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

Benefit of Doubt fighting. Ergo, I make my bargain in advance. I’m sober and in earnest.”’ “Wouldn’t you obey an order to come away?” “T should never receive it!’’ The jungli in the door still fidgeted. He had left his lizard-skin tom-tom and stick somewhere and was at a loss how to draw notice to himself. It was the dogs who first sensed the note of alarm; they growled and called Ommony’s attention. He turned his chair about, and the jungli promptly squatted in the doorway with his eyes on Ommony’s face but a sort of glance in reserve for the cavalryman. Ommony grunted a monosyllable and the jungli turned loose the floods of speech—little staccato freshets in his case that broke forth and were dry again. It was all about the cavalryman; that much was obvious even to the dogs, who watched him and were restless. The major, too, became impatient. “Thus saith the Lord—but what?” he demanded. Ommony grunted a dozen monosyllables and turned his chair again. The jungli disappeared. A big, winged insect dashed itself to death against the table lamp with an élan that almost broke the glass—first class cavalry tactics. “Your two orderlies have disappeared,” said Ommony. Major Pierson overturned his chair in a hurry to get to the door. “Nonsense!” he said. ‘“They can’t have gone far. Orderly! Oh, orderly!” He ran down the veranda steps in the pitch darkness and stood still at the bottom, listening, but could hear nothing. “Orderly! Oh, orderly! Where are you?” There was no answer. His eyes were growing used to the dark so he strode for- ward, trying far-sightedly to penetrate the blackness where the line of trees began. Suddenly he stumbled, tried to recover, and fell headlong. : “My God! Ommony! You there, Om- mony?. Dead horses—two of ’em! Hot! Dead about a minute! Blood! By —— my hands are all sticky with it!” “Better come back,” advised Ommony from the veranda. “Got to see where the men are. ——, if they’re——”’ “Tf youll come back here [ll get your men for you.” Pierson wiped his hands on the dry grass ostentatious click. “What do you know about this?” he de- manded, making his way. back cautiously, peering sideways, trying to make out whether Ommony was armed. “It was one of those panicky moments, euphemistically termed a crisis, when the army does things not easily explained in the hard light of tomorrow. Ommony recognized it. “You'll be safe up here beside me,’’ he said in deliberately commanding tones. (You can’t safely plead with hysteria, es- pecially in armed, grown men.) “Come on. I need your advice.” | “T’ll blow your head off if you try any tricks!’ the major answered. “Unfortunately ’m no use without my head! Come up,” said Ommony. ‘“Let’s talk this over.” “Talk? You do as I say!” The major climbed the steps and tapped the muzzle of his revolver against the veranda railing. “Call your servants! Send two of them to the train to find out what’s happening!” “My servants have bolted,” Ommony answered. He seemed not to see the revol- ver at all, although it was within a foot of him in the shaft of light that came by the- window shade. ‘The butler brought coffee and followed the others for what they call tall timber in the West. The junglt has gone for your orderlies.’’ “You don’t mean they ran too? For God’s sake——”’ “‘According to the jumngli they were sur- prized, gagged, bound and carried off. He saw it.” “Good God! What’s it all about?” “The mystery is why the dogs didn’t bark,” said Ommony. “One of my servants must have attended to that. The dogs are above suspicion. So is the jungli.” IQ = : 3 > and cocked his service revolver with an The major sat down on the garden-seat between the door and window, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. Then he shoved the revolver back into its holster. “T say, was I beastly rude just now?” he asked. “Not at all.” Ommony produced his case, chose a cigar and offered him one, © “Thanks. I mean, wasn’t I 7 “Men gone—horses dead—any would flare up.”’ “Dashed decent of you to admit it. Some men would have— What’s that noise?” man €omicboo S.cO f sg ee OO Ss Oa eee