Adventure Magazine Cover, December 10, 1922 — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

of building. As a jail it was ridiculous. Nev- ertheless— “This is where your honor must stay until further orders,” said the mullah. King noted the “must,” and bowed acknowledgment. The mullah looked re- lieved again, as King observed. When men of the North, or Moplahs -of the South, make prisoners they search them, usually strip them, and invariably lock them in a place whence escape is impossible. - The mullah showed the way into a reason- able room, carpeted with matting. It had two windows, barred with upright wooden rods. The ceiling was low and of calico. The door had obviously been stolen from some ready-made imported wooden building and could be kicked down easily. ‘There was a folding canvas cot, a camp-chair, and a few odds and ends, including a bundle of old swords and bayonets in a corner, some of them dating from before the Mutiny. One of them was an enormous cavalry saber, much heavier than is used in any army nowadays. The mullah made an armful of the weap- ons and pitched them all out in the yard, as if tidying the place. Reconsidering things, he brought the big saber in again. A-very tactful man that mullah. Quite a strategist. “There is a cot—a chair—your honor may rest here and get well. Would your honor do a favor for me? There is no hurry, but when the head feels better. This saber now—an old one—I place no faith in such things, but prefer this.” He pulled out a Mauser repeating pistol and patted it meaningly. King noticed rust on the sliding action and wondered whether the thing would go off. “Your brother Mahommed Babar wants a cavalry saber. Would your honor care to clean and sharpen this for him? See, it was a good one once. Whoever owned it knew how to use it, too. Look at the notches he has nicked below the hilt—nine, ten, eleven men! A fighter! Your honor—a fighting man—sharpening a saber must be—see, I have a box of implements—files, a whet- _ stone, sand, leather and some rags. There is water in that iron jar. Your honor is willing?” Diplomacy! But two can play at that— none better than King, who can seem to play the other fellow’s game more innocently than a sheep led by the bell-wether. Adventure “Tf your honor’s head were only ——” “Much better!” announced King. ‘Hardly aches now.” “T will be back in an hour. If that saber could be ready.” “Easily.” “T must find the right men for guards, who will treat your honor reasonably well.” It had been “bodyguards” the first time. “Reasonably well” seemed also a concession to unnamed contingencies. King bent his head to hide a smile and examined the blade of the saber. | “T would prefer this personally!” said the mullah, pulling out his Mauser pistol and patting it meaningly again. Very diplomatic! “They are better than a sword,” said King, reaching for the box of rusty files and things. “So. I will be back in an hour,” said the mullah, and went out, locking the door after him, incidentally forgetting in his haste the patriarchal blessing that he should have paused in thé-doorway to invoke. Both men were beautifully satisfied. The mullah now had to ask no favors of the blacksmith, who was a person given to curi- osity and almost as much independence as the men of his ancient guild who hammered armor for the knights of old. His guest was busy and undoubtedly believed himself a prisoner. He had time to hunt up discreet individuals, who would mount guard for a day or two and hold their tongues. There was no such simple way of reporting a man’s sayings and doings as to keep the individual under lock and key. And, as he wanted very badly to be absent for the next few days, the arrangement was all the more convenient. Last, but not least, the saber was likely to be cleaned and sharpened in such fashion as would delight even such a fierce soldier as Mahommed Babar. Excellent! There is no God but Allah, who is all-wise and who directs the thoughts of the faithful. Ma- hommed is the Prophet of Allah, on whom be peace! He emerged from the mosque and walked down-street with an air of con- templative statesmanship: IN THE bedroom King worked at the saber contentedly. He might need it—if the mullah or his serv- ants should return too soon. Meanwhile, it might be true that Mahommed Babar needed it, in which case—— comichook (ECO)