Adventure Magazine Cover, December 10, 1922 — page 63: what you’re looking at

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

Benefit of Doubt Cagey old bird, the mullah! He settled himself apparently for a well-earned snooze in the shade—but with his head turned in the direction from which pursuit would come. King could just discern beyond the clearing the only possible path by which the mullah could eventually resume his journey; so he skirted the clearing, which was a very dificult thing to do without betraying himself, because of the denseness of the undergrowth and the necessity for crossing the open a score of times. Having reached the point where the track plunged again into the jungle he sat down exactly in the midst of it, and waited. Cagey old bird though the mullah might be, there was salt on his tail! When King began to make his circuit of the clearing the mullah heard a few dry twigs break, as King intended that he should. Thereafter was silence, and the muilah lay shamming sleep, with one eye watching the direction whence the noise of breaking twigs had come. At the end of half-an-hour he could endure the suspense no longer. He got up suddenly, and ran for the point where he had heard the twigs break, found nothing, beat about the bush for fifteen minutes, and returned jumpily nervous to the rock, where he had left his bundle of traveling necessities. It was gone! The ground was too dry to take foot- prints. There was nothing to show whether bird, beast or man had done the lifting, and the muilah in his heart suspected devils. Even his cotton umbrella was gone—that inseparable emblem of his dignity that, unlike all other dignities in this world, provided comfort too! One point was settled, at all events. It was a common thief, and not the Sirdar Mahommed Akbar Khan. No sirdar would steal a mullah’s cloth bundle containing snuff, soap, tobacco, socks and a change of shirts. Luckily he had tucked his small supply of money into the fold of his belly band. Luckily, too, he knew of a lodging for the night, where he would be treated with proper dignity, umbrella or no um- brella. yet praising Allah in that he had not been killed. He was telling his beads as he turned the corner into the jungle lane on the far side of the clearing; and it should not be written of a mullah that he screamed. It was not a scream. It was blended of oath, prayer, «He resumed his journey angrily;-~ 57 exclamation, agony of fear, astonishment, roar of rage, and recovering presence of mind. ‘There is no one word in all the dic- tionaries that covers that ground com- pletely, but there is one sound that ex- presses all of it, and the mullah used the sound, leaping backward at the same time like a colt that sees an adder in the path. King rose easily from a sitting posture, holding the mullah’s bundle and umbrella— very careful indeed not to startle his man any further, for that rusty Mauser pistol might go off after all, supposing the mullah could find it among the folds of his clothes. “T saw that your eminence was tired, so I picked these up to carry them for a while!” “How—why—what—Allah! Why are you not where I told you to stay?” “The saber was clean and sharp. None came. I was curious to see the village. I emerged—looked about me—caught sight of your eminence—and naturally followed.” “Naturally!” the mullah snorted. “Did the door open naturally? The lock was smashed to atoms!” “Ves. A poor lock and a good saber! Which way shall I carry your eminence’s bundle—forward or toward home?” The mullah eyed him, hesitating. He looked tired, and there was pain behind his eyes as if his head ached terribly, but none- theless he was an antagonist too well set- up and limber looking to be tackled except as a last recourse. Besides “T have no means of. protecting you. Can you protect me if we march together?” asked the mullah. , But no wise man shows his weapons until he means to use them. “We came thus far,’ King answered, smiling. “If Allah pleases—is the road much longer?” -_ The mullah decided on direct tactics. This was a crafty fellow, who could outwit craft. It would be waste of. words to try cozening him. “Tell me truly how you stand toward Mahommed Babar!” he demanded. “Are you his friend or his enemy? I charge you, answer me the truth, or the curse of Allah and of all His angels shall pursue you forever!’ King answered without a moment’s hesitation. “Mahommed Babar is a friend of the Moplahs and of all who love liberty,” he answered. Gomicbooks (E{o)