Adventure Magazine Cover, December 10, 1922 — page 68: what you’re looking at

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

oO 62 Came back again and sat down rather humbly on the floor in front of Ommony. “And now, O Father of the Forest, let us _ seek to oblige each other,” he suggested. “Have you ordered food for that officer and his men?’’ Ommony demanded. “That is what took this long while. It was necessary to see the food was suitable. It has been done.”’ He described in considerable detail the ingredients and condiments that had gone into the imaginary stew, whereat Ommony professed himself satisfied. Ommony began to explain the situation in detail, dwelling on the baseness of murdering unarmed men who came carrying white flags. He told why they were coming. He, Ommony, had consented to the expedition for no reason whatever except to save the Moplahs from consequences that inevitably must ensue if they should murder those two prisoners at Podanaram. The mullah grew nervous again. He sug- gested that the consequences might not be so serious. Ommony disabused his mind. After the British victory, which must come sooner or later, the defeated Moplahs would be falling over one another to denounce the authors of every outrage, and nothing would be easier than for the British to identify culprits, who would be hanged after trial and conviction. The mullah became very nervous indeed. Ommony pointed out that foreigners from other parts of India, who might look just at present like responsible people, would un- doubtedly try to run away before the end came, leaving the Moplahs to shoulder the consequences. The mullah, more nervous than ever, excused himself to go and see why the food was so long coming—actually to find his servant and countermand the order about taking those prisoners to Podanaram. But he could not find the servant. He had to get another man to make tea for his guest, and by the time that came at last it was after sunset. “Where are my friends going to sleep?” demanded Ommony. The mullah professed not to know. By that time he was too jumpy to invent a workable lie on the spur of a moment. Ommony insisted on finding out where they were to sleep; invited the mullah to accom- pany him, but threatened to go alone and investigate otherwise. Not knowing exactly ? Adventure what excuse to make, but hoping for some- thing to turn up, the mullah took a lantern and followed him out, taking the lead as they passed through the gap in the fence and drew abreast of the mosque portico. THERE a man ran into them— cannoned off the mullah in the dark } and nearly upset Ommony. He was heaving—sweating—did not smell like a native of Madras—and Ommony’s nose was jungle keen. The man had collapsed on the portico, gasping for breath. Ommony took the lantern from the mullah and, stooping to see who had come in all that haste, looked into the face of Athelstan King! | “Oh, hello!” he said. Ee, Stl” Ommony and the mullah picked him up between them, and supported him into the mosque, where Ornmony kicked his boots off as a concession to the mullah’s preju- dices. “Thought you were dead,” he said, smil- ing at King in the dancing, dim lantern light. “That was guesswork, Cot, not thinking! Is it true——”’ He lay down a minute, still panting for breath, then sat up again. “Sorry. Ran uphill. Is it true you had an officer and three men with your? Women said so. Why d’you let ’em take ’em to P’danaram?”’ Ommony’s lower jaw dropped a trifle as he turned on the mullah, that was all. The mullah recognized a crisis and proceeded to use his natural weapon. “This person is an English spy, for he speaks English!’ he announced. ‘“You— you had our confidence! I will denounce you both!’ “Man without brains or hope of life eternal!’’ exclaimed King in the vernacular. . “I come from Mahommed Babar, who now has four hundred followers. He cares nothing for mullahs—all for his friends! He is within a march of here.” The mullah chewed the cud on that a min- ute, then nodded and got up to leave the mosque. “Sit down there!” commanded Ommony, who, however, had no weapon. The mullah reached into the folds of his clothes for his own rusty Mauser, but heard a low whistle and turned his head—to find himself looking straight down the barrel of King’s little automatic. King said nothing. Go .OOKS mie (ECOL Af