Adventure Magazine Cover — page 42: what you’re looking at

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

798 old world God seemed for the moment to stand revealed. Then a sound broke the stillness. It came from the Little House. It was like the murmur of the sea before a storm, or the wind from distant mountain-tops; a humming, intoning voice, the blending of Many voices, growing louder, nearer until © it was directly beneath the trap-door, sepa- rating itself into many tones, snarls, broken curses, sputters of rage, the inhuman cry of murder-lust. There was a beating of many hands upon the trap, then the blows of some heavy instrument and a sound of splintering wood. MHolbrooke caught the girl’s hand in his and ran with her across the roof and up the stairway to the neigh- boring terrace, which was flanked with a parapet of blossoming marigolds and iris. From the trap-door turbaned heads sprang upward—huge bubbles from a hid- den pool. The roof of the Little House was filled with shrouded, swiftly-moving forms like snowflakes driven by the wind. Sighting the man and girl on the next roof, they ran toward the stairway, yelling hideously. Holbrooke shot at them, empty- ing the four barrels of his revolver with deadly precision. Four Arabs dropped without a cry. The others fell back and huddled like frightened sheep, facing the parapet where Holbrooke and the girl stood. Then, as though obeying an instan- taneous command, they flung their right hands upward. The narrow blades of their little Damascus daggers gleamed in the dawn like threads of silver fire. iG the girl’s shoulder and forced her down, flinging himself across her as a shield between her young body and those uplifted shining messengers of death. He bent his head until his cheek touched hers. She was sobbing, great tearless sobs, and from her lips came broken words: “ Forgive—forgive ss “It’s not a half bad way to go—for me,” he whispered back. ‘Dying alone is hor- ribly lonely business. But you!’’ His eyes sought hers. He saw how beautiful she was. What a woman! And to die so! It was ugly and wrong. He cursed the limita- tions of his Colt repeater. Then he bent closer to hear the whispered words she was sending him through that awful moment of silence and waiting. HOLBROOKE flung his arm about Adventure “Where are they? What are they wait- ing for?” Sure enough. What were they waiting for? A full minute had passed between that upflinging motion of the Arab’s arms and the girl’s question. Holbrooke raised his head and peered through the marigolds upon the silent group on the roof of the Little House. ‘Then, with a pressure of his hand on the girl’s arm, he bade her look. A strange thing was happening. The Arabs’ bodies were swaying queerly. Their arms had fallen limply to their sides. In the brightening dawn he could see their uplifted faces, their great, brown, staring eyes—not the eyes of conquerors, but of men who are forced against their will to look at something horrible. The girl bent a shining face toward Holbrooke. “Red Mist!” she whispered excitedly. “They’re seeing it! We’re—we’re saved!” Holbrooke stared at her with a strange look. “What do you mean?” His voice was calm, but his eyes burned through the silvering darkness. “It’s a danger sign. It comes as a death-warning,”’ she whispered back. “‘ They won’t touch us now. Can’t you see? They’re afraid—utterly afraid! Why,” her voice lifted, “‘we could stand before them here, now, and they wouldn’t raise a finger against us!” “You believe that?”’ Doubt and a half- belief were fighting in his tone. Before he could prevent her, she answered his ques- tion by standing suddenly upright. With a strangled cry of horror Holbrooke sprang before her. She gave a little laugh and pulled him back until they stood side by side with nothing save the nodding gold and purple heads of the marigold and iris between them and that huddled group of dark faces staring up at them. Leaning forward the girl spoke quickly in Arabic— two words. With a cry the Arabs hid their faces in the folds of their white mantles and stood motionless, like ivory-tinted figures against the blue and gold of the morning sky. The girl touched Holbrooke’s arm lightly. “Come!” Together they crossed the roof to the west and down the outer stair- way leading to the street. In the half-dawn the roofs began to re- veal themselves—jagged, oblique lines cut- C© MICLOOKS (©