Adventure Magazine Cover — page 154: what you’re looking at

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

140 blended in the strong, level light as to give afalse suggestion of flatness. His hand dropped to an automatic, hol- stered at his right hip, as he swiftly crouched to a kneeling position, one hand supporting him, the other on the grip of his gun, while he stretched his neck and looked over the crest of a shady billow. His dark blue eyes matched the hue of the steel of the pistol, gleaming: through nar- rowed lids at the almost naked figure that squatted on the farther slope facing the spot where the flashes had shown in the hills. A brown, long-fingered hand clutched a disc of polished silver tilted so as to catch the sun-rays flaring off at premeditated in- tervals, a long or short glare of intense light as the curving hand rocked back and forth on the supple, sinewy wrist. One flash caught McNeill fairly in the eyes and made them water. He noiselessly shifted his angle and then inched back, rose upright, strode past the Mongols and dived into his dog-tent from which he almost im- mediately emerged and started to shout at the sleeping men in their own dialect, witha vigor that soon brought some semblance of concerted action from them. A fire was started and preparations made for the morning meal. The man who had been manipulating the silver mirror appeared, yawning as he came over the low dunes. He was of the northern clans, a giant in stature, as tall as McNeill, even broader-shouldered and with arms that swung his hands close to the knee-caps. A long knife, unsheathed, flashed red on his thigh. He hailed McNeill with a morning ‘greeting, and the latter responded with jaws that shut grimly after the Salutation. “It’s the first time I ever saw them mir- -ror-talk in China,” Neill was thinking, “but there’s no reason why they shouldn’t. Lots of things I haven’t seen and never will. And those priests “We'll start in fifteen minutes, Ling,” he said to the tall headman. ‘We'll drink tea and eat after we get on the march.”’ Ling’s mask of old ivory did not change, but his voice was gently deprecatory. “The master and his daughter are not yet arisen!’ he said. ‘The beasts are tired.” “That is my affair!’ snapped McNeill. “T am your master in this business and you have your orders. See that you obey!”’ Adventure He could sense that the rest of the Mon- gols had suddenly stiffened in their atti- « tudes, temporarily frozen, keen to some tenseness in the situation and the whip- like crack of McNeill’s voice. From Ling’s agate eyes showed a momentary gleam that might have been the light of any of a dozen emotions, none of them friendly. The gleam died before the steady light in the coldly blue orbs of McNeill. Ling turned away with the ghost of a shifting grin on his yellow face. To his shrill syllables two of the men shuffled off toward the camels and three others after the horses. ‘ A flap in the humpback tent of native design was thrown back, and a girl came out, sim in her brown holland riding togs, putteed, helmeted with a pith topee, her skin slightly tanned, her eyes even bluer than McNeill’s and her hair yellow as ripe corn. She was barely up to McNeill’s shoulder, but there was no suggestion of delicacy about her slender figure or the free vigor with which she walked towards him. “TL suppose there is no water to spare for anything but tea,’ she said. ‘Not for myself, though I am gritty and grimy to the last degree, but father is fussing about shaving.” McNeill ran his fingers over the stiff red stubble of his own lean jaws and grinned. ‘“‘Not a chance of it before nightfall,” he answered. “‘I wish you’d ask him to hurry. We’ve got to be moving. Have to eat in the saddle this morning.” She looked at him inquiringly but turned and went back to the tent while McNeill gazed after her admiringly. Then he wheeled. Ling had come up behind him noiselessly. “Well?” asked McNeill. “One of the camels is very sick—too sick to travel.’’ “Slit its throat and leave all its load. We can get along without tents for the next three nights.” Ling looked at him evilly. “Four of the horses are badly galled,” he said. ‘“Phree more are sick. We have come too far, too fast. We must rest.” “You know we are short of water,” said McNeill. “Why do you disobey my or- ders?” “It is not possible to obey them, O, my overlord,’’ answered Ling, his face deferen- tial, eyelids down, his soft voice impudent. Back of him the Mongols had gathered in GEomichbooks. co