Adventure Magazine Cover — page 81: what you’re looking at

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

NY yj pil Gal Author of “The Rider of the Gray Horse,’ “The Skull of Shirzad Mir,” etc. Put cloth of gold upon a fool and a multitude will do reverence to him; clothe a wise man in beggar’s garments, and few will honor him. Yet those few will have their reward.—Turkestan Proverb. E WERE three men with two horses and two swords. We were outcasts in the thickets ia As of the foot-hills of Badakshan, under the peaks of the Roof of the World. We had earned the wrath of the Mogul of India and there were two thousand riders searching for us. It was the year of the Ox—the year 1608 by the Christian calendar—and Jani Beg, the Uzbek, had taken Badakshan from my lord, Baber Shirzad Mir, sometimes called the Tiger Lord. Nevertheless, we three were happy. We had taken Shirzad Mir from the hands of Jani Beg, who had marked him for death. Aye, Shirzad Mir sat in the clean white robes in which he had prepared to die by a twisted bowstring around the neck, and laughed for joy of seeing the sun cast its level darts of light over the peaks and through the trees that gave us shelter. Our hearts—the Ferang’s and mine—were lifted up for a moment by the warmth that comes with early morning. We had an ache in our bellies for lack of food; we had not slept fora day andanight. Also, I was stiff with many bruises. “Tell me,” said Shirzad Mir, fingering his full beard, which was half gray, half black, “how you got me out of the prison of Khanjut.” 07 While I watched, lying at the edge of the thicket on my side, the Ferang—the Englishman, Sir Ralph Weyand—explained how we had climbed through the water tunnel of Khanjut into the walls, and how we two alone had freed the Mir while Jani Beg and his men were tricked into looking the other way by a herd of cattle that we had sent to the gate of Khanjut. He spoke in his broken Mogholi, but Shirzad Mir, who was quick of wit, under- stood. : ‘“‘And whence came you?” he asked. Sir Weyand told how he had been sent to India as a merchant, and had been driven from the court of the Mogul by the wiles of the Portuguese priests. When he had done, Shirzad Mir rose up and touched his hand to earth, then pressed the back of it to his brow. This is something he has seldom done, being a chieftain by birth, and a proud man. Sir Weyand rose also and made salutation after the manner of his country. : I watched from the corner of my eye, for my curiosity was still great concerning the Ferang: also, for all he had borne him- self like a brave man that night, he was but a merchant and I knew not how far we could trust him. While I lay on the earth and scanned the groups of horsemen that scurried the plain below us, seeking for our tracks, the thought came to me that our fortunes were desperate. | We were alone. The followers of Shirzad Mir were scattered through Badakshan, or Gomichbooks. co Nn