Adventure Magazine Cover — page 48: what you’re looking at

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

42 fanatic, a warrior—and now a miser in his own prison. Is Sidi Ahmad tall and pow- erful of build?” Ibnol Hammamgi shook his head. “Nay, slight as a bird, and quick asa fox. How will you attempt to raid such a place?” “By a trick.” “Ah!” The Armenian was stirred to interest. ‘‘By what trick?” “T will walk through the gates, and they will all open to me.” “Riddles! By what key will you open the gates?” “There is the key.” Demid nodded toward the door of the hut and the elders started, beholding Lali leaning against the doorpost. No one except Demid had heard her enter. 3 “Ai-al” Ibnol Hammamgi _ glared. “Daughter of Macari, will you ride to that place of all abomination with this Frank?” ‘‘Aye, so.” | A tumult of protest and reproof arose, heads wagged, and sleeves were rolled up that lean brown arms might gesture the better; foam started on the bearded lips of the headmen. They agreed that Lali had eaten shame by dwelling in the palaces of the Imperial City. By leaving her people for the seraglio of Sidi Ahmad, she would make that shame memorable, they cried. ‘I have been incensed and blessed by the patriarch, O fathers,’’ she cried at them. “T am ready for what is unseen and un- guessed.” ‘“‘But to go to the man who cut open your father, like a fish!” The white face of the girl stood out, a cameo against the shadows of the hut, and seeing that their words were unheeded, the Armenians ceased their outcry. ~ Lali, being the child of a chieftain, and her parents dead, was free to follow what path she would. She even smiled, for Demid glanced at her with frank approval. The young warrior could deal with the shrewd brains of the Armenians, perhaps because his life had been spent until now in the wilderness where his friends and enemies were beasts, the man from the Don could see through the schemes of men; because of nights passed in riding herd and sitting by the lair of a stag, he had learned how to rely upon instincts that warned of danger. But he could not judge what was in the soul of Lali, nor did any instinct warn him Adventure against the danger that dwelt in the passion of the girl for him. On the next day Michael of Rohan van- ished from Sivas as if the caves in the hill- side had swallowed him up. He left not a trace, and Ibnol Hammamgi was as aston- ished as the Cossacks. But Lali had never been merrier than on that eve of her setting out for Aleppo. Vill Where his grave is dug there shall a man die, and not otherwise. He who hath a small soul walks with a short step, searching with his eyes for that which may not be seen, but the warrior who ts great of heart strides free, know- ing that Providence ts greater than he. ARAB PROVERB. | BS THE guard rooms of the musketeers of Paris many times had Sir Michael of Rohan wagered what he had in the world at ecarte or dice. It was his habit to accept the quips of fortune smilingly. The world was full of quips and he asked no more than to have a hand in the jest that was going the rounds. He had one peculiarity in play; whenever the women of the court or the nobles’ halls took seat at his table, Sir Michael was wont to rise and lay down his hand or pocket his stake, making the excuse with perfect good humor that the ladies - dazzled his poor wits. The truth of it was that the fairer sex had no little skill at cheating, and it was not the part of a cavalier to call attention to peccadillos of this nature. Michael pre- ferred to sit and watch, taking much amuse- ment therefrom. _ It was a fair bright morning, and the cavalier had been in good spirits as he watched the last of the sunrise from the edge of a cliff that formed an impregnable barrier between the tribe of Sivas and an invader. He had not heard Lali approach until she stood behind him, but upon per- ceiving: the dark-haired girl, he had made a courteous bow, sweeping his plumed hat upon the very surface of the snow. She stepped to the edge of the rock and looked down, the wind whipping her cloak about her limbs, and her long tresses unruly. “From this rock, O Frank,” she observed, “we cast down those who have offended. Many stout Turks who sought to climb to our nest have been tumbled back into purgatory from here.” COMG HOO CO