Adventure Magazine, April 10, 1924 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

16 Adventure angle. Mistress Bengli stepped back, only half believing she was to suffer no hurt from the wayfarer. “Say to your lord,” he laughed, “that Abdullah ibn Khar rode to Montserrat upon a mission. Aye, to find one among the Franks who was worthy to adventure to the Throne of Gold. Say that he found not such a man within Montserrat, and so—the peace!” ae AT THE edge of the wooded land fae the Montserrat archers who were ™ the advance of the marquis’ array halted and studied the open valley below them. The remnant of a moon hung over the hills to the south, lighting the expanse of rolling sand that extended to the river- bed. In a hollow by the water glowed the embers of a half-dozen camp-fires. A raven croaked from the shadows, and the screaming snarl of a panther made response. Listening, the archers heard stealthy rustling in the dry brush on either side. They had come upon no sign of the Moslems in the march of a full league, down from the castle. And they saw nothing amiss in the camp of the pilgrims below them. So they reported to Longsword and the Hospitaler who rode up presently, followed by the main body. “After scanning the valley carefully Sir Robert surprized his companion by putting spurs suddenly to the bay and galloping out upon the sand. He rode into the camp unchallenged and halted by the ox-carts that were ranged near the fire. The Sieur de la Marra paused to look down at the pilgrims who lay in scat- tered groups in the hollows, and to swear under his breath. oe: Montserrat feared an ambush- ment, yet methinks naught lies in wait here save Death.” At the coming of the crusaders jackals and snarling four-footed things slipped out of the camp into the shadows. Even the oxen had been cut down, and one man still gripping an ax was prone in the ashes of the iire, his head half-burned away. Torches were kindled by the archers while the riders quieted their horses, made rest- less by the penetrating smell of blood. Some stared at the carts where a score of bodies lay about the woman who sti!! held the baby in her arms—all pierced by ar- rows. In the shallows of the rivers the ———| standard-bearer sprawled, the shaft of the banner floating beside his head. In all quarters the sand was trampled by horses’ hoofs, yet the pilgrims had had no horses. The Hospitaler dismounted to examine one of the arrows and announced that it was a kind he had not seen before—a short shaft, unbarbed but with long feathering. “It smacks of an Arab bow. Ha, mes- sires, I wot well the minstrel spoke the truth! The riders who did this pretty busi- ness came from the desert, and mayhap from Khar.” Whoever they were, the raiders had taken the camp by surprize and had wrought fearful havoc with small loss to themselves. No bodies of Saracens were to be seen, and if any had been slain they were borne off by their comrades. The attack—judging by the numbers of beasts that gathered about the scene—had taken place some hours be- fore, so the Montserrat watchers must have beheld the foray riding back from the river to one of the trails that led through the mountains. Pursuit was not to be thought of. The Crowses had learned after bitter experiences that their heavily armed warriors and sturdy chargers could not deal with the swiit-moving Saracens in broken country. “A fair riddance, messires,”’ mouthed Hugo, turning-over the body of a ragged lad with his lance point. ‘“‘We need no longer feed the rabble, though we must e’en bury it—Fra Anselmo will see to’t. Come, who is for the castle?” The archers and pikemen who had been combing over the scattered packs of the pilgrims, already pillaged by the raiders, began to move toward their officers, while Guiblo and his following with Piculph the Lombard and Hugo’s squire drew closer about the three. But the young Hospitaler stooped to the stained sand and held up a slender gauntlet embroidered with silk initials. “FE. de lL—requiescat in pace, whosoever ye be—a woman’s hawking-gauntlet, or ’'m « turn-spit. What—how now?” Robert had taken the glove from him and turned to face the marquis. ‘““Messire,”’ said he, “it lingers in my ruemory that. you did give your knightly word to the rabble that you would defend them against all foes upon this, your jand.” As Hugo was silent, in surprize he added— COmiclboookkS.G©