Adventure Magazine Cover — page 143: what you’re looking at

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

The Grudge filling his veins with salted waters to sustain the nerves and deceive the body into assum- ing that it still had blood, Sir Harrod passed on to join the great company of knights and soldiers whose names have made the white race glorious. S RS: SS SSH Sond » SEES QS ee SSH Ss to SY S \ SS SS ~ MON SS SS SRAS_@__-s—-g Ry S SS WN e \N XQ ; = Sa SS . SN SS SS SS \. ANS WAN N SY WN . WS SSE PARQ S S QO SEVAnggyr ., ~ NSS SANS X WW WSs q39@ S aA Bee WN \ SN RRNA SAW . PNRWWHY WW SW x ‘ S SS N MQ WAY \ QO ; WH SN Ry WAS SN RAK LY SAV SS ~ SS ‘ \ . WS Miy NS MIry RQ WS RQ WY WOWRAQNY RS SQ \ SN SS WG S SAX SQV WAS SS ~ ~ \. NS \ WSS SS . RRA CRE ~ x SS S \\ ‘ O28 WS SS LR Qy RRMA nnnes RO any SOQ BOG SS SS Next morning the order was, “Carry on!’ The residency flag still flew at full mast, for it was essential not to let Raja Ahmad know what had happened. Browne had taken over as acting resident, sober and grief-stricken, but determined that the white man’s Government should continue. He attended court as usual over the raja’s balet, surrounded by his Sikhs, interfering only by a quiet word of counsel when Ahmad’s judgments of the native cases brought before him verged on the fantastic or the cruel Yates had begged off early. The resident lay in state in his own room, a martyr in the White Man’s Graveyard, and Ranleigh was busy in the telegraph office. Yates had time to himself; time to pursue an in- vestigation of vital importance in his mind. It was essential to find out at once where Ya Israng had been getting that water. He had countermanded the order giving the old fellow a coolie, for then there would have been no question but that he would have marched the laborer before him triumphantly to the distant spring. Ya Israng had asked for that coolie im- mediately after chota haziri, the early breakfast at six. His weird old monkey face had fallen and a look of ferocity had leaped into it for an instant as Yates ex- plained that in the present upset state of of Ya Israng I4I affairs no coolie could be spared. Then had come the usual shrug of submission. Now Ya Israng was shouldering grumblingly the bamboo yoke. Yates watched him swing out down the road, cursing volubly ali unbelievers in Arabic phrases out of the Koran, and kicking the oil cans as he went. Yates followed, paralleling him along a jungle trail which gave occasional glimpses of the road. The spring was about a mile down it; one turned to the right and took a path along a tiny rill, which led to the clear stone well of the spring under a beetling cliff of limestone. Hardly had Ya Israng gone a third of the way before he suddenly turned to the left, and, with a glance about, darted down a jungle path. Yates uttered a fierce ex- clamation of censure as he watched. Good Lord! On é¢hat side ran the capricious windings of the village brook! It was kept from joining the main river by a geo- logic basalt dike, and in a bend of that brook the stockade of Kwala Luwas had been built. Its water was clear down here, Yates knew, but deceitful, for all the seepage of the village refuse eventually reached it. A microscope would show a drop of its water swarming with cholera germs! -Yates cursed the niggardly administra- tion which refused a colonial doctor the protection of such an instrument. A sick weakness had overwhelmed him as he saw Ya Israng vanish toward that brook—they had all been drinking that filth four whole days! Immediately there followed a tower- ing and a righteous wrath as Yates himself crashed through the jungle toward the road, crossed it and hurried down the jungle trail. He met Ya Israng already returning, groaning under the yoke of two brimming tins of water. 3 ‘““You—unspeakable—swine!’’ yelled Yates, advancing upon him with clenched fists and flashing eyes and unable to say more in his raging passion. The monkey face. looked at him startled. dismayed. “Ya Israng stopped submis- sively under his load of spilling tins, his palms held. outward across his forehead in token of injured innocence. “Is this the going for pure water to the spring—grandson of a flea!’ shouted Yates when he could find breath, and then he lost Go DOO) = (C©