Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 146 No. 4 — page 50: what you’re looking at

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

~~ ‘twinge of pain recalled him to memory. ‘He drew rein, found himself bareheaded, and discovered a slight wound along the For a space he rode confusedly, until a scalp above his left ear. He made shift to “wash the wound with water from his bottle. “The devil!” he exclaimed suddenly. Realization smote him full force, left him appalled and bewildered. Why, Barbar- roja must have been in league with Gholam Mahmoud all the time. He must have ex- pected to lead Mulai Ali into that ambush; and, too, must have had some share in Gholam Mahmoud’s work in Tlemcen. _ “ And I never suspected, when he found me trussed up and appeared so amazed,”’ thought Spence, dumfounded. “ Well, Master Red-beard, just wait a bit. I'll have a word with you in time.” Presumably, Shaw and the girl had es- caped with the Spahis. They would reach Udjde and send help to Mulai Ali. Thus the assassins had gained nothing, and Spence considered his own case as he rode onward again. He was lost, sure enough. So far as he could tell, he was among a series of long, barren hills; the valley stretched intermin- ably, amd seemed uninhabited, yet he knew that this cattle track must lead some- where. He let the horse take its head. The hours dragged until the moonlight was gone. Still Spence perceived no sign of life among the bare hills. With dark- ness, he halted, hobbled the horse, and lay down to sleep until dawn, hopeless of wan- dering on through the obscurity. With dawn the found the horse muzzling him for food. Stiffly he gained his saddle and sent the Arab onward. As the sun rose to warm them, Spence noticed that the beast quickened its pace; ten minutes later he made out a low group of trees, and the dull walls of a mud-thatched building in an elbow of the valley. _ Renewing the priming of his ey he rode forward. Not until he drew near the trees and shouted did he discern any sign of life. Then a misshapen old man came forth on the hut and peered at him, chat- ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. 4 The hunchback started, and drew back. — “ Be you an Englishman, sir?” he quavy- ered. “Eh?” Spence started. “ You’re not?” “God love ye, sir; God love ye!” broke out the ancient. “Out o’ the stirrup and welcome to ye! It’s two year and more since I’ve had a bit of English speech. A bonny bit o’ flesh under ye, sir! God love ye, what a bonny creature it is.” “You're English?” said the astonished Spence, as he dismounted. “I need feed for the horse more than for myself.” “God love ye, an honest man thinks for his beastie first. Come in, and lead the horse after ye, sir. ’Tis like entertaining a prince to have a horse o’ that blood under my roof! True Njed quarter strain, I'll war- rant. Come in, sir, and welcome!” Feeling as though in a dream, Spence entered the hut, a clean place, where the old man dwelt alone. A queer chap, this hunchback, with his wisps of gray hair, his tattered garb, his bleary old eyes and pal- sied hands. His name, the man would not tell; but he chattered out his story. Indeed, his thought was all for the horse rather than for Spence. A cutpurse in Bristol, he had been jailed, taken into the navy with other criminals, and was aboard a sloop captured by Algerines. For thirty years he had been a slave. A natural liking for horses had made him the manager of an outlying herd of the animals which were bred hereabouts. “ Fifteen hands, and full o’ the haunches,” he mumbled, lovingly stroking the Arab’s coat. “ God love ye, didst ever see a finer slope o’ the shoulder than this? And sad- dle-backed! Just the touch o’ wiry springs, no weakness. What a head it is now, what a taper down from the brows! God love ye, sir, this beastie could drink from a pint pot and to spare! And the legs, twisted wi’ sinew, but clean as a whistle, and the ear like a thorn—God love ye, this beastie must be out o’ the bey’s stables at Arzew! Not the dey himself has a horse o’ Njed strain, but Hassan had two o’ them. Ye sk slave on the escape, sir?” - “No. You're right about — the h gran’ther; Seite e comicbooks.com aw ~*~