Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 146 No. 4 — page 51: what you’re looking at

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

DOWN THE COAST OF BARBARY. He told briefly that he had been attacked by robbers at the Cisterns, and was lost. The ancient mumbled in amazement, but answered Spence’s queries as to his road to Udjde. “The Cisterns? God love ye, it’s far away from here! Follow the vale and ’twill bring ye out on the river a few mile ahead. There ye'll find the river road from Udjde to the sea coast. Turn south to Udjde, or north to Adjerud, a tiny bit of a port that the Moors use. “For a fine gentleman like you ’tis no journey at all! Sunset will see ye safe with lackeys and servants, and sojers, too, belike! God love ye, sir, ’tis no ride at all. Now wait ye here till I get some fresh tomatoes from the garden—” The ancient shuffled away. Within an hour Spence had breakfasted and mounted again. Spence forced money on the old man, and with a final ‘“ God love ye!” ringing in his ears, he rode away down the vailey. “ A grotesque blessing, yet why not?” he reflected. “I’ve met worse hospitality in Christian lands. God rest you, old man, renegade or not!” He saw no living creature on his way, though mile after mile slipped past. Udjde, he knew, was fifty miles from the coast. The “river road’ was doubtless one that ran north to the port of Adjerud, for the maritime Moors were not fond of being cut off from the sea. Shortly after noon Spence found that the valley was insensibly disappearing, and presently saw a river line of trees in the dis- tance. In no long while he came to a wide but shallow stream, crossed it easily, and on the farther side found himself actually upon the road of which the old hunchback had told him. He noted, too, a cloud of dust coming toward him from the north, betokening other riders on the road to Udjde. Since he had a straight story to tell and naught to fear, he waited, meaning to join them and ask protection as far as Udjde. He per- ceived that no caravan was approaching, but a group of horsemen, perhaps a detach- _ hen, as he watched, the curiosity of 521 Spence changed to incredulous amazement. Here were a score of horsemen, brilliantly garbed; and amid the foremost rode one clad in a plain white burnoose. Against this white burnoose, at the throat, was a glitter—there could be only one man in all the world with the effrontery to display the collar of the Golden Fleece against the garb of a renegade. It was Ripperda beyond question. Rip- perda, and with him his bodyguard of rene- gades—and riding to Udjde! CHAPTER VIII. “Tl learn to conjure and raise devils, but T'll see some issue of my spiteful execrations!” CTOR SHAW did not regain control of his terrified horse until he pounded up alongside the two Spahis, who held between them the reins of Mistress Betty. Vainly had she ordered them to return and fight, vainly threatened them, vainly entreating them, all but swearing at them in an agony of supplication. They, dour, bearded Turks, shrugged their shoulders and pricked westward. So when Shaw came up with the three, and the girl saw that he was alone, she turned upon him fiercely. “Where is Captain Spence?” “When I left he was still fighting.” The divine gave no explanation of his de- sertion. “Oh!” cried the girl. that you are, to leave him! you!” The Spahis grinned in the moonlight. They did not understand the words, but had no need to. Shaw, who still carried his naked rapier in his hand, wiped and sheathed it. ‘My dear madam,” he said, the cool stiff- ness of his voice giving no hint of the tears that were upon his cheeks, “ Patrick Spence is very dear to me. But it is I who bear the letter to the Governor of Udjde. It is I who am charged with a commission involv- ing the fate of empires and of religions—” “And you save your craven neck for that reason!” burst forth the girl, bitterly. “Even so, and it pleases you,” rejoined Shaw’s emotional vo%2)" icbooksicom “* Oh—coward Shame upon