Argosy: The Short Story Magazine — page 72: what you’re looking at

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

Mee a a a a a, a ee a ee? ee es. * eee ee eo a in bd “ * . ; - py - P P : a ‘ 72 CHRISTOPHER LANDON as they sat in a ring round the fire of blazing tamarisk. ‘They fingered my clothes, passed from hand to hand the watch and compass. When I grew bold enough to try and explain the uses of the last, they threw it in the fire. ‘Then I was taken back and tethered beside my camel. I was fed and watered. Each night and morning there was a a small skin of brackish, foul-smelling water, and a wad of dried 2 5% . dates; little enough, but it was all that they had themselves. I noticed how the long black rows, squatting on the sand, were served with exactly the same fare; how, every evening, the leaders é went down the line, examining each body before the march. : If there was a sign of bleeding feet or sores, the chain was | struck off and the sufferer carried to the rear, to be loaded on one of the camels that had been lightened of its load of water. And, of course, I understood it. Slaves were valuable: a value a that increased in proportion every mile as they drew nearer the market—and remained fit. The whole being of the enterprise centred on that. One does not carry a bag of gold a thousand miles to let it drain away in the sand. The pattern of black and white went on. The shuffling for- “ ward under the carpet of stars with the pad of the camel’s feet beside me and that unending tune creeping through from the rear; the silent inquisition at the dawn camp-fire before I huddled under the cloth they had given me against the heat of the day. Was it four days, or five? 1 don’t remember. I could not escape, and seemed to Jack the desire. They thought me strangely afflicted: not to be killed, but not allowed to go. They used to watch me curiously when they were at their prayers. I, in turn, watched the slaves. ‘They did not seem unhappy, but apathetic. Not once did I see one ill-treated. ‘They used to squat there, motionless, enduring the heat, waiting: waiting for something that was to come and of which they knew nothing. / That last evening, in the cool, just before we moved off, some- thing happened that gave me the only real contact with my guard. Suddenly, from the end of the black lines, a wailing and a scream- ing started from the women, increasing in volume as it travelled on. I stared back to see the children being wrenched from their mothers’ arms, and carried or driven like a flock of black goats towards the rear of the caravan. My guard was standing beside me and must have seen the look on my face. He smiled and began to speak. Somehow, for the first time, I understood. “Do not fear for the children,’ he said, “ they will not be oh wee comiclooks.comn