Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 16, 1921 — page 84: what you’re looking at

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

EYES OF THE DEAD. “ Well, fool, I beg to remind you that I shall kill you, then. I, who am the crack shot of my regiment, cannot miss you, in white, in this light, at—what number of paces?” “Shall we say fifty? I can split bangles at fifty, you know.” “‘ Just my distance, monsieur. well at that distance.” The jackal, nearer at hand, howled. “* Sheik, we call upon you to act as wit- ness,” Troiville called. ‘‘ We are about to fight a duel. Do you hear?” “Yes, O captain. A duel! How odd! To kill each other over the place where death itself resides! There is a firm sta- tion for you, captain, twenty-five paces away, where you feel a stone underfoot. Stand on it when you fire. It is sure death! What do the desert-bornecare how you aliens kill yourselves off?”’ His chuckle came to them, like the rasp- ing of dry, bleached bones. Pierre felt his eyes burn again. He felt buoyed up, elate. “Let us stand, back to back, and at a word from the sheik walk each twenty-five paces,” Troiville suggested. ‘‘ At a second word we halt, at a third we wheel, and then act as seems best. Count the paces aloud, in time.” “I accept your conditions,” Pierre said eagerly. ‘How pleasant it is to order an affair like this,” the old man grated, arising and grasping each by an arm. He swung them about, back to back, with surprising strength, Pierre could sense. He caught the glow of the old man’s deep-set eyes, heard again his chuckle. He felt Troi- ville’s tense back against his. Ben Yousef stepped from the line of fire, cleared his deep throat. The sheik’s command sounded hollowly. They began to pace from each other. They counted in unison. At the twenty-fifth pace Troiville paused. He felt a great stone under his feet. He slid his feet over it and sought to mark out its limits. He waited for the second word. ‘* Again!” Tt was the sheik, commanding again. I shoot 15 The two wheeled, to face each other. Pierre could see the loom of his antagonist, but not his form clearly. To Troiville La Forge was a plain target, in his white robes, outlined against the sand hill’s umbers. La Forge felt his eyes burning! He saw a mist, a cloud, pass between him and Troi- ville. His eyes burned anew. Afar the jackal howled. The old sheik chuckled softly. Beside Troiville Merim smiled at Pierre! — Her veil was up. Her eyes seemed to be plainly in view—and they were shrunk- en, phosphorescent. He could see that Troiville had seen nothing uncommon. He heard his pistol click. to full-cock. Pierre whipped out his great knife, holding it by its copper carven haft, steadily. The death command of the old Arab re- sounded hollowly. Pierre’s arm shot back. Hisunerves were steady. Troiville, he could see, had leveled his pistol. The old Arab laughed menacingly. “You are slow, O Franks!” he called. Pierre saw Merim’s arm steal out, out, out, until her forefinger pointed to the fatal spot on Troiville’s breast, right over the stood. She heart. There came a flash—a searing, tearing sensation along the side of Pierre’s skull. He swayed as the pistol crashed again. He glanced at his antagonist, then his arm all but faltered. Still the appearance was pointing her slender finger and the urge came upon him to make his cast. Again the gun cracked. Troiville’s curse at the miss came to Pierre. He tensed his arm, launched the great whirring, whizzing: blade. It arched over, flaming in -the moon- sheen like a mighty brand. — Thud! . The pain in Pierre’s eyes ceased. The mist-form of the desert-born floated away. He was upright. The old Arab, laughing crazily, stepped toward Troiville as the of- ficer crashed forward on his face. Ben Yousef was nimble, reaching the body before Pierre could. Even as Pierre COnmmiclboooks (C@ 5}