Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 16, 1921 — page 85: what you’re looking at

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

76 sped he heard the great drum throb, the reed-pipes keening, and their rhythm was merry now. Pierre reached Troiville as Ben Youset turned the body over. The sinister, copper carven handle of the knife was at rest, right over the cleft heart. -He bent over. The sheik sank down onto the desert floor, took the body onto his lap, He tore open the coat-front, the shirt. He plucked out the blade, handéd it to Pierre, whose throat was parched, avid. La Forge hid the fatal blade in his robes. The merry music among the tents ceased. Ben Yousef drew a cup from his robes, from some mysterious fold in them. The split breast of the slain man was spouting —the Arab caught a cup of the crimson life, tide, whose surplus made a dark pool on the moonlit sands. Ben Yousef let the body roll off his lap, sprang erect, holding the cup. Fascinated, Pierre stood’ up. Ben Yousef stretched forth his right hand toward the south in compelling gesture and murmured: “ Merim! Come, O Dawn Star of Zin!” Pierre’s eyeballs burned. A misty shape- floated out of nothingness. He saw her come to the old man’s side. Her veil was over her back. “Here is the cup; here is the guest. ' Share it with him,” Ben Yousef ordered. She took the cup, raised it to her perfect lips. Her lambent eyes glowed. Pierre saw Ben Yousef tugging at the ring in the great stone atop which Troiville had stood while firing. He saw the stone raised; with a single vigorous heave laid back. Then the body was gore, the stone in place again. He glanced back at the shape. She was taking the cup from her lips. _ “Drink, you;- share the cup as before,” she pleaded, her voice deep, full, ‘resonant, yet oddly hollow. Her eyes glowed like foxfire. He tried to turn aside. He felt her arm go about his neck, felt. himself drawn by her powers, urged by the terrible avidness of his thirst. He tried not to yield, yet yielded. Her lips touched the rim of the top-ended cup, from which drops were trickling. Ben Yousef erect, chuckled dryly. The jackal howled. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. As the first taste of the liquid touched his lips, Pierre felt his mighty thirst as- - suaged, his eyeballs ceased to pain him. He reeled from her arms, fell prone—heard a rasping, as of dry bones—a distant chuckle. The cocks in El Yaoub began to crow sleepily! The sudden dawn smote him into con- sciousness. Something was trickling down his throat. He-stirred. A venerable old man was bending over him, a cup in his hand. He smiled and spoke, in excellent Arabic: “Drink this pomegranate sherbet, O stranger. I found you here, senseless but now, ag we came in to pitch camp. I am the Sheik Ben Yousef, come here to at- tend the frial of Captain Troiville, charged with misuse of one of the maidens of our tribe. Do you know if the French Com- missionaire Generale is here to hear the case? The decision will be too late, I fear; the maiden has died.” Pierre got up, gazed about, dazed. The camp was there; the great sandhill. There was no stone in the sand, though. He felt for his knife. He pulled it out. The blade was stained—dlood-hued! “IT thank you. Yes, Major Cherimande is at El Yaoub. I must go; I am recovered now,” Pierre found himself saying. The old man got up, stroked his fad softly. “Go in peace,” he said, beni gi “ Peace,” said Pierre, stumbling off. As he went he thought he heard a dry, rasping chuckle. But he did not turn back. The street before his own rooms was quiet when Pierre strode up to the build- ings. He was about to go up-stairs when a sentry barred his way. “Not so fast, monsieur; softly, softly! The major requests silence most pro- found.” ¢é Then. 3? “ The case is desperate, monsieur. Soft- ly. Softly!” He let Pierre by. With laggard steps La Forge mounted. CORIC OOO S (©