Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 1, 1922 — page 82: what you’re looking at

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

872 tracks and lay panting while the Batateke cooks busied themselves with breakfast. The chief had selected a sharp depres- sion between two hills for their resting place. Through the center of the valley ran a cool stream of water whose banks were lined with shady trees, and beneath their sheltering branches the warriors threw themselves down in the long grass as though seeking fresh strength from contact with life-giving mother earth. M’Buli, ever cau- tious, ordered two of his men to post them- selves on the farther hill and keep a sharp lookout. Fred happened to overhear these instructions, and was as much amused as impressed by them, for it seemed absurd to suppose that any harm could threaten a party of armed men over a hundred strong. - A minute later he had reason to change his views. The two scouts as they reached the top of the hill stopped abruptly and shouted back to their fellows. The words were lost upon Rushton, but the tone of their voices sent a quick thrill through his breast. He seized his rifle and dashed mad- ly in their direction, firmly convinced that the men had sighted the Bololos, and to his utter amazement he was intercepted by M’Buli, who caught him roughly about the waist and swung him in the opposite di- rection. “ Zola-ku!”? shouted the chief. “ Run!” Not another soul in the world could have induced Fred to obey such a command just when he believed that they had come up with Celia’s captors, but he had learned to place great confidence in M’Buli’s wisdom and level-headedness. When the chief shouted similar instructions to his men, who obeyed them instantly, the young American decided to do as he was told with- out argument, and he joined in the helter- skelter rush ofthe Batateke warriors. Their weariness was forgotten as they tore off in the direction of the nearest hill, intent upon getting it between them and danger. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the two scouts hurl their spears at some unseen object before turning to seek safety in flight. They raced swiftly down the grassy slope of the hill toward the cover of the trees, but before half the distance had been passed, one of them pitched for- ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. ward, rolled head over heels, and lay still. He might have tripped over a stone from the manner of his fall, but the sharp crack of a rifle and a puff of white smoke from the crest of the hill behind him told a dif- ferent story. The single report was fol- lowed by a volley of shots, and Rushton discerned a line of white-clad figures lying prone along the hilltop while a cloud of smoke drifted away from the muzzles of their guns. The second scout disappeared into the bush at the edge of the stream and apparently decided to stay there, for Fred saw him no more. A bullet sang past his own ear, causing him to duck instinctively, and before he could make any further ob- servations his rush had carried him up the hill and over it. He flung himself down into safety on the sheltered side of its sum- mit. He looked about him for Holden, and saw the trader farther along the line of Ba- tatekes just taking careful aim across the valley. It seemed a good example to fol- low, and Fred crept to a spot from which he could get a view of the opposite hilltop without unduly exposing himself. He saw a white figure moving along on the distant ridge, and aiming slightly in advance of it, he pulled his trigger. The man went sprawling, a patch of white against the brown grass, and moved no more. Another target did not present itself, and Rushton, lowering his rifle, was seized with a curious and irritating feeling of helpless- ness. He did not know what was happen- ing, he didn’t know what to do next, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of shame at having killed a fellow being for no definite reason—a qualm of oon- science that vanished as he remembered his vision of the unfortunate scout pitching headlong down the slope. A glance showed him that the Batateke watriors were accepting the situation with the nonchalance of veterans. M’Buli had ordered them to keep out of sight for the time being, a command that they obeyed all the more cheerfully for the occasional hum of a bullet overhead. The chief had joined Holden, with whom he was talking earnestly, and presently they beckoned to Rushton. He wriggled backward down the comicloool C©