The Black Mask — page 57: what you’re looking at

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

More Deadly than the Viper 55 clear, cold sky and pouring its na- creous flood upon the ghostly, sprawling monastery. Not many yards from the main portal Tremaine’s journey ended and he forced the bughra to kneel, slip- ping from his back to the ground. He patted the gaunt, shaggy beast upon the neck—while with the other hand he withdrew the dagger from his inside pocket. “T’m damned sorry, old fellow,’ he said, “but it’s for her—and you're willing to play the game for a white woman, aren’t you?” Then with a quick movement he jerked the beast's head back and at the same instant the blade of the dag- ger flashed. . . . There followed a queer sucking, gurgling sound, and something warm rushed over his hands. ae, Fighting against a terrible nausea, looking away from the dark liquid that stained his hands, he deliberate- ly slashed open the sleeve of his sheepskin coat, and when the flesh was bare, the dagger flashed again. His teeth ground together ... but it was over now. With trembling hands he cleaned the knife on his coat, returned the weapon to his pocket, and walked with unsteady steps to the nearby portal of the Lamaserie. At the door he halted, pounding upon the heavy nail-studded panels. After several minutes had passed without a reply he again knocked— this time louder. At last an answer—‘Patience, brother, patience!” > The voice came’from behind the portal, the words being spoken in the Sartang Mongol dialect, a tongue with which Tremaine was familiar. Presently there was the sound of a bolt being lifted and the door opened, revealing, outlined upon a warmth of light, the form of an ema- ciated yellow-robed Lama, a white silk scarve of the Order about his neck, “Peace be with thee!” was the yel- low monk’s greeting. “What would’st thou have of Amgon Lama of the Monastery of The Shining One?” Tremaine fell against the door- frame in a position that would ex- hibit his bloody arm to the Lama. “Peace be with thee,” he returned. “T seek aid and shelter, brother,” He felt the monk’s eyes searching him. “T perceive thee to be wounded, brother,” he announced, “yet I have not the authority to admit thee to the cloister—unless perchance thou art of some other monastery ?”’ - “The world is my. monastery,” re- turned Tremaine, “but I am hurt, brother, and can not reach the vil- lage below, for’ see’’—he waved his hand towards the camel’s carcass— “my beast is dead and I can walk no further. Above the Pass Tangut robbers fell upon my caravan and killed my comrades. My camel car- ried me this far before he went down. Surely thou wilt not turn me away !” The priest hesitated, then yer though I perceive thee to be in sore need of succor, I can not allow thee to enter without the permission of the Grand Lama. Stay here, brother, and perchance he will have compas- sion upon thee.” . . After the door closed behind the shaven-pated priest, Tremaine slipped to the cold ground before the en- trance, feigning unconsciousness. Presently the door opened again. Following that Tremaine heard voices and from beneath lowered lids he saw the Lama with the white silk scarf emerge, accompanied by three