Page:Weird Tales v15n01 1930-01.djvu/57

swallows' nests against the steep pitches, or huddled on tiny flats midway on a four-thousand-foot slide, or jammed, perhaps, into a tiny crevice of the cliffs that funneled and focused every wandering blast.

And the villagers! Greasy, sallow, duffle-clad; bare-legged, short, squat, yellow-faced—truly this was indeed a land of Shaitans and Djinns!

Here it was that Billy slipped away from the rest of the party after a short earnest chat with Foster Sahib the day that Chota Lal had retailed to him a bit of gossip he had picked up regarding a red-bearded stranger of two months gone who had come from Shamlegh Midden, where few men have trod, where even the Hillmen will not go. He had pushed away from this somber land as though all the sons of Eblis were indeed after him. Mahbub Ali beyond all reasonable doubt! Billy's heart sang within him as he followed the plain lead.

How he and Chota Lal ever got down those awe-inspiring cliffs only Allah the Merciful and the Compassionate knows—surely it was His hand that led them on.

How Sikhandar Khan and that other followed—truly that was the work of a jumalee (well-wishing) Shaitan—none other! For follow they did less than eight hours after the others.

And on those great boulder-strewn slopes, cut up by narrow abysses that yawned to unguessed depths, weird and horrible even under the bright sun that scarce burned the bitterest of the chill from the cold air, Billy came upon the rope again. Fifty feet long it must have been, stretching over the cliff edge to a projecting ledge below—and it was glued to the rocks! Billy's cheeks were blanched as he faced the terrified boy.

"It is truly the work of the djinns!" panted Chota Lal. "Let us go—and quickly."

"Hast thou fear for a djinn," teased Billy, "thou Babe of Small Courage?"

Chota flushed and wriggled uncomfortably but stood his ground.

"Then, too, oh my master, there is that matter of the two specks that I saw this morning behind us."

Billy's face grew grave. "Why didst thou not tell me ere this, little Prince of the Plains?"

Sikhandar Khan and his confederate that must be, following the plain trail they had left. Well, let them come. Billy felt himself more than a match for both of them as he looked at his Mannlicher and patted the flat automatic lovingly. If it came to a fight, he was more than willing, he and Chota Lal. If they two lost out—and then his thoughts turned to the faithful little bazar imp beside him. After what he had seen of Sikhandar Khan's treatment of Chota—he shut his teeth with a snap. He must not fail.

They ate from the canned provisions that they had brought; ate in a cranny of sheltering boulders with the declining sun scarce warming the chill air of these high places; then Billy half dozed against a solid rock as he watched and Chota Lal slept fitfully under his thin blanket until Billy wrapped his own about the sleeping child while the cold stars looked down on the unbroken solitude.

The moon sank slowly to rest; dawn was not far off when they heard that first hoarse shout of terror. It was followed by another and another, until the hills echoed and reechoed to the clamor.

Billy flashed to his feet. "Come," he said authoritatively to the wide-eyed boy as he played his flashlight about. Cautiously they moved through the gloom in the direction of the din, their flashlight picking out their path, while Billy's revolver swung free in his other hand.

What a sight met their eyes! Sikhandar Khan it was, indeed; a piti-