10608	----	Distributed Proofreaders The Turquoise Cup, and, The Desert By Arthur Cosslett Smith 1903 "KHADIJA BELIEVES IN ME" CONTENTS I The Turquoise Cup II The Desert THE TURQUOISE CUP The Cardinal Archbishop sat on his shaded balcony, his well-kept hands clasped upon his breast, his feet stretched out so straight before him that the pigeon, perched on the rail of the balcony, might have seen fully six inches of scarlet silk stocking. The cardinal was a small man, but very neatly made. His hair was as white as spun glass. Perhaps he was sixty; perhaps he was seventy; perhaps he was fifty. His red biretta lay upon a near-by chair. His head bore no tonsure. The razor of the barber and the scythe of Time had passed him by. There was that faint tinge upon his cheeks that comes to those who, having once had black beards, shave twice daily. His features were clearly cut. His skin would have been pallid had it not been olive. A rebellious lock of hair curved upon his forehead. He resembled the first Napoleon, before the latter became famous and fat. The pigeon's mate came floating through the blue sky that silhouetted the trees in the garden. She made a pretence of alighting upon the balcony railing, sheered off, coquetted among the treetops, came back again, retreated so far that she was merely a white speck against the blue vault, and then, true to her sex, having proved her liberty only to tire of it, with a flight so swift that the eye could scarcely follow her, she came back again and rested upon the farther end of the balcony, where she immediately began to preen herself and to affect an air of nonchalance and virtue. Her mate lazily opened one eye, which regarded her for a moment, and then closed with a wink. "Ah, my friends," said the cardinal, "there are days when you make me regret that I am not of the world, but this is not one of them. You have quarrelled, I perceive. When you build your nest down yonder in the cote, I envy you. When you are giving up your lives to feeding your children, I envy you. I watch your flights for food for them. I say to myself, 'I, too, would struggle to keep a child, if I had one. Commerce, invention, speculation--why could I not succeed in one of these? I have arrived in the most intricate profession of all. I am a cardinal archbishop. Could I not have been a stockbroker?' Ah, signore and signora," and he bowed to the pigeons, "you get nearer heaven than we poor mortals. Have you learned nothing--have you heard no whisper--have you no message for me?" "Your eminence," said a servant who came upon the balcony, a silver tray in his hand, "a visitor." The cardinal took the card and read it aloud--"The Earl of Vauxhall." He sat silent a moment, thinking. "I do not know him," he said at length; "but show him up." He put on his biretta, assumed a more erect attitude, and then turned to the pigeons. "Adieu," he said; "commercialism approaches in the person of an Englishman. He comes either to buy or to sell. You have nothing in common with him. Fly away to the Piazza, but come back tomorrow. If you do not, I shall miss you sorely." The curtains parted, and the servant announced, "The Earl of Vauxhall." The cardinal rose from his chair. A young man stepped upon the balcony. He was tall and lithe and blond, and six-and-twenty. "Your grace," he said, "I have come because I am in deep trouble." "In that event," said the cardinal, "you do me much honor. My vocation is to seek out those who are in trouble. When _they_ seek _me_ it argues that I am not unknown. You are an Englishman. You may speak your own language. It is not the most flexible, but it is an excellent vehicle for the truth." "Thank you," said the young man; "that gives me a better chance, since my Italian is of the gondolier type. I speak it mostly with my arms," and he began to gesticulate. "I understand," said the cardinal, smiling, "and I fear that my English is open to some criticism. I picked it up in the University of Oxford. My friends in the Vatican tell me that it is a patois." "I dare say," said the young man. "I was at Cambridge." "Ah," said the cardinal, "how unfortunate. Still, we may be able to understand one another. Will you have some tea? It is a habit I contracted in England, and I find it to be a good one. I sit here at five o'clock, drink my cup of tea, feed the pigeons that light upon the railing, and have a half-hour in which to remember how great is England, and"--with a bow--"how much the rest of the world owes to her." "A decent sort of chap, for an Italian," thought the earl. The cardinal busied himself with the tea-pot. "Your grace," said the earl, finally, "I came here in trouble." "It cannot be of long standing," said the cardinal. "You do not look like one who has passed through the fire." "No," said the earl, "but I scarcely know what to say to you. I am embarrassed." "My son," said the cardinal, "when an Englishman is embarrassed he is truly penitent. You may begin as abruptly as you choose. Are you a Catholic?" "No," replied the earl, "I am of the Church of England." The cardinal shrugged his shoulders the least bit. "I never cease to admire your countrymen," he said, "On Sundays they say, 'I believe in the Holy Catholic Church,' and, on work-days, they say, 'I believe in the Holy Anglican Church.' You are admirably trained. You adapt yourselves to circumstances." "Yes," said the earl, a trifle nettled, "I believe we do, but at present I find myself as maladroit as though I had been born on the Continent--in Italy, for example." "Good," laughed the cardinal; "I am getting to be a garrulous old man. I love to air my English speech, and, in my effort to speak it freely, I sometimes speak it beyond license. Can you forgive me, my lord, and will you tell me how I can serve you?" "I came," said the Earl of Vauxhall, "to ask you if there is any way in which I can buy the turquoise cup." "I do not understand," said the cardinal. "The turquoise cup," repeated the earl. "The one in the treasury of St. Mark's." The cardinal began to laugh--then he suddenly ceased, looked hard at the earl and asked, "Are you serious, my lord?" "Very," replied the earl. "Are you quite well?" asked the cardinal. "Yes," said the earl, "but I am very uncomfortable." The cardinal began to pace up and down the balcony. "My lord," he asked, finally, "have you ever negotiated for the Holy Coat at Treves; for the breastplate of Charlemagne in the Louvre; for the Crown Jewels in the Tower?" "No," said the earl; "I have no use for them, but I very much need the turquoise cup." "Are you a professional or an amateur?" asked the cardinal, his eyes flashing, his lips twitching. "As I understand it," said the earl, slowly, a faint blush stealing into his cheeks, "an 'amateur' is a lover. If that is right, perhaps you had better put me down as an 'amateur.'" The cardinal saw the blush and his anger vanished. "Ah," he said, softly, "there is a woman, is there?" "Yes," replied the earl, "there is a woman." "Well," said the cardinal, "I am listening." "It won't bore you?" asked the earl. "If I begin about her I sha'n't know when to stop." "My lord," said the cardinal, "if there were no women there would be no priests. Our occupation would be gone. There was a time when _men_ built churches, beautified them, and went to them. How is it now; even here in Venice, where art still exists, and where there is no bourse? I was speaking with a man only to-day--a man of affairs, one who buys and sells, who has agents in foreign lands and ships on the seas; a man who, in the old religious days, would have given a tenth of all his goods to the Church and would have found honor and contentment in the remainder; but he is bitten with this new-fangled belief of disbelief. He has a sneaking fear that Christianity has been supplanted by electricity and he worships Huxley rather than Christ crucified--Huxley!" and the cardinal threw up his hands. "Did ever a man die the easier because he had grovelled at the knees of Huxley? What did Huxley preach? The doctrine of despair. He was the Pope of protoplasm. He beat his wings against the bars of the unknowable. He set his finite mind the task of solving the infinite. A mere creature, he sought to fathom the mind of his creator. Read the lines upon his tomb, written by his wife--what do they teach? Nothing but 'let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.' If a man follows Huxley, then is he a fool if he does not give to this poor squeezed-lemon of a world another twist. If I believed there was nothing after this life, do you think I should be sitting here, feeding the pigeons? Do you think--but there, I have aired my English speech and have had my fling at Huxley. Let me fill your cup and then tell me of this woman whom I have kept waiting all this time by my vanity and my ill manners. Is she English, French, Spanish, or American? There are many Americans nowadays." "No," said the earl, "she is Irish." "The most dangerous of all," remarked the cardinal. "It is plain that you know women," said the earl. "I?" exclaimed the cardinal. "No; nor any living man." "Her father." resumed the earl, "was a great brewer in Dublin. He made ripping stout. Perhaps you use it. It has a green label, with a bull's head. He kept straight all through the home-rule troubles, and he chipped in a lot for the Jubilee fund, and they made him Lord Vatsmore. He died two years ago and left one child. She is Lady Nora Daly. She is waiting for me now in the Piazza." "Perhaps I am detaining you?" said the cardinal. "By no means," replied the earl. "I don't dare to go back just yet. I met her first at home, last season. I've followed her about like a spaniel ever since. I started in for a lark, and now I'm in for keeps. She has a peculiar way with her," continued the earl, smoothing his hat; "one minute you think you are great chums and, the next, you wonder if you have ever been presented." "I recognize the Irish variety," said the cardinal. "She is here with her yacht," continued the earl. "Her aunt is with her. The aunt is a good sort. I am sure you would like her." "Doubtless," said the cardinal, with a shrug; "but have you nothing more to say about the niece?" "I followed her here," continued the earl, his hands still busy with his hat, "and I've done my best. Just now, in the Piazza, I asked her to marry me, and she laughed. We went into St. Mark's, and the lights and the music and the pictures and the perfume seemed to soften her. 'Did you mean it?' she said to me. I told her I did. 'Don't speak to me for a little while,' she said, 'I want to think.' That was strange, wasn't it?" "No," said the cardinal, "I don't think that was strange. I think it was merely feminine." "We came out of the church," continued the earl, "and I felt sure of her; but when we came into the Piazza and she saw the life of the place, the fountain playing, the banners flying, the pigeons wheeling, and heard the band, she began to laugh and chaff. 'Bobby,' she said, suddenly, 'did you mean it?' "'Yes,' I said, 'I meant it.' She looked at me for a moment so fixedly that I began to think of the things I had done and which she had not done, of the gulf there was between us--you understand?" "Yes," said the cardinal, "I understand--that is, I can imagine." "And then," continued the earl, "I ventured to look into her eyes, and she was laughing at me. "'Bobby,' she said, 'I believe I've landed you. I know you 're a fortune-hunter, but what blame? I dare say I should be one, but for the beer. I'm throwing myself away. With my fortune and my figure I think I could get a duke, an elderly duke, perhaps, and a little over on his knees, but still a duke. A well-brought-up young woman would take the duke, but I am nothing but a wild Irish girl. Bobby, you are jolly and wholesome, and auntie likes you, and I'll take you--hold hard,' she said, as I moved up--'I'll take you, if you'll give me the turquoise cup.' 'What's that?' I asked. 'The turquoise cup,' she said; 'the one in the treasury of St. Mark's. Give me that and Nora Daly is yours.' 'All right,' I said, 'I'll trot off and buy it.' "Here I am, your grace, an impecunious but determined man. I have four thousand pounds at Coutts's, all I have in the world; will it lift the cup?" The cardinal rubbed his white hands together, uncrossed and recrossed his legs, struck the arm of his chair, and burst into a laugh so merry and so prolonged that the earl, perforce, joined him. "It's funny," said the latter, finally, "but, all the same, it's serious." "Oh, Love!" exclaimed the cardinal; "you little naked boy with wings and a bow! You give us more trouble than all the rest of the heathen deities combined--you fly about so--you appear in such strange places--you compel mortals to do such remarkable things--you debauch my pigeons, and, when the ill is done, you send your victims to me, or another priest, and ask for absolution, so that they may begin all over again." "Do I get the cup?" asked the earl, with some impatience. "My lord," said the cardinal, "if the cup were mine, I have a fancy that I would give it to you, with my blessing and my best wishes; but when you ask me to sell it to you, it is as though you asked your queen to sell you the Kohinoor. She dare not, if she could. She could not, if she dare. Both the diamond and the cup were, doubtless, stolen. The diamond was taken in this century; the cup was looted so long ago that no one knows. A sad attribute of crime is that time softens it. There is a mental statute of limitations that converts possession into ownership. 'We stole the Kohinoor so long ago,' says the Englishman, 'that we own it now.' So it is with the cup. Where did it come from? It is doubtless Byzantine, but where did its maker live; in Byzantium or here, in Venice? We used to kidnap Oriental artists in the good old days when art was a religion. This cup was made by one whom God befriended; by a brain steeped in the love of the beautiful; by a hand so cunning that when it died art languished; by a power so compelling that the treasuries of the world were opened to it. Its bowl is a turquoise, the size and shape of an ostrich's egg, sawn through its longer diameter, and resting on its side. Four gold arms clasp the bowl and meet under it. These arms are set with rubies en cabochon, except one, which is cut in facets. The arms are welded beneath the bowl and form the stem. Midway of the stem, and pierced by it, is a diamond, as large"--the cardinal picked up his teaspoon and looked at it--"yes," he said, "as large as the bowl of this spoon. The foot of the cup is an emerald, flat on the bottom and joined to the stem by a ferrule of transparent enamel. If this treasure were offered for sale the wealth of the world would fight for it. No, no, my lord, you cannot have the cup. Take your four thousand pounds to Testolini, the jeweller, and buy a string of pearls. Very few good women can resist pearls." "Your grace," said the earl, rising, "I appreciate fully the absurdity of my errand and the kindness of your forbearance. I fear, however, that you scarcely grasp the situation. I am going to marry Lady Nora. I cannot marry her without the cup. You perceive the conclusion--I shall have the cup. Good-by, your grace; I thank you for your patience." "Good-by," said the cardinal, ringing for a servant. "I wish that I might serve you; but, when children cry for the moon, what is to be done? Come and see me again; I am nearly always at home about this hour." "I repeat, your grace," said the earl, "that I shall have the cup. All is fair in love and war, is it not?" There was a certain quality in the earl's voice--that quiet, even note of sincerity which quells riots, which quiets horses, which leads forlorn hopes, and the well-trained ear of the cardinal recognized it. "Pietro," he said to the servant who answered the bell, "I am going out. My hat and stick. I will go a little way with you, my lord." They went down the broad stairs together, and the earl noticed, for the first time, that his companion limped. "Gout?" he asked. "No," said the cardinal; "the indiscretion of youth. I was with Garibaldi and caught a bullet." "Take my arm," said the earl. "Willingly," said the cardinal, "since I know that you will bring me into the presence of a woman worth seeing; a woman who can compel a peer of England to meditate a theft." "How do you know that?" exclaimed the earl; and he stopped so abruptly that the cardinal put his free hand against his companion's breast to right himself. "Because," said the cardinal, "I saw your face when you said good-by to me. It was not a pleasant face." II They went on silently and soon they came to the Piazza. "I don't see her," said the earl; "perhaps she has gone back to the church." They crossed the Piazza and entered St. Mark's. "Not here," said the earl. They walked up the south aisle and came to the anteroom of the treasury. Its door was open. They entered what had once been a tower of the old palace. The door of the treasury was also open. They went in and found the sacristan and a woman. She held the turquoise cup in her hands. "Did you buy it, Bobby?" she exclaimed. She turned and saw that the earl was not alone. "Your grace," he said, "I present you to Lady Nora Daly." She bent with a motion half genuflexion, half courtesy, and then straightened herself, smiling. The cardinal did not notice the obeisance, but he did notice the smile. It seemed to him, as he looked at her, that the treasures of St. Mark's, the jewelled chalices and patens, the agate and crystal vessels, the reliquaries of gold and precious stones, the candlesticks, the two textus covers of golden cloisonné, and even the turquoise cup itself, turned dull and wan and common by comparison with her beauty. "Your eminence," she said, "you must pardon Bobby's _gaucherie_. He presented you to me and called you 'your grace.' He forgot, or did not know, that you are a cardinal--a prince--and that I should have been presented to you. Bobby means well, but he is an English peer and a guardsman, so we don't expect much else of Bobby." "He has done a very gracious thing today," said the cardinal. "He has brought me to you." Lady Nora looked up quickly, scenting a compliment, and ready to meet it, but the cardinal's face was so grave and so sincere that her readiness forsook her and she stood silent. The earl seemed to be interested in a crucifix of the eleventh century. "While my lord is occupied with the crucifix," said the cardinal, "will you not walk with me?" "Willingly," said Lady Nora, and they went out into the church. "My dear lady," said the cardinal, after an interval of silence, "you are entering upon life. You have a position, you have wealth, you have youth, you have health, and," with a bow, "you have beauty such as God gives to His creatures only for good purposes. Some women, like Helen of Troy and Cleopatra, have used their beauty for evil. Others, like my Queen, Margarita, and like Mary, Queen of the Scots, have held their beauty as a trust to be exploited for good, as a power to be exercised on the side of the powerless." "Your eminence," said Lady Nora, "we are now taught in England that Queen Mary was not altogether proper." "She had beauty, had she not?" asked the cardinal. "Yes," replied Lady Nora. "She was beheaded, was she not?" asked the cardinal. "Yes," said Lady Nora, "and by a very plain woman." "There you have it!" exclaimed the cardinal. "If Elizabeth had been beautiful and Mary plain, Mary would have kept her head. It is sad to see beautiful women lose their heads. It is sad to see you lose yours." "Mine?" exclaimed Lady Nora, and she put her hands up to her hat-pins, to reassure herself. "Yes," said the cardinal, "I fear that it is quite gone." Lady Nora looked at him with questioning eyes. "Yes," she said, "I must have lost it, for I do not understand you, and I have not always been dull." "My dear lady," said the cardinal, "the Earl of Vauxhall was good enough to pay me a visit this afternoon." "Oh," exclaimed Lady Nora, clapping her hands, "if I only could have been behind the curtains! What did he say?" "He said," replied the cardinal, "that he had asked you to be his wife." "Indeed he has," said Lady Nora, "and so have others." "He also said," continued the cardinal, "that you had promised to marry him when he brought you the turquoise cup." "And so I will," said Lady Nora. "He proposed to buy the cup," continued the cardinal. "He offered four thousand pounds, which, he said, was all he had in the world." "Good old Bobby!" exclaimed Lady Nora. "That was nice of him, wasn't it?" and her eyes glistened. "Yes," said the cardinal, "that was nice of him; but when I had explained how impossible it was to sell the cup he bade me good-by, and, as he was going, said, 'I shall have it. All is fair in love and war.' I feared then that he meant to take the cup. Since I have seen you I am certain of it." "What larks!" cried Lady Nora. "Fancy Bobby with a dark lantern, a bristly beard, and a red handkerchief about his neck. All burglars are like that, you know; and then fancy him creeping up the aisle with his Johnnie--no, his jimmy--and his felt slippers--fancy Bobby in felt slippers--and he reaches the treasury door, and just then the moon comes up and shines through that window and illuminates the key in St. Peter's hand, and Bobby says, 'An omen,' and he takes out his own key-ring and the first one he tries fits the lock and the door flies open, and Bobby lifts the cup, locks the door, goes down to the steps by the Doge's palace--no gondola--too late, you know, so he puts the cup in his teeth, takes a header, and swims to the yacht. When he comes alongside they hail him, and he comes up the ladder. 'Where's your mistress?' he asks, and they call me, and I come on deck in my pink _saut du lit_, and there stands Bobby, the water running off him and the cup in his teeth. 'There's your bauble,' he says. (Of course he takes the cup out of his mouth when he speaks.) 'And here's your Nora,' I say, and the boatswain pipes all hands aft to witness the marriage ceremony. No, no, your eminence," she laughed, "it's too good to be true. Bobby will never steal the cup. He has never done anything in all his life but walk down Bond Street. He's a love, but he is not energetic." "You are doubtless right," said the cardinal, "and my fears are but the timidity of age; still--" The earl joined them. He had just given the sacristan ten pounds, and had endeavored to treat the gift as a disinterested _pourboire_. He felt that he had failed; that he had overdone it, and had made himself a marked man. The sacristan followed him--voluble, eulogistic. "Tommaso," said the cardinal, "this is the Earl of Vauxhall. He is to have every privilege, every liberty. He is to be left alone if he desires it. He is not to be bothered with attendance or suggestions. He may use a kodak; he may handle anything in the treasury. You will regard him as though he were myself." Tommaso bowed low. The earl blushed. Lady Nora looked at her watch. "Five o'clock!" she exclaimed, "and Aunt Molly will be wanting her tea. The launch is at the stairs. Will you come, Bobby? And you, your eminence, will you honor me?" "Not to-day, my lady," replied the cardinal, "but perhaps some other." "To-morrow?" she asked. "Yes," said the cardinal. "Thank you," said Lady Nora; "the launch will be at the landing at half-past four." "Is it an electrical contrivance?" asked the cardinal, with a smile. "Yes," replied Lady Nora. "Then," said the cardinal, "you need not send it. I will come in my barca. Electricity and the Church are not friendly. We have only just become reconciled to steam." Lady Nora laughed. "Good-by," she said, "until to-morrow," and again she made her courtesy. "Until to-morrow," said the cardinal; and he watched them down the aisle. "Tommaso," he said to the sacristan, "give me the turquoise cup." Tommaso handed it to him, silent but wondering. "Now lock the door," said the cardinal, "and give me the key." Tommaso complied. The cardinal put the cup under his robe and started down the aisle. "Tommaso," he said, "you are now closed for the annual cleaning. You understand, do you not?" "Perfectly, your eminence," replied Tommaso, and then he added--"When a stranger gives me two hundred and fifty lire it is time to lock my door." The cardinal went out of the church, the turquoise cup under his cassock. He crossed the Piazza slowly, for he was both limping and thinking. He came to the shop of Testolini, the jeweller, under the North arcade, paused a moment, and entered. The clerks behind the counters sprang to their feet and bowed low. "Signor Testolini?" asked the cardinal; "is he within?" "Yes, your eminence," said the head clerk. "He is in his bureau. I will summon him." "No," said the cardinal, "if he is alone I will go in," and he opened the door at the back of the shop and closed it behind him. In ten minutes he came out again. Signor Testolini followed, rubbing his hands and bowing at each step. "Perfectly, your eminence," he said. "I quite understand." "It must be in my hands in ten days," said the cardinal. "Ten days!" exclaimed Testolini; "impossible." "What is that strange word?" said the cardinal; "it must be a vulgarism of New Italy, that 'impossible.' I do not like it and I will thank you not to use it again when speaking to me. In ten days, Signore." "Yes, your eminence," said Testolini, "but it will be in the afternoon." "In ten days," said the cardinal, very quietly. "Yes, your eminence," said Testolini. "He looks like Napoleon," whispered the head clerk to his neighbor. The cardinal went limping down the shop. He had almost reached the door when he stopped and spoke to a little man who stood behind the show-case in which are the enamels. "Ah, Signore!" he exclaimed, "how come on the wife and baby? I meant to see them this afternoon, but I was diverted. I wish you to continue the same diet for them--take this"--and he fumbled in his pocket, but drew a blank. "Signor Testolini," he said to the master at his heels, "I find I have no money. Kindly loan me fifty lire. Here," he said to the little man, and he slipped the money into his hand, "plenty of milk for the child;" and he went out of the shop. "That was not like Napoleon," said the head clerk; and then he added, "Occasionally one meets with a priest who rises superior to his profession." The little man behind the enamel counter said nothing, but he drew his hand across his eyes. III The following day was a busy one for the cardinal. While Pietro was shaving him he parcelled out the hours. "What time is it, Pietro?" he asked. "Three minutes past seven, your eminence." "Good," said the cardinal; "at half-past I make my mass; at eight, I take my coffee; from eight to ten, my poor--by the way, Pietro, is there any money in the house?" "Yes, your eminence," said Pietro; "there are eight hundred lire in your desk." "Take fifty of them to Signor Testolini, in the Piazza, with my thanks," said the cardinal, "and put the rest in my purse. Where was I, Pietro?" "Your eminence had reached ten o'clock," replied Pietro. "From ten to eleven," continued the cardinal, "audience for the laity; from eleven to half-past, audience for the clergy; half-past eleven, my egg and a salad. Keep all who look hungry, Pietro, and ask them to take _déjeuner_ with me; at twelve, see the architect who is restoring the altar-rail at St. Margaret's; take time to write to the Superior at St. Lazzaro in reference to the proof-sheets of the 'Life of Eusebius'; from one to three, my poor--we must get some more money, Pietro; from three to four--" "There, your eminence!" exclaimed Pietro, "I have cut you." "Yes," said the cardinal; "I was about to mention it. Where was I?" "Your eminence was at four o'clock," replied Pietro. "Four o'clock already!" exclaimed the cardinal, "and nothing done; from four to half-past four, interview with the treasurer of the diocese. That's a bad half-hour, Pietro. At half-past four I wish the barca to be at the landing. Have the men wear their least shabby liveries. I am to visit the English yacht that lies over by St. Giorgio. You must dress me in my best to-day." "Alas, your eminence," said Pietro, "your best cassock is two years old." "How old is the one I wore yesterday?" asked the cardinal. "Four years at least," said Pietro. "You have your ceremonial dress, but nothing better for the street." "I caught a glimpse of myself in one of Testolini's mirrors yesterday," said the cardinal, "and I thought I looked rather well." "Your eminence," said Pietro, "you saw your face and not your coat." "Pietro," said the cardinal, rising, "you should have turned your hand to diplomacy; you would have gone far." At half-past four o'clock the cardinal's barca drew up to the molo. The oarsmen were dressed in black, save that their sashes and stockings were scarlet. The bowman landed. It was as though a footman came off the box of a brougham and waited on the curb. While the figures on the clock-tower were still striking the half-hour, the cardinal came limping across the Piazza. The gondoliers at the molo took off their hats and drew up in two lines. The cardinal passed between them, looking each man in the face. He beckoned to one, who left the ranks and came up to him, awkward and sheepish. "Emilio," said the cardinal, "I have arranged your matter. You are to pay four lire a week, and are to keep out of the wine-shops. Mind, now, no drinking." To another he said, "I have looked into your case, Marco. You are perfectly right. I have employed counsel for you. Attend to your business and forget your trouble. It is my trouble, now." To a man to whom he beckoned next he spoke differently. "How dare you send me such a petition?" he exclaimed. "It was false from beginning to end. You never served in the legion. The woman you complain of is your lawful wife. You married her in Padua ten years ago. You have been imprisoned for petit theft. You got your gondolier's license by false pretences. Mark you, friends," he said, turning, "here is one of your mates who will bear watching. When he slips, come to me," and he stepped into his barca. "To the English yacht," he said. When they arrived they found the Tara dressed in flags, from truck to deck; Lady Nora stood on the platform of the boarding-stairs, and the crew were mustered amidships. "Your eminence," cried Lady Nora, "you should have a salute if I knew the proper number of guns." "My dear lady," said the cardinal, taking off his hat, "the Church militant does not burn gunpowder, it fights hand to hand. Come for me at six," he said to his poppe. "Surely," said Lady Nora, "you will dine with us. We have ices with the Papal colors, and we have a little box for Peter's pence, to be passed with the coffee. I shall be much disappointed if you do not dine with us." "Wait!" called the cardinal to his barca. The oarsmen put about. "Tell Pietro," he said, "to feed the pigeons as usual. Tell him to lay crumbs on the balcony railing, and if the cock bird is too greedy, to drive him away and give the hen an opportunity. Come for me at nine." "Thank you," said Lady Nora; "your poor are now provided for." "Alas, no," said the cardinal; "my pigeons are my aristocratic acquaintance. They would leave me if I did not feed them. My real poor have two legs, like the pigeons, but God gave them no feathers. They are the misbegotten, the maladroit, the unlucky,--I stand by that word,-- the halt, the blind, those with consciences too tender to make their way, reduced gentlefolk, those who have given their lives for the public good and are now forgotten, all these are my poor, and they honor me by their acquaintance. My pigeons fly to my balcony. My poor never come near me. I am obliged, humbly, to go to them." "Will money help?" exclaimed Lady Nora; "I have a balance at my banker's." "No, no, my lady," said the cardinal; "money can no more buy off poverty than it can buy off the bubonic plague. Both are diseases. God sent them and He alone can abate them. At His next coming there will be strange sights. Some princes and some poor men will be astonished." Just then, a woman, short, plump, red-cheeked and smiling, came toward them. She was no longer young, but she did not know it. "Your eminence," said Lady Nora, "I present my aunt, Miss O'Kelly." Miss O'Kelly sank so low that her skirts made what children call "a cheese" on the white deck. "Your imminence," she said, slowly rising, "sure this is the proud day for Nora, the Tara, and meself." "And for me, also," said the cardinal. "From now until nine o'clock I shall air my English speech, and I shall have two amiable and friendly critics to correct my mistakes." "Ah, your imminence," laughed Miss O'Kelly, "I don't speak English. I speak County Clare." "County Clare!" exclaimed the cardinal; "then you know Ennis? Fifty odd years ago there was a house, just out of the town of Ennis, with iron gates and a porter's lodge. The Blakes lived there." "I was born in that house," said Miss O'Kelly. "It was draughty, but it always held a warm welcome." "I do not remember the draught," said the cardinal, "but I do remember the welcome. When I was an undergraduate at Oxford, I made a little tour of Ireland, during a long vacation. I had letters from Rome. One of them was to the chapter at Ennis. A young priest took me to that house. I went back many times. There was a daughter and there were several strapping sons. The boys did nothing, that I could discover, but hunt and shoot. They were amiable, however. The daughter hunted, also, but she did many other things. She kept the house, she visited the poor, she sang Irish songs to perfection, and she flirted beyond compare. She had hair so black that I can give you no notion of its sheen; and eyes as blue as our Venetian skies. Her name was Nora--Nora Blake. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen--until yesterday." "She was my mother!" exclaimed Miss O'Kelly. "And my grandmother," said Lady Nora. The cardinal drew a breath so sharp that it was almost a sob, then he took Lady Nora's hand. "My child," he said, "I am an old man. I am threescore years and ten, and six more, and you bring back to me the happiest days of my youth. You are the image of Nora Blake, yes, her very image. I kiss the images of saints every day," he added, "why not this one?" and he bent and kissed Lady Nora's hand. There was so much solemnity in the act that an awkward pause might have followed it had not Miss O'Kelly been Irish. "Your imminence," she said, "since you've told us your age, I'll tell you mine. I'm two-and-twenty and I'm mighty tired of standin'. Let's go aft and have our tay." They had taken but a few steps when Lady Nora, noticing the cardinal's limp, drew his arm through her own and supported him. "I know the whole story," she whispered. "You loved my grandmother." "Yes," said the cardinal, "but I was unworthy." IV They had their tea, two white-clad stewards serving them. The cardinal took a second cup and then rose and went to the side. He crumbled a biscuit along the rail. "I have often wondered," he said, "if my pigeons come for me or for my crumbs. Nora Blake used to say that her poor were as glad to see her without a basket as with one. But she was a saint. She saw things more clearly than it is given to us to see them." The women looked at each other, in silence. "No," said the cardinal, after an interval, "they do not come; they are as satisfied with Pietro's crumbs as with mine. Love is not a matter of the stomach;" and he brushed the crumbs overboard. "Perhaps the fishes will get them," he added, "and they will not know whence they came. Anonymous charity," he continued, coming back to his chair, "is the best. It curbs the pride of the giver and preserves the pride of the recipient. Open giving is becoming a trade. It is an American invention. Very rich men in that country offer so much for an object--a college--a hospital--a library--if some one else will give so much. The offer is printed in the newspapers of the land and its originator reaps much--what is the word I wish?--acclaim? no; kudos? no;--ah, yes, advertisement; that is the word. Thank God that charity does not thus masquerade in Italy. There are men here, in poor old Venice, who give half their goods to feed the poor. Are their names published? No. The newspapers reason thus--'Here is a gentleman; let us treat him as one,' We have no professional philanthropists in Italy. After all," he added, "mere giving is the lowest form of charity. If all the wealth of the world were divided the world would be debauched. Binding up wounds, pouring in oil and wine, bringing the wronged man to an inn, giving him your companionship, your sympathy, so that he shows his heart to you and lets you heal its bruises--that is your true charity." "That's what I'm telling Nora," exclaimed Miss O'Kelly; "she's forever drawing checks. There was my nephew, Nora's cousin, Phelim. He gave away all he had. He gave it to the piquet players in the Kildare Club. 'Aunt Molly,' he said to me, 'piquet has cost me fifteen thousand pounds, and I am just beginning to learn the game. Now that I know it a bit, no one will play with me. Your bread cast on the waters may come back, but it's ten to one it comes back mouldy, from the voyage.' Phelim is the flower of the family, your imminence. He is six foot three. He was out twice before he was two-and-twenty. The first time was with Liftennant Doyle of the Enniskillens. 'Twas about a slip of a girl that they both fancied. The Liftennant fired at the word and missed. 'Try your second barrel,' called Phelim, 'I'm still within bounds' (that's pigeon-shootin' talk, your imminence). The Liftennant laughed and the two went off to the club, arm in arm, and they stayed there two days. There's waiters in the club yet, that remembers it. The next time Phelim was out, 'twas with a little attorney-man from Cork, named Crawford. There was no girl this time; 'twas more serious; 'twas about a horse Phelim had sold, and the little attorney-man had served a writ, and Phelim went down to Cork and pulled the little man's nose. Whin the word was given the attorney-man fired and nicked Phelim's ear. Phelim raised his pistol, slow as married life, and covered the little man. 'Take off your hat!' called Phelim. The little man obeyed, white as paper, and shakin' like a leaf. 'Was the horse sound?' called Phelim. 'He was,' said the little man 'Was he six years old?' called Phelim. 'At least,' said the little man. 'None of your quibbles,' called Phelim. 'He was six, to a minute,' said the little man, looking into the pistol, 'Was he chape at the price?' asked Phelim. 'He was a gift,' said the attorney 'Gentlemen,' says Phelim, 'you have heard this dyin' confession--we will now seal it,' and he sent a bullet through the attorney-man's hat. I had it all from Dr. Clancey, who was out with them. They sent Phelim to Parliament after that, but he took the Chiltern Hundreds and came home. He said his duties interfered with the snipe-shootin'. You'd like Phelim, your imminence." "I am sure I should," said the cardinal. "He's in love with Nora," said Miss O'Kelly. "Ah," said the cardinal, "I spoke too quickly." Meanwhile the shadows began to creep across the deck. The cardinal rose from his chair. "At what hour do you dine?" he asked. "I made the hour early when I heard you order your barca for nine," said Lady Nora; "I said half-past seven." "Then," said the cardinal, "I should excuse you, but I do it reluctantly. I am keeping you from your toilet." Miss O'Kelly laughed. "Your imminence," she said, "when a woman reaches my age it takes her some time to dress. I told you I was two-and-twenty. It will take my maid nearly an hour to make me look it," and, with a courtesy, she went below. Lady Nora stayed behind. "Your eminence," she said, "the evening will be fine; shall we dine on deck?" "That will be charming," said the cardinal. "Whenever you wish to go to your room," said Lady Nora, "you have but to press this button, and the head steward will come." She still loitered. "I think it very likely," she said, hesitating, "that the Earl of Vauxhall will drop in; he often does. I should have mentioned it before, but I was so delighted at your staying that I forgot all about him." "My dear lady," said the cardinal, "to supplant the Earl of Vauxhall in your thoughts is great honor." She looked at him quickly, blushed, cast down her eyes, and began, nervously, to play with a gold boat-whistle that hung at her belt. When she had exhausted the possibilities of the whistle she looked up again, and the cardinal saw that there were tears upon her cheeks. When she knew that he had seen them she disregarded them, and threw up her head, proudly. "Yes," she said, "I think of him far too often; so often that it makes me angry, it makes me ashamed. He is an earl; he is tall and straight and beautiful and clean, and--he loves me--I know it," she exclaimed, her face illumined; "but why," she went on, "should I give myself to him on these accounts? Why should he not earn me? Why does he compel me to so one-sided a bargain? I, too, am tall and straight and clean, and not ill-favored, and, in addition, I have that curse of unmarried women--I have money. Why does he not _do_ something to even up the transaction? Why does he not write a page that some one will read? Why does he not write a song that some one will sing? Why does he not do something that will make the world call me his wife, instead of calling him my husband? The other day, when he and love were tugging at me, I told him I would marry him if he brought me the turquoise cup. It was an idle thing to say, but what I say I stand by. I shall never marry him unless he brings it to me. You know us Irish women. We have our hearts to contend with, but we keep our word. I set my lord a trivial task. If he really wants me he will accomplish it. I am not dear at the price." "With true love," said the cardinal, "I do not think there is any question of price. It is an absolute surrender, without terms. I say this guardedly, for I am no expert as to this thing called human love. I recognize that it is the power that moves the world, but, for more than fifty years, I have tried to forget the world." "Yes," cried Lady Nora, "and, but for a cruel mistake, you would have married my grandmother." "Yes," said the cardinal, "but for a cruel mistake." "The mistake was hers," exclaimed Lady Nora. The cardinal threw up his hands. "It was a mistake," he said, "and it was buried fifty years ago. Why dig it up?" "Forgive me," said Lady Nora, and she started toward the hatch. "My child," said the cardinal, "you say that you will not marry his lordship unless he brings you the cup. Do you hope that he will bring it?" She looked at him a moment, the red and white roses warring in her cheeks. "Yes," she said, "I hope it, for I love him," and she put her hands to her face and ran below. "If the earl is the man I take him to be," said the cardinal to himself, "I fear that I am about to shut my eyes to a felony," and he pressed the electric button at his side. The head steward appeared so quickly that he overheard the cardinal say--"I certainly should have done it, at his age." V At six bells there was a tap on the cardinal's door. "Come in," he said. The head steward entered. He had exchanged the white duck of the afternoon for the black of evening. He was now the major-domo. He wore silk stockings and about his neck was a silver chain, and at the end of the chain hung a key. "Your eminence's servant has come on board," he said. "Pietro?" asked the cardinal. "I do not know his name," said the steward, "but he is most anxious to see your eminence." "Let him come in at once," said the cardinal. The steward backed out, bowing. There was a loud knock upon the door. "Enter," said the cardinal. Pietro came in. He carried a portmanteau. "What is it?" exclaimed the cardinal. "Is any one dying? Am I needed?" "No, your eminence," said Pietro, "the public health is unusually good. I have come to dress you for dinner with the English." "They are not English," said the cardinal; "they are Irish." "In that event," said Pietro, "you will do as you are." "No," laughed the cardinal, "since you have brought my finery I will put it on." Pietro opened the portmanteau with a sigh. "I thought they were English," he said. "The Irish are as poor as the Italians. If I dress your eminence as I had intended they will not appreciate it." "Do not fear," said the cardinal. "Do your best." At seven bells there was another knock at the cardinal's door. Pietro opened it. "Shall dinner be served, your eminence?" asked the head steward. "Whenever the ladies are ready," replied the cardinal. "They are already on deck, your eminence." "At once, then," said the cardinal, and he went up the companion-way, leaning on Pietro's arm. The after-deck was lighted by scores of incandescent lamps, each shaded by a scarlet silken flower. The table stood, white and cool, glittering with silver and crystal. In its centre was a golden vase, and in the vase were four scarlet roses. The deck was covered with a scarlet carpet, a strip of which ran forward to the galley-hatch, so that the service might be noiseless. Lady Nora was dressed in white and wore no jewels. Miss O'Kelly was partially clad in a brocaded gown, cut as low as even the indiscretion of age permits. A necklace of huge yellow topazes emphasized the space they failed to cover. The cardinal came into the glow of the lights. His cassock was black, but its hem, its buttons, and the pipings of its seams were scarlet; so were his stockings; so was the broad silk sash that circled his waist; so were the silk gloves, thrust under the sash; so was the birettina, the little skullcap that barely covered his crown and left to view a fringe of white hair and the rebellious lock upon his forehead. The lace at his wrists was Venice point. His pectoral cross was an antique that would grace the Louvre. Pietro had done his work well. The cardinal came into the zone of light, smiling. "Lady Nora," he said. "Ireland is the home of the fairies. When I was there I heard much of them. Early in the morning I saw rings in the dew-laden grass and was told that they had been made by the 'little people,' dancing. You, evidently, have caught a fairy prince and he does your bidding. Within an hour you have converted the after-deck into fairy-land; you have--" Just then, out of the blue darkness that lay between the yacht and Venice, burst the lights of a gondola. They darted alongside and, a moment after, the Earl of Vauxhall came down the deck. "Serve at once," whispered Lady Nora to the major-domo. "Pardon me, your eminence," she said, "you were saying--" "I was merely remarking," said the cardinal, "that you seem to have a fairy prince ready to do your bidding. It seems that I was right. Here he is." Lady Nora smiled. "What kept you, Bobby," she said, "a business engagement, or did you fall asleep?" "Neither," said the earl; "I lost a shirt-stud." "Your eminence is served," said the major-domo. They stood while the cardinal said grace, at the conclusion of which, all, except the earl, crossed themselves. "Was it a valuable jewel, my lord?" asked Miss O'Kelly, in an interval of her soup. "No," said the earl; "a poor thing, but mine own." "How did it happen?" asked Miss O'Kelly; "did your man stale it?" "Dear, no," said the earl; "it happened while I was putting on my shirt." Miss O'Kelly blushed, mentally, and raised her napkin to her face. "It twisted out of my fingers," continued the earl, "and rolled away, somewhere. I moved every piece of furniture in the room; I got down on all fours and squinted along the floor; I went to the dressing-table to look for another; my man, after putting out my things, had locked up everything and gone to his dinner. I couldn't dine with you, like freedom, 'with my bosom bare'--" "No," said Miss O'Kelly, glancing down at her topazes, "you couldn't do that." "Certainly not," said the earl, "and so I put on my top-coat and went out to Testonni's in the Piazza, and bought a stud. I was lucky to find them open, for it was past closing time. They told me they were working late on a hurry order. I put the stud in my shirt, raced across to the molo, jumped into a gondola, and here I am. Am I forgiven?" "Yes," said Lady Nora; "you were only five minutes late and your excuse is, at least, ingenious. You could not have come unadorned." "Unadorned!" exclaimed the earl; "it was a question of coming unfastened." Pietro began to refill the cardinal's glass, but his master stopped him. Pietro bent and whispered. The cardinal laughed. "Pietro tells me," he said, "that this is better wine than that which I get at home and that I should make the most of it. The only difference I remark in wines is that some are red and some are white." "That minds me of one night when Father Flynn dropped in to dine," said Miss O'Kelly--"'twas he had the wooden leg, you remember, Nora, dear--and he and Phelim sat so late that I wint in with fresh candles. 'I call that good whiskey,' says the father as I came in. '_Good_ whiskey?' exclaimed Phelim; 'did ever you see any whiskey that was _bad_.' 'Now that you mintion it,' says his riverince, 'I never did; but I've seen some that was scarce.' 'Another bottle, Aunt Molly,' says Phelim, 'his riverince has a hollow leg.' When I came back with the bottle they were talking to a little, wild gossoon from the hills. He was barefooted, bareheaded, and only one suspinder was between him and the police. 'Is your mother bad?' asked his riverince. 'Dochtor says she'll die afore mornin',' says the gossoon. 'Will you lind me a horse, Phelim?' asked his riverince. 'You ride a horse, with that leg!' says Phelim. 'No, I'll drive you, in the cart;' and he went off to the stables. In five minutes he came back with the dog-cart and the gray mare. His riverince got up, with the aid of a chair, the little gossoon climbed up behind, and the gravel flew as the gray mare started. They wint a matter of ten rods and then I saw the lamps again. They had turned, and they stopped before the porch--the gray mare on her haunches. 'Phelim,' I says, 'what ails you, you've a light hand whin you're sober.' His riverince leaned over and whispered--'The oil cruet, Miss Molly, and don't let the gossoon see it,' I wint in, came out with the cruet in a paper, and handed it to him. 'All right, Phelim,' he says, and the gray mare started. At six in the mornin' I heard the gravel crunch, and I wint to the door. There stood the gray mare, her head down, and her tail bobbin'. 'You've over-driven her, Phelim,' says I. 'Perhaps,' says he, 'but I knew you were sittin' up for me. The curse of Ireland,' says he, 'is that her women sit up for her men.' 'How is the poor woman?' I says. 'She's dead,' says Phelim; 'Father Flynn is waiting for the neighbors to come.' 'And the little gossoon?' says I. Phelim leaned down from the dog-cart; 'Aunt Molly,' says he, 'we can't afford to keep what we have already, can we?' 'No,' says I. 'Thin,' says Phelim, 'we can just as well afford to keep one more; so I told him to come to us, after the funeral.'" "I don't quite follow that reasoning," said the earl. "I am more sure than ever, that I should like Phelim," said the cardinal. "Why do you not have him on?" "He's six foot three," explained Miss O'Kelly; "the yacht wouldn't fit him. He couldn't stand up, below. There is six foot seven between decks, but the electric lights project four inches. Then the beds--there isn't one more than six foot six. We had Phelim on board and tried him. He stayed one night. 'Aunt Molly,' he said, in the mornin', 'Nora has a beautiful boat, plenty of towels, and a good cook. I should like to go with you, but I'm scared. I kept awake last night, with my knees drawn up, and all went well, but if ever I fall asleep and straighten out, I'll kick the rudder out of her.' We couldn't have Phelim aboard, your imminence; he'd cancel the marine insurance." While Miss O'Kelly had been running on, the cardinal had been politely listening. He had also been discreetly observing. He had the attribute of politicians and ecclesiastics--he could exercise all his senses together. While he was smiling at Miss O'Kelly he had seen Lady Nora take from the gold vase one of the scarlet roses, press it, for an instant, to her lips and then, under cover of the table, pass it to the earl. He had seen the earl slowly lift the rose to his face, feigning to scent it while he kissed it. He had seen quick glances, quivering lips that half-whispered, half-kissed; he had seen the wireless telegraphy of love flashing messages which youth thinks are in cipher, known only to the sender and the recipient; and he, while laughing, had tapped the wire and read the correspondence. "It is all over," he said to himself. "They are in love. The little naked boy with the bow has hit them both." Promptly at nine, Pietro announced the barca. The cardinal made his adieus. "My lord," he said to the earl, "if you are for the shore, I should be honored by your company." "Thank you," said the earl, "but I ordered my gondola at ten." Lady Nora and the earl stood watching the cardinal's lantern as it sped toward Venice. It was soon lost in the night. Lady Nora's hand rested upon the rail. The earl covered it with his own. She did not move. "Have you bought the cup, Bobby," she asked. "Not yet," he answered, "but I shall have it. The treasury is closed for the annual cleaning." "When you bring it," she said, "you will find me here. I should like you to give it me on the Tara. There is your gondola light. Aunt Molly seems to be asleep in her chair. You need not wake her to say good-night." "I sha'n't," said the earl. Her hand still rested upon the rail--his hand still covered hers. She was gazing across the harbor at the countless lights of Venice. The warm night breeze from the lagoon dimpled the waters of the harbor until the reflected lights began to tremble. There was no sound, save the tinkle of the water against the side and the faint cry of a gondolier, in the distance. "Bobby," said Lady Nora, finally, "it is nice to be here, just you and I." He made a quick motion to take her in his arms, but she started back. "No, no," she said, "not yet; not till you earn me. There may be many a slip 'twixt the cup and"--she put her fingers to her lips. Miss O'Kelly's chin fell upon her topazes so sharply that she wakened with a start. "Nora, darlin'?" she cried, looking about her. "Here I am," said Lady Nora, coming into the light. "Ah," said her aunt, "and Lord Robert, too. I thought he had gone. I must have had forty winks." "I was only waiting," said the earl, "to bid you good-night." "An Irishman," said Miss O'Kelly, "would have taken advantage of me slumbers, and would have kissed me hand." "An Englishman will do it when you are awake," said the earl. "That's nice," said Miss O'Kelly; "run away home now, and get your beauty-sleep." VI During the following week the cardinal was so occupied with his poor that he nearly forgot his rich. He saw the yacht whenever he took his barca at the molo, and once, when he was crossing the Rialto, he caught a glimpse of Lady Nora and her aunt, coming up the canal in their gondola. As for the earl, he haunted St. Mark's. Many times each day he went to the treasury only to find it locked. The sacristan could give him no comfort. "Perhaps to-morrow, my lord," he would say when the earl put his customary question; "it is the annual cleaning, and sometimes a jewel needs resetting, an embroidery to be repaired--all this takes time--perhaps to-morrow. Shall I uncover the Palo d'Oro, my Lord, or light up the alabaster column; they are both very fine?" And the earl would turn on his heel and leave the church, only to come back in an hour to repeat his question and receive his answer. One day the earl spoke out--"Tommaso," he said, "you are not a rich man, I take it?" "My lord," replied Tommaso, "I am inordinately poor. Are you about to tempt me?" The earl hesitated, blushed, and fumbled in his pocket. He drew out a handful of notes. "Take these," he said, "and open the treasury." "Alas, my lord," said Tommaso, "my virtue is but a battered thing, but I must keep it. I have no key." The earl went out and wandered through the arcades. He came upon Lady Nora and Miss O'Kelly. They were looking at Testolini's shop-windows. Lady Nora greeted him with a nod--Miss O'Kelly with animation. "I'm havin' a struggle with me conscience," she said. So was the earl. "Do ye see that buttherfly?" continued Miss O'Kelly, putting her finger against the glass; "it's marked two hundred lire, and that's eight pounds. I priced one in Dublin, just like it, and it was three hundred pounds. They don't know the value of diamonds in Italy. I've ten pounds that I got from Phelim yesterday, in a letther. He says there's been an Englishman at the Kildare Club for three weeks, who thought he could play piquet. Phelim is travellin' on the Continent. Now, the question in me mind is, shall I pay Father Flynn the ten pounds I promised him, a year ago Easter, or shall I buy the buttherfly? It would look illigant, Nora, dear, with me blue bengaline." Lady Nora laughed, "I am sure, Aunt Molly," she said, "that Phelim would rather you bought the butterfly, I'll take care of your subscription to Father Flynn." With an exclamation of joy, Miss O'Kelly ran into the shop. "Nora," said the earl, "the treasury is still closed." "Oh," said Lady Nora, "why do you remind me of such tiresome things as the treasury? Didn't you hear Aunt Molly say that Phelim is on the Continent? I had a wire from him this morning. Read it; it's quite Irish." She handed the earl a telegram. "Shall I read it?" he asked. "Of course," she answered. He read--"_I'm richer, but no shorter. Is there a hotel in Venice big enough to take me in? Wire answer._ PHELIM." "Will you send this reply for me?" she asked, when the earl had read Phelim's telegram. "To be sure I will," he said. "How many words are there?" she asked. "I'll pay for it." Thus compelled, the earl read her answer--"_Come, rich or poor, long or short. Come._ NORA." The earl went off with the telegram, thinking. The next afternoon the earl came out of the church--his fifth visit since ten o'clock--and there, near the fountain, were Lady Nora and her aunt. The earl marked them from the church steps. There was no mistaking Miss O'Kelly's green parasol. This time Lady Nora met him with animation. She even came toward him, her face wreathed in smiles. "Phelim has come!" she exclaimed. "Quite happy--I'm sure," said the earl. "He's prompt, isn't he?" "Yes," said Lady Nora, "he's always prompt. He doesn't lose shirt-studs, and he never dawdles." "Ah!" said the earl. "Here he comes!" exclaimed Lady Nora, and she began to wave her handkerchief. The earl turned and saw, coming from the corner by the clock-tower, a man. He had the shoulders of Hercules, the waist of Apollo, the legs of Mercury. When he came closer, hat in hand, the earl saw that he had curling chestnut locks, a beard that caressed his chin, brown eyes, and white teeth, for he was smiling. "Nora," he cried, as he came within distance, "your friend the cardinal is a good one. He puts on no side. He had me up on the balcony, opened your letter, took out the check, and read the letter before even he looked at the stamped paper. When a man gets a check in a letter and reads the letter before he looks at the check, he shows breedin'." "The Earl of Vauxhall," said Lady Nora, "I present Mr. Phelim Blake." The two men nodded; the earl, guardedly; Phelim, with a smile. "I think, my lord," said Phelim, "that you are not in Venice for her antiquities. No more am I. I arrived this mornin' and I've been all over the place already. I was just thinkin' that time might hang. Twice a day I've to go out to the yacht to propose to Nora. Durin' the intervals we might have a crack at piquet." The earl was embarrassed. He was not accustomed to such frankness. He was embarrassed also by the six feet three of Phelim. He himself was only six feet. "I do not know piquet," he said. "Ah," said Phelim, "it cost me much to learn what I know of it, and I will gladly impart that little for the pleasure of your companionship. I will play you for love." The earl took counsel with himself--"So long as he is playing piquet with me," he said to himself, "so long he cannot be making love to Nora." "How long will it take me to learn the game?" he asked. "As long," answered Phelim, "as you have ready money. When you begin to give due bills you have begun to grasp the rudiments of the game." "Then," said the earl, "I shall be an apt pupil, for I shall give an IOU the first time I lose" "In piquet," said Phelim, squaring himself, and placing the index finger of his right hand in his left hand, after the manner of the didactic, "the great thing is the discard, and your discard should be governed by two considerations--first, to better your own hand, and second, to cripple your opponent's. Your moderate player never thinks of this latter consideration. His only thought is to better his own hand. He never discards an ace. The mere size of it dazzles him, and he will keep aces and discard tens, forgetting that you cannot have a sequence of more than four without a ten, and that you can have one of seven without the ace, and that a king is as good as an ace, if the latter is in the discard. I am speakin' now," continued Phelim, "of the beginner. Let us suppose one who has spent one thousand pounds on the game, and is presumed to have learned somethin' for his money. His fault is apt to be that he sacrifices too much that he may count cards. I grant you that you cannot count sixty or ninety if your opponent has cards, but you may, if cards are tied. When I was a beginner I used to see Colonel Mellish make discards, on the mere chance of tyin' the cards, that seemed to me simply reckless. I soon discovered, however, that they were simply scientific. One more thing--always remember that there is no average card in a piquet pack. The average is halfway between the ten-spot and the knave. Now, what are the chances of the junior hand discardin' a ten and drawin' a higher card? In the Kildare Club they are understood to be two and three-eighths to one against, although Colonel Mellish claims they are two and five-eighths to one. The colonel is an authority, but I think he is a trifle pessimistic. He--" "There, Phelim," said Lady Nora, "I think that is enough for the first lesson. We dine at eight. If Lord Vauxhall has nothing better to do perhaps he will come with you." "We'll dine on deck, Phelim, dear," said Miss O'Kelly. "You won't have to go below." VII The next morning the earl went to the church, as usual. He had not slept well. The advent of Phelim had set him to thinking. Here was a rival; and a dangerous one. He admitted this grudgingly, for an Englishman is slow to see a rival in a foreigner, and who so foreign as an Irishman? At dinner, on the yacht, the night before, Phelim had been much in evidence. His six feet three had impressed the earl's six feet. Phelim had been well dressed. "Confound him," thought the earl, "he goes to Poole, or Johns & Pegg. Why doesn't he get his clothes at home?" Then Phelim had talked much, and he had talked well. He had told stories at which the earl had been compelled to laugh. He had related experiences of his home-life, of the peasants, the priests, the clubs, hunting and shooting, his brief stay in Parliament, what he had seen in Venice during the last few days; and, when dinner was over, Lady Nora, who had been all attention, said: "Sing for us, Phelim," and they had gone below, Phelim stooping to save his head; and he had struck those mysterious chords upon the piano, by way of prelude, that silence talk, that put the world far away, that set the men to glancing at the women, and the women to glancing at the floor and making sure of their handkerchiefs, and then--he had sung. How can one describe a song? As well attempt to paint a perfume. When Phelim finished singing Miss O'Kelly went over and kissed him, and Lady Nora went away, her eyes glistening. The earl remembered all these things as he went up the aisle. He had passed that way five times each day for nine days. He came to the door of the treasury, thinking, not of Nora, but of Phelim--and the door was open. He went in. The gorgeous color of the place stopped him, on the threshold. He saw the broidered vestments upon which gold was the mere background; jacinths were the stamens of the flowers, and pierced diamonds were the dewdrops on their leaves; he saw the chalices and patens of amethyst and jade, the crucifixes of beaten gold, in which rubies were set solid, as if they had been floated on the molten metal; he saw the seven-light candelabrum, the bobèches of which were sliced emeralds, and then his eyes, groping in this wilderness of beauty, lighted on the turquoise cup. "My God!" he exclaimed, "she is right. She is selling herself for the most beautiful thing in the world. To steal it is a crime like Cromwell's--too great to be punished," and he put out his hand. Then, with the cup and Nora within his reach, he heard a still, small voice, and his hand fell. He began to argue with his conscience. "Who owns this cup?" he asked. "No one. The cardinal said it had been stolen. He said no one could sell it because no one could give title. Why, then, is it not mine as well as any one's? If I take it, whom do I wrong? Great men have never let trifles of right and wrong disturb their conduct. Who would ever have won a battle if he had taken thought of the widows? Who would ever have attained any great thing if he had not despised small things?" and he put out his hand again; and then came surging into his mind the provisions of that code which birth, associations, his school life, and, most of all, his mother, had taught him. What would they say and do at his clubs? Where, in all the world, could he hide himself, if he did this thing? He turned and fled, and, running down the church steps, he came face to face with Lady Nora and Phelim. They were laughing gayly; but, when they saw the earl's face, their laughter ceased. "Have you seen a ghost, my lord?" asked Phelim. The earl did not answer; he did not even hear. He stood gazing at Lady Nora. For one brief moment, when he stood before the cup, he had questioned whether a woman who would impose such a condition could be worth winning; and now, before her, her beauty overwhelmed him. He forgot Phelim; he forgot the passers-by; he forgot everything, except the woman he loved--the woman he had lost. "Nora," he said, "I give you back your promise. I cannot give you the cup." The color left her cheeks and her hands flew up to her heart--she gazed at him with love and pity in her eyes, and then, suddenly, her cheeks flamed, her white teeth pressed her lower lip, her little foot stamped upon the pavement. "Very well," she said, "I regret having given you so much trouble;" and she went toward the landing. She took three steps and then turned. The two men stood as she had left them. "Phelim," she said, smiling, "_you_ would do something for me, if I were to ask you, would you not?" "Try me," said Phelim. "Would you like the Campanile for a paper-weight?" "No," she said, "not that, but something else. Come here." He went to her, and she whispered in his ear. "I'll bring it you in half an hour, aboard the yacht," said Phelim, and he started across the Piazza. Lady Nora went on toward the landing. The earl stood watching her. She did not look back. The earl looked up at the clock-tower. "In half an hour," he said to himself, "he will bring it to her, aboard the yacht;" and he turned and re-entered the church. He went up the aisle, nodded to the sacristan, entered the treasury, took the turquoise cup, came out with it in his hand, nodded again to the sacristan, went down the steps, crossed the Piazza, ran down the landing-stairs, and jumped into a gondola. "To the English yacht!" he cried. He looked at his watch. "It seems," he said to himself "that one can join the criminal classes in about six minutes. I've twenty-four the start of Phelim." They came alongside the Tara, and the earl sprang up the ladder. "Lady Nora?" he asked of the quartermaster. "She is below, my lord. She has just come aboard, and she left orders to show you down, my lord." "Me?" exclaimed the earl. "She didn't name you, my lord;" said the quartermaster, "what she said was--'A gentleman will come on board soon; show him below.'" The earl speculated a moment as to whether he were still a gentleman, and then went down the companion-way. He came to the saloon. The door was open. He looked in. Lady Nora was seated at the piano, but her hands were clasped in her lap. Her head was bent and the earl noticed, for the thousandth time, how the hair clustered in her neck and framed the little, close-set ear. He saw the pure outlines of her shoulders; beneath the bench, he saw her foot in its white shoe; he saw, or felt, he could not have told you which, that here was the one woman in all this great world. To love her was a distinction. To sin for her was a dispensation. To achieve her was a coronation. He tapped on the door. The girl did not turn, but she put her hands on the keys quickly, as if ashamed to have them found idle. "Ah, Phelim," she said, "you are more than prompt; you never keep one waiting," and she began to play very softly. The earl was embarrassed. Despite his crime, he still had breeding left him, and he felt compelled to make his presence known. He knocked again. "Don't interrupt me, Phelim," she said; "this is my swan-song; listen;" and she began to sing. She sang bravely, at first, with her head held high, and then, suddenly, her voice began to falter. "Ah, Phelim, dear," she cried, "I've lost my love! I've lost my love!" and she put her hands to her face and fell to sobbing. "Nora!" said the earl. It was the first word he had spoken, and she raised her head, startled. "Here is the cup, Nora," he said. She sprang to her feet and turned to him, tears on her cheeks, but a light in her eyes such as he had never seen. "Oh, my love," she cried, "I should have known you'd bring it." "Yes," he said, "you should have known." She stood, blushing, radiant, eager, waiting. He stood in the doorway, pale, quiet, his arms at his side, the cup in his hand. "Nora," he said, "I've brought you the cup, but I do not dare to give it to you. I stole it." "What?" she cried, running toward him. She stopped suddenly and began to laugh--a pitiful little laugh, pitched in an unnatural key. "You shouldn't frighten me like that, Bobby," she said; "it isn't fair." "It is true," said the earl; "I am a thief." She looked at him and saw that he was speaking the truth. "No," she cried, "'tis I am the thief, not you. The cardinal warned me that I was compelling you to this, and I laughed at him. I thought that you would achieve the cup, if you cared for me; that you would render some service to the State and claim it as your reward--that you would make a fortune, and buy it--that you would make friends at the Vatican--that you would build churches, found hospitals, that even the Holy Father might ask you to name something within his gift--I thought of a thousand schemes, such as one reads of--but I never thought you would take it. No, no; I never thought that." "Nora," said the earl, "I didn't know how to do any of those things, and I didn't have time to learn." "I would have waited for you, always," she said. "I didn't know that," said the earl. "I hoped you didn't," said Lady Nora. "Come!" and she sprang through the door. The earl followed her. They ran up the companion-way, across the deck, down the boarding-stairs. The earl's gondola was waiting. "To the molo in five minutes," cried Lady Nora to the poppe, "and you shall be rich." They went into the little cabin. The earl still held the cup in his hand. They sat far apart--each longing to comfort the other--each afraid to speak. Between them was a great gulf fixed--the gulf of sin and shame. Half-way to the landing, they passed Phelim's gondola, making for the yacht. The cabin hid them and he passed in silence. "I sent him for some bon-bons," said Lady Nora. "I did it to make you jealous." They reached the molo in less than five minutes and Lady Nora tossed her purse to the oarsmen, and sprang out. "Put the cup under your coat," she said. The earl obeyed. He had stolen it openly. He brought it back hidden. They crossed the Piazza as rapidly as they dared, and entered the church. The sacristan greeted them with a smile and led the way to the treasury. "They haven't missed it yet," whispered Lady Nora. The sacristan unlocked the outer and the inner door, bowed, and left them. Lady Nora seized the cup and ran to its accustomed shelf. She had her hand outstretched to replace it, when she uttered a cry. "What is it?" exclaimed the earl. She did not answer, but she pointed, and the earl, looking where she pointed, saw, on the shelf--the turquoise cup. They stared at the cup on the shelf--at the cup in Lady Nora's hand--and at each other--dumfounded. They heard a limping step on the pavement and the cardinal came in. His face was very grave, but his voice was very gentle. "My children," he said, "I prayed God that you would bring back the cup, but, _mea culpa_, I lacked faith, and dared not risk the original. Would God let Nora Blake's granddaughter make shipwreck? The cup you have, my child, is but silver-gilt and glass, but it may serve, some other day, to remind you of this day. Look at it when your pride struggles with your heart. Perhaps the sight of it may strengthen you. Take it, not as the present of a cardinal, or an archbishop, but as the wedding-gift of an old man who once was young, and once knew Nora Blake." "A wedding-gift?" exclaimed Lady Nora. "What man would ever marry such a wretch as I?" "Nora!" cried the earl; and he held out his arms. "My pigeons are waiting for me," said the cardinal; and he went away, limping. THE DESERT Far down in the Desert of Sahara is the little oasis of El Merb. It is so small that our crude atlases miss it. It has but one well, and the fertile land is not more than forty rods in diameter. It has a mosque, a bazaar, a slave-market, and a café. It is called by the traders of Biskra "The Key of the Desert." It is called by the Mohammedan priests of Biskra "The Treasury of the Desert." It is called by the French commandant at Biskra "A place to be watched." The only communication between El Merb and Biskra is by camels, and Abdullah was once the chief caravan-master. * * * * * Abdullah, having felt the humps of his camels, turned to his driver. "We start to-morrow, Ali," he said; "the beasts are fit." Ali bowed and showed his white teeth. "To-morrow," continued Abdullah, "since it is Friday; and immediately after the middle prayer. I hear in the bazaar that the well at Okba is choked. Can we make forty-two miles in one day, so as to cut Okba out?" "We can," said Ali, "during the first three days, when the beasts do not drink; after that--no." "Good," said Abdullah; "I will make a route." Some one plucked at his sleeve and he turned. "Sir," said a man with a white beard and eager eyes, "I learn that you start for Biskra to-morrow." "If Allah wills," said Abdullah. "In crossing the desert," said the old man, "I am told there are many dangers." "Friend," said Abdullah, "in sitting at home there are many dangers." "True," said the old man; and, after an interval, he added, "I think I may trust you." Abdullah shrugged his shoulders and rolled a cigarette. "Would it please you," said the old man, "to take a passenger for Biskra?" "At a price," replied Abdullah, striking a match. "What is the price?" asked the old man. "Do you pay in dates, hides, ivory, or gold-dust?" "In dust," replied the old man. Abdullah threw away his cigarette. "I will carry you to Biskra," said he, "for eight ounces, and will furnish you with dates. If you desire other food, you must provide it. You shall have water, if I do." "It is not for myself that I seek passage," said the old man, "but for my daughter." "In that event," said Abdullah, "the price will be nine ounces. Women cast responsibility upon me." "And her maid-servant?" asked the old man. "Eight ounces," replied Abdullah. "It is all I have," said the old man, "but I will give it." "If you have no more," said Abdullah, "Allah forbid that I should strip you. I will carry the two for sixteen ounces." "Allah will make it up to you," said the old man. "If you will deign to accompany me to the bazaar, I will pay you immediately." They went to the arcades about the square and entered the shop of Hassan, the money-changer. The old man pulled at his girdle and produced, after many contortions, a purse of gazelle skin. "Friend Hassan," he said, "I wish to pay to this, my son, sixteen ounces. Kindly weigh them for me." Hassan produced his scales. They consisted of two metal disks, suspended by silk threads from the ends of a fern stem. He balanced this stem upon the edge of a knife, fixed above his table. In one of the pans he placed a weight, stamped with Arabic characters. The pan fell to the table. Hassan produced a horn spoon, which he blew upon and then carefully wiped with the hem of his burnoose. He handed the spoon to the old man, who felt of the bowl. "It is dry," he said; "nothing will stick to it." Hassan plunged the spoon into the bag and brought it out, filled with gold-dust, which he poured into the empty pan. The scales rose, fell, trembled, and then settled even. "I nearly always can judge an ounce," said Hassan; "a grain is another matter." He weighed out sixteen ounces. The last ounce he left in the pan. Then he turned and, with a sweep of his arm, caught a fly from off the wall. He handled it with the greatest care until he held it in the tips of his fingers; then he put it into his mouth and closed his lips. In a moment he took it out. The fly was moist and dejected. He placed it upon the gold-dust in the pan. The fly began to beat its wings and work its legs. In a moment its color changed from blue-black to yellow. It was coated with gold-dust. Hassan lifted it with a pair of tweezers, and popped it into an inlaid box. "My commission," he said. "Good-by. Allah be with you." The old man tied up his bag, which seemed to be as heavy as ever. "I thought," said Abdullah, glancing at the purse, "that seventeen ounces was all you had." "What remains," said the old man, and there was a twinkle in his eye, "belongs to Allah's poor, of whom I am one." "I regret," said Abdullah, with some heat, "that I did not treble my usual price. I merely doubled it for you." The old man's face clouded, but only for an instant. "My son," he said, "I am glad that I have intrusted my daughter to you. You will bring her to Biskra in safety. At what hour do you start?" "Immediately after the noon prayer," answered Abdullah, "and I wait for no one." "Good," said the old man, "we shall be there; _slama_." "_Slama_," said Abdullah, and they parted. Abdullah went back to his camels. He found Ali asleep between the black racer and the dun leader. He kicked him gently, as though he were a dog, and Ali sat up smiling and pleased to be kicked, when he saw his master. "We take two women with us," said Abdullah. "Allah help us," said Ali. "He has already," said Abdullah; "I have sixteen ounces in my girdle." "It seems, then," said Ali, grinning, "that not only Allah has helped you, but you have helped yourself." "Peace," said Abdullah, "you know nothing of commerce." "I know, however," said Ali, "that the Englishwoman whom we carried two years ago, and who made us stop two days at the wells of Okba, because her dog was ailing, gave me a bad piece of silver that I could not spend in Biskra. 'T was she of the prominent teeth and the big feet. I used to see her feet when she mounted her camel, and I used to see her teeth when I saw nothing else." "Peace," said Abdullah. "Allah who made us made also the English." "Perhaps," said Ali, "but one cannot help wondering why He did it." "If we carry these two women," said Abdullah, "we must leave the cargo of two beasts behind. Leave four bales of hides; I took them conditioned upon no better freight offering; and put the women on the two lame camels. In this way we profit most, since we sacrifice least merchandise. The porters will be here at sunrise to help you load. See that they are careful. You remember what happened last time, when our cargoes kept shifting. All seems well to-night, except you have loaded that red camel yonder too high on the right side. How can a camel rest if, when he kneels, his load does not touch the ground? He must support the weight himself." "I intended to alter that in the morning," said Ali. "The morning may never dawn," said Abdullah, "and meanwhile you rob the beast of one night's rest. Attend to it at once. The speed of a caravan is the speed of its slowest camel." "Who should know that better than I?" exclaimed Ali. "Have I not crossed the desert nine times with you? Oh, master, bear with me, I am growing old." "What is your age?" asked Abdullah. "One-and-thirty," replied Ali. "My friend," said Abdullah, "you are good for another voyage; and know this, when you fail me, I quit the desert, and turn householder, with a wife or two, and children, if Allah wills it. I myself am six-and-twenty. I have earned a rest. _Slama_." And he turned on his heel to go, but he turned again. "Ali," he said, "who lives in the first house beyond the mosque, on the left--the house with the green lattices?" "I do not know, my master," replied Ali, "but I shall tell you in the morning." "Good," said Abdullah; "and there is a damsel who sits behind the lattice, and always wears a flower in her hair, a red flower, a flower like this," and he put his hand into the folds of his burnoose and brought out a faded, crumpled, red oleander. "Who is she?" "Tomorrow," said Ali. "Good," said Abdullah, and he went away. "_Slama_" said Ali, and then he added, to himself, "There goes a masterful man, and a just one, but love has caught him." And he hurriedly eased the red camel of her load. II The next morning the departing caravan had many visitors. The merchants from the arcades came to see that their ventures were properly loaded. They passed comments upon the camels as Englishmen and Americans do upon horses in the paddock or the show-ring. Some they criticised, some they praised, but they were of one mind as to their condition. "Their humps are fat," they all agreed; and, as a camel draws upon his hump for food as he draws upon the sacs surrounding his stomach for water, the condition of the caravan was declared to be _mleh_, which is the Arabic equivalent for "fit." Abdullah was a busy man. He signed manifests, received money, receipted for it, felt of surcingles, tightened them, swore at the boys who were teasing the camels, kicked Ali whenever he came within reach, and in every way played the _rôle_ of the business man of the desert. Suddenly, from the minaret of the mosque came the cry of the mueddin. The clamor of the market ceased and the Mussulmans fell upon their knees, facing the east and Mecca. The camels were already kneeling, but they were facing the north and Biskra. While the faithful were praying, the unbelievers from the Soudan fell back and stood silent. A cry to God, no matter what god, silences the patter of the market-place. Abdullah prayed as a child beseeches his father. "Give me, Allah, a safe and quick journey. Unchoke the wells at Okba. Strengthen the yellow camel. Make high the price of dates and low the price of hides; 'tis thus I have ventured. Bring us in safety to Biskra. And bring me to the damsel who sits behind the green lattice. These things I pray--thy sinful son, Abdullah." He rose, and the old man stood at his elbow. Abdullah had forgotten his passengers. "This," said the old man, turning to a woman veiled to her eyes, "is my daughter, and this," he added, "is her maid," and a negress, comely and smiling, made salaam. "I pray thee," he continued, "to deliver this invoice," and he handed Abdullah a paper. Abdullah was too busy to notice his passengers. "Let them mount at once," he said, slipping the paper under his girdle, and he left them to Ali, who came up showing his white teeth. There were the last words, instructions, cautions, adieus, and then Abdullah held up his hand. Ali gave the cry of the camel-driver and the uncouth beasts, twisting and snarling under their loads, struggled to their feet. Another cry, and they began their voyage. They traversed the square, passed the mosque, turned down a narrow street, and in five minutes crossed the line that bounded the oasis, and entered upon the desert. Immediately the dun leader took his place at the left and slightly in advance. The fourth on the right of the dun was the black racer. He carried two water-skins and Abdullah's saddle. Then came, in ranks, fifteen camels, Ali riding in the centre. On the right flank rode the two women, with enormous red and white cotton sunshades stretched behind them. Then, at an interval of six rods, came fifteen camels unattended. They simply followed the squad in front. The dun leader and the black racer had lanyards about their necks. The other camels had no harness save the surcingles that held their loads. In a panic, a sand-storm, a fusillade from Bedouins, a mirage, and a race for water, if Abdullah and Ali could grasp these lanyards, the caravan was saved, since the other camels followed the dun leader and the black racer as sheep follow the bell-wether. Abdullah walked at the left, abreast of the dun. At intervals he rode the black racer. The pace of a caravan is two miles an hour, but Abdullah's, the two cripples included, could make two miles and a quarter. The black racer could make sixty miles a day for five days, without drinking, but at the end of such a journey his hump would be no larger than a pincushion, and his temper--? For centuries it has been the custom of Sahara caravans to travel not more than five miles the first day. Abdullah, the iconoclast, made thirty-three. Ali came to him at two o'clock. "Shall we camp, master?" he asked. "When I give the word," replied Abdullah. "You forget that the wells at Okba are choked. We shall camp at El Zarb." "El Zarb," exclaimed Ali. "We should camp there to-morrow." "Must I continually remind you," said Abdullah, "that to-morrow may never dawn? We camp at El Zarb to-night." At nine o'clock they marched under the palms of El Zarb. Abdullah held up his hands; Ali ran to the head of the dun leader; the caravan halted, groaned, and knelt. The first day's journey was over. III The moment that the halt was accomplished, Abdullah went about, loosing the surcingles of his camels. Then he began to pitch his tent. It was of camel-skins, stretched over eight sticks, and fastened at the edges with spikes of locust wood. It was entirely open at the front, and when he had the flaps pinned, he gathered a little pile of camels' dung, struck a match, and began to make his tea. He had no thought for his passengers. His thoughts were with his heart, and that was back at the house beyond the bazaar--the house with the green lattices. Before the water boiled, Ali came up, eager, breathless. "Master," he said, "the passengers are cared for, and the mistress wears a flower like--like _that_; the one you showed me;" and he pointed to Abdullah's bosom. "You are either a faithful servant," said Abdullah, "or you are a great liar. The morrow will tell." And he started toward the passengers' tent. He found it closed. Being a woman's tent, it had front flaps, and they were laced. He walked back and forth before it. He was master of the caravan, more autocratic than the master of a ship. He might have cut the laces, entered, and no one could have questioned. That is the law of the desert. He could more easily have cut his own throat than that slender cord. He wandered back and forth before the tent. The twilight faded. The shadows turned from saffron to violet, to purple, to cobalt. Out of the secret cavern of the winds came the cool night-breeze of the Sahara. Still he paced up and down, before the little tent. And as he measured the sands, he measured his life. Born of a camel-driver by a slave; working his way across the desert a score of times before his wages made enough to buy one bale of hides; venturing the earnings of a lifetime on one voyage--making a profit, when a loss would have put him back to the beginning--venturing again, winning again--buying three camels--leasing them--buying three more--starting an express from the Soudan to Biskra one day short of all others;--carrying only dates and gold-dust--insuring his gold-dust, something he learned from the French in Biskra;--buying thirty camels at a plunge--at once the master camel-driver of the Sahara--and here he was, pacing up and down before a laced tent which held behind it--_a woman_. The night of the desert settled down, and still he paced. The stars came up--the stars by which he laid his course; and, finally, pacing, he came for the hundredth time to the tent's front and stopped. "Mistress?" he whispered. There was no answer, "Mistress?" he called, and then, after an interval, the flies of the tent parted--a white hand, and a whiter wrist, appeared, and a red oleander fell on the sands of the desert. Abdullah was on his knees. He pressed the flower to his lips, to his heart. Kneeling he watched the flaps of the tent. They fluttered; the laces raced through the eyelets; the flaps parted, and a girl, unveiled, stepped out into the firelight. They stood, silent, gazing one at the other. "You have been long in coming," she said, at length. There is no love-making in the desert. Thanks to its fervent heat, love there comes ready-made. "Yes," said Abdullah, "I have tarried, but now that I have come, I stay forever;" and he took her in his arms. "When did you love me first?" she whispered, half-released. "When first I saw you, behind the green lattice," gasped Abdullah. "Ah, that green lattice," whispered the girl; "how small its openings were. And still, my heart flew through them when first you passed. How proudly you walked. Walk for me now--here, in the firelight, where I may see you--not so slowly with your eyes turned toward me, but swiftly, smoothly, proudly, your head held high--that's it--that is the way you passed my lattice, and as you passed my heart cried out, 'There goes my king.' Did you not hear it?" "No," said Abdullah; "my own heart cried so loudly I heard naught else." "What did it cry? What cries it now?" she said; and she placed her cheek against his bosom, her ear above his heart. "I hear it," she whispered, "but it beats so fast I cannot understand." "Then," said Abdullah, "I must tell thee with my lips." "Oh, beloved," she whispered, "the camels will see us." "What matters," he said; "they belong to me." "Then they are my brethren," she said, "since I, also, belong to thee," and with arms entwined they passed out of the fire-light into the purple of the desert. * * * * * When they came back, the hobbled camels were snoring, and the unfed fires were smouldering. "Allah keep thee," said Abdullah, at the door of her tent. "And thee, my master," said the girl, and the flaps fell. Abdullah went slowly toward his own tent. He stopped a moment by one of the lame camels. "Thou broughtest her to me," he said, and he eased the beast's surcingle by a dozen holes. He reached his tent, paused, faced the western horizon, lifted his arms, breathed in the sweet, cool air of the desert, and entered. Ali had spread a camel's hide, had covered a water-skin with a burnoose for a pillow, and had left, near it, a coiled wax-taper and a box of matches. Abdullah untwined his turban, loosened his sash, felt something escape him, fell on his knees, groped, felt a paper, rose, went to the tent's door, recognized the invoice which the old man had given him, went out, kicked up the embers of the fire, knelt, saw that the paper was unsealed, was fastened merely with a thread, played with the thread, saw it part beneath his fingers, saw the page unfold, stirred up the embers, and read: "_To Mirza, Mother of the Dancers at Biskra, by the hand of Abdullah. I send thee, as I said, the most beautiful woman in the world. She has been carefully reared. She has no thought of commercialism. Two and two are five to her as well as four. She is unspoiled. She never has had a coin in her fingers, and she never has had a wish ungratified. She knows a little French; the French of courtship merely. Her Arabic is that of Medina. You, doubtless, will exploit her in Biskra. You may have her for two years. By that time she may toss her own handkerchief. Then she reverts to me. I shall take her to Cairo, where second-rate Englishmen and first-rate Americans abound. "This is thy receipt for the thirty ounces you sent me._ "ILDERHIM." When Abdullah had read this invoice of his love, he sat long before the little fire as one dead. Then he rose, felt in his bosom, and drew out two flowers, one withered, the other fresh. He dropped these among the embers, straightened himself; lifted his arms toward heaven, and slowly entered his tent. The little fires smouldered and died, and the great desert was silent, save for the sighing of the camels and the singing of the shifting sands. THE MAN WHO KEEPS GOATS I The next morning broke as all mornings break in the desert, first yellow, then white, and always silent. The air bore the scent of sage. The hobbled camels had broken every shrub within their reach, and stunted herbage is, almost always, aromatic. Abdullah gave no heed to the sun. He who for ten years had been the most energetic man of the desert had overnight become the most nonchalant. Like Achilles, he sulked in his tent. At five o'clock Ali ventured to bring his master's coffee. He found Abdullah fully dressed and reading a paper, which he hurriedly thrust into his burnoose when he was interrupted. "Your coffee, master," said Ali. "We have twelve leagues to make to-day." "Ali," said Abdullah, "the night before we started I asked you who lived in the house with the green lattices--the next house beyond the mosque--and you promised to tell me in the morning." "Yes, master," said Ali, "but in the morning you did not ask me." "I ask you now," said Abdullah. Ali bowed. "Master," he answered, "the house is occupied by Ilderhim, chief of the tribe of Ouled Nail. He hires it for five years, and he occupies it for the three months, Chaban, Ramadan, and Chaoual, of each year. He has also the gardens and four water-rights. He deals in ivory, gold-dust, and dancing-girls. He formerly lived in Biskra, but the French banished him. They have also banished him from Algiers, and he has been warned from Cairo and Medina. He has a divorced wife in each of those cities. They are the mothers of the dancing-girls. The one in Biskra is Mirza. Every one in Biskra knows Mirza. Doubtless you, master--" "Yes," said Abdullah, "but the damsel. Who is she?" "His daughter," replied Ali. "How know you this?" demanded Abdullah, fiercely. "Master," said Ali, "last night, when you were looking at the stars with the mistress, I had a word with the maid. She came to me, while I was asleep by the dun leader, and shook me as if I had been an old friend. "'Save her,' she whispered, as I rubbed my eyes. "'Willingly,' I replied. 'Who is she?' "'My mistress,' said the maid. 'They are taking her to Biskra. She has been sold to Mirza. She will dance in the cafés. This sweet flower will be cast into the mire of the market-place. Save her.' "'How know you this?' I asked. "'Ah,' she answered, 'this is not the first time I have crossed the desert with one of Ilderhim's daughters. Save her.' "'Does the damsel know nothing of this--does she not go with her eyes open?' I asked. "'She thinks,' said the maid, 'that she goes to Biskra to be taught the manners and the learning of the French women--to read, to sing, to know the world. Her heart is even fairer than her face. She knows no evil. Save her.'" Abdullah groaned and hung his head. "Forgive me, Allah," he said, "for that I doubted her. Forgive me for that I burned the flowers she gave to me," and he went out. "Your coffee, master," cried Ali, but Abdullah paid no heed. He went swiftly to the little tent, and there was the damsel, veiled, and already mounted on the lame camel, ready to march. "Beloved," said Abdullah, "you must dismount," and he lifted her from the back of the kneeling beast. "Ali," he cried, "place the damsel's saddle on the black racer, and put mine on the dun. We two start on at once for the oasis of Zama. We can make it in thirteen hours. Give us a small water-skin and some dates. I leave everything else with you. Load, and follow us. We will wait for you at Zama. I go to counsel with the Man who Keeps Goats." In five minutes the black racer and the dun leader were saddled. "Come, beloved," said Abdullah, and without a word she followed him. She had asked no question, exhibited no curiosity. It was enough for her that Abdullah said, "Come." They rode in silence for some minutes. Then Abdullah said: "Beloved, I do not know your name." She dropped her veil, and his heart fell to fluttering. "The one who loves me calls me 'beloved,'" she said, "and I like that name." "But your real name?" said Abdullah. "I was baptized 'Fathma,'" she said, smiling. "Doubtless," said Abdullah; "since all women are named for the mother of the Prophet; but what is your other name, your house name?" "Nicha," she answered; "do you like it?" "Yes," he said, "I like it." "I like 'beloved' better," said the girl. "You shall hear it to your heart's content," said Abdullah. They went on again, in silence, which was broken by the girl. "Master," she said, "if you do not care to speak to me further, I will put up my veil." "Do not," exclaimed Abdullah, "unless," he added, "you fear for your complexion." "I do not fear for my complexion," said the girl, "but for my reputation; and she smiled again. "That," said Abdullah, "is henceforth in my keeping. Pay no heed to it." "I am not yet your wife," said the girl. "True," said Abdullah, "and we are making this forced march to learn how I may make you such. Who is your father, beloved?" "Ilderhim," she answered; "but why do you ask? You saw him when we started from El Merb." "Do you love him?" asked Abdullah. "I scarcely know," answered the girl, after a pause. "I have not seen him often. He is constantly from home. He buys me pretty clothes and permits me to go to the cemetery each Friday with my maid. I suppose I love him--not as I love you, or as I love the camel that brought me to you, or the sandal on your foot, or the sand it presses--still, I think I must love him--but I never thought about it before." "And your mother?" asked Abdullah. "I have no mother," said the girl. "She died before I can remember." "And why do you go to Biskra?" asked Abdullah. "My father sends me," said the girl, "to a great lady who lives there. Her name is Mirza. Do you not know her, since you lived in Biskra?" Abdullah did not answer. Something suddenly went wrong with his saddle, and he busied himself with it. "I am to be taught the languages and the ways of Europe," continued the girl, "music and dancing, and many things the desert cannot teach. I am to remain two years, and then my father fetches me. Now that I consider the trouble and expense he is put to on my account, surely I should love him, should I not?" Abdullah's saddle again required attention. They rode for hours, sometimes speaking, sometimes silent. Twice Abdullah passed dates and water to the girl, and always they pressed on. A camel does not trot, he paces. He moves the feet of his right side forward at once, and follows them with the feet of his left side. This motion heaves the rider wofully. The girl stood it bravely for six hours, then she began to droop. Abdullah watched her as her head sank toward the camel's neck; conversation had long ceased. It had become a trial of endurance. Abdullah kept his eye upon the girl. He saw her head bending, bending toward her camel's neck; he gave the cry of halt, leaped from the dun, while yet at speed, raced to the black, held up his arms and caught his mistress as she fell. There was naught about them save the two panting camels, the brown sands, the blue sky, and the God of Love. Abdullah lifted her to the earth as tenderly, as modestly, as though she had been his sister. It is a fine thing to be a gentleman, and the God of Love is a great God. It proved that the girl's faintness came from the camel's motion and the cruel sun. Abdullah made the racer and the dun kneel close together. He spread his burnoose over them and picketed it with his riding-stick. This made shade. Then he brought water from the little skin; touched the girl's lips with it, bathed her brow, sat by her, silent, saw her sleep; knelt in the sand and kissed the little hand that rested on it, and prayed to Him that some call God, and more call Allah. In an hour the girl whispered, "Abdullah?" He was at her lips. "Why are we waiting?" she asked. "Because I was tired," he answered. "Are you rested?" she asked. "Yes," he answered. "Then let us go on," she said. They rode on, hope sustaining Abdullah, and love sustaining Nicha, for she knew nothing but love. Then, after eight hours, on the edge of the desert appeared a little cloud, no larger than a man's hand. Abdullah roused himself with effort. He watched the cloud resolve itself into a mass of green, into waving palms--then he knew that Zama was before him, and that the march was ended. He turned and spoke to the girl. They had not spoken for hours. "Beloved," he said, "a half-hour, and we reach rest." She did not answer. She was asleep upon her saddle. "Thank Allah," said Abdullah, and they rode on. Suddenly the trees of the oasis were blotted out. A yellow cloud of dust rolled in between them and the travellers, and Abdullah said to himself, "It is he whom I seek--it is He who Keeps Goats." II They met. In the midst of threescore goats whose feet had made the yellow cloud of dust was a man, tall, gaunt, dressed in the garb of the desert, and burned by the sun as black as a Soudanese. "Ah, my son," he cried, in French, when he was within distance, "you travel light this time. Whom have you with you, another mistress, or, at last, a wife?" "Hush," said Abdullah, "she is a little damsel who has ridden twelve leagues and is cruel tired." "God help her," said the man of the goats; "shall I give her some warm milk--there is plenty?" "No," said Abdullah; "let us go to thy house," and the goats, at the whistle of their master, turned, and followed the camels under the palms of the oasis of Zama. They halted before a little hut, and Abdullah held up his hand. The camels stopped and kneeled. The girl did not move. Abdullah ran to her, took her in his arms, lifted her, turned, entered the hut, passed to the inner room, laid her upon a low couch, beneath the window, put away her veil, kissed her hand, not her lips, and came out. In the outer room he found his host. Upon the table were some small cheeses, a loaf of bread, a gourd of milk. Abdullah fell upon the food. "Well, my son," said his host, after Abdullah began to pick and choose, "what brings you to me?" "This," said Abdullah, and he felt in his bosom, and drew out the invoice of his passenger. His host took from a book upon the table a pair of steel-bowed spectacles--the only pair in the Sahara. He placed the bow upon his nose, the curves behind his ears, snuffed the taper with his fingers, took the invoice from Abdullah, and read. He read it once, looked up, and said nothing. He read it a second time, looked up, and said: "Well, what of it?" "Is it legal?" asked Abdullah. "Doubtless," said his host, "since it is a hiring, merely, not a sale; and it is to be executed in Biskra, which is under the French rule." "The French rule is beneficent, doubtless?" asked Abdullah. His host did not answer for some minutes; then he said: "It is a compromise; and certain souls deem compromises to be justice. The real men of this age, as of all others, do not compromise; they fight out right and wrong to a decision. The French came into Algeria to avenge a wrong. They fought, they conquered, and then they compromised. Having compromised, they must fight and conquer all over again." "You are a Frenchman, are you not?" asked Abdullah. "No," replied his host, "I am a Parisian." "Ah," exclaimed Abdullah, "I thought they were the same thing." "Far from it," replied his host. "In Brittany, Frenchmen wear black to this day for the king whom Parisians guillotined." "Pardon," said Abdullah; "I have been taught that Paris is French." "Not so, my son," rejoined his host; "Paris is universal. If you will go to the Museum of the Louvre, and take a seat before the Venus of Milo, and will remain long enough, everybody in this world, worth knowing, will pass by you; crowned heads, diplomats, financiers, the demimonde; you may meet them all. They tell me that the same thing happens to the occupant of the corner table of the Café de la Paix--the table next to the Avenue de l'Opéra; if he waits long enough, he will see every one--" "Pardon me, Monsieur," said Abdullah, "but I care to see no one save the little maid sleeping within." "Ah," said his host, "it is love, is it? I thought it was commercialism." "No," said Abdullah; "it is a question of how I can keep the woman I love, and still keep my commercial integrity. She is consigned to me by her father, to be delivered to Mirza, the mother of the dancers, in Biskra. I am the trusted caravan owner between El Merb and Biskra. In the last ten years I have killed many men who tried to rob my freight of dates, and hides, and gold-dust. Now I long to rob my own freight of the most precious thing I have ever carried. May I do it, and still be a man; or must I deliver the damsel, re-cross the desert, return the passage money to her father, come once more to Biskra, and find my love the sport of the cafés?" The Man who Keeps Goats rose and paced the floor. "My son," he said, finally, "when the French occupied Algeria, they made this bargain--'Mussulmans shall be judged by their civil law.' It was a compromise and, therefore, a weakness. The civil law of the Mohammedans is, virtually, the Koran. The law of France is, virtually, the Code Napoléon. The parties to the present contract being Mohammedans, it will be construed by their law, and it is not repugnant to it. If, on the contrary, the damsel were a Christian, the French commandant at Biskra would tear the contract to pieces, since it is against morals. Better yet, if _you_ were a Christian, and the damsel your wife, you might hold her in Biskra against the world." Abdullah sat silent, his eyes half closed. "Monsieur," he said at length, "is it very difficult to become a Christian?" The Man who Keeps Goats sat silent--in his turn. "My son," he said, finally, "I myself am a priest of the Church. I have lived in the desert for twenty years, but I have never been unfrocked. I cannot answer you, but I can tell you what a wiser than I declared to a desert traveller who put this same question nineteen hundred years ago." He took up the book upon the table, turned a few pages, and read--"'And the angel of the Lord spake unto Philip, saying, Arise, and go toward the south unto the way that goeth down from Jerusalem unto Gaza, which is desert. And he arose and went: and, behold, a man of Ethiopia, a eunuch of great authority under Candace queen of the Ethiopians, who had the charge of all her treasure, and had come to Jerusalem for to worship, was returning, and sitting in his chariot read Esaias the prophet.... And Philip ran thither to _him_, and heard him read the prophet Esaias, and said, Understandest thou what thou readest? And he said, How can I, except some man should guide me? And he desired Philip that he would come up and sit with him.... Then Philip opened his mouth, and began at the same scripture, and preached unto him Jesus. And as they went on _their_ way, they came unto a certain water: and the eunuch said, See, _here is_ water; what doth hinder me to be baptized? "'And Philip said, If thou believest with all thine heart, thou mayest. And he answered and said, I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God. "'And he commanded the chariot to stand still: and they went down both into the water, both Philip and the eunuch; and he baptized him.'" Scarcely had the reader ceased when Abdullah sprang to his feet. "Father," he cried, "see, _here_ is water. What doth hinder _me_ to be baptized?" "My son," said the old man, "how canst thou believe with all thine heart? No Philip has preached Jesus unto thee." "What need?" exclaimed Abdullah. "Can a man's belief need preaching to in such a case as this? How long must I believe a religion that saves her I love? A month, a year, until it avails nothing, and she is gone? This eunuch was a blacker man than I; like me, he was a man of the desert. He did not ride with Philip long. I have not only heard what Philip said to him, but I have also heard what you have said to me. Both of you have preached unto me Jesus. What right have you to doubt my belief in a God who will save my love to me? Again, I ask you, what doth hinder me to be baptized?" "Nothing," said the old man, and they went out both to the well, sparkling beneath the palms, both Abdullah and the Man who Keeps Goats; and he baptized him. When Abdullah rose from his knees, his forehead dripping, he drew his hand across his face and asked, "Am I a Christian?" "Yes," said the priest, "so far as I can make you one." "Thank you," said Abdullah; "you have done much, and in the morning you shall do more, for then you shall baptize the damsel and shall marry us according to your--pardon me--our religion." They entered the hut, and the priest, pointing toward the chamber-door, asked: "Does she believe?" "She believes what I believe," said Abdullah. The priest shook his head. "You speak," he said, "not as a Christian, but as a Moslem. You were brought up to look upon woman as a mere adjunct, a necessary evil, necessary because men must be born into the world. A female child, with you, was a reproach; she was scarcely seen by her parents until she was brought out to be sold in marriage. With Christians it is different. A woman has a soul--" "Hush," said Abdullah, "or you will awaken the camels with that strange doctrine. A woman has a soul, has she? You read me no such proposition from your prophets, a half-hour ago. Woman was not mentioned by Philip or by the Ethiopian in what you read to me. Is there aught in your book that argues that woman has a soul?" "Doubtless," said the priest, "but I do not recall it." He caught up his Bible. He opened it unluckily, for the first words that met his eye were these, and he read them: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?" and he paused, embarrassed. "Whose words were those?" asked Abdullah. The priest hesitated, crossed himself, and answered: "They were the words of Jesus." "To whom were they spoken?" asked Abdullah. The answer lagged. Finally, the priest said, "To His mother." "Master," said Abdullah, "the more I learn of my new religion, the more I am enamoured of it;" and he went to the chamber-door and knocked. "Beloved," he said, and waited. He knocked again, and again he said, "Beloved." "Who art thou?" came a voice. "'Tis I, Abdullah," he said. "Enter," said the voice. "Not so," said Abdullah; "but come you out." "Art thou alone?" asked the voice. "No," replied Abdullah, "the man who keeps goats is here." "I have no light," said the voice. Abdullah took the taper from the table, opened the door six inches, felt a warm soft hand meet his own, pressed it, left the taper in it, closed the door, and groped in darkness to his seat. "Father," he said, after some moments of silence, "_have_ women souls?" "Doubtless," answered the priest. "God help them," said Abdullah; "have they not trouble enough, without souls to save?" The two men sat silent in the darkness. The door creaked, a line of light appeared; the door swung wide out, and on the threshold stood Nicha, the taper in her hand. The two men sat silent, gazing. She had put off her outer costume of white linen and stood dressed for the house, the seraglio. Upon her head was a _chachia_, a little velvet cap, embroidered with seed-pearls. Her bust was clothed with a _rlila_, or bolero of brocaded silk, beneath which was a vest of muslin, heavy with gold buttons. About her slim waist was a _fouta_, or scarf of striped silk. Below came the _serroual_, wide trousers of white silk that ended mid-leg. Upon her feet were blue velvet slippers, pointed, turned up at the toes and embroidered with gold. About her ankles were _redeefs_, or bangles of emeralds, pierced, and strung on common string. At her wrists hung a multitude of bangles, and on her bare left arm, near the shoulder, was a gold wire that pinched the flesh, and from it hung a filigree medallion that covered her crest, tattooed beneath the skin. It is always so with the tribe of Ouled Nail. This was the costume of the woman, but the woman herself, as she stood in the doorway, the taper in her hand, who may describe her? Tall, lithe, laughing--her black hair, braided, tied behind her neck, and still reaching the ground; her eyebrows straight as though pencilled; her ears small and closely set; her nose straight and thin, with fluttering nostrils; her shoulders sloping; her bust firm and pulsating beneath her linen vest; her slender waist; her little feet, in the blue velvet slippers; the charm of breeding and of youth; the added charm of jewels and of soft textures; what wonder that the two men sat silent and gazing? Abdullah spoke first. "Beloved," he said, "I have broken your night's rest that you may have eternal rest." The girl laughed. "That is a long way off," she said. "The cemetery, with the cypress-trees, is beautiful, but this hut, with thee, is better. Why did you wake me?" "Because, since you slept," said Abdullah, "I have changed my religion." "Good," exclaimed the girl; "then I change mine. I am tired of a religion that makes me plait my hair for eight hours of the day and sends no man to see it." "What religion do you choose?" asked Abdullah. "Yours," said the girl, seating herself and dropping her hands, interlaced, and covered with turquoise rings, about her knees; "why should a woman question anything when her husband has passed upon it?" "Did I not tell thee?" said Abdullah. "Yes," said the priest, "but I waited for her own words." "You have them now," said Abdullah, and they went out to the spring. "I name thee Marie," said the priest, "since it is the name borne by the Mother of our Lord." "Ah," said the girl, "I was baptized Fathma, after the Mother of the Prophet. There seems to be not so much difference thus far." When the sacrament had been administered and they had returned to the hut, the priest addressed his converts. "My children," he said, "in order to do a great right I have done a little wrong. I have baptized you into a religion that you know nothing of. How should you? You, Abdullah--I beg your pardon, Philip--that was the name I gave you, was it not?" Abdullah bowed. "You, Philip," resumed the priest, "have changed your religion to win a woman whom you love; and you, Marie, have changed yours because the man you love bade you. Neither of you knows anything of the faith you have adopted. I have had no chance to instruct you; but one thing I declare to you, the Christian religion tolerates but one husband and one wife." Nicha rose, pale, hesitating. She stepped slowly into the light. Her beauty added to the light. "Beloved," she said, "knew you this?" "No," he said, "but I know it now, and welcome it." "Oh, my beloved," she cried, "to think that you are all my own, that I do not have to share you," and she flung her arms about him. "Hush," said the priest, "or, as Philip says, you will wake the camels." "Father," asked Abdullah, "will you now marry us, since we are Christians?" "I would," answered the priest, "but it is necessary to have two witnesses." Abdullah's face fell, but in an instant it brightened again. He went to the door of the hut and stood, listening. In a moment he turned and said, "Allah is good, or, rather, God is good. This new religion works well. Here are our witnesses." And, even as he spoke, there came out of the darkness the halt-cry of the camel-driver. "It is Ali," said Abdullah, "and Nicha's maid is with him. They have caught us up." He ran out and found the camels kneeling and Ali easing the surcingles. "Ali," he cried, "you must change your religion." "Willingly," said Ali; "what shall the new one be? The old one has done little for me." "Christian," said Abdullah. "That suits me," said Ali; "under it one may drink wine, and one may curse. It is a useful religion for a trader." "And the maid?" asked Abdullah. "We have travelled a day and a part of a night together," said Ali, "and she will believe what I tell her to believe." "The old religion is good in some respects," said Abdullah. "Call the maid;" and they went to the hut. "Here are the witnesses," said Abdullah, "ready to be Christians." "It is not necessary," said the priest, "if they can make their mark; that is all that is required." So, in the little hut, before an improvised altar, they were married--the camel-driver and the daughter of the Chief of Ouled Nail. The next morning the caravan took up the march for Biskra. THE MOTHER OF THE ALMEES It was the great fast of Rhamadan, and the square of Biskra was crowded with white-robed men waiting for the sun to set that they might eat. The rough pavement was dotted with fires over which simmered pots filled with what only a very jealous God indeed would have called food. About them were huddled the traders from the bazaars, the camel-drivers from the desert, the water-carriers from Bab el Derb. Each man held a cigarette in his left hand and a match in his right. He would smoke before he ate. In the long arcades the camels, in from the Soudan, knelt, fasting. An Arab led a tame lion into the square and the beast held back on his chain as he passed the flesh-pots, for he, too, was fasting. Crowds of little children stood about the circle of the fires, fasting. A God was being placated by the sufferings of His creatures. There is little twilight in the latitude of Biskra. There is the hard, white light of the daytime, five minutes of lavender and running shadows, and then the purple blackness of the night. The mueddin took his place on the minaret of the mosque. His shadow ran to the centre of the square and stopped. He cried his admonition, each white-robed figure bowed to the earth in supplication, a cannon-shot at the citadel split the hot air, and in an instant the square was dotted with sparks. Each worshipper had struck his match. The fast was over until sunrise. The silence became a Babel. All fell to eating and to talking. A marabout, graceful as a Greek statue, came out of the mosque and made his way among the fires. As he passed, the squatting Mussulmans caught at his robe and kissed it. Mirza, the mother of the Almee girls, her golden necklaces glinting in the firelight, came walking by. As she passed the marabout he drew back and held his white burnoose across his face. She bent her knee and then went on, but as she passed she laughed and whispered, "Which trade pays best, yours or mine?" and she shook her necklaces. "Daughter," said the marabout, "there is but one God." "Yes," she replied, "but He has many prophets, and, of them all, you are the most beautiful," and she went on. An officer of _spahis_ rode in and, stopping his horse before the arched door of the commandant, stood motionless. The square was filled with color, with life, with foreignness, with the dancing flames, the leaping shadows, the fumes of the cook-pots, the odor of Arabian tobacco, the clamor of all the dialects of North Africa. A bugle sounded. Out of a side street trotted a cavalcade. The iron shoes of the horses rang on the pavement, and the steel chains of the curbs tinkled. The commandant dismounted and gave his bridle to his orderly. The commandant walked through the square. He wore a fatigue cap, a sky-blue blouse, with white loopings, white breeches, tight at the knee, and patent-leather boots, with box spurs. He walked through the square slowly, smoking cigarette after cigarette. He was not only the commandant but he was the commissioner of police. With seventy men he ruled ten thousand, and he knew his weakness. The knowledge of his weakness was his strength. As he walked through the square he met Mirza. He passed her without a sign of recognition and she, on her part, was looking at the minaret of the mosque. In their official capacities they were strangers. On certain occasions, when the commandant was in _mufti_ they had, at least, passed the time of day. The commandant walked through the long rows of fires, speaking to a merchant here, nodding to a date-grower there, casting quick glances and saying nothing to the spies who, mingling with the people, sat about the kouss-kouss pots, and reported to the commandant, each morning, the date set for his throat-cutting. This was many years ago, before there was a railroad to Biskra. The commandant, having made the round of the fires, crossed over to his house under the arcades. He dismissed the sergeant and the guard, and they rode away to the barracks, the hoof-beats dying in the distance. The _spahi_ remained, silent, motionless. The commandant was about to enter his door, when a man sprang from behind one of the pillars of the arcade and held out to him a paper. The commandant put his hands behind his back. The _spahi_ edged his horse up closely. "Who are you?" asked the commandant, in French. The man shook his head, but still held out the paper. "Who are you?" asked the commandant again, but now in Arabic. "I am Ali, the slave of Abdullah," answered the man, "and he sends you this letter." The commandant remained motionless. "Will your horse stand, corporal?" he asked of the _spahi_. "Perfectly, my colonel." "Leave him, then," said the commandant, "and bring one of your pistols." The _spahi_ gathered his long blue cloak off the quarters of his horse, took a revolver from its holster, swung his right leg over his horse's head, so that he might not for an instant turn his back, threw the reins over his horse's neck, brought the heels of his red boots together, saluted, and stood silent. The horse began to play with the pendant reins and to shift his loosened bit. "Go in," said the commandant, and the _spahi_ opened the door. "You next," and Ali followed. The commandant brought up the rear. They entered at once not a hall but a room. So all Eastern houses are ordered. A lamp was burning, the walls were hung with maps of France and of North Africa, a few shelves held a few books and many tin cases labelled "Forage," "Hospital," "Police." Behind a desk sat a little man, dressed in black, who was dealing cards to himself in a game of solitaire. He rose and bowed when the commandant entered, and then he went on with his game. "Stand there," said the commandant, pointing to a corner, "and put your hands over your head." Ali obeyed. "Search him," said the commandant. The _spahi_ began at Ali's hair and ended with his sandals. "He has nothing," he reported. "Now give me the letter," said the commandant. Ali twisted himself, fumbled at his waist, and drew out a knife. He placed it on the desk, smiling. "Do not blame the corporal for overlooking this," he said; "I am so thin from the journey that he took it for one of my ribs." "I will trust you," said the commandant, and he took the letter. The little man in black kept dealing solitaire. The commandant read the letter to himself and laughed, and then he read it aloud: "_To Monsieur the COUNT D'APREMONT, Commandant at Biskra. "MONSIEUR: Since last I saw you strange things have happened. I have turned Christian, and I have married. I wonder at which of these statements you will laugh most. "May I bring my wife to your house? She will be the only Christian woman in Biskra. Say 'yes' or 'no' to the bearer. I am halted a mile outside of the town, awaiting your answer. "Mirza, the mother of the Almees, has a certain claim upon my wife; how valid I do not know. I need counsel, but first of all I need shelter. May I come?_ "ABDULLAH." "Of course he may come," said the commandant; "what is to prevent?" "The law, perhaps," said the little man in black, shuffling the cards. The commandant turned quickly. "Why the law, Monsieur the Chancellor?" he asked. "Because," answered the little man, still shuffling the cards, "he says that Mirza has a certain claim upon his wife, how valid he does not know; and he needs counsel and he needs shelter. When a man writes like this, he also needs a lawyer;" and he commenced a new deal. The commandant stood a moment, thinking. Then he raised his head with a jerk, and said to Ali: "Tell your master that I say 'yes.'" Ali made salaam and glided from the room. "He has left his knife," said the lawyer. The commandant turned to the _spahi_. "Corporal," he said, "go to the citadel and bring back twelve men. Place six of them at the entrance of the square, and six of them before my house. When Abdullah's caravan has entered the square, have the further six close in behind. You may take your time. It will be an hour before you are needed." The _spahi_ saluted, and went out. The commandant turned to the little man in black. "Why in the world," he asked, "did you object to my harboring Abdullah? He is my friend and yours. He is the best man that crosses the desert. He has eaten our salt many times. If all here were like him, you and I might go home to France, with our medals and our pensions." "True," said the lawyer, gathering his cards, "and very likely there is no risk in harboring him and his wife." He shuffled the cards mechanically, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall. "My friend," he said, at length, "whom do you consider the most powerful person in Biskra, the person to be first reckoned with?" The commandant laughed. "As I am in command," he said, "I should be court-martialled if I denied my own superiority." "And yet," said the lawyer, "you are only a poor second." The commandant, who was sitting astride of his chair, his hands upon its back, demi-vaulted as if he were in the saddle of a polo pony. "What do you mean?" he demanded. The lawyer kept shuffling the cards, but he paid no attention to them. "Go to the window," he said, "and tell me what you see." The commandant rose, and went to the window, his spurs jingling. He drew the curtain and looked out. "What do you see?" asked the counsellor. "I see the square," answered the commandant, "with five hundred kettle-lights, and three thousand Mussulmans gorging themselves, making up lost time." "Look over at the left corner," said the lawyer. "I see the mosque," said the commandant, "with its lamps burning." "There you have it," cried the lawyer. "This religion that you and I are sent to conquer keeps its lamps burning constantly, while the religion that comes to conquer lights its candles only for the mass. Mankind loves light and warmth. What do you see now?" "I see Mirza," replied the commandant; "she is walking up the centre line of the fires. Now she stops. She meets a man, draws him hurriedly aside, and is speaking close to his ear." "Has he a green turban?" asked the lawyer. "Has he been to Mecca?" "Yes," answered the commandant. "There you see the most powerful person in Biskra," said the counsellor. "Who?" asked the commandant. "The man in the green turban?" "No," said the lawyer, "the woman he is speaking to." "Mirza?" exclaimed the commandant. "Yes," said the lawyer. "The centre of affairs, since the world was sent spinning, has always been a woman. Who placed the primal curse of labor on the race? Was it the man, Adam, or the woman, Eve?" "As I remember," said the commandant, "the serpent was the prime mover in that affair." "Yes," said the lawyer; "but being 'more subtile than any beast in the field,' he knew that if he caught the woman the man would follow of his own accord. Julius Caesar and Antony were dwarfed by Cleopatra. Helen of Troy set the world ablaze. Joan of Arc saved France. Catharine I saved Peter the Great. Catharine II made Russia. Marie Antoinette ruled Louis XVI and lost a crown and her head. Fat Anne of England and Sarah Jennings united England and Scotland. Eugénie and the milliners lost Alsace and Lorraine. Victoria made her country the mistress of the world. I have named many women who have played great parts in this drama which we call life. How many of them were good women? By 'good' I do not mean virtuous, but simply 'good.'" "Out of your list," said the commandant, "I should name Joan of Arc and Victoria." "A woman," repeated the lawyer, "is the centre of every affair. When you go back to France, what are you looking forward to?" "My wife's kiss," said the commandant. "And you, since you are a bachelor?" "The scolding of my housekeeper," said the lawyer, and he shrugged his shoulders. The commandant laughed. "But what of Mirza?" he asked. "Why is she so powerful?" "For the same reason that your wife and my housekeeper are powerful," said the lawyer; "she is a woman." "A woman here," said the commandant, "is a slave." "A _good_ woman, I grant you," said the lawyer, "but a _bad_ woman, if she chance to be beautiful, is an empress. Do you know how many men it takes to officer a mosque of the first class, such a one as we have here? Twelve," and he dropped the cards and began to count his fingers. "Two _mueddins_ the chaps that call to prayer; two _tolbas_ who read the litanies; two _hezzabin_, who read the Koran; a _mufti_ who interprets the law; a _khetib_ who recites the prayer for the chief of the government each Friday, and who is very unpopular; an _iman_ who reads the five daily prayers; a _chaouch_ who is a secretary to the last of the list, the _oukil_ who collects the funds and pays them out. The _oukil_ is the man who governs the mosque. He is the man in the green turban whom you saw talking with Mirza. They are partners. He attends to the world, she to the flesh, and both to the devil. It is a strong partnership. It is what, in America, they call a 'trust.' The _oukil_ sends his clients to Mirza, and she sends hers to the _oukil_. Look out of the window again. There are three thousand religionists who have passed through the hands of the _oukil_ and Mirza, and she, making the most money, has the last word. Do you ask, now, why she is the most powerful person in Biskra?" "It seems," said the commandant, "that it is because she is a woman, and is bad." "And beautiful," added the lawyer. "Do you think her beautiful?" asked the commandant. The lawyer thought a moment. "Did you ever see a hunting-leopard?" he asked. "No," said the commandant. "I used to see them," said the lawyer, "when I was in Sumatra, looking after the affairs of some Frenchmen who were buying pearls from the oyster-beds of Arippo. They were horribly beautiful. Mirza reminds me of them, especially when she seizes her prey. Most beasts of prey are satisfied when they have killed all that they can devour; but the hunting-leopard kills because she loves to kill. So does Mirza. She destroys because she loves to destroy. A hunting-leopard and Mirza are the only two absolutely cruel creatures I have ever seen. Of course," he added, "I eliminate the English, who deem the day misspent unless they have killed something, and who give infinite pains and tenderness to the raising of pheasants, that they may slaughter a record number of them at a _battue_. Aside from a hunting-leopard and a hunting- Englishman, I know of no being so cruel as Mirza; no being that takes such delight in mere extermination. They used to call our nobility, in the time of Louis XIV and Louis XV, cruel, but they did not kill, they merely taxed. In the height of the ancient _régime_, it was not good form to kill a peasant, because then the country had one less taxpayer. The height of the art was to take all the peasant had and then to induce him to set to work again. When he had earned another surplus, his lord came and took it. France had an accomplished nobility. England had a brutal one. The latter used to take all the eggs out of the nest and then kill the hen. The French noble took all the eggs but one or two, and spared the hen. He could rob a nest a dozen times and his English contemporary could rob it but once." "My friend," said the commandant, laughing, "you reassure me. When you begin comparing England with France, I know that you have nothing of importance at hand and that your mind is kicking up its heels in vacation. You have a charming mind, my friend, but it has been prostituted to the law. If you had been bred a soldier--" He stopped, because the murmur of the square suddenly stopped. The cessation of a familiar clamor is more startling than a sudden cry. The two men ran to the window. The fires under the pots were still burning and the square was light as day. At the opposite side, where the caravan road debouched, three thousand white-robed Mussulmans stood, silent. Above them the commandant and the lawyer could see the heads of the six _spahis_, they and their horses silent. Beyond, were the heads of many camels. The commandant threw up the sash. Across the silent square came a woman's voice, speaking Arabic in the dialect of Ouled Nail. "That is Mirza," said the lawyer. Then there came a man's voice, evidently in reply. "That is Abdullah," said the lawyer. "How can you distinguish at this distance?" asked the commandant. The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. "While you are drilling your soldiers," he said, "I am drilling myself. If a man yonder sneezes, I can name his tribe. A sneeze, being involuntary, cannot be artificial, and therefore it is the true index of race and character. Take the Oriental Express any night from Paris to Vienna. If you will sit up late enough and walk up and down the aisle, you may tell from the sneezes and the coughs the nationality of the occupant of each berth. A German sneezes with all his might, and if there is a compatriot within hearing he says, '_Gesundheit_.' An Italian sneezes as if it were a crime, with his hand over his face." "Hush," said the commandant. Out from the white-robed crowd came two forms, Mirza and the _oukil_. Mirza held a paper in her hand. They went to the nearest fire and Mirza gave the paper to the man with the green turban. He read it, thought a moment, read it again, and then the two went back to the silent crowd by the mosque. There was conversation, there were vehement exclamations which, if they had been in English, would have been oaths--there was a sudden movement of the horses and the camels; the outskirts of the crowd surged and broke, and then, above their heads, flashed the sabres of the _spahis_. The commandant went to the door. "Corporal," he said, "take your men to the mosque, join your comrades, and bring to me Abdullah, his wife, Mirza, and the _oukil_." The corporal saluted, gave an order, and the little troop trotted across the square. The commandant closed the shutters of the window. "I do not care to see the row," he said, and he lit a cigarette. But if he did not see the row, he heard it, for presently came the yelp and snarl of an Oriental mob. "It is growing warm," said the commandant. "Hospitality cannot be lightly practised here." "Nor anywhere," said the lawyer, who had resumed his cards; "because it is a virtue, and the virtues are out of vogue. The only really successful life, as the world looks upon success now, is an absolutely selfish life. It is the day of specialists, of men with one idea, one object, and the successful man is the one who permits nothing to come between him and his object. Wife, children, honor, friendship, ease, all must give place to the grand pursuit; be it the gathering of wealth, the discovery of a disease germ, the culture of orchids, or the breeding of a honey-bee that works night and day. Human life is too short to permit a man to do more than one thing well, and money is becoming so common that its possessors require the best of everything." "Old friend," said the commandant, "you are a many-sided man, and yet you are one of the best lawyers in France." "You have said it," exclaimed the lawyer; "_one_ of the best, not _the_ best. The one thing I have earnestly striven for I have not attained." "What is that?" asked the commandant. "Do you wish to be Minister of Justice?" "No," said the lawyer; "but I should like to be known as the best player of Napoleon solitaire." A sabre-hilt rapped on the door. "Enter," cried the commandant. The door opened, and there entered first the sharp cries of the mob, and then the corporal, Abdullah, a woman clothed all in white, the _oukil_, and, last of all, Mirza. The moment she was within the room she dominated it. The other occupants were blotted out by comparison. She entered, debonair, smiling, and, as she crossed the threshold, she flung up her hand in a military salute. "Hail, my masters," she cried in Arabic. "Would you believe it? but just now I was nearly robbed, before your windows, of merchandise that cost me thirty ounces." "Be good enough to speak French," said the commandant; "it is the etiquette of the office." "And to you?" exclaimed Mirza, in the speech of Paris, "to you, who speak such charming Arabic. It was only last week, the evening you did me the honor of supping with me, that Miriam--perhaps you will pay her the compliment of remembering her--the little girl who played and danced for you, and who, when you were going, hooked on your sword for you, and gave you a light from her cigarette?--well, Miriam said, when you were gone, 'It is a pity the gracious commandant speaks any language save Arabic, he speaks that so convincingly.' What could you have whispered to her, Monsieur le Commandant, as you left my poor house?" The commandant moved nervously in his chair and glanced out of the corner of his eye at the lawyer, who had resumed his cards. Reassured by the apparent abstraction of his friend, the commandant gathered himself and essayed a pleasantry. "I told her," he said, "that if she lived to be twice her age, she might be half as beautiful as you." Mirza made an exaggerated courtesy and threw a mocking kiss from her finger-tips. "I thought," she said, "that a woman's age was something that no well-bred Frenchman would speak of." Then she drew herself up and her face, from mocking, became hard and cruel. "I know," she said, slowly, "that I am old. I am eight-and-twenty. I was a wife at twelve, and a mother at thirteen. Such matters are ordered differently here, Monsieur. A girl is a woman before she has had any childhood. I married Ilderhim. Of course, I had never seen him until we stood before the cadi. I had the misfortune to bear him a daughter, and he cursed me. When I was fourteen, a Russian Grand Duke came to Biskra and my husband sold me to him. I refused to submit myself. Then Ilderhim beat me and turned me out of his house. You understand, Monsieur le Commandant, that under our blessed religion a man may have as many wives as he chooses and may divorce them when he chooses. Well, there I was, without a husband, without a home, without my child, and I passed the night in the arcades, among the camels. The next morning I went to the hotel and asked for the Grand Duke. 'Monsieur,' I said to him, 'I am Mirza. I would not _sell_ myself to you, but if you will take me as a gift, behold, here am I.' He took me to Paris, to Vienna, to St. Petersburg. For a year he did not tire of me. That was a long time for a savage to amuse a Grand Duke, was it not? Then one day he gave me money, bade me keep the jewels he had given me, and sent me back to Biskra. Since then I have been, first a dancing-girl, and then, the mother of them all. I have never given the authorities any trouble. I have observed the laws of France. What will the laws of France do for me?" and she handed to the commandant the invoice which Abdullah had brought with his freight. The commandant read the paper and his face grew troubled. "Chancellor," he said, "is this binding?" The lawyer read the paper twice. "Yes," he said, "it is a mere hiring; it is not a sale. I don't see how we can interfere." "Mirza," said the commandant, "it seems that you have a good contract, under Moslem law." "Excellent," cried the _oukil_, rubbing his hands. "Silence," thundered the commandant. "Speak French, and that only when you are spoken to. Abdullah, have you anything which you wish to say to me?" Abdullah bent and whispered in the ear of the girl who sat trembling; then he stepped forward. "Monsieur le Commandant," he said, "will you have the kindness to read this?" and he held out a paper. It was yellow with age and of quarto size and twice folded. The commandant took it, unfolded it, and read aloud, "_The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all. Amen_." "Why, this is the last page of a Bible," he said. "I do not know," said Abdullah. "He tore it from a book upon his table. It was the only paper that he had. Upon the other side is writing." The commandant reversed the paper and again read: _THIS is to Certify that on the nineteenth day of February, 187-, in the Oasis of Zama, in the Great Sahara, having first baptized them, I did unite in marriage Philip (formerly Abdullah) and Marie (formerly Nicha), in accordance with the rites of our holy Church_. JOSEPH, _Who Keeps Goats_. _Witness_, his Ali, _the son of Ali_ X mark her ZINA, _parentage unknown_ X mark "Ah, ha," exclaimed the lawyer, "this changes the complexion of affairs," and he threw the cards upon the floor. "I could swear to Joseph's handwriting, I have his IOU's, but as I am now sitting as a magistrate, I cannot swear to anything. Where are the witnesses, Abdullah?" "With the camels, across the square," said Abdullah; "if you will permit the corporal to go for them--" "Pardon," said the _oukil_; "if I am permitted to speak I can save you the trouble. We admit all that the goatherd certifies." "Then," said the chancellor, "you admit yourselves out of court, since, if one Christian marries another, the law of France obtains, and this contract which Mirza produces is abhorrent to the law of France, being immoral." "Pardon," said the _oukil_. "In every word you speak I recognize my master, but is it not possible that my master may nod? As one of a conquered people, I have studied the code of my conqueror. It is true that a religious ceremony has been performed here, but how about the civil marriage which, as I read the French code, is absolutely necessary?" The lawyer sat silent. Then he put out his hand. "My friend," he said, "I have done you a great wrong. I have looked upon you as a mere religionist. It seems that you are a student. You remind me of my duty. I, as the chief legal officer of this colony, should marry these people at once. Thank you many times for reminding me." "Pardon," said the _oukil_; "but if I have read the laws of France aright, there cannot be a civil marriage without the consent of the parents." "My friend," said the lawyer, "will you place me doubly in your debt by shaking hands with me a second time? If you were to exchange your green turban for the silk hat of the boulevards, your photograph would soon be in the shops. You know my law much better than I know yours, and I shake hands with you intellectually, not socially. Who is your father, Abdullah?" he asked. "I do not know his name," answered Abdullah; "he was a camel-driver of the Sahara." "And your mother?" asked the lawyer. "How can one, born as I, know his mother?" replied Abdullah. "And you," said the lawyer, turning to Nicha, "who is your father?" "Ilderhim of El Merb," she answered. "And your mother?" asked the lawyer. "She died before I can remember." "Her father, Ilderhim," said the _oukil_, "signs the invoice which you have read. He does not consent." "He is nobody," said the lawyer. "He was banished from Algeria years ago. It is as though he had never existed." "I had overlooked that," said the _oukil_; and then he added, "As the mistake this time is mine, perhaps you will again shake hands." "No," said the lawyer; "I pay penance only when I am in the wrong." The _oukil_ bowed low, but when he drew himself up to his full height there was murder in his eye. "Well," said the commandant, "what is the solution?" "I advise you," said the lawyer, "that this contract comes under the law of France and is void, because it is immoral and opposed to public policy. It comes under the law of France because the young woman is a Christian and has married a Christian. The religious marriage is complete. The civil marriage is only delayed that the young woman may present proofs of her mother's death. Her father is already civilly dead." "Mirza," said the commandant, "do you hear?" "Yes," she said, "I hear, and, being a woman, I am accustomed to such decisions. I pay thirty ounces to Ilderhim for two years' hire of a girl. The girl turns Christian and I lose the thirty ounces." "Not so," said Abdullah; "they are here," and he placed a bag upon the commandant's table. "Take it," said Mirza; and she tossed it to the _oukil_. "To make his contract good," she continued, "Ilderhim, my former husband, pays sixteen or seventeen ounces' freight on the girl and her maid. The girl turns Christian. Who loses the freight?" "I," said Abdullah, and he placed another bag upon the table. "Take it," said Mirza, and the _oukil_ grasped it. "Let us see this girl who has kept us all up so late," said Mirza, and she strode over to Nicha. Abdullah put out his hand to keep her off. "You've won," she said; "why be disagreeable? Let us see what you have gained and I have lost," and she stripped the veil and the outer garment from the girl, who sat passive. When the veil and the burnoose fell, the beauty of the girl filled the room as would a perfume. The commandant and the lawyer sat speechless, gazing. The _oukil_ wrung his hands and exclaimed: "What have we lost!" Abdullah stood, proud and happy. The corporal at the door shifted his feet and rattled his side-arms, and Mirza laughed. Then she stepped back a pace; the laughter died upon her lips, and her hands flew to her bosom. "Little one," she said, "the life you would have lived with me would not have been so hard when one remembers what the life of woman is, at best. It is to amuse, to serve, to obey. You are too young to understand. You are, perhaps, fourteen?" "Yes," said Nicha. "When I was fourteen," said Mirza, "I too was beautiful; at least my husband and my mirror told me so. There is something in your face that reminds me of the face I used to see in my glass, but when one grows old, and I am eight-and-twenty, one is sure to see resemblances that do not exist. How prettily they have dressed you! Did Ilderhim, your father, give you these silks and these emeralds?" "Yes," said Nicha. "If you are hoping to be a good wife," said Mirza, "you must not think too much of silks and jewels. When I was in Paris, with the Grand Duke, I noticed that the women who had sold themselves had taken their pay in pearls and diamonds. The honest women went more soberly. I see you are of the old tribe--the tribe of Ouled Nail. Let me see your name." She raised the filigree medallion that hung upon Nicha's upper arm. She looked at the tattooed crest, started, drew her hand across her eyes, looked again, and fell to trembling. She stood a moment, swaying, and then she staggered to the commandant's table. She rested one hand upon it and with the other she began playing with Ali's knife. Her face was gray but her lips were pitifully smiling. "Monsieur the Chancellor," she said, each word a sob, "you need no longer delay the civil marriage.--I consent to it,--This is my daughter.--It seems," she added, in a whisper, "that Allah has not altogether forgotten me.--He has saved my child from me." And with an exceeding bitter cry she went out. 
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51799	----	FARMER By MACK REYNOLDS Illustrated by RITTER [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Magazine June 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Someone out there didn't like trees. He wanted to wreck the Sahara Project--and he was willing to murder in the process! I One of the auto-copters swooped in and landed. Johnny McCord emptied his pipe into the wastebasket, came to his feet and strolled toward the open door. He automatically took up a sun helmet before emerging into the Saharan sun. He was dressed in khaki shorts and short-sleeved shirt, wool socks and yellow Moroccan babouche slippers. The slippers were strictly out of uniform and would have been frowned upon by Johnny's immediate superiors. However, the Arabs had been making footwear suitable for sandy terrain for centuries before there had ever been a Sahara Reforestation Commission. Johnny was in favor of taking advantage of their know-how. Especially since the top brass made a point of staying in the swank air-conditioned buildings of Colomb-Bechar, Tamanrasset and Timbuktu, from whence they issued lengthy bulletins on the necessity of never allowing a Malian to see a Commission employee in less than the correct dress and in less than commanding dignity. While they were busily at work composing such directives, field men such as Johnny McCord went about the Commission's real tasks. It was auto-copter 4, which Johnny hadn't expected for another half hour. He extracted the reports and then peered into the cockpit to check. There were two red lights flickering on the panel. Work for Reuben. This damned sand was a perpetual hazard to equipment. Number 4 had just had an overhaul a few weeks before and here it was throwing red lights already. He took the reports back into the office and dumped them into the card-punch. While they were being set up, Johnny went over to the office refrigerator and got out a can of Tuborg beer. Theoretically, it was as taboo to drink iced beer in this climate, and particularly at this time of day, as it was to go out into the sun without a hat. But this was one place where the Commission's medics could go blow. By the time he'd finished the Danish brew, the card-punch had stopped clattering so he took the cards from the hopper and crossed to the sorter. He gave them a quick joggling--cards held up well in this dry climate, though they were a terror further south--and sorted them through four code numbers, enough for this small an amount. He carried them over to the collator and merged them into the proper file. He was still running off a report on the Alphabetyper when Derek Mason came in. Johnny drawled in a horrible caricature of a New England accent, "I say, Si, did the cyclone hurt your barn any?" Derek's voice took on the same twang. "Don't know, Hiram, we ain't found it yet." Johnny said, "You get all your chores done, Si?" Derek dropped the pseudo-twang and his voice expressed disgust. "I got a chore for you Johnny, that you're going to love. Rounding up some livestock." Johnny looked up from the report he was running off and shot an impatient glance at him. "Livestock? What the hell are you talking about?" "Goats." Johnny McCord flicked the stop button on the Alphabetyper. "Where've you been? There isn't a goat within five hundred miles of here." Derek went over to the refrigerator for beer. He said over his shoulder, "I was just making a routine patrol over toward Amérene El Kasbach. I'd estimate there were a hundred Tuareg in camp there. Camels, a few sheep, a few horses and donkeys. Mostly goats. Thousands of them. By the looks of the transplants, they've been there possibly a week or so." * * * * * Johnny said in agony, "Oh, Lord. What clan were they?" Derek punched a hole in his beer can with the opener that hung from the refrigerator by a string. "I didn't go low enough to check. You can never tell with a Tuareg. They can't resist as beautiful a target as a helicopter, and one of these days one of them is going to make a hole in me, instead of in the fuselage or rotors." Johnny McCord, furious, plunked himself down before the telephone and dialed Tessalit, 275 kilometers to the south. The girl on the desk there grinned at him and said, "Hello, Johnny." Johnny McCord was in no mood for pleasantries. He snapped, "Who's supposed to be on Bedouin patrol down there?" She blinked at him. "Why, Mohammed is in command of patrolling this area, Mr. McCord." "Mohammed? Mohammed who? Eighty percent of these Malians are named Mohammed." "Captain Mohammed Mohmoud ould Cheikh." She added, unnecessarily, "The Cadi's son." Johnny grunted. He'd always suspected that the captain had got his ideas of what a cadi's son should be like from seeing Hollywood movies. "Look, Kate," he said. "Let me talk to Mellor, will you?" Her face faded to be replaced by that of a highly tanned, middle-aged executive type. He scowled at Johnny McCord with a this-better-be-important expression, not helping Johnny's disposition. He snapped, "Somebody's let several thousand goats into my eucalyptus transplants in my western four hundred." Mellor was taken aback. Johnny said, "I can have Derek back-trail them, if you want to be sure, but it's almost positive they came from the south, this time of year." Mellor sputtered, "They might have come from the direction of Timmissao. Who are they, anyway?" "I don't know. Tuareg. I thought we'd supposedly settled with all the Tuareg. Good Lord, man, do you know how many transplants a thousand goats can go through in a week's time?" "A week's time!" Mellor rasped. "You mean you've taken a whole week to detect them?" Johnny McCord glared at him. "A _whole_ week! We're lucky they didn't spend the whole _season_ before we found them. How big a staff do you think we have here, Mellor? There's just three of us. Only one can be spared for patrol." "You have natives," the older man growled. "They can't fly helicopters. Most of them can't even drive a Land Rover or a jeep. Besides that, they're scared to death of Tuaregs. They wouldn't dare report them. What I want to know is, why didn't you stop them coming through?" Mellor was on the defensive. He ranked Johnny McCord, but that was beside the point right now. He said finally, "I'll check this all the way through, McCord. Meanwhile, I'll send young Mohammed Mohmoud up with a group of his men." "To do what?" Johnny demanded. "To shoot the goats, what else?" * * * * * Johnny growled, "One of these days a bunch of these Tuareg are going to decide that a lynching bee is in order, and that's going to be the end of this little base at Bidon Cinq." Mellor said, "If they're Tuareg nomads then they have no legal right to be within several hundred miles of Bidon Cinq. And if they've got goats, they shouldn't have. The Commission has bought up every goat in this part of the world." Johnny growled, "Sure, bought them up and then left it to the honor of the Tuareg to destroy them. The honor of the Tuareg! Ha!" The other said pompously, "Are you criticizing the upper echelons, McCord?" Johnny McCord snapped, "You're damned right I am." He slammed off the telephone and turned on Derek Mason. "What are you grinning about?" Derek drawled, "I say, Hiram, I got a sneaky suspicion you ain't never gonna graduate off'n this here farm if you don't learn how to cotton up to the city slickers better." "Oh, shut up," Johnny growled. "Let's have another beer." Before Derek could bring it to him, the telephone screen lit up again and Paul Peterson, of the Poste Weygand base, was there. He said, "Hi. You guys look like you're having a crisis." "Hello, Paul," Johnny McCord said. "Crisis is right. Those jerks down south let a clan of Tuareg, complete with a few thousand goats, camels and sheep through. They've been grazing a week or more in my west four hundred." "Good grief." Paul grimaced. "At least that's one thing we don't have to worry about. They never get this far up. How'd it happen?" "I don't know, but I'm going to find out. I haven't seen the mess yet, but it's certain to wreck that whole four hundred. Have you ever seen just one goat at work on the bark of three-year transplants?" Paul shuddered sympathetically. "Look, Johnny," he said. "The reason I called you. There's an air-cushion Land Rover coming through. She just left." Derek Mason looked over Johnny's shoulder into the screen. "What d'ya mean, _she_?" Paul grinned. "Just that, and, Buster, she's stacked. A Mademoiselle Hélène Desage of _Paris Match_." Johnny said, "The French magazine? What's she doing in a road car? Why doesn't she have an aircraft? There hasn't been a road car through here this whole year." Paul shrugged. "She claims she's getting it from the viewpoint of how things must've been twenty years ago. So, anyway, we've notified you. If she doesn't turn up in eight or ten hours, you better send somebody to look for her." "Yeah," Johnny McCord said. "Well, so long, Paul." The other's face faded from the screen and Johnny McCord turned to his colleague. "One more extraneous something to foul up our schedule." Derek said mildly, "I say, Hiram, what're you complaining about? Didn't you hear tell what Paul just said? She's stacked. Be just like a traveling saleswoman visitin' the farm." "Yeah," Johnny growled. "And I can see just how much work I'll be getting out of you as long as she's here." II Poste Maurice Cortier, better known in the Sahara as Bidon Cinq, is as remote a spot on earth in which man has ever lived. Some 750 kilometers to the south is Bourem on the Niger river. If you go west of Bourem another 363 kilometers, you reach Timbuktu, the nearest thing to a city in that part of the Sudan. If you travel north from Bidon Cinq 1,229 kilometers you reach Colomb-Béchar, the nearest thing to a city in southern Algeria. There are no railroads, no highways. The track through the desert is marked by oil drums filled with gravel so the wind won't blow them away. There is an oil drum every quarter of a mile or so. You go from one to the next, carrying your own fuel and water. If you get lost, the authorities come looking for you in aircraft. Sometimes they find you. In the latter decades of the Twentieth Century, Bidon Cinq became an outpost of the Sahara Reforestation Commission which was working north from the Niger, and south from Algeria as well as east from the Atlantic. The water table in the vicinity of Bidon Cinq was considerably higher than had once been thought. Even artesian wells were possible in some localities. More practical still were springs and wells exploited by the new solar-powered pumps that in their tens of thousands were driving back the sands of the world's largest desert. Johnny McCord and Derek Mason ate in the officer's mess, divorced from the forty or fifty Arabs and Songhai who composed their work force. It wasn't snobbery, simply a matter of being able to eat in leisure and discuss the day's activities free of the chatter of the larger mess hall. Derek looked down into his plate. "Hiram," he drawled, "who ever invented this here _cous cous_?" Johnny looked over at the tall, easy-going Canadian who was his second in command and scowled dourly. He was in no humor for their usual banter. "What's the matter with _cous cous_?" Johnny growled. "I don't know," Derek said. "I'm a meat and potatoes man at heart." Johnny shrugged. "_Cous cous_ serves the same purpose as potatoes do. Or rice, or spaghetti, or bread, or any of the other bland basic foods. It's what you put on it that counts." Derek stared gloomily into his dish. "Well, I wish they'd get something more interesting than ten-year-old mutton to put on this." Johnny said, "Where in the devil is Pierre? It's nearly dark." "Reuben?" Derek drawled. "Why Reuben went out to check the crops up in the northeast forty. Took the horse and buggy." That didn't help Johnny's irritation. "He took an air-cushion jeep, instead of a copter? Why, for heaven's sake?" "He wanted to check quite a few of the pumps. Said landing and taking off was more trouble than the extra speed helped. He'll be back shortly." "He's back now," a voice from the door said. Pierre Marimbert, brushing sand from his clothes, pushed into the room and made his way to the mess-hall refrigerator. He said nothing further until he had a can of beer open. Johnny said, "Damn it, Pierre, you shouldn't stay out this late in a jeep. If you got stuck out there, we'd have one hell of a time finding you. In a copter you've at least got the radio." Pierre had washed the dust from his throat. Now he said quietly, "I wanted to check on as many pumps as I could." "You could have gone back tomorrow. The things are supposed to be self-sufficient, no checking necessary more than once every three months. There's practically nothing that can go wrong with them." Pierre finished off the can of beer, reached into the refrigerator for another. "Dynamite can go wrong with them," he said. * * * * * The other two looked at him, shocked silent. Pierre said, "I don't know how many altogether. I found twenty-two of the pumps in the vicinity of In Ziza had been blown to smithereens--out of forty I checked." Johnny rapped, "How long ago? How many trees...?" Pierre laughed sourly. "I don't know how long ago. The transplants, especially the slash pine, are going to be just so much kindling before I get new pumps in." Derek said, shocked, "That's our oldest stand." Pierre Marimbert, a forty-year-old, sun-beaten Algerian _colon_, eldest man on the team, sank into his place at the table. He poured the balance of his can of beer into a glass. Johnny said, "What ... what can we do? How many spare pumps can you get into there, and how soon?" Pierre looked up at him wearily. "You didn't quite hear what I said, Johnny. I only checked forty. Forty out of nearly a thousand in that vicinity. Twenty-two of them were destroyed, better than fifty percent. For all I know, that percentage applies throughout the whole In Ziza area. If so, there's damn few of your trees going to be left alive. We have a few spare pumps on hand here, but we'd have to get a really large number all the way from Dakar." Derek said softly, "That took a lot of men and a lot of dynamite. Which means a lot of transport--and a lot of money. We've had trouble before, but usually it was disgruntled nomads, getting revenge for losing their grazing land." Johnny snorted, "Damn little grazing this far north." Derek nodded. "I'm simply saying that even if we could blame our minor sabotage on the Tuareg in the past, we can't do it this time. There's money behind anything this big." Johnny McCord said wearily, "Let's eat. In the morning we'll go out and take a look. I'd better call Timbuktu on this. If nothing else, the Mali Federation can send troops out to protect us." Derek grunted. "With a standing army of about 25,000 men, they're going to patrol a million and a half square miles of desert?" "Can you think of anything else to do?" "No." * * * * * Pierre Marimbert began dishing _cous cous_ into a soup plate, then poured himself a glass of _vin ordinaire_. He said, "I can't think of a better place for saboteurs. Twenty men could do millions of dollars of destruction and never be found." Johnny growled, "It's not as bad as all that. They've got to eat and drink, and so do their animals. There are damned few places where they can." From the door a voice said, "I am intruding?" They hadn't heard her car come up. The three men scrambled to their feet. "Good evening," Johnny McCord blurted. "Hell ... o!" Derek breathed. Pierre Marimbert was across the room, taking her in hand. "_Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Que puis-je faire pour vous? Voulez-vous une biere bien fraiche ou un apéritif? Il fait trés chaud dans le desert._" He led her toward the table. "Easy, easy there, Reuben," Derek grumbled. "The young lady speaks English. Give a man a chance." Johnny was placing a chair for her. "Paul Peterson, from Poste Weygand, radioed that you were coming. You're a little late, Mademoiselle Desage." She was perhaps thirty, slim, long-legged, Parisian style. Even at Bidon Cinq, half a world away from the Champs Elysées, she maintained her chic. She made a moue at Johnny, while taking the chair he held. "I had hoped to surprise you, catch you off guard." She took in the sun-dried, dour-faced American wood technologist appraisingly, then turned her eyes in turn to Derek and Pierre. "You three are out here all alone?" she said demurely. "Desperately," Derek said. Johnny McCord said, "Mademoiselle Hélène Desage, I am John McCord, and these are my associates, Monsieur Pierre Marimbert and Mr. Derek Mason. Gentlemen, Mademoiselle Desage is with _Paris Match_, the French equivalent of _Life_, so I understand. In short, she is undoubtedly here for a story. So ixnay on the ump-pays." "I would love cold beer," Hélène Desage said to Pierre, and to Johnny McCord, "These days a traveling reporter for _Paris Match_ must be quite a linguist. My English, Spanish and Italian are excellent. My German passable. And while I am not fluent in Pig-Latin, I can follow it. What is this you are saying about the pumps?" "Oh, Lord," Johnny said. "Perhaps I'll tell you in the morning. But for now, would you like to clean up before supper? You must be exhausted after that 260 kilometers from Poste Weygand." Pierre said hurriedly, "I'll take Mademoiselle Desage over to one of the guest bungalows." "Zut!" she said. "The sand! It is even worse than between Reggan and Poste Weygand. Do you realize that until I began coming across your new forests I saw no life at all between these two posts?" The three forestry experts bowed in unison, as though rehearsed. "Mademoiselle," Derek, from the heart, "calling our transplant forests is the kindest thing you could have said in these parts." They all laughed and Pierre led her from the room. Derek looked at Johnny McCord. "Wow, that was a slip mentioning the pumps." Johnny was looking through the door after her. "I suppose so," he said sourly. "I'll have to radio the brass and find out the line we're supposed to take with her. That's the biggest magazine in the French-speaking world and you don't get a job on it without knowing the journalistic ropes. That girl can probably smell a story as far as a Tuareg can smell water." "Well, then undoubtedly she's already sniffing. Because, between that clan of Tuareg with its flocks and the pump saboteurs, we've got more stories around here than I ever expected!" III In the morning Hélène Desage managed to look the last word in what desert fashion should be, when she strolled into Johnny McCord's office. Although she came complete with a sun helmet that must have been the product of a top Parisian shop, she would have been more at place on the beaches at Miami, Honolulu or Cannes. Her shorts were short and fitting, her blouse silken, her walking shoes dainty. He considered for a moment and then decided against informing her that Moslems, particularly in this part of the world, were little used to seeing semi-nude women strolling about. He'd leave the job of explanation to Pierre, as a fellow Frenchman and the oldest man present to boot. "_Bonjour_," she said. "What a lovely day. I have been strolling about your little oasis. But you have made it a garden!" "Thanks," Johnny said. "We've got to have something to do after working hours. Entertainment is on the scarce side. But it's more than a garden. We've been experimenting to see just what trees will take to this country--given water and care through the early years. Besides, we use it as a showplace." "Showplace?" "For skeptical politicians who come through," Johnny said, seating her in a chair near his desk. "We give them the idea that the whole Sahara could eventually be like this square mile or so at Bidon Cinq. Palm trees, fruit trees, pines, shade trees. The works." "And could it?" Johnny grinned sourly. "Well, not exactly. Not all in one spot, at least. You've got to remember, the Sahara covers an area of some three and a half million square miles. In that area you find almost everything." "Everything except water, eh?" She was tapping a cigarette on a polish-reddened thumbnail. As he lit it for her, Johnny McCord realized that he hadn't seen fingernail polish for a year. He decided it was too long. "Even water, in some parts," he said. "There's more water than most people realize. For instance, the Niger, which runs right through a considerable part of the Sahara, is the eleventh largest river in the world. But until our commission went to work on it, it dumped itself into the Gulf of Guinea, unused." "The Niger is a long way from here," she said through her smoke. He nodded. "For that matter, though, we have a certain amount of rain, particularly in the highland regions of the central massif. In the past, with no watershed at all, it ran off, buried itself in the sands, or evaporated." "Mr. McCord," she said, "you are amazingly optimistic. Formerly, I must admit I had little knowledge of the Sahara Reforestation Commission. And I deliberately avoided studying up on the subject after receiving this assignment, because I wanted first impression to be received on the spot. However, I've just driven across the Sahara. My impression is that your Commission is one great--_Comment dit-on?_--boon-doggling project, a super-W.P.A. into which to plow your American resources and manpower. It is a fake, a delusion. This part of the world has never been anything but wasteland, and never will be." Johnny McCord heard her out without change in expression. He'd been through this before. In fact, almost every time a junketing congressman came through. There was danger in the viewpoint, of course. If the fantastic sums of money which were being spent were cut off, such pessimistic views would become automatically correct. He took the paperweight from a stack of the correspondence on his desk and handed it to her. She looked at it and scowled--very prettily, but still a scowl. "What is this? It's a beautiful piece of stone." "I picked it up myself," Johnny said. "Near Reggan. It's a chunk of petrified wood, Miss Desage. From a tree that must have originally had a diameter of some ten feet. Not quite a redwood, of course, but big." "Yes," she said, turning it over in her hand. "I can see this part, which must have once been bark. But why do you show it to me?" "The Sahara was once a semi-tropical, moist area, highly wooded. It can become so again." * * * * * She put the piece of fossil back on his desk. "How long ago?" she said bluntly. "A very long time ago, admittedly. During the last Ice Age and immediately afterwards. But, given man's direction, it can be done again. And it must be." She raised pencilled eyebrows at him. "Must be?" Johnny McCord shifted in his chair. "You must be aware of the world's population explosion, Miss Desage. The human race can't allow three and a half million square miles of land to be valueless." He grunted in deprecation. "And at the rate it was going, it would have been four million before long." She didn't understand. Johnny spelled it out for her. "A desert can be man-made. Have you ever been in the Middle East?" At her nod, he went on. "Visitors there usually wonder how in the world the ancient Jews could ever have thought of that area as a land of milk and honey. On the face of it, it's nothing but badlands. What was once the Fertile Crescent now looks like Arizona." Hélène Desage was frowning at him. "And you suggest man did this--not nature?" "The goat did it. The goat, and the use of charcoal as fuel. Along with ignorance of soil erosion and the destruction of the wonderful watershed based on the Cedars of Lebanon. Same thing applies to large areas of Libya and Tunisia, and to Morocco and Spain. Those countries used to be some of the richest agricultural areas of the Roman Empire. But you can't graze goats, probably the most destructive animal domesticated, and you can't depend on charcoal for fuel, unless you want to create desert." "Those things happened a long time ago." Johnny snorted. "When we first began operations, the Sahara was going south at the rate of two miles a year. Goats prefer twigs and bark even to grass. They strip a country." "Well," the reporter said, shrugging shapely shoulders, "at any rate, the task is one of such magnitude as to be fantastic. Yesterday, I drove for nearly eight hours without seeing even a clump of cactus." "The route you traveled is comparatively untouched by our efforts, thus far," Johnny nodded agreeably. "However, we're slowly coming down from Algeria, up from the Niger, and, using the new chemical methods of freshening sea water, east from Mauretania." He came to his feet and pointed out spots on the large wall map. "Our territory, of course, is only this area which once was called French West Africa, plus Algeria. The battle is being fought elsewhere by others. The Egyptians and Sudanese are doing a fairly good job in their country, with Soviet Complex help. The Tunisians are doing a wonderful job with the assistance of Common Europe, especially Italy." She stood beside him and tried to understand. "What is this area, here, shaded green?" He said proudly, "That's how far we've got so far, heading north from the Niger. In the past, the desert actually came down to the side of the river in many places. The water was completely wasted. Now we've diverted it and are reforesting anywhere up to three miles a year." "Three miles a year," she scoffed. "You'll take five centuries." * * * * * He shook his head and grinned. "It's a progressive thing. Water is admittedly the big problem. But as our forests grow, they themselves bring up the moisture content of the climate. Down in this area--" he made a sweeping gesture over the map which took in large sections north of the Niger--"we've put in hundreds of millions of slash pine, which is particularly good for sandy soil and fast growing. In ten years you've gone from two-year-old seedlings to a respectable forest." Johnny pointed out Bidon Cinq on the map. "At the same time we found what amounts to a subterranean sea in this area. Not a real sea, of course, but a water-bearing formation or aquifer, deep down under the surface of the earth--layers of rock and gravel in which large quantities of water are lying. The hydro-geological technicians who surveyed it estimate that it holds reserves of several billion tons of water. Utilizing it, we've put in several hundred square miles of seedlings and transplants of various varieties. Where there are natural oases, of course, we stress a lot of date palm. In rocky areas it's _acacia tortila_. In the mountains we sometimes use varieties of the pinyon--they'll take quite a beating but are a little on the slow-growing side." She was looking at him from the sides of her eyes. "You're all taken up by this, aren't you Mr. McCord?" Johnny said, surprise in his voice. "Why, it's my work." Derek came sauntering in and scaled his sun helmet onto his own desk. "Good morning, Mademoiselle," he said. And to Johnny, "Hiram, that city slicker from Timbuktu just came up with his posse." Hélène said, "What is this _Si_, _Hiram_ and _Reuben_ which you call each other?" Johnny smiled sourly, "In a way, Miss Desage, this is just one great tree farm. And all of us are farmers. So we make jokes about it." He thought for a moment. "Derek, possibly you better take over with Mohammed. I want to get over to In Ziza with Reuben." "To see about the pumps?" Hélène said innocently. Johnny frowned but was saved from an answer by the entrance of Mohammed Mohmoud. He was dark as a Saharan becomes dark, his original Berber blood to be seen only in his facial characteristics. He wore the rather flamboyant Mali Federation desert uniform with an air. When he saw the girl, his eyebrows rose and he made the Moslem salaam with a sweeping flourish. Johnny said, "Mademoiselle Desage, may I present Captain Mohammed Mohmoud ould Cheikh, of the Mali desert patrol." He added sourly, "The officer in charge of preventing nomads from filtering up from the south into our infant forests." The Moslem scowled at him. "They could have come from the east, from Timmissao," he said in quite passable English. "Or even from Mauritania." He turned his eyes to Hélène Desage. "_Enchanté, Mademoiselle. Trés heureux de faire ta connaissance._" She gave him the full benefit of her eyes. "_Moi aussi, Monsieur._" Johnny wasn't through with the Malian officer. "There's a hundred of them," he snapped, "with several thousand head of goats and other livestock. It would have been impossible to push that number across from Mauritania or even from the east, and you know it." A lighter complexion would have shown a flush. Mohammed Mohmoud's displeasure was limited in expression to a flashing of desert eyes. He said, "Wherever their origin, the task would seem to be immediately to destroy the animals. That is why my men and I are here." Pierre Marimbert had entered while the conversation was going on. He said, "Johnny, weren't you going over to In Ziza with me?" Hélène Desage said, the tip of her right forefinger to her chin as she portrayed thought, "I can't decide where to go. To this crisis of the Tuareg, or to the crisis of the pumps--whatever that is." Johnny said flatly, "Sorry, but you'd just be in the way at either place." Mohammed Mohmoud was shrugging. "Why not let her come with me? I can guarantee her protection. I have brought fifty men with me, more than a match for a few bedouin." "Gracious," she said. "Evidently I was unaware of the magnitude of this matter. I absolutely _must_ go." Johnny said, "No." She looked at him appraisingly. "Mr. McCord," she said, "I am here for a story. Has it occurred to you that preventing a _Paris Match_ reporter from seeing your methods of operation is probably a bigger story than anything else I could find here?" She struck a mock pose. "I can see the headlines. _Sahara Reforestation Authorities Prevent Journalists from Observing Operations_." "Oh, Good Lord," Johnny growled. "This should happen to me, yet! Go on with Derek and the captain, if you wish." * * * * * Pierre Marimbert and Johnny McCord took one of the faster helicopters, Pierre piloting. With French élan he immediately raised the craft a few feet and then like a nervous horse it backed up, wheeled about and dashed forward in full flight. Spread below them were the several dozen buildings which comprised Bidon Cinq; surrounding the buildings, the acres of palm and pine, eucalyptus and black locust. Quick-growing, dry-climate trees predominated, but there were even such as balsam fir, chestnut and elm. It made an attractive sight from the air. The reforestation projects based on Bidon Cinq were not all in the immediate vicinity of the home oasis. By air, In Ziza was almost 125 kilometers to the northeast. By far the greater part of the land lying in between was still lacking in vegetation of any sort. The hydro-geological engineers who had originally surveyed the area for water had selected only the best sections for immediate sinking of wells, placement of solar power pumps, and eventually the importation of two-year seedlings and three- and four-year-old transplants. The heavy auto-planters, brought in by air transport, had ground their way across the desert sands in their hundreds, six feet between machines. Stop, dig the hole, set the seedling, splash in water, artfully tamp down the soil, move on another six feet, stop--and begin the operation all over again. Fifty trees an hour, per machine. In less than two months, the planters had moved on to a new base further north. The mob of scientists, engineers, water and forest technicians, mechanics and laborers melted away, leaving Johnny McCord, his two assistants, his half dozen punch-card machines, his automated equipment and his forty or fifty native workers. It was one of a hundred such centers. It would eventually be one of thousands. The Sahara covered an area almost the size of Europe. Johnny McCord growled, "Friend Mohammed seems quite taken with our reporter." Pierre grinned and tried to imitate a New England twang. "Why not, Hiram? She's the first, eh, women folks seen in these parts for many a day." He looked down at the endless stretches of sand dunes, gravel and rock out-croppings. "Mighty dry farm land you've got around here, Hiram." Johnny McCord grunted. "Derek said the other day it's so dry even the mirages are only mud holes." He pointed with his forefinger. "There's the first of our trees. Now, what pumps did you check?" Pierre directed the copter lower, skimmed not much higher than the young tree tops. Some of them had already reached an impressive height. But Johnny McCord realized that the time was not too distant when they'd have to replant. Casualties were considerably higher than in forest planting at home. Considerably so. And replanting wasn't nearly so highly automated as the original work. More manpower was required. "These pumps here seem all right," he said to Pierre. "A little further north," Pierre said. "I came in over the track there, from the road that comes off the main route to Poste Weygand. Yes, there we are. Look! Completely destroyed." Johnny swore. The trees that had depended on that particular pump wouldn't last a month, in spite of the fact that they were among the first set in this area. He said, "Go higher. We should be able to spot the complete damage with glasses. You saw twenty-two, you say?" "Yes, I don't know how many more there might be." There were twenty-five destroyed pumps in all. And all of them were practically together. It was sheer luck that Pierre Marimbert had located them so soon. Had his routine check taken place in some other section of the vast tree development, he would have found nothing untoward. "This isn't nearly so bad as I had expected," Johnny growled. He was scowling thoughtfully. "What's the matter?" Pierre said. "I just don't get it," Johnny said. "Number one, nomads don't carry dynamite, unless it's been deliberately given them. Two, if it was given them by someone with a purpose, why only enough to blow twenty-five pumps? That isn't a drop in the bucket. A few thousand trees are all we'll lose. Three, where did they come from? Where are their tracks? And where have they gone? This job wasn't done so very long ago, probably within a week or two at most." "How do you know that?" "Otherwise those trees affected would already be dying. At their age, they couldn't stand the sun long without water." Pierre said, his face registering disbelief, "Do you think it could be simple vandalism on the part of a small band of Tuareg?" "Sure, if the pumps had been destroyed by hand. But with explosives? Even if your band of Tuareg did have explosives they wouldn't waste them on a few Sahara Reforestation Commission pumps." "This whole thing just doesn't make sense," Pierre Marimbert decided. "Let's land and take a look at one of those pumps," Johnny said. "You know, if you get the whole crew to work on this you might be able to replace them before we lose any of these transplants. It's all according to how long ago they were destroyed." IV Back at Bidon Cinq again that afternoon, Johnny McCord was greeted by the native office assistant he'd left in charge while all three of the officers were gone. Mellor, at the Tissalit base, had made several attempts to get in touch with him. "Mellor!" Pierre grunted. "How do you Americans say it? Stuffed shirt!" "Yeah," Johnny McCord said, sitting down to the telephone. "But my boss." While Pierre was fishing two cans of beer from the refrigerator, Johnny dialed Tissalit. Kate's face lit up the screen. Johnny said, "Hi. I understand the old man wants to talk to me." "That's right," the girl said, and moved a switch. "Just a minute, Johnny." Her face faded to be replaced by that of Mellor. Johnny noted that as usual the other wore a business suit, complete with white shirt and tie--in the middle of the Sahara! Mellor was scowling. "Where've you been, McCord?" "Checking some pumps near In Ziza," Johnny said evenly. "Leaving no one at all at camp?" the other said. Johnny said, "There were at least a score of men here, Mr. Mellor." "No officers. Suppose an emergency came up?" Johnny felt like saying, _An emergency did come up, two of them in fact. That's why we were all gone at once._ But for some reason he decided against explaining current happenings at Bidon Cinq until he had a clearer picture. He said, "There are only three of us here, Mr. Mellor. We have to stretch our manpower. Derek Mason had to go over to Amérene el Kasbach with Mohammed Mohmoud and his men to clear out those nomads and their livestock." "What did they find? Where were the Tuareg from?" "They haven't returned yet." Automatically, Johnny took up his can of beer and took a swallow from it. Mellor's eyebrows went up. "Drinking this early in the day, McCord?" Johnny sighed deeply, "Look, Mr. Mellor, Pierre Marimbert and I just returned from several hours in the desert, inspecting pumps. We're dehydrated, so we're drinking cold beer. It tastes wonderful. I doubt if it will lead either of us to a drunkard's grave." Mellor scowled pompously. He said finally, "See here, McCord--the reason I called--you can be expecting a reporter from one of the French publications--" "She's here." "Oh," Mellor said. "I just received notice this morning. Orders are to give her the utmost cooperation. Things are on the touchy side right now. Very touchy." "How do you mean?" Johnny said. "There are pressures on the highest levels," Mellor said, managing to put over the impression that these matters were above and beyond such as Johnny McCord but that he, Mellor, was privy to them. "What pressures?" Johnny said wearily. "If you want me to handle this woman with kid gloves, then I've got to know what I'm protecting her against, or hiding from her, or whatever the hell I'm supposed to do." Mellor glared at him. "I'm not sure I always appreciate your flippancy, McCord," he said. "However, back home the opposition is in an uproar over our expenditures. Things are very delicate. A handful of votes could sway the continuance of the whole project." Johnny McCord closed his eyes in pain. This came up every year or so. Mellor said, "That isn't all. The Russkies are putting up a howl in the Reunited Nations. They claim the West plans to eventually take over all northwest Africa. That this reforestation is just preliminary to make the area worth assimilating." Johnny chuckled sourly, "Let's face it. They're right." Mellor was shocked. "Mr. McCord! The West has never admitted to any such scheme." Johnny sighed. "However, we aren't plowing billions into the Sahara out of kindness of heart. The Mali Federation alone has almost two million square miles in it, and less than twenty million population. Already, there's fewer people than are needed to exploit the new lands we've opened up." "Well, that brings up another point," Mellor said. "The Southeast Asia Bloc is putting up a howl too. They claim they should be the ones allowed to reclaim this area and that it should go into farmland instead of forest." "They're putting the cart before the horse," Johnny said. "At this stage of the game, the only land they could use really profitably for farming would be along the Niger. We're going to have to forest this whole area first, and in doing so, change the whole climate. _Then_ it'll...." Mellor interrupted him. "I'm as familiar with the program of the Sahara Reforestation Commission as you are, I am sure, McCord. I need no lecture. See that Miss Desage gets as sympathetic a picture of our work as possible. And, for heaven's sake, don't let anything happen that might influence her toward writing something that would change opinions either at home or in the Reunited Nations." "I'll do my best," Johnny said sourly. The other clicked off. * * * * * Pierre was handy with another can of beer, already opened. "So Mademoiselle Desage is to be handled with loving care." Johnny groaned, "And from what we've seen so far of Mademoiselle Desage, she's going to take quite a bit of loving care to handle." Outside, they could hear the beating of rotors coming in. Two helicopters, from the sound of it. Beer cans in hand they went over to the window and watched them approach. "Derek and the girl in one, Mohammed in the other," Pierre said. "Evidently our good captain left the messy work of butchering goats to his men, while he remains on the scene to be as available to our girl Hélène as she will allow." The copters swooped in, landed, the rotors came to a halt and the occupants stepped from the cockpits. The Arab ground crew came running up to take over. Preceded by Hélène Desage, the two men made their way toward the main office. Even at this distance there seemed to be an aggressive lift to the girl's walk. "Oh, oh, my friend," Pierre said. "I am afraid Mademoiselle Desage is unhappy about something." Johnny groaned. "I think you're right. But smile, Reuben, smile. You heard the city slicker's orders. Handle her with all the care of a new-born heifer." Hélène Desage stormed through the door and glared at Johnny McCord. "Do you realize what your men are doing?" "I thought I did," Johnny said placatingly. Derek and Mohammed Mohmoud entered behind her. Derek winked at Johnny McCord and made a beeline for the refrigerator. "Beer, everybody?" he said. Mohammed Mohmoud said, "A soft drink for me, if you please, Mr. Mason." Derek said, "Sorry, I forgot. Beer, Miss Desage?" She turned and glared at him. "You did nothing whatsoever to prevent them!" Derek shrugged. "That's why we went out there, honey. Did you notice how much damage those goats had done to the trees? Thousands of dollars worth." Johnny said wearily, "What happened?" He sank into the chair behind his desk. The reporter turned to him again. "Your men are shooting the livestock of those poverty-stricken people." Mohammed Mohmoud said, "We are keeping an accurate count of every beast destroyed, Mr. McCord." His dark face was expressionless. Johnny McCord attempted to explain to the girl. "As I told you, Miss Desage, goats are the curse of the desert. They prefer leaves, twigs and even the bark of young trees to grass. The Commission before ever taking on this tremendous project arranged through the Mali Federation government to buy up and have destroyed every grazing animal north of the Niger. It cost millions upon millions. But our work couldn't even begin until it was accomplished." "But why slaughter the livelihood of those poor people? You could quite easily insist that they return with their flocks to whatever areas are still available to them." Derek offered her a can of beer. She seemed to be going to reject it, but a desert-born thirst changed her mind. She took it without thanking him. The lanky Canadian said mildly, "I tried to explain to her that the Tuareg aren't exactly innocent children of the desert. They're known as the Apaches of the Sahara. For a couple of thousand years they've terrified the other nomads. They were slave raiders, bandits. When the Commission started its work the other tribes were glad to sell their animals and take up jobs in the new oases. Send their kids to the new schools we've been building in the towns. Begin fitting into the reality of modern life." Her eyes were flashing now. "The Apaches of the Sahara, eh? _Bien sur!_ If I remember correctly, the American Apaches were the last of the Indian tribes which you Americans destroyed. The last to resist. Now you export your methods to Africa!" Johnny McCord said mildly, "Miss Desage, it seems to be the thing these days to bleed over the fate of the redman. Actually, there are a greater number of them in the United States today than there were when Columbus landed. But even if you do carry a torch for the noble Indian, picking the Apaches as an example is poor choice. They were bandit tribes, largely living off what they could steal and raid from the Pueblo and other harder working but less warlike Indians. The Tuareg are the North African equivalent." "Who are you to judge?" she snapped back. "Those tribesmen out there are the last defenders of their ancient desert culture. Their flocks are their way of life. You mercilessly butcher them, rob their women and children of their sole source of food and clothing." * * * * * Johnny McCord ran his hand over his face in an unhappy gesture. "Look," he said plaintively. "Those goats and sheep have already been bought and paid for by the Commission. The Tuareg should have destroyed them, or sold them as food to be immediately butchered, several years ago. Where they've been hiding is a mystery. But they simply have no right to be in possession of those animals, no right to be in this part of the country, and, above all, no right to be grazing in our transplants." "It's their country! What right have you to order them away?" Johnny McCord held up his hands, palms upward. "This country is part of the Mali Federation, Miss Desage. It used to be called French Sudan and South Algeria. The government of the Federation gladly accepted the project of reforestating the Sahara. Why not? We've already succeeded in making one of the most poverty-stricken areas in the world a prosperous one. Far from there being unemployment here, we have a labor shortage. Schools have opened, even universities. Hospitals have sprung up. Highways have been laid out through country that hadn't even trails before. The Federation is booming. If there are a few Tuareg who can't adapt to the new world, it's too bad. Their children will be glad for the change." She seated herself stiffly. "I am not impressed by your excuses," she said. Johnny shrugged and turned to Mohammed Mohmoud who had been standing silently through all this, almost as though at attention. Johnny said, "Did you learn where this band comes from? Where they had kept that many animals for so long without detection?" The Moslem officer shook his head. "They wouldn't reveal that." Johnny looked at Derek Mason. The Canadian shook his head. "None of them spoke French, Johnny. Or if they did, they wouldn't admit it. When we first came up they looked as though they were going to fight. Happily, the size of the captain's command made them decide otherwise. At any rate, they're putting up no resistance. I let them know through the captain, here, that when they got back to Tissalit, or Timbuktu, they could put in a demand for reimbursement for their animals--if the animals were legally theirs." Johnny looked at the Malian officer again. "How come you've returned to camp? Shouldn't you be out there with your men?" "There were a few things to be discussed," the Moslem said. He looked significantly at the French reporter. Hélène Desage said, "Let me warn you, I will not tolerate being sent away. I want to hear this. If I don't, I demand you let me communicate immediately with my magazine and with the Transatlantic Newspaper Alliance for whom I am also doing a series of articles on the Sahara Reforestation _scheme_." Johnny McCord winced. He said, "There is nothing going on around here, Miss Desage, that is secret. You won't be ordered away." He turned to Mohammed Mohmoud. "What did you wish to discuss, Captain?" "First, what about the camels, asses and horses?" "Shoot them. Practically the only graze between here and Tissalit are our trees." "And how will they get themselves and their property out of this country?" the reporter snapped. Johnny said wearily, "We'll truck them out, Miss Desage. They and all their property. And while we're doing it, we'll feed them. I imagine, before it's all over it will cost the Commission several thousand dollars." He turned back to the desert patrol captain. "What else?" From a tunic pocket Mohammed Mohmoud brought a handgun and handed it to Johnny McCord. "I thought you might like to see this. They were quite well armed. At first I thought there might be resistance." Johnny turned the automatic over in his hands, scowling at it. "What's there to see that's special? I don't know much about guns." Mohammed Mohmoud said, "It was made in Pilsen." Johnny looked up at him. "Czechoslovakia, eh?" The other said, "So were most of their rifles." Hélène Desage snorted in deprecation. "So, we'll drag in that old wheeze. The red menace. Blame it on _la Russie_." Johnny McCord said mildly, "We haven't blamed anything on the Russkies, Miss Desage. The Tuareg have a right to bear arms, there are still dangerous animals in the Mali Federation. And they are free to purchase Czech weapons if they find them better or cheaper than western ones. Don't find an exciting story where there is none. Things are tranquil here." Hélène Desage stared at him. So did Mohammed Mohmoud and Derek Mason for that matter. Only Pierre Marimbert realized Johnny McCord's position, and he chuckled and went for more beer. V Johnny McCord was a man who didn't like to be thrown out of routine. He resented the interference with his schedule of the past few days. By nature he was methodical, not given to inspiration. All of which was probably the reason that he spent a sleepless night trying to find rhyme and reason where seemingly there was none. At dawn, he stepped from the door of his Quonset hut quarters and looked for a moment into the gigantic red ball which was the Saharan sun. Neither dawn nor sunset at Bidon Cinq were spectacular, nor would they become so until the Sahara Reforestation Commission began to return moisture to desert skies. Johnny wondered if he would live to see it. He made his way over to the huge steel shed which doubled as garage and aircraft hanger. As yet, none of the native mechanics were stirring, although he could hear sounds of activity in the community kitchen. Derek Mason looked up from his inspection of Hélène Desage's air-cushion Land Rover. Johnny McCord scowled at him. "What in the hell are you doing here?" The lanky Canadian came erect and looked for a long moment at his superior. He said finally, soberly, "It occurs to me that I'm probably doing the same thing you came to do." "What have you found?" "That a small bomb has been attached to the starter." Johnny didn't change expression. It fitted in. "What else?" he said. Derek handed him a steel ring. Johnny McCord looked at it, recognized it for what it was and stuck it in his pocket. "Let's go back to the office. Yell in to the cook to send some coffee over, and call Pierre. We've got some notes to check." Mademoiselle Desage was a late riser. When she entered the office, the three Sahara Reforestation Commission officers were already at work. She said snappishly to Johnny McCord, "Today I would like to see these destroyed pumps." Johnny said, his eyebrows questioning, "How did you know they were destroyed?" "It doesn't seem to be much of a secret. The story is all about the camp." "Oh?" Johnny sighed, then drawled to Derek, "I say, Si, you better go get the hired hand, we might as well finish this up so we can get back to work." Derek nodded and left. Johnny McCord left the collator he'd been working with, went around behind his desk and sat down. "Take a chair, Miss Desage. I want to say a few things in the way of background to you." She sat, but said defiantly, "I have no need of a lengthy lecture on the glories of the Sahara Reforestation Commission." "Coffee?" Pierre Marimbert said politely. "No, thank you." Johnny said, his voice thoughtful, "I imagine the real starting point was back about 1957 when the Chinese discovered that a nation's greatest natural resource is its manpower." * * * * * She frowned at him. "What in the world are you talking about?" He ignored her and went on. "Originally, appalled by the job of feeding over half a billion mouths, they had initiated a birth control plan. But after a year or two they saw it was the wrong approach. They were going to succeed, if they succeeded, in their _Great Leaps Forward_ by utilizing the labor of every man, woman and child in the country. And that's what they proceeded to do. The lesson was brought home to the rest of the world in less than ten years, when such other countries as India and Indonesia failed to do the same." Johnny leaned back in his chair, and his eyes were thoughtful but unseeing. "Even we of the west learned the lesson. The most important factor in our leadership was our wonderful trained labor force. As far back as 1960 we had more than 65 million Americans working daily in industry and distribution. Even the Russkies, with their larger population, didn't begin to equal that number." "What are you driveling about?" the reporter demanded. "To sum it up," Johnny said mildly, "the battle for men's minds continues and each of the world's great powers has discovered that it can't afford to limit its population--its greatest resource. So population continues to explode and the world is currently frantically seeking sources of food for its new billions. The Amazon basin is being made into a tropical garden; the Japanese, landless, are devising a hundred methods of farming the sea; Australia is debouching into its long unpopulated interior, doing much the same things we are here in the Sahara. The Chinese are over-flowing into Sinkiang, Mongolia and Tibet; the Russkies into Siberia. We of the west, with the large underdeveloped areas of the western hemisphere have not been so greatly pushed as some others. However, there is always tomorrow." Derek entered with Captain Mohammed Mohmoud. The latter day Rudolph Valentino had a puzzled expression on his dark face. "Here's the hired man, Hiram," Derek drawled. The desert patrol officer nodded questioningly to the men and said, "_Bonjour_," to Hélène Desage. Johnny went on. "Yes, there's tomorrow. And by the time we run out of _Lebensraum_ in Brazil and Alaska, in Central America and the Argentine, in Texas and Saskatchewan, we're going to need the three million square miles of the Sahara." She said in ridicule, "It will take you a century at least to reforest the desert." "At least." Johnny nodded agreeably. "And we're willing and able to look that far ahead. Possibly by that time our opponents will also be looking for new lands for their expanding peoples. And where will they find them? The advantage will be ours, Miss Desage." Mohammed Mohmoud looked from one to the other, frowning. "What are we discussing?" he said. "I should be getting back to my men." Derek yawned and said, "Forget about it, pal. You're never going to be getting back to your men again." * * * * * The desert patrol officer's eyes widened. He turned his glare on Johnny McCord, "What is all this?" Johnny said, "I'll tell it, Derek." Hélène Desage was as surprised as the Malian. "What is going on? Are you trying to whitewash yourselves by casting blame on this gentleman?" "Let me go on," Johnny said. "Needless to say, there are conflicting interests. The Soviet Complex obviously would as soon we didn't succeed. However, wars are impractical today, and the Russkies and Chinese are taken up with their own development. The Southeast Asia bloc wouldn't mind taking over here themselves, they desperately need land already. But they aren't our biggest opponents. There's another group even more involved--the _colons_ of Algeria and Morocco and those of even such Mali cities as Dakar. I suppose it is this last element that you represent, Miss Desage." She was staring unbelievingly at him now. "Their interest is to get the Sahara Reforestation Commission out of the way so that they can immediately exploit the area. They are interested in the _now_, not the potentialities of the future. They resent the use of the Niger for reforestation, when they could use it for immediate irrigation projects. They would devote the full resources of the Mali Federation and Algeria to seeking oil and minerals and in the various other ways the country might be exploited. Finally, they rather hate to see the western schools, hospitals, and other means used to raise the local living standards. They liked the low wage rates that formerly applied." Johnny nodded. "Yes, I imagine that's your angle." Hélène Desage stormed to her feet. "I don't have to listen to this!" Derek said, "Honey, we sure aren't holding you. You're free to go any time you want. And you can take this pal of yours along with you." He jerked his head contemptuously at Mohammed Mohmoud. Pierre Marimbert said, "Mademoiselle, we have no idea of where you two met originally, nor how close your relationship, but the captain should have remembered that I too am French. A gentleman, on first meeting a lady, would never, never address her as _tu in our_ language." Johnny sighed again and looked at his watch. "Other things pile up too, Miss Desage. You let slip a few moments ago that you knew about the pumps being destroyed. You said the rumor was all around camp. But it couldn't be. The only persons who knew about it were myself, Pierre and Derek. On top of that, there were no signs of bedouin or animals near the exploded pumps; the person who did the job must have come in an aircraft or air-cushion car. And, besides, we found the pin of a hand grenade in your land rover this morning. We had thought at first that dynamite had been used, but evidently you smuggled your much more compact bombs across the desert with you. Obviously, no one would have dreamed of searching your vehicle. "No, Miss Desage, it's obvious that you detoured from the track on the way down from Poste Weygand, went over to In Ziza, a comparatively short distance, and blew up twenty-five of our pumps." Johnny turned to the Malian officer now. "At the same time you were coordinating with her, you and whatever gang is hiring you. Someone supplied those Tuareg with the livestock and paid them to trek up here. You, of course, turned your back and let them through. The same someone who supplied the livestock also supplied Czech weapons." Hélène Desage was still sputtering indignation. "Ridiculous! Why? What would motivate me to such nonsense?" Johnny grimaced. "The whole thing makes a beautiful story at a time when the American government is debating the practicality of the whole project. You could do quite a sob story on the poor, poverty-stricken Tuareg having their livestock destroyed. Then, quite a tale about the bedouin raiding our pumping stations and blowing them up. And quite a tale about the Tuareg being armed with Czech weapons. Oh, I imagine before it was through you'd have drawn a picture of civil war going on here between the nomads and the Commission. Blowing up your own car with a small bomb attached to the starter was just one more item. By the way, were you going to do it yourself? Or did you intend to allow one of our mechanics to kill himself?" She flushed. "Don't be ridiculous. No one would have been hurt. The bomb is a very small one. More smoke and flash than anything else." "Well, thanks for small favors," Derek said sarcastically. * * * * * She gave up. "Very well," she snapped. "There is nothing you can do. This whole project, as I said before, is nothing but American boon-doggling, a way of plowing endless resources into a hole. Your real motivation is an attempt to prevent depression and unemployment in your country." Pierre Marimbert said softly, "So you admit to this whole scheme to discredit us?" "Why not?" She turned to the door. "I will still write my articles. It's my word or yours." Derek grinned at her. "I think I could fall in love with you, honey," he said. "Life would provide few dull moments. However, you didn't notice how nice and automated this office is. Card machines, electric typewriters, all the latest--including tape recorders for office conversations. You talked too much, honey." "_Cochon!_" she shrilled at him. She whirled and was through the door. Johnny turned to Mohammed Mohmoud. "I guess the best thing for you would be to turn in your commission, Captain." Dark eyes snapped. "And if I say no?" Johnny shook his head. "The Mali Federation passed some awfully strict laws when it was drawing up its constitution. Among them was one involving capital punishment for anyone destroying a source of water in the desert. Miss Desage did the actual work but you were hand in glove with her. I'd hate to have to report that to your superiors." Derek jumped forward quickly. His hand snaked out and chopped the other's forearm. The heavy military pistol fell to the floor, and the Canadian kicked it to one side. "Shucks," he drawled, "the hired hand sure is tricky, ain't he?" "Good Lord," Johnny McCord said disgustedly, "I didn't say I was going to report you. Just threatened to if you didn't resign. Now get out of here, we've got work to do. I'm three days behind on my reports!" 
43267	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 43267-h.htm or 43267-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43267/43267-h/43267-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43267/43267-h.zip) [Illustration: The rough-looking Arabs darted out and surrounded the Americans. (_Page 191_)] CAPTURED BY THE ARABS by JAMES FOSTER A. L. Burt Company, Publishers New York Chicago Copyright, 1933, by A. L. Burt Company Captured by the Arabs Printed in the United States of America * * * * * * THE EXPLORATION SERIES BY JAMES FOSTER CAPTURED BY THE ARABS LOST IN THE WILDS OF BRAZIL SECRETS OF THE ANDES THE FOREST OF MYSTERY * * * * * * CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I Followed by Rascals 1 II Scoundrels at Work 9 III A Villainous Deed 18 IV Lured to Danger 27 V A Fight for Freedom 34 VI Through Unknown Forests 48 VII Good News 55 VIII Off for the Sahara 63 IX Across the Desert 69 X Questionable Strangers 77 XI Fighting Heavy Odds 86 XII A Grim Discovery 96 XIII The Hideous Reptile 105 XIV Falling Helplessly 113 XV As Guests of Heathens 123 XVI Steady Aim 131 XVII Moments of Horror 140 XVIII Savage Tribesmen 149 XIX Searching for the Ancient 159 XX The Horror of Thirst 169 XXI Captured! 180 XXII The Cave of Treasure 193 XXIII Met by Enemies 197 XXIV A Dangerous Undertaking 204 XXV Going for Help 214 XXVI To the Rescue 223 XXVII The Hidden Treasure 230 XXVIII Back to Civilization 239 Bibliography 245 CHAPTER I Followed by Rascals "The Sahara Desert! Adventure! Exploration!" breathed Joe Lewis, as he sat with four companions on the deck of the steamer _Sylvania_, awaiting their first glimpse of North Africa. "It'll be wonderful!" muttered Bob Holton, who was also deeply touched. He, like his chum, had often pictured this mission into the heart of the vast expanse of sand. Soon it would be the real thing. Already the youth could feel his feet plod through the loose soil, could sense the delight of long traveling in a little-known land. Dr. Kirshner, a noted archæologist, looked up from the book he was reading. His bronzed face took on a wide smile as he scrutinized the two young men. "Got the old spirit, all right," he said with twinkling eyes. "I suppose it came from that expedition in Brazil. Every explorer gets it sooner or later." "That's right," agreed Mr. Lewis, Joe's father. "They say the main characteristic of a true explorer is his ability to sense the thrill of adventure." "Then we're real explorers. Isn't that right, Dad?" grinned Bob. "'We'?" asked Mr. Holton, trying to appear serious. "Where do you get that 'we' stuff? You and Joe have only bothered us on one expedition. We men have faced the scorching sun scores of times, and should by now have caught the true meaning of it all. But you boys----" "Wait a minute," cut in Bob, determined not to be beaten so easily. "Where would you have been if it hadn't been for Joe and me? It was our ingenuity that brought about the success of the expedition." "Well, I must say I hadn't thought of that before," laughed Mr. Holton. "It's true, all right." Bob stoutly defended himself and his chum. "If you say the word I'll prove it." Mr. Holton smiled. He took a great delight in arguing in a friendly manner with his son, although at times he was forced to admit defeat. This time he was satisfied to drop the matter and turn his eyes to the western sky, where the sun, a great ball of red fire, was sliding into the bluish waters of the Mediterranean. Gradually the ball faded from view, leaving a soft blue sky, which a moment later became streaked with long gold streamers. At last these became molded into one great mass of color and light, crossed and dotted with every hue of the rainbow. Slowly the spectacle faded from view, and the sky became a warm blue, out of which came countless glittering stars. It was a wonderful sight, and although the adventurers had witnessed it several times before, they never seemed to tire of it. Bob and Joe especially were deeply stirred. "Now that we've seen our last sunset on this voyage, suppose we get our belongings together," said Mr. Holton, getting up from his chair. "It won't be long until we reach Algiers." "And if what we've heard is true, it's a wonderful city," added Mr. Lewis. "Has the most unusual blend of things Arab and European on the globe. Monuments, mosques, palaces, everything and more that characterizes the spirit of North Africa." He arose and led the way up the deck to the cabin, where already people were gathering to await the first sight of land. Among the passengers were brightly garbed Egyptians, Algerians, Arabs, and many others with quaint and picturesque costumes. Everyone was in a gay mood, laughing and talking merrily. That is, all but two tall Arabs, whose quiet gaze was fixed on Bob, Joe, and the others of the American expedition. That the men intended mischief was sensed by the boys, although their elders had caught no element of danger. "Wonder what they want?" murmured Bob, in an undertone to his chum. "Fact is, I've noticed them before, but never said anything about it. They seem to follow us, for some reason or other." Joe nodded. "I've thought the same thing," he said quietly. "But as they made no move against us, I almost forgot about it till now." The youths said no more until they reached their stateroom, which was directly across the hall from that of their elders. As soon as their belongings were together, Bob decided to mention the matter to his father and friends. "Ten to one they haven't noticed these men," he said to Joe, "and it might be best for us to put 'em wise." The youths found their companions preparing to leave for the deck and motioned for them to come in the room. Then Bob told of the actions of the two Arabs, pointing out that they probably had no good intentions. The men listened closely, eager to get all the details. When the boys were finished, Mr. Lewis looked grave. "They probably heard Dr. Kirshner mention the hidden treasure," he said soberly, at the same time glancing about as if he expected to see the Arabs at the door. "Hidden treasure? What treasure?" demanded Joe excitedly, while Bob looked up in surprise. "It may only be a yarn," replied Dr. Kirshner. "In fact I just heard about it this morning. An intelligent Arab with whom I made friends pointed out that he had definite information that there were great riches amassed in a cave in the heart of the Sahara Desert. It seems that they had been placed there by native tribesmen, or Tuaregs, who inhabited this region hundreds of years ago. Tuaregs even today are very fond of raiding caravans and small towns. Got it in their blood, I guess." He paused a moment for breath, and Bob seized upon the opportunity. "But why did the Arab tell you this?" he asked. "Didn't he know----" "I know what you're thinking," the scientist interrupted. "You're wondering why I got in on this. I did too at the start. But as soon as he had finished with the details, he told me that he was not equal to making the expedition alone and had no relatives or good friends to accompany him. He went on to say that few expeditions are sent out into those remote regions, and that he would gladly share the treasure with us if we would go with him. "Now as this treasure cave is supposedly in the region that we intended to explore, your dads and I could see no reason for not taking him up. His services as a guide will also be invaluable." "But--but how does he know where to search?" questioned Joe Lewis, his tone indicating that he was greatly puzzled. "He has a map," returned the archæologist. "Got it from an old tribesman who was about to die. Whether or not it is accurate, we have yet to see--if nothing prevents us," he added significantly. "Nothing will--if we can help it," said Bob, delighted at such an opportunity. A few minutes later they lugged their possessions out on deck. And they were none too soon, for it was scarcely ten minutes later that the lights of land became visible--dimly, of course, but they were there. "At last," sighed Mr. Holton, who, although he enjoyed the long voyage, was anxious to reach his destination. Although land was a great distance away, the adventurers went to the prow to catch a first glimpse of that mysterious country on which they would soon set foot. Bob and Joe watched closely as the myriad of lights grew more plain. A stronger beam flashed from the Cape Matifou lighthouse, and numerous lights from ships in and about the harbor were also visible. No more could be seen. But it was enough. Bob and Joe were convinced that Algiers was a charming city indeed. "How large a place is it?" asked Joe, as the _Sylvania_ neared the port. "About two hundred and fifty thousand," returned Mr. Holton. "And all different races, from Americans to Turks and Jews. Oh, we'll see sights all right." Gradually the boat pulled into the harbor, reversed her engines, and stopped at a large dock. Then among lights the gangplank was lowered, and the boys and their elders soon found themselves among the many hurrying passengers. Lights were everywhere, almost as numerous as in an American city, and they had no trouble in finding their way to a hotel. "Oh, by the way," exclaimed Joe with a sudden recollection, "what became of your friend the Arab--the one who knows about the hidden treasure?" "He's at another hotel," replied Dr. Kirshner. "I have his address on paper. We'll go over there in the morning. He had already made reservations at this hostelry or would have put up with us." The remainder of that evening was spent quietly, for the explorers were tired after the long journey on the _Sylvania_. Bob and Joe were up early the next morning, and after a small but satisfying breakfast they started out for a short walk. But they had scarcely covered a square when Joe, who had happened to glance back, stopped suddenly and nudged his friend. Bob looked, and an answering expression of surprise and anger came on his face. Walking slowly into the hotel were the two Arabs who had acted so suspiciously on the ship. CHAPTER II Scoundrels at Work "What do you suppose they want?" asked Joe, as the youths followed the movements of the Arabs. "They're not there for any good," returned Bob, a look of anger, and at the same time anxiety, on his face. "Probably want to find that map that tells of the hidden treasure. Oh, of course it could be a coincidence that they picked the same hotel that we did, but it isn't likely." The boys watched the suspicious characters until they disappeared into the hotel. Then Joe suggested that they cautiously follow. "All right," Bob agreed. "But we must be careful and not get too close. They might have guns and think nothing of using them, and they could probably get away in this country." Slowly the youths moved up to the entrance and peeped around the corner. Satisfied that there was no one in sight, they went inside. "Nobody here but our dads and Dr. Kirshner," observed Bob, glancing about. "I wonder if they noticed the Arabs?" "Let's ask them." The men had noticed the fellows, they said, but thought nothing about it. Why? Was anything wrong? Bob explained that they were the two who had acted in a suspicious manner on the ship, and at once the scientists' faces lightened. "Come on," urged Dr. Kirshner. "We can't get there any too rapidly. When they find that we haven't got the map, they'll probably help themselves to money and anything else that happens to be lying about. They may even search other rooms." Hastily, and yet quietly, the boys and their elders went up the stairway. They were unarmed, their revolvers and other firearms having been left in their rooms. This might prove a handicap if the Arabs possessed weapons, but the Americans thought nothing of the risk they were taking. "We're five to two, even if we haven't our guns," said Bob, clinching his fists. "They're likely to be shaken by numbers." But Dr. Kirshner, who knew the ways of these cunning natives, smiled grimly. In a short time they reached the floor on which were their rooms and turned cautiously down the hall. With utmost care lest they be discovered, the explorers tiptoed up to their rooms. Mr. Holton took the lead and glanced around the door into the room. A moment later his face scowled. "What is it?" demanded Joe, in a whisper. "Are they inside?" Mr. Holton shook his head. "Worse than that," he said solemnly. "Take a look." While the others are taking in the situation, it might be well to tell something about Bob Holton and Joe Lewis and, incidentally, their fathers. Bob was a big, well-built youth of some eighteen years. He was particularly fond of adventure and life in the open, and always welcomed an opportunity that might bring about a realization of his desire. Joe, who was about the same age, was of medium size and strength, with a naturally dark complexion that was now still further darkened by the tropical sun. He, like his friend, was fond of adventure, hunting and fishing and hiking whenever the opportunity presented itself. The youths were together much of their time and agreed on practically every point. Their home was in Washington, D. C., where their fathers, Mr. Holton and Mr. Lewis, were employed as naturalists by a large museum. A short time before, the youths were successful in persuading their fathers to take them on an expedition to unexplored Brazil. Here they helped the naturalists shoot and classify wild animals, birds, and reptiles and had many thrilling adventures with wild animals and savage Indians. How they fought hand-to-hand with a huge jaguar, barely prevented themselves from being crushed by a terrible anaconda, battled against rapids, and finally became lost and wandered for days in the world's greatest jungle are told in the first volume of this series, entitled, _Lost in the Wilds of Brazil_. The boys spent the following winter finishing up in high school, and scarcely was graduation over when their fathers were requested by the museum to make an expedition to the Sahara Desert to collect specimens of any animal life that might be present in the remote interior. Dr. Kirshner, of whom something has been said, wished to accompany the naturalists to investigate the remains of ancient civilizations. At once Bob and Joe requested that they be taken also, and after careful consideration their elders at last consented. What the boys were particularly looking forward to was taking motion pictures of the desert, for they had been engaged by the Neuman Film Corporation to get many unusual scenes. Less than a week later the expedition sailed on the steamer _Sylvania_ and made the long voyage without any special incident. Now let us return to the boys, as they advanced into their elders' room. At once their mood changed, an expression of astonishment, later turning to anger, creeping over their faces. Everything in the room was in the wildest disorder. Clothes, shoes, satchels, rifles, papers lay scattered about, the scene suggesting that a cyclone had visited the place. It was most deplorable, and the travelers stood for some time as if trying to catch the true meaning of it all. Finally their anxiety caused them to move forward and inspect the belongings. "Good thing we didn't have the treasure map," remarked Mr. Lewis, examining the contents of a small black bag. "It wouldn't be here now." At the end of their inspection the explorers found that nothing had been taken from their belongings. It appeared that the crafty Arabs wished only the treasure map, and that, not being able to find it, they had left without any other spoils. "They sure acted in wild haste," observed Mr. Holton. "It's almost impossible to see how all this could have been torn up so quickly. It wasn't five minutes from the time that you boys told of seeing the men that we were up here." "Trust the Arabs to do that," said Dr. Kirshner, with a dry smile. The scientists' possessions were placed back in their proper places, and then they went to inspect the room occupied by Bob and Joe. "Probably nothing taken from here, either," was the opinion expressed by Mr. Holton, and he proved right, as they later found. "This shows that these Arabs are desperate characters, and will probably stop at nothing," said Dr. Kirshner, after a moment of thought. "We must be extremely careful to lock everything up from now on. It may even mean that we'll have to watch ourselves, too." "What do you mean?" asked Joe. "Simply that they may try to kidnap one or all of us to get possession of the map," he replied in a low voice. "I know these natives. I've seen some of their actions before and feel sure that if these two men thought there was a good chance to get the map, they would try to do it." "It may not be as easy as they think," said Bob, although he was a bit uneasy. No more time was spent in the rooms, for they were all desirous of seeing more of the strange city and country. "It might be wise to call on our Arabian friend first," said Dr. Kirshner. "The one who knows about the treasure, I mean. We haven't seen him since we left the ship last night, and he may be anxious to know what plans we have in mind." "Yes," agreed Joe. "And while there we can warn him against these crooks. They may come on to him for the map, since they found that we haven't it." First, however, the boys' fathers and Dr. Kirshner wished to breakfast. "And while they're busy eating, suppose we go out," suggested Joe. "We don't need to stay but a few minutes." Bob agreed. He, like his friend, was anxious to observe the strangeness of this unusual city. If what he had heard was true, it would be something to be long remembered. Out on the street the youths were at once impressed by the wide variety of races and costumes. Frenchmen, Italians, Spaniards, Mahonese, and Maltese all walked side by side, the majority in European garb. Arabs, or rather those who are commonly called Arabs, for they are a very mixed breed, sauntered along, clad in their long gowns and _hlafa_, which hung down over the face and sides of the head. Occasionally a Negro could be seen, although this was the exception rather than the rule. "Sure have variety here," smiled Joe. "There's about every race imaginable present." In a short time the youths reached the Place du Gouvernement, or central square, and the busy scene of life was very interesting. On one side of the forum was the Mosque of Djema-el-Djedid and the Grand Mosquée, and on the others were stores, hotels, and cafés. Stretching away in the distance were the four great streets of the city. Bob and Joe spent some time in one position, watching the throng of Arabs, soldiers, Jews, and others peculiar to this metropolis. Strange, the boys thought, that the people paid little or no attention to them. But this was probably due to the fact that hundreds of tourists visit the city each year. "I'd like to visit some of the stores," remarked Bob. "But we'd better get back to the hotel." "Yes. Our dads and Dr. Kirshner will probably be waiting for us." Reluctantly they made their way back and found that the scientists were ready to leave for the Arab friend's hotel. "We'll trust that we'll find him in his room, or in the lobby," said Mr. Holton, as he and the others followed Dr. Kirshner. "He'll probably be there," returned the archæologist. "He's expecting us over this morning to talk over the best procedure to find the hidden treasure." The hotel in which the Arab was staying was but a short distance up the street and around the corner. The explorers were barely within sight of the building when a figure rushed madly out of the door and came toward them. "Something the matter with that fellow?" asked Bob, surprised to see such haste from the native. "Looks that way," returned Mr. Holton. "He's----By George! It's our Arab friend. Wonder what has happened?" A moment later the man was up to them, his face white, his hands trembling. "The treasure map!" he cried in poor English. "It is gone!" CHAPTER III A Villainous Deed At the Arab's dread remark it seemed for a moment that the explorers were going to sink through the street. Dr. Kirshner reeled, and the perspiration came out on Mr. Holton's face. Mr. Lewis and the boys were spellbound. Gone! Hundreds of dollars--yes, thousands. After all this anticipating the good fortune of finding the supposedly hidden treasure. The explorers could hardly believe it. At last Dr. Kirshner got a grip on himself. "Do you have any idea where the thieves went?" he asked of the Arab, whose name was Fekmah. "No," was the reply. "They have complete disappeared. I try see where they go, but could not. They gone when I got to my room." "When did you first notice that the map had been taken?" inquired Bob in an anxious voice. "No more than ten minutes ago," Fekmah answered. "I had gone out to stay but a moment, and when came back to my room the door open and map gone. I run around to back and look out, but they gone." "Gone!" echoed Mr. Lewis. "We should have warned Fekmah to be on the lookout. If Bob and Joe had discovered the suspicious actions of the rascals sooner, it would have given us time to do so. But the fact that nothing strange was noticed till the night we were to reach port gave us no time to tell it." "So you knew?" asked the Arab friend. "You knew that robbers were after the map?" Dr. Kirshner nodded. "They broke into our rooms this morning, but when they couldn't find the map they left without taking anything else," he said. "We were just going over to warn you to be on the lookout and guard the map closely when we saw you." The Arab scowled and gritted his teeth. "Allah curse them!" he exclaimed, vexed all the more because of almost but not quite knowing in time. "It's too late now to find them, and they prob'ly gone by now." "Gone where?" asked Mr. Holton. Fekmah spread his hands apart in a wide gesture and then pointed to the south. "To get treasure," he said quietly. "Then we'll get there first!" exclaimed Dr. Kirshner. "No thieves will get ahead of us. I think it might be well to start on the journey at once--that is, if you can go that soon," he said to the Arab, who nodded. "But how will we know where to go without the map?" asked Mr. Lewis. "I have general idea," Fekmah returned. "I studied it so much that know about where go. And I can leave any time." "Fine!" blurted out Dr. Kirshner. "We'll get our belongings together and leave tomorrow. But first let me introduce my friends. I don't believe you're acquainted with them," and he proceeded to introduce the Arab to Mr. Holton, Mr. Lewis, and Bob and Joe. "Now let us all come up to my room," said Fekmah. "We can talk over plans for the treasure search. There are much things you should know." They walked on up the street to a comparatively large building and were led in the door and up the stairs by Fekmah. "So this is the hotel where he's staying," said Bob, casting eager eyes about the place. "Sure is luxurious," remarked Joe. "It's the best in town." The Arab's room was halfway down the hall, and to it they went. "Now sit down," directed Fekmah, "and we will talk things over." They did so and then made ready for what the Arab had to say. There was a short silence. Then Fekmah resumed the conversation. "Like Dr. Kirshner said, we should leave at once if expect to find the hidden riches before the thieves get ahead of us," he began, showing an unusual ability to speak English correctly. "There are two routes we can take to get to the edge of the desert. We can take the railroad to Oran and then to Figuig, or can get on train to Wargla." He moved over to a small satchel and took out a cloth map, which he unfolded and laid on a small table that was in the middle of the room. The map was French, and although the naturalists and their sons had a slight knowledge of that language, Dr. Kirshner and Fekmah were the only ones who knew it thoroughly. "I think we can make out enough to satisfy ourselves, though," said Mr. Holton. The Arab traced the one route and then the other, pointing out the possibilities of each one. The object was to take a train to the farthest point in the desert possible and start the expedition from there on camelback. "Now," continued Fekmah, "our destination is the Ahaggar Mountains. They are about seventeen hundred kilometers (about a thousand miles) from here. From what we measured, the best route is to go to Wargla and get camels from there. What you think?" "I believe you're right," returned Dr. Kirshner. "That route is much shorter, and we'll have less difficulty in finding our way from Wargla than from Figuig. Nearly all expeditions depart from Wargla, and there are numerous small settlements on the way to the Ahaggar Mountains. Can we get a train in the morning?" The Arab nodded. "There about three trains a day out," he said. "I believe one leaves in morning, so we can get there easy." "Fine!" exclaimed Mr. Lewis. "Then we'll leave now and get packed and be here for you early in the morning." Fekmah bowed. "And I will make the stolen map over again from memory, as near as can," he said. They bade the Arab good-bye and left the hotel to get their belongings together. If they were to leave for the Sahara the next morning, a great deal of packing would have to be done. "Don't suppose there's any use trying to find the thieves, is there?" asked Joe, as they approached their hotel. Dr. Kirshner laughed unwillingly. "They are probably halfway to the Sahara by now," he returned, although he knew this to be an exaggeration. When the explorers arrived at their rooms, Dr. Kirshner directed the preparations for the expedition, and the remainder of the day was spent in doing this. It seemed that the archæologist had forgotten his duties as a scientist and was thinking only of finding the hidden riches. "If we are fortunate enough to find our objective, we will be paid many times the cost of the expedition," he said. "If those crooks don't get ahead of us," added Joe, with a grim smile. "They won't--not if we can help it," blurted out Bob, fumbling his automatic. At noon the adventurers stopped only a few minutes for a meal, so eager were they to finish the task of preparing for the expedition. They found it necessary to purchase much that they did not have, and the bazaars of Algiers were visited often for the unusual in the way of luxuries. At last the work was completed, and all sat down to rest after the strain. Bob and Joe had had the experience once before of helping to make preparations for an expedition and knew what was expected of them. "I wish we could take motion pictures of this city," remarked Bob that evening. "But we've been instructed to wait till we start the journey in the Sahara." The next morning the explorers were up early, and after a bountiful breakfast they made their way to Fekmah's hotel. The Arab was expecting them and had finished making a second map. It was none too accurate, for he did it from memory, but it promised to be the only means between defeat and failure. "You may wonder why I bothered to make more map," he said to his friends. "But it possible that I forget some of the landmarks when we are on way, and this will----" "Come to the rescue," interrupted Joe, smiling. "And also," Fekmah went on, "you may have this if anything should happen me." "Let's hope nothing will," said Bob. "And now," began Dr. Kirshner, "I'm going down to the railroad station and find out if we can get a train this morning. I'll be back in a short time." "While he's gone, suppose we go out," suggested Joe to his chum. "There's a lot we can see around here before we leave." "All right," Bob replied. "But we don't want to stay too long. There might be a train out in an hour." The youths decided to see the old section of the city, as they had heard from Dr. Kirshner that many points of interest were to be found there. It was but a few minutes' walk to their objective, and they turned their eyes about. As they were passing a café, Bob motioned for his friend to look inside. A gray-haired, shriveled old man in torn clothing was strumming a guitar and walking from one end of the café to another, holding out a hand for money. But no one seemed inclined to give him any. Evidently this was a common occurrence, for the people paid little or no attention to the old beggar. "I've half a mind to give him a break," started Bob, but Joe pulled him back. "If we want to see any of this town we'll have to be at it," Joe said, leading the way down the street. The narrow ways were lined with shops and bazaars, offering the shopper a wide variety of commodities. "But most of the things they sell you don't want," smiled Bob, glancing at a counter laden with coarse native food. The youths noticed that certain streets were devoted to the selling of certain products. For instance, one avenue was lined with shops displaying brassware. "It ought to be easy to find what you want," grinned Joe. "Just walk down one street and you will have a large choice of the same thing." The boys spent nearly a half-hour in the native quarter. Finally Bob suggested that they get back to the hotel, and his friend was also in favor. In a short time they were back in the hostelry and proceeded to go to their rooms. But they were scarcely at the doors when the sound of footsteps came to their ears. The next moment Dr. Kirshner came into view. "Hello," greeted Bob, and then his jaw dropped. That something was wrong was evidenced by the frown that was on the archæologist's face. His usual smile was absent. "There's been a wreck," he said in an anxious voice. "The train has been wrecked. I guess we can't get to Wargla so soon after all." CHAPTER IV Lured to Danger Bob and Joe gasped in astonishment. "The train wrecked!" muttered Bob and then started. "What caused it?" "I imagine you're thinking the same as I," the archæologist said quietly. "That those thieves were responsible for it to prevent us from getting to Wargla at once." Joe's face glowed with anger. "The dirty beggars!" he cried. "Was anyone hurt?" "No. It happened that no one was. But the locomotive was derailed and lodged in a ravine, and the work of getting it back on the track and repairing it won't start any too soon in this country. It may be two or three days before order will be restored. It looks like those robbers have won out after all." They walked on into the room, where they were met by the boys' fathers and Fekmah. "Is there anything wrong?" asked Mr. Holton, as he noticed the sober faces of his friends. The situation was explained, and the men frowned. Fekmah especially was agitated. "May the black monsters of Tidihet feast on them!" he exclaimed, running his fingers through his white hair. "Allah will punish them--they will not go free!" "But that won't help us any," said Mr. Lewis dryly. "We've got to figure out some way to stop them, if it's at all possible. The question is, what will it be?" "There's no way of telegraphing," said Dr. Kirshner, gazing thoughtfully at the floor. "If we had any idea where they went--that is, what route they took--we might overtake them on fast dromedaries. But the chances even then would be slight." "We might----" began Joe but was interrupted by a knock at the door. For a moment the adventurers looked at one another in surprise. Then Mr. Holton moved over and cautiously opened the door. The figure that stood in waiting was a tall, powerful Arab, with dark, piercing eyes that were none too pleasant to look at. He towered several inches above Mr. Holton, who was himself nearly six feet. Around the man's shoulders and reaching nearly to the floor was a white gown, and on his head was the conventional _hlafa_. For several moments he stood looking at the occupants of the room, as though forming a rapid opinion of the situation. Then he again turned to Mr. Holton and muttered something in the native tongue. That Bob's father understood was evidenced by the look of surprise that came on his face. A moment later he turned to his friends. "He says Fekmah is wanted by a friend," Mr. Holton said. "Won't say any more. I don't know what to make of it." "A friend?" Fekmah gasped. "Why, I know no person here. What could it mean?" Again the stranger said something in Arabic and motioned for his objective to come out. For a moment Fekmah was thoughtful. Then he decided to investigate. "I will be back in short minutes," he said and walked toward the door. "Wait a minute," called Dr. Kirshner. "I'm going with you." "And I, too," cried Bob, getting up from his chair. Joe also put in a request, but the archæologist shook his head. "Two more are enough," he said quietly, as he and Bob followed the Arab down the hall. "Be careful," warned Mr. Lewis, as they reached the stairs. "There's no telling what that fellow may want." They reached the street and were directed around the corner and up a narrow byway, the stranger remaining several yards in the van. "Keep a ready hand on your automatic," whispered Dr. Kirshner to Bob. "Something may happen in a short time now." "Do you believe Fekmah is really wanted by friends?" the youth asked, glancing about as if he expected any minute to be confronted by a band of desperate characters. "Beyond me," was the reply. "But I believe it would be safer to say no than yes. But there is a possibility that he met someone and has forgotten about it." "What could they want of him? It all seems funny to me." On they went, now upward by a gently sloping street that was so crooked it seemed to have no outlet. Suddenly the street stopped at a narrow, winding stairway that led almost straight up. All about were crowded houses of clay, dirty and weather-beaten and suggesting that only the very poorest of Arabs lived there. Having made sure that the others were following him, the stranger led the way up the stairs. At the head was a small door, and this was opened for them to go inside. But they hesitated. "Ask him what he wants," directed Bob. "There could be anything in there." Dr. Kirshner turned to the Arab and in a stern voice put the question before him. The latter surveyed the American closely, then said in the native tongue: "I wish nothing of _you_. It is Fekmah who is wanted. But if you and your friend must intrude, you may come in." The man's attitude did not win the friendship of the explorers, but chiefly because they were at a loss to know what to do next they followed him inside. A moment later the door was closed and they found themselves in a sort of twilight. As soon as their eyes became accustomed to the dim light, they made out four figures sitting in the corner of the room. The bare floor alone served the place of chairs, and the men seemed comfortable. Bob at once formed the conclusion that these Arabs were of the same type as the stranger who escorted them here, and felt a bit uneasy. He would have felt much better with a hand on his gun, but this would have aroused the suspicions of the natives. Nevertheless he kept on guard for any treachery. If it came to a fight, he knew that it would be two to five, for Fekmah was, in his age, not capable of taking part. None of the Arabs was able to speak English, evidently, but Dr. Kirshner knew the native language from his previous visits to North Africa. And he promised to translate occasionally to Bob. But a moment later it was plain that there was little translating to be done, for one of the Arabs said something to Fekmah and motioned for him to come into the next room. The Americans were to remain where they were. "I don't like this," muttered Dr. Kirshner, as he and Bob were told to be seated on the floor. "Anything may happen to him in there." "Suppose we go with him," suggested Bob. The archæologist nodded. He arose from his chair and started to follow, but one of the Arabs gently pushed him back. "It is Fekmah who is wanted," the fellow said in a queer bass voice. "You will wait here. It will only be a moment." Dr. Kirshner had half a notion to push through and follow his Arab friend, but he changed his mind and sat down with Bob on the floor. "What's the big idea of all this?" the youth asked in a puzzled voice. "They trying to double-cross us or something?" The archæologist did not answer, for he felt all too sure that something serious was wrong. But what was there to do? There was no conversation between the archæologist and the natives, for each seemed busy with his thoughts. Bob was extremely grave, and he wondered what was taking place in the adjoining room. Perhaps the Arabs wished to sell Fekmah something and did not wish to be thwarted by the whites. Or perhaps they wanted to engage themselves as guides on the coming expedition and knew they would have a better chance with Fekmah than with the Americans. But whatever it was, Bob felt uneasy. If their friend did not return before long he would go after him, the youth thought. "We'll wait a few more minutes," said Dr. Kirshner. "Then----" "Listen!" commanded Bob. "What was that?" "I didn't hear anything. What----" "There it is again. Sounds like a muffled cry for help. It's--it's Fekmah!" CHAPTER V A Fight for Freedom Bob was on his feet in an instant and dashed toward the door to the next room. But two of the Arabs were there first. With a catlike quickness they drew knives and advanced on the Americans. The other two natives came at them from the side. "What does this mean?" demanded Dr. Kirshner, looking from one to the other, his black eyes snapping with anger. "You are going to die!" was the grim answer from an evil-looking, flat-nosed fellow. He moved forward a step or two. Bob did not understand the man but sensed that something sinister was to take place. He noticed the look of anger and anxiety on the scientist's face. With a sudden movement he drew out his automatic, at the same time stepping back several feet. His action was so quick that the Arabs were taken by surprise and stood for several moments trying to grasp the true meaning of it all. "Now get back!" he commanded, flashing the shining pistol in their faces. "Take away their knives," he said to Dr. Kirshner. "I've got them covered. Tell them I'll shoot the first man who makes a forward move." The scientist did as directed and found that, beyond a vicious-looking knife, they were unarmed. "You stay here and guard them," said Bob. "I'm going in and see what's happened to Fekmah." He moved over to the door and opened it. Holding the pistol in readiness, he walked slowly in the room. One glance told him that no one was in sight. But there was a door leading into a large alcove, and it was possible that he could find someone there. Perhaps the Arabs were in hiding, having sensed that they were in danger. Tiptoeing as quietly as possible, Bob made his way to the closed door. He stood for several moments wondering what to do next. Then he decided to make a bold move. Clutching his tiny automatic tightly, he took hold of the knob and with a sudden twist threw open the door. The next instant he shrank back, for a tall Arab was almost upon him. The man held a vicious-looking knife in his uplifted right hand and was apparently ready to open the door when Bob did so first. During the next few seconds Bob's brain was in a whirl. He had half a mind to shoot the fellow outright and take no chances. But a moment later he thought better of it. He did not want to be guilty of murdering even this cruel Arab. If he had been as good a shot with a pistol as he was with a rifle, he would have shot the knife from the fellow's hand. But as it was, he knew this could not be done. Suddenly the Arab lowered the knife and, scowling cruelly, he rushed at the youth furiously. Realizing that he must act quickly, Bob aimed at the man's leg and fired. But his hand was unsteady from the terrific strain, and the bullet missed and lodged itself in the wall. With a hoarse bellow the Arab came forward with terrific force, muttering angrily. He had the knife in readiness now, and was about to plunge it into the youth's body when something unexpected happened. Seeing a good chance, Bob pushed his foot forward with all his strength, bringing the man down with a thud that resounded through the little room. The Arab was taken completely unawares, and the knife went sliding across the floor. The next instant he was on his feet, and, showing his black teeth wickedly, he darted toward his young enemy, his large hands ready to grip anything they might rest on. Now was the time to act, Bob thought. Leaping forward, he sent his fist crashing into the Arab's nose with all the strength in his powerful young body. The man reeled, backed up, and then fell against the wall. Another victim of the youth's boxing ability had gone to his fate. Perspiration was dripping from the boy's brow. His leg ached from the twist he gave it in bringing the Arab to the floor. Every muscle in his body seemed fatigued. For a brief moment a sensation of nothingness crept over him, and he felt slightly numb. With a start he regained his composure and, with one glance at the still limp Arab, he dashed through the door, the shining automatic still in his possession. One thought stood out in his mind above all others. He must find Fekmah. No one was in the alcove, but another door led out into a sort of hallway, and casting aside all thoughts of personal danger, Bob passed through it. The next instant he found himself in a narrow passageway, with no windows or other means to admit light. The semidarkness was tantalizing, overcoming, but the boy went bravely on. Occasionally he stopped to listen. But no sound reached his ears. Could it be possible that Fekmah had been.... The thought was not a pleasant one, and Bob dismissed it from mind. Here was a door. Perhaps this would reveal something. As quietly as possible he turned the latch and peeped in the room. In the darkness he could make out no one at first. Then his eyes almost burst from his head as he saw, lying on the floor in the corner, tightly bound and gagged--Fekmah! For a moment Bob stood spellbound. Then he rushed over to the unfortunate man. "Fekmah," he cackled gently and then bent over and felt of the Arab's heart. It was still beating, and with a swift motion of a small knife Bob cut the ropes that bound the man. Then he removed the gag and stood back to see if his friend had been injured. The Arab's eyes opened, and he sat up with a start. A moment later the look of fear vanished from his face as he saw Bob. "Praise be to Allah!" he murmured, getting feebly to his feet. "Are you hurt?" the youth asked. "No--not yet," was the grim reply. "But the evil-doers were going to come back and kill me if I not tell where to find treasure. It is time now that they come. Let us go in haste, or they will stab us." "Treasure?" cried Bob. "You mean they wanted you to tell where the hidden riches in the desert are?" "Yes. They were going torture me if I not tell. They are demons. Allah curse them!" "But how did they know?" demanded Bob. "How did they find out about it? They're not the same ones who wrecked the train, are they?" Fekmah shook his head. "How they find out, I not know," he said. Cautiously they made for the door and opened it. Satisfied that there was no one in sight, they walked through the hallway and into the alcove. "Now we must be careful," Bob warned. "I knocked a man out a while ago, and he may have come to by now." But when they reached the place, they found the fellow still limp. At sight of the Arab, Fekmah looked at Bob with admiration. It was evident that the youth had gone beyond his expectations. In a short time they reached the door into the first room and found that Dr. Kirshner was still guarding the Arabs. The scientist looked up in relief when he again saw Bob and Fekmah. "I feared something had happened to you," the scientist said. "I shouldn't have allowed you to go in there," he said to Bob. "But I see you've done your duty and brought back Fekmah." "But what shall we do now?" Bob asked. "Are there any officers to take charge of these crooks?" "Yes," the archæologist returned. "You and Fekmah stay here and guard these men and I will go after them. It is best not to take them down to the police station for fear of attracting too much attention. Other Arab friends might charge us in a large band." The next moment he was gone, after having promised that he would be back with officers in a few minutes. "There ought to be some way to get the fellow I knocked out in here," Bob thought, as he guarded the Arabs closely. "But I'd better not risk letting Fekmah have the gun. I'll trust the fellow is still out of his senses when Dr. Kirshner and the officers arrive." The Arabs whom the youth was guarding were silent, but their evil faces suggested what they would do if given the chance. Bob was in a position where he could also watch the door in the next room. He was taking no chances on an attack from behind. "I bet Dad and the others are worried," the boy thought. "We've been gone a long time." Inside of ten minutes Dr. Kirshner was back with three native policemen, who handled the crooks roughly. Each man was handcuffed and made to walk in front of the officers. "Now," said Dr. Kirshner, "suppose we get back to the hotel room. Our prolonged absence has probably caused a great deal of anxiety among our friends." "Yes," Bob returned. "We----" He stopped suddenly and then dashed into the next room for the crook whom he had previously knocked out. But he was not surprised to find the man gone. An opened door revealed that he had escaped. "No use looking for him," the youth thought, as he retraced his footsteps back to his companions. Bob was forced to explain to Dr. Kirshner, who was puzzled at the youth's sudden dashing away. When he had finished, the scientist regarded him admiringly but warned him against taking unnecessary chances. "Those fellows would think nothing of stabbing you to death," he said, shaking his head gravely. They went on up the street and arrived in a short time at the hotel in which were their friends. Up at Fekmah's room they were given a hearty welcome. "What kept you so long?" asked Mr. Holton, seeing at a glance that something was wrong. Dr. Kirshner related the details of the previous happenings, laying stress on the pluck and bravery of Bob. The naturalists and Joe listened closely, eager to get an account of everything. They did not seem unduly surprised, for at the start they felt that something was wrong. But that their friends would be in such grave danger was not in the least anticipated. "It's lucky that you're here to tell it," said Mr. Lewis, with a shaking of his head. "Such desperate characters know nothing else but to rob and kill." "But as it is," smiled Joe, "you came out all right, and had an unusual experience at that." Secretly he was sorry he had not taken part in it. "And that is the second time Bob brought in criminals," said Mr. Lewis, recalling an incident that happened the summer before. "I'd rather you wouldn't take such risks, though," urged Mr. Holton. "If one taxes good fortune too much, he is sure to come to a tragic end some time." There was a short silence. Then Joe ventured to touch upon the matter that concerned them before the abrupt interruption of a short time ago. "What will be our next move?" he inquired. "Hmm," hesitated Dr. Kirshner, "that is hard to say at present. I suppose, though, that the logical thing to do is wait and take a train to Wargla as soon as possible. When the track will be cleared is hard to say. It might be a day, or it might be several. I can see no other way of getting to Wargla, can you, Fekmah?" "No," replied the Arab. "Of course there are good roads part of way, and might ride automobile some of way, but train could get there sooner, even if we wait." "I guess you're right," agreed Joe, thoughtfully. "There's no use wasting time trying to do a thing that can't be done. Have you made inquiries as to about when we can expect the train to be ready?" "Yes," answered Dr. Kirshner. "The station agent said inside of two days, but it probably won't be that soon." "Let's hope it will," said Bob. "I'm anxious to get started into the desert. How long will it probably be before we reach our destination, once we get started on camelback?" "That all depends," replied the archæologist. "If we see fit to use dromedaries, or the one-hump camel, we will make much better time. They can travel from ninety to a hundred miles a day with ease, and if forced, can do much better than that." "But the jolting is most uncomfortable," Mr. Lewis reminded him, and Fekmah nodded. "Soon get used to it, though, don't you?" asked Joe. Fekmah laughed. "No, never," he said. "But not feel it so bad after many days of riding." "But getting back to your question," resumed the archæologist, speaking to Joe, "if we have good luck we should cover the thousand miles to the Ahaggar Mountains inside of two weeks, considering, of course, stops at oases, small towns, and the like. Then how soon we can find the hidden riches would be a mere guess, because without the map Fekmah will probably have much more difficulty in recognizing various landmarks." "But you must remember that our main object was to work for the good of science," Bob's father said. "Mr. Lewis and I were to get specimens of any animal life that exists in the far reaches of the desert, and you were to look up the remains of ancient civilizations. Incidentally, though, we'll search for the hidden riches." "And Joe and I were to take motion pictures when we get started on camelback," said Bob proudly. "Speaking of animal life," began Mr. Lewis, "suppose in the morning we get out in the open country and see if we can collect any specimens. From what I've read and heard, I guess it is necessary to go at least as far as Arba before we would find a region that is worth hunting in." "I'm with you," said Mr. Holton. "We'll engage an automobile to take us the fourteen miles or so to Arba, and then foot it from there. It will be funny if we can't bag a few worth-while specimens, at least." "Of course Joe and I can go, can't we?" grinned Bob. "You bet. And Dr. Kirshner and Fekmah, if they care to." But those persons announced that they would remain in Algiers and further discuss the coming expedition. "Then too," the archæologist remarked, "I'd like to keep posted on the progress made in getting the train ready for the journey to Wargla." It was well past noon, and the explorers now realized for the first time that they were extremely hungry. The strain of the eventful morning had stimulated their appetites to a high degree, and they felt they could devour almost anything in the way of food. "Lead me to the café and watch what happens," said Joe, making for the door. The others followed, and although not as emotional they were no less hungry. The meal tasted good, despite the fact that they were ignorant of its composition. Fekmah tried to explain one of the dishes, but the foodstuffs used in its preparation were unknown to the Americans, and they were as much in the dark after he had finished the explanation as before he had begun it. "We'll trust there isn't anything repulsive in its make-up," smiled Mr. Holton. "At any rate the taste isn't so bad," came from Bob. "I've seen stuff much worse." "Referring to the delicacies of the South American Indians, I suppose," laughed Mr. Lewis, and the boys nodded. "We were forced to eat almost anything for a while," reflected Joe. "Getting lost in the Brazilian jungle was a serious thing, and we realized it. Then when we got in with those savages, we accepted their offer of food at once, even though we weren't sure it was all right." "That was a great adventure, boys," remarked Mr. Holton, his thoughts going back to the countless days of river traveling in unknown South America. "The more I think of it the more convinced I am that we should be extremely proud of that exploit. Mr. Lewis and I have had many adventures in unknown lands while collecting specimens for the museum, but none surpasses that one." "I'd like to go there some time," said Dr. Kirshner. "But so far, my work as an archæologist has not called me into that region. When it will, if ever, I do not know." After the bountiful meal the explorers took it easy in the hotel, and Fekmah returned to his room. "Since we haven't anything in particular to do, we might as well rest up for the hunting trip tomorrow," said Mr. Lewis, as he and the others sat in the lobby of their hotel. "We've had a hard day of it and deserve to be idle for a while." The others agreed, and the remainder of the day was spent in quiet. But early the next morning the boys and their fathers were busily preparing for the hunting expedition. By seven o'clock they had their rifles and other necessities in readiness, and with a farewell to Dr. Kirshner, who wished to talk over the Sahara journey with Fekmah, they left the hotel. Mr. Lewis had earlier made arrangements for a car to take them to Arba, whence they would go on foot into the forests and desert. The automobile was parked in a small garage not far away, and they reached the place in but a few minutes. It was a low, dirty structure, with few windows. A swarthy native came out to meet them and at once recognized Mr. Lewis. He led the way through a small door and into a room that served as the garage. "Here we are," said Joe's father, as they rounded a corner. He pointed to something that at once caused Bob and Joe to burst out with laughter. CHAPTER VI Through Unknown Forests "That a car--an automobile?" asked Bob, holding back his laughter. "You don't mean to say that thing will take us fourteen miles!" cried Joe, no less moved than his chum. The naturalists smiled. They had apparently not expected this. "It's about the best we can do here," confessed Mr. Lewis. "Of course there are better automobiles, but none of them seems to be for hire. You see, this drive-yourself idea doesn't appear to be very popular here. I suppose it's because there is so much danger of being attacked by bands of nomads who would think nothing of robbing the occupants and stealing the car. But this car, although not beautiful to look at, has a good motor and good tires, and that's about all we could expect. Remember, we're not in America now." The object of their remarks was indeed not anything to be especially proud of. A well-known American make, it had undoubtedly been of great service in its time, and was still capable of covering many more miles. It had no top, and nothing to show that one had been present, but the seats were in fair condition, and a well-shined windshield promised to keep away the formidable dust of the desert. "Well, I suppose we could do much worse," sighed Joe, taking his place in the back seat. After a few more remarks with the keeper of the garage, the adventurers started the motor and pulled out into the street, Mr. Lewis at the wheel. The chug of the engine was almost deafening, but, as Bob remarked, they would probably get used to it. "Ought to be some new springs," said Joe, with a wink at his chum. "And there could be new upholstering," added Bob. "Of course it needs new----" "All right, boys," smiled Mr. Holton, cutting off their capricious suggestions. "If you don't like it, you know what you can do." "I guess we'd better shut up," grinned Bob. "We may get thrown out on our ear." Mr. Lewis had studied the map of Algiers and had no difficulty in finding his way out of the city and to Maison Carrée, which might almost be called a suburb of the metropolis. From here they went almost straight south and soon came to a narrow river, which was spanned by a small bridge. "Scarcely any curves from here on," said Mr. Lewis, as he increased the speed of the car. The road remained good, and in a short time they reached Arba, their destination. Here for the first time they caught a glimpse of a camel caravan, for they are never seen as far as Algiers. It was composed of about ten dromedaries, with only three riders. Strapped on the brutes' backs were packs containing probably dates and other products of the desert. Bob and Joe took in the scene with intense interest, for soon they would be fitted out in a like manner for the long desert journey. The youths were particularly anxious to observe the manner in which the brutes are ridden. They had heard that to straddle a camel and be able to bounce freely along was an art that came only of long practice. Whether this was true they did not know but resolved to find out sooner or later from Fekmah. "I'll bet it's harder than it looks, though," remarked Joe. A little later they saw other caravans of donkeys, the usual beast of burden used near the coast. "The Arab, unlike other natives, never carries his load," explained Mr. Holton. "I guess he thinks it lowers himself too much." They drove on into the town and had more trouble finding good streets than in Algiers. Luckily it was Wednesday, and the market was in full swing. Traders were swarming everywhere, buying and selling the queer native goods and foodstuffs. "Suppose we park the car where we can and look about a bit," suggested Joe. "It's no special hurry to begin the hunt, is it?" The others were more than willing, and as soon as possible the automobile--if it could be called that--was stopped at a convenient corner. "Sure feels good to get out and stretch," smiled Bob, taking advantage of the opportunity to relax his cramped legs. They left the car and made for the business center of the town, intent upon spending a half-hour or so in watching the busy scene of interest. It was soon discovered that except for the large market there was little of interest to be seen. In many respects the town resembled Algiers, although on a much smaller scale and not nearly as modern. The streets were narrow and, in many cases, curving, and the houses were far from attractive. But the hustle and bustle of the natives clearly indicated that Arba was of considerable importance commercially. This was especially noted in the city market, where every article imaginable was for sale. Bakers, vegetable dealers, butchers, shoemakers, wine venders, and many others did their best to convince the buyer of the worth of their products. "And over there in that tent is a physician," pointed out Mr. Lewis. "How good he would be considered in the United States is hard to say, but the Arabs seem to have confidence in him. Look at the patients going in." "For my part, I'd rather trust nature to cure my illness," smiled Bob, as he noted the rather blank expression of the native physician. The explorers spent nearly a half-hour in the city, taking in the various sights so strange and interesting to a visitor from a far-away land. At last Mr. Holton moved that they go back to the car and get their rifles and begin the hunt, and the others were in favor of doing so. Their lunch, cartridges, binoculars, and other hunting necessities were packed in lightweight ruck sacks, which required but a minute to strap on their backs. The car was to be left where it was, as probably no better parking place could be found. "Guess we're ready," said Mr. Lewis, picking up his rifle. It required but a short walk to reach the edge of the town, and one glance revealed that the country here was wild and uncultivated. Mountains were but a short distance away, and some of the peaks were rather impressive. "Those forests look like there might be anything in them," observed Joe, directing his glance at the towering wooded slopes. "We'll see in a short time," said his father, fumbling his rifle. The foothills over which they were passing were, for the most part, bare and devoid of heavy vegetation. But a little later they came to a region that gradually sloped upward, and less than an hour's traveling brought them to the base of a high, sloping mountain, which was covered with a dense forest. With renewed efforts they began the task of climbing, keeping a sharp lookout for any wild animals that might dart out in front of them. "About all the wild animals to be found here are rabbits, jackals, hyenas, panthers, and a very few lions," said Mr. Holton, as they trudged up the hill. Luckily there were no sharp cliffs to be scaled. Instead, the way was gradual, unbroken. "I'd like to get a glimpse of one of those queer creatures that have been reported to exist in these woods," remarked Mr. Holton with a smile. "What's that?" asked Joe. "Another Arabian myth, most likely. At any rate I know of nobody who has ever been fortunate enough to see one. It is supposed to be about the size of a badger and is a very peculiar combination of six or more well-known animals. The face, eyes, tail, abdomen, and other body regions are supposed to be taken from other creatures; and all the details are very accurate and convincing, to hear the Arab tell it. Again arises the question of where such queer conceptions get into his head." As they hiked on, Bob and Joe began to get behind their elders. There was much to be seen in the way of odd plants and colorful flowers, and their attention was continually diverted from one thing to another. "I suppose when we get as seasoned in the art of exploring as our dads we'll not notice such minorities," said Bob. "But right now----" He stopped suddenly as he caught sight of something that made his blood turn cold. Not five feet away was a huge wild boar, showing its terrible tusks savagely as it prepared to rush at the youths. CHAPTER VII Good News "What is it?" cried Joe, as he noticed the look of anxiety on his chum's face. For answer, Bob pointed to the wild boar, and as Joe glanced around he shrank back in consternation. "Quick!" he cried. "It's going to charge!" There was no time to lose. The animal, angered because cornered, was getting ready to stand its ground savagely. And the boys had heard of the wild boar's terrible ferocity. Almost in unison the youths raised their rifles and took careful aim. The guns were of only twenty-two caliber, not any too powerful for the occasion, but the chance had to be taken. "Now," murmured Bob, holding his rifle in a steady position. Bang! Bang! Two shots rang out, and each found the mark. But the small bullets did not stop the beast's charge, and it came on with horrible atrocity. "Run!" cried Bob, his nerve completely gone. "Let's go up a tree!" As the youths darted to one side, a shot rang out; another; and still another. A moment later the wild boar sank to the ground in a crumpled mass, gave a convulsive twitch, and then lay still. Mr. Lewis and Mr. Holton came running up, on their faces a look of apprehension. "A narrow escape!" said Joe grimly. "It's a good thing you came across with those high-speed bullets. They sure did the job, all right." "We just happened to glance around in time," explained his father. "We didn't know you boys were so far behind. Why didn't you bring larger rifles?" "Weren't expecting to meet such a creature as this," replied Bob. "I had an idea that this was a tame country, but I see I'm wrong," with a glance at the wild boar. "You certainly are," smiled Mr. Holton, shaking his head. "And this incident may be the beginning of a series of adventures with wild animals. Where there's one of a thing there's likely to be another. So stick close, boys. I'd hate to have to rely on those twenty-twos again." The wild boar was shattered by the bullets and was no good as a specimen. The naturalists especially wanted one of these terrible beasts and were put out to think that this one had been made worthless by the rifles, but they were thankful that they had been able to come to the rescue of their sons. With one last look at the creature they resumed the hike, this time keeping a closer lookout for any other formidable beast. As they penetrated deeper into the forest, signs of life began to increase in numbers. Small rodents darted out, only to be brought down by the guns of the naturalists; lizards of grotesque and ugly shapes were all about; birds of many colors flew overhead, their plumage showing brightly in the sunlight. It was a sight that the youths never grew tired of. Suddenly a jackal ran out, and Mr. Holton lost no time in firing at it. It was carefully but quickly skinned and placed in the burlap bag for the specimens. "This forest certainly is untrodden," observed Mr. Lewis, unable to discern the faintest traces of human tracks. "It has probably been a long time since anyone broke into its fastness." "Which is all the better for us," said Joe. "Animals here probably have never heard the sound of a gun before." Along toward noon they picked out a small grassy area and got out the kit of lunch. The sandwiches were spread on a paper, and thermos bottles of cold lemonade were opened. To the tired adventurers it promised to be a feast fit for a king. "No meal in the most luxurious café tastes better than a bountiful lunch in the heart of a forest," said Mr. Lewis. Bob's father nodded. "It has been said that no one but an explorer really knows what an appetite is," he remarked. "And in times when I'm working in the museum at home and not doing any strenuous work I can fully realize the truth of it." They ate the lunch in quiet contentment, taking it easy on the soft grass. It seemed good to be out on the trail again, feasting on the wonders of nature. Bob and Joe were impressed by the stillness of the great forest. "This is about the only kind of a woods you can get through," remarked Bob, his eyes on the numerous cork-oak trees. "A tropical jungle has so much undergrowth and vines that it keeps you busy cutting them away with a machete." An hour or two after the repast was spent in resting their tired limbs and chatting merrily. Then Mr. Lewis suggested that they continue the hunt. "We won't have so very much time left," he said. "And we'd like to get several more specimens." A little later they came to a narrow valley between two high mountains. A tiny spring trickled from beside a large rock, and they welcomed the taste of the refreshing liquid. It was quite cold, showing that it probably came from an underground stream. "Drink all you want," said Mr. Lewis. "It's likely the last water we'll see till we get back to Arba." All the remainder of that afternoon the explorers trudged on, bringing down several small animals and birds. None of them happened to be dangerous, however. The hunters had described a wide circle that took them by sundown within a mile or two from Arba, and the accuracy of the naturalists' calculations was greatly appreciated, for they were very tired and did not feel that they would care to have to hike a great distance to get to the automobile. "Wonder if the old car's still there," mused Bob, as they came to the limits of Arba. "Don't know why it shouldn't be," returned his chum. "Nobody'd want it for anything." It required but a short time to reach the main part of the town. Then they turned off on the street where the car was parked. "It's there!" cried Joe, making out its ancient shape in the distance. The others shared in his enthusiasm. They had had an uneasy feeling about its safety all day, despite the fact that the ignition had been locked. In a short time the explorers were in the seats, and Joe, who had asked to drive, began the task of starting the engine. It finally responded to the sluggish self-starter. "Now let's hurry and get back to Algiers," urged Mr. Holton. "We don't want to be out after dark, for there's no telling how good these lights are." During the next half-hour Joe pulled the throttle as far down as possible, and then complained because he could only do forty-five. However, it was not long before they saw the lights of Algiers in the distance. "Now to get something to eat," said Mr. Holton, sitting up in the seat in anticipation. "It will be good to see the old hotel again, won't it?" "Sure will," replied Bob. "I'll bet Dr. Kirshner expected us long before this." "He's probably conversing with Fekmah," was the opinion expressed by Mr. Lewis. "You know," he went on, "that Arab is a strange contrast to these worthless fellows around here. It all goes to show what anyone can do if he wants to." "He's educated, too, isn't he?" inquired Joe. "Yes, highly," the naturalist replied. "Was graduated from the University of Algiers and received a degree. What he doesn't know isn't worth knowing." "Where is his home?" asked Bob. "He doesn't live in Algiers, does he?" "No. He lives in Oran; that's about a hundred and twenty-five miles or so west of here. Quite a prosperous city, I guess." "But," questioned Bob, thoroughly puzzled, "what is he doing here in Algiers?" "It all goes back to Dr. Kirshner's conversation with him on the ship," Mr. Holton explained. "You see, Tom"--referring to the archæologist--"met him on the last day of the voyage and recognized him to be a very intellectual man. As soon as Fekmah found that he could trust Kirshner, he confided this secret about the hidden riches. Well, then, when he found that we would accept his proposition and make it one of the objects of the expedition to search for this treasure, Fekmah put up at a hotel in Algiers in order to accompany us into the Sahara. See?" "Sure. I don't know now why I didn't before." They were now among the lights of Algiers, and Joe headed straight for the business section, where the car was to be returned to the garage. They reached the place in a short time and left the automobile. Then they hurried around to their hotel. When they came to their room, they found Dr. Kirshner and Fekmah in earnest conversation. When the two heard their friends in the hall, they arose, wreathed in smiles. "We have good news for you," announced Dr. Kirshner joyously. "The train is leaving for Wargla in the morning." CHAPTER VIII Off for the Sahara "Hurrah!" burst out Joe, overwhelmed with delight. "We'll get ahead of those crooks after all." "When did you find out?" asked Mr. Holton, as overjoyed as the youth. "Late this afternoon," was the response. "We intended to make frequent trips to the railroad station in order to know as soon as possible. The agent there informed us that the track had been cleared last night and the locomotive repaired this morning. He didn't give the impression that there are other trains on this route, but I suppose there are." "That's fine!" exclaimed Mr. Lewis, as excited as a boy. "We'll get a meal at once and then complete preparations for the journey. Have you two eaten?" "Yes," returned Fekmah. "It is getting late. Six, seven o'clock." The naturalists and their sons made their way to the café and did full justice to a delicious meal. Then they went back to their room and finished packing their possessions. "Do you know," remarked Joe that night just before retiring, "we were, in a sense, responsible for that train wreck?" Bob looked up in surprise. "If it hadn't been for our proposed expedition, those two Arabs would have had no cause to wreck the train," Joe explained. "Oh. Indirectly, huh? Well, you're right." Very early the next morning the explorers were up making last-minute preparations. The train was to leave for Wargla at eight o'clock, giving them three hours or so to use to best advantage. "When do we reach our destination?" asked Bob, as he snapped the catch on his handbag. "At about noon day after tomorrow," answered Dr. Kirshner. "You see, it's a three-hundred-and-seventy-five-mile journey, and the train won't go any too fast through the mountains." "Mountains? Do we go through mountains?" queried Joe, a little surprised. "Yes, twice. Through these around here and then in the more lofty Aures. And the scenery is said to be wonderful." "What cities do we pass through?" Bob asked. "Setif, Batna, Biskra, and Tuggourt are the principal ones," the archæologist replied. "But there are a number of smaller towns. Get a map. There's one in the pocket of that bag over there." The boys took out the guide to Algeria and studied it closely. They found that the railroad did not make a straight run but curved considerably in order to pass through several important cities and towns. The map was not strictly up to date and consequently did not show the new stretch from Tuggourt to Wargla. "It's been constructed only recently," explained Mr. Lewis. "At present the French have proposed building a trans-Sahara route. When they will begin it, if ever, we don't know." "Perhaps not in our lifetimes," smiled Joe. "Large enterprises like that come very slowly." An hour before train time everything was in readiness, and it was Mr. Holton who suggested that they go down to the railroad station. The others were in favor of doing so, and as it was but a short distance away they were content to walk and carry their belongings. There was a good-sized load, but it was distributed evenly without anyone being overtaxed. At the station they checked the things securely and safely. Even then they had a leisure half-hour. "You may be surprised at sight of the train," said Fekmah. And they were. The Americans had expected to see rickety wood coaches attached to an incapable locomotive, but instead they saw a large, fine train of the French design. "All due to the influence of France, I suppose," remarked Dr. Kirshner, as he followed the others up in the coach. A few minutes later they felt a slight jerk and the train began moving slowly away from the station. Gradually it picked up speed, and before long Algiers disappeared on the horizon. "We're off!" said Joe enthusiastically. "Before long we'll see the great Sahara Desert!" It required but a few minutes to reach Maison Carrée, and after a short stop they began the journey in earnest. Rapidly they passed through cultivated fields, orange groves, and vineyards, heading for the mountains. Small farmhouses were left behind, their owners laboring in the fields. Villages inhabited largely by whites were passed, and occasionally a five-horse cart loaded with swarthy Arabs could be seen winding slowly along the shaded roads. Finally they came to the Djurdjura Mountains, after having passed through the dense forest of La Reghaia. Through numerous tunnels and around scenic gorges they went, and finally came to Palestro, a small town on the banks of the Isser River. Here the train stopped for a few brief minutes. Again it took up the journey, speeding through the beautiful mountain gorges. In the narrow valleys farmers could be seen laboring with primitive implements. The next stop was Beni-Mansour, where the railroad branched. Still on they went, the mountainous country gradually growing wilder and more beautiful. Occasionally they found themselves in a narrow gulch between high walls of rock, and a curious sensation of being hemmed in crept over them. After passing through a long tunnel, the train sped out on a barren plain, with little vegetation and few or no people. Another stop was at Setif, a modern city populated by Americans and Europeans as well as natives. Resuming the journey, they passed over another great stretch of level country, and then finally a mountain range could be seen in the distance. But just when the explorers were anticipating the change of scenery, the train pulled into El Guerrah and stopped. "Here we must get off," announced Fekmah, getting his belongings together. "We must change trains for Biskra. This one goes on." The explorers lugged their belongings out on the platform and into the station. Darkness was fast approaching, and as it would be necessary to remain in El Guerrah overnight, the adventurers stepped into the hotel, which was the only structure in sight. "The town is some distance away," declared Fekmah. "We not have time to see it." At the hotel they engaged rooms and lost no time in getting to them. Sleepiness was rapidly overpowering them, and they went to bed at once. The next morning they awaited the train to take them on the remainder of the journey. At eight o'clock it was there, and the explorers climbed aboard, eager to get started on the last stretch. "What's the next stop?" asked Bob, as he stretched out on the comfortable seat. "Batna," his father returned. "Quite a prosperous place, I guess. And it is the starting point for tourist excursions to several Roman cities that are of considerable interest historically." Inside of an hour that city was reached. A short stop and then they were off for Biskra, at the very edge of the Sahara. "We are now three thousand five hundred feet above the level of the sea," declared Fekmah, as the train sped over the last few miles of level country. Soon they came to the Aures Mountains, and between high walls of rock they sped. At last the short range of peaks was passed, and they found themselves once more on comparatively level ground. Suddenly Fekmah pointed to a high ridge of rock: "The Sahara Desert!" he exclaimed. "We have come to it at last." CHAPTER IX Across the Desert At the Arab's welcome remark, Bob and Joe sat up with a start. "At last!" murmured Joe. "Though I'll admit it doesn't look much like a desert to me." "There's still quite a bit of vegetation," said Dr. Kirshner. "But nevertheless, that rocky wall is classed as the mark of the desert's edge." Another small town was left behind. Then, almost without knowing it, they reached Biskra, a modern city that is much frequented by tourists. The train came to a stop at a small but well-built station. "Here we must get off again," said Dr. Kirshner. "The train does not leave for Wargla in the daytime because of the excessive heat." They found much to interest them the remainder of the afternoon. For Biskra, with its picturesque natives, lanes of dirty houses, quaint cafés, and modern buildings held their constant attention. That evening the train arrived for Wargla, and the explorers were glad to continue the journey. For the next eight hours they sped along barren country, only the outline of which could be seen in the darkness. At last they stopped at Tuggourt, formerly the last stop on the railroad. "It won't be long now," sang Joe, as he sat up in his seat expectantly. The train covered the fifty-mile journey in less than an hour, and then, after gradually moving downhill, it passed through a cluster of mud houses and pulled up at a modern station. "All off!" said Mr. Holton. "Here's Wargla, our destination." They got their bags off the train, and then stood for some time taking in their environment. The sun was just beginning to peep from behind a high sand dune, and it was rather easy to make out the landscape. Over to one side was a high minaret of earth, the tallest sun-dried clay mound in existence. Scattered about were numerous clusters of date trees, and to their left was Wargla, glittering with many lights. "Now what?" inquired Bob, rousing himself. "Better get to the hotel," answered Dr. Kirshner. "From what I've heard, it has been built but recently, and we'll have everything of the latest design." A sign told them that the hotel was only a short distance away, and picking up their belongings, they walked over to it. It was all that could be asked for, with modern conveniences that the explorers had not dreamed of enjoying in such an out-of-the-way place. "Better turn in right away," suggested Dr. Kirshner. "It isn't advisable to start the desert journey without having had any sleep." After the train trip it felt good to stretch out on the comfortable beds. Despite their youth, Bob and Joe were very tired. "We must wake up at dawn tomorrow," Bob reminded his chum. "We'll have to get our stuff together early." Notwithstanding this, the youths' deep slumber made it necessary for their elders to awaken them. They felt rather sheepish as they arose and noticed that the sun was well up in the sky. "Guess we haven't developed our mental alarm clocks yet," grinned Joe, slipping hurriedly into his clothes. "Now, boys," said Mr. Holton, opening the door of their room, "we're going out to find a guide and camels. You had better come along, so you can practise riding. It isn't easy to get used to a dromedary's trot. First, though, go and get your breakfast." When the meal was finished, they joined the men in the hotel lobby. Fekmah, as the best-informed concerning the Sahara, acted as the leader. "The man in charge of hotel told me of worthy man who will be our guide on the expedition," he said. "He lives at edge of town, not far away." "Fine! Then we'll go there at once." Mr. Lewis walked over to the door, followed by the others. The fellow lived in a small, low structure of clay, and although not pleasing to the eye, it probably lessened the intense heat of the fierce desert sun. Fekmah knocked at the door. A moment later a tall Arab greeted them, his face thin but not indicating that he was possessed of a weak constitution. "Are you Tishmak?" Fekmah asked. The Arab nodded. Fekmah then conversed rapidly in the native tongue, and although the Americans could not catch the meaning of most of the words, they gathered that their friend was succeeding in employing the man to act as a guide. A moment later he confirmed their suspicions. "He will go," Fekmah said delightedly. "And his price is right." He then proceeded to introduce the Americans as best he could in his own language, for the guide could not speak English. "Now," began Dr. Kirshner, "what about the camels? Can this fellow, Tishmak, get them? How many will we need? Ask him, Fekmah. I'm afraid I can't get along very well with his mixed dialect." Their friend put the question before the guide, and he at once gave them an answer. "He says he can get them," Fekmah translated. "And how many we will need depends on our own taste. But he makes suggest that we use twenty. That is seven for us to ride and thirteen to carry food and other things." "All right," said Dr. Kirshner. "Have him lead us to them now, so that we can practise riding." Fekmah again turned to the man, who a moment later nodded and motioned for them to follow him. Ten minutes later, after having wound through many narrow streets, the explorers found themselves in a large open field at the edge of the town. About them were grazing a hundred or more camels. "Here we are," declared Fekmah, his eyes on the idle beasts. Tishmak had a moment before left for the house. Now he returned with a thin, lithe Arab, who was evidently the owner of the camels. A short conference between Fekmah and the stranger took place. Then Fekmah turned to the Americans. "We can have the dromedaries," he said. "And he is asking only a fair amount. Come and I will pick them out." The others followed him over the field, where he singled out twenty of the best-looking beasts. "Now," said Mr. Holton, "we want to practise riding before we start on the real journey. Perhaps we'd better do that this afternoon. Then we can load up in the evening and get started in the morning." Fekmah nodded. "We'll go now and come back this afternoon," he said. Shortly after the noon meal the explorers left the hotel, intent upon trying their skill astride the ponderous humps. None of them but Fekmah had ever had the experience of riding on camelback. "Wonder how it'll be?" mused Joe. He soon saw. Aside from a most uncomfortable jerking it was a novel and enjoyable experience, for the time being, at least, surpassing horseback-riding. "But you'll soon get tired of it," said Mr. Holton. "At least Fekmah says so." "Dad might say we'll get fed up on it," remarked Bob, when they were ready to start back to the hotel. "But I haven't yet." "Nor I," put in Joe. "But of course, after several days----" There was much to be looked after that evening, and it kept the explorers busy. Tishmak acted as leader in securing the food supply, which, however, was also to include canned goods. The naturalists and Dr. Kirshner attended to last-minute preparations, while the youths kept their time busy in helping the others. Early that night they retired, eager to get all the rest possible. "Sleep well," said Mr. Lewis, as the boys jumped in bed. "We'll have it rough from tomorrow on." At four o'clock the next morning Bob and Joe were awakened by Mr. Lewis, and despite the fact that they were still very sleepy, they began the task of getting their belongings together. It took them the better part of an hour, although they worked like beavers. "We're ready to leave, boys, if you are," called Dr. Kirshner, opening the door to their room. "The provisions are on the dromedaries, and Tishmak is ready." The youths' hearts were in their mouths. Leave! Leave for the great Sahara Desert, with its mysteries and thrills and tragedies! They could hardly come to a full realization of the true situation. "It'll be great, Joe, old boy," said Bob, deeply touched. "At the end of this expedition we'll be full-fledged adventurers." The youths went down to the hotel lobby and found their fathers, Dr. Kirshner, and Fekmah. Tishmak, the newly engaged guide, had left for the camels, which he promised to have in readiness. Fekmah had made arrangements for a mule cart to take their belongings to the spot where the dromedaries were grazing. Bob and Joe had scarcely got the last of their bags down when it arrived, driven by a short, fat native who looked to be a cross between an Arab and a Negro. The paraphernalia was placed in the wagon. Fekmah climbed up with the driver to direct him to the camels. "Guess we've attended to everything," said Dr. Kirshner. "Let's get started. It's a good ten-minute walk." When they reached the place they found Fekmah and Tishmak awaiting them. The packs had been strapped on the dromedaries' backs, and the ropes had been harnessed from the back of one animal to the head of another, keeping them in single file. "Well, let's go," urged Mr. Holton, after one more glance to make sure that everything was in preparation for the long desert journey. The explorers got astride the ponderous humps, and then, while the master of camels gave them a cheery farewell, they moved out for the unknown. The great desert journey had begun. CHAPTER X Questionable Strangers Before long the little town of Wargla vanished from the horizon, and a sense of dread crept over Bob and Joe at the thought that they were now shut off completely from the outside world. What tragedies might befall them before they would again see the United States? There were all sorts of dangers out on that vast stretch of wasteland. Would their lives be threatened--and possibly lost? Bob glanced back and saw the worried look on his chum's face. That Joe's thoughts had been the same as his was evident. "Snap out of it, Joe, old man!" he said, rousing himself. "Think of the fun we'll have. And the strange sights we'll see. It'll be great. And behind it all lies adventure." Joe nodded. His face took on a smile as he anticipated the coming events. "Wonder what adventures we'll have?" he mused. "But I suppose we'll soon see." The boys were at the end of the little caravan, keeping an eye on the pack camels. Although ropes had been fastened from the back of one animal to the head of another, keeping them in single file, it was best to guard them closely, for anything might happen on the desert. Tishmak, acting as the guide, was in the lead, followed by Dr. Kirshner and the youths' fathers. Fekmah was in the middle of the line. The twenty dromedaries were spread out over perhaps a quarter of a mile and trotted at a speed that promised to cover many miles in a short time. "I guess dromedaries don't compare with camels when it comes to fast traveling," remarked Joe, recalling something that Fekmah had said some time before. "The one-hump animal makes four times as much speed." In the early morning, as it was, the atmosphere was chilly. Bob and Joe welcomed the warmth of their tight-fitting coats. "I never thought I'd need a wrap on the desert," smiled Bob, fastening the collar around his neck. "We'll need more than coats at night, if what Dr. Kirshner said is true," said Joe. "Gets cold as Greenland's icy mountains." "Seems strange, doesn't it?" "Yes. But you remember it was the same way in Brazil. And that's about as hot a country as there is anywhere." Soon the flat hill of Gara Krima, dominating the sandy plain, could be seen, its smooth surface tinted with many colors. Then it was left behind, and the explorers came to a region of loose sand. The dromedaries found it more difficult to plod through, and slackened their rapid pace somewhat. Although their feet were specially adapted for traveling on sand, they made much better time on hard surfaces. "Look at the dust they're making," observed Bob, as a dense cloud of fine sand particles arose, making it necessary for the youths to ride a short distance to one side of the pack animals. "They don't believe in kicking it up, do they?" Joe said dryly. After a while the sun came out in full splendor, sending its dazzling rays down on the scorched sand. Bob and Joe soon perspired freely, and were glad to remove their coats. "Whew!" gasped Joe. "I'd give anything for a drink of water." "So would I," his friend replied. "I'm going to ride on up and ask for one." "Remember me while you're there." It was a good distance to the other end of the caravan, but the sure-footed dromedary trotted along briskly. Fekmah waved as Bob passed. "How about a drink of water, Dad?" asked Bob, coming up to his father's camel. "Go to it," was the answer. "We'll come to a well before long, and refill the canteens." The third and fourth animals back were the water carriers, and Bob lost no time in filling his container. Then he drank freely of the refreshing liquid, and felt new life creep into him. Although warm, the water did wonders in quenching his thirst. Again he filled the container and rode back to his friend, who was delighted. "I was afraid they wouldn't let you have it," Joe said, wiping the perspiration from his brow. "Wouldn't have, only there's a well not far away, and we'll have a chance to refill the tanks." "Well, huh? Wonder if they're this close together all along?" "Let's hope so." A little later the explorers passed a scattering of bones and skeletons that were partly covered with sand. They were dry from age, having probably been uncovered by a sandstorm. "Camels' bones, I suppose," remarked Joe. "They've become overcome with thirst, most likely." "Who knows but that the skeletons of their riders are there some place, too," said Bob, his face sober. The sight was not a pleasant one, for it brought to mind the fact that it was altogether too possible that their little caravan might perish for want of water also. Some time elapsed before the boys resumed their cheerful mood. As they traveled on, the ground became strewn with small red pebbles that shone brightly in the dazzling sunlight. "I guess most of the rocks here are red," remarked Bob, who had studied books on the Sahara. "Burned that color by the sun, huh?" "Seems reasonable, doesn't it? Come to think of it, though, the ground in the Land of Thirst is black." "The Land of Thirst?" "Yes. I heard Fekmah talking about it this morning. It's a region where there are few or no wells, and you have to be very careful to have a good supply of water in the tanks before you plunge into it." "Looks like even then it would be dangerous. What if a storm or something would hold you back for a long time?" "Have to take that chance," Bob replied. "Wouldn't doubt that quite a few caravans come to a tragic end there." "Will we go through it?" Joe asked. "Fekmah said we might," was the response. Finally they came to the well that Mr. Holton had told about. There was a steady flow of water, which was comparatively cool. "Drink all you want," said Dr. Kirshner. "Tishmak says we won't see another for a long time." The explorers drank and drank, until they could hold no more. Then they began the task of replenishing the tanks. But as little had been taken out, this was finished in a very few minutes. "Now let's get on," urged Mr. Lewis. "We want to cover a good many more miles yet before we stop for the noon meal." Another hour brought them again to a region of hard soil, and the dromedaries increased their pace several miles per hour. "Wish it would stay like this all the way," said Joe, noting that ground was being covered much faster. "Won't though. But we'll have stretches of it here and there." As the minutes passed, the glare from the sand became more intense, and the temperature went steadily up. The boys had dark-colored glasses but hesitated to put them on so soon. "Wouldn't a good cold drink come in fine now?" asked Bob, keeping his hands off his canteen with difficulty. "Sure would. But we must fight the temptation to drink too often," returned Joe. "Remember, we're on the desert now, and not in the mountains, where there are plenty of springs." They rode rapidly on, the country remaining about the same. The red pebbles, however, grew more numerous, some of them glowing like rubies. Joe remarked that they were gradually ascending, and Bob nodded. "There's a line of high dunes over there," he said, pointing to the distant horizon. "Fekmah said when we reach those we'll have climbed a good many hundred feet. We should get to them tomorrow." In a short time they passed beyond the stretch of hard soil and again plodded through loose sand. From all indications, it was heated to a high degree by the fierce sun. How the dromedaries stood it was a mystery to the boys. "I wonder how Tishmak can find the way to the Ahaggar Mountains?" mused Joe, glancing up ahead at the guide. "He isn't using a compass." "Does seem strange," Bob agreed. "But I suppose he's been over the route so much that he knows all the landmarks by heart, though it looks like a sandstorm or something else would change the surface of the land." Mention of the Ahaggars brought to mind the possibilities of finding the hidden riches. Bob and Joe wondered if the two thieves who had caused the explorers so much trouble would, with the aid of the stolen map, locate the treasure first. Perhaps they had already found the place and were gloating over the success of their wicked scheming. The youths said nothing, but the expression on their faces told what they would do to the men if given the opportunity. "We'll finally have a chance to square things," thought Bob, gritting his teeth. "And oh, how those fellows will look when we're through with them!" A little later they came to a deep valley between the mounds of sand. In order for the camels to cross it they would find it necessary to climb the steep sides of the dune. Mr. Lewis rode back to the boys. "Have to be careful here," he warned. "It's rather steep near the top. Don't let your mounts get out of control." The next instant he was on his way back to the front of the caravan. The climb was hard and not a little dangerous, but the sure-footed dromedaries did not even threaten to slip. They had barely reached the top when a cry of delight from Joe mingled with the scarcely less emotional exclamations of the others at sight of a small oasis not far away down the opposite slope. A number of tall date palms towered above the green grassy area, an indication that water was to be had for the taking. "Hurrah!" cried Bob. "Water at last!" "And if I'm not mistaken, we'll find dates there, too," put in Joe. "You're right," affirmed Mr. Lewis, coming up from the side. "And this seems to be a good spot to stop for the noon meal. We'll have it shady this afternoon when we take our midday rest." Nearer and nearer they were coming to the oasis, when suddenly, from behind a low dune of sand, appeared a small caravan of Arabs--possibly bandits. CHAPTER XI Fighting Heavy Odds "Keep your hands on your guns," called Dr. Kirshner, as he gazed at the approaching party of Arabs. There were ten of them, and each armed with a short range rifle, which, although inferior to the guns of the Americans, could do a great deal of damage. In addition to the mounts of the Arabs, there were six or seven pack camels that trailed. As the caravan came nearer, Tishmak waved and shouted a friendly greeting, but he did not receive the same in return. Evidently the men had no friendly intentions. Tishmak chattered a moment to Fekmah, who then turned to the Americans. "They are probably nomad bandits," Fekmah said excitedly. "Tishmak says we might have fight." "A fight!" cried Joe. "Why? Are they going to try to rob us?" Fekmah nodded. "Worse, perhaps," he replied. "Those fellows would think nothing of killing all of us," said Mr. Lewis gravely. "So we want to be ready for anything that might happen." As the Arabs came nearer, their leader shouted something to Tishmak, whose jaw dropped in surprise and astonishment. Tishmak turned to Fekmah and conversed rapidly. Then Fekmah translated to the Americans. "They want two of our camels," he said nervously. Dr. Kirshner gasped in amazement. "Want two of _our_ camels?" he cried, his voice indicating a high state of anger. "What for?" demanded Bob. "They say theirs are too much loaded," Fekmah answered. "Want to spread out packs on more camels." "Well, of all the nerve!" exclaimed Mr. Holton. "Tell them to get out of here--and get out quick, or we'll fill them full of holes!" Fekmah turned to the Arabs and put Mr. Holton's command before them. Then an answer came. "They say they go, but we will be sorry," interpreted Fekmah, as the men turned their camels in the opposite direction. A moment later they disappeared behind a low dune, leaving a cloud of dust at their heels. For a moment there was silence among the explorers. Then Mr. Lewis spoke up. "I don't like this," he said, greatly annoyed. "Those men are likely to slip up on us when we're not expecting them. And such desperate characters would lose no time in shooting us." "But what can we do?" questioned Bob. "Keep on the lookout is all," returned Mr. Holton. "But I'd feel much safer if this hadn't happened." The explorers rode on into the oasis and dismounted. It seemed pleasing to see green trees and grass again. They were delighted that good fortune had enabled them to find an oasis at a time when it was wise to stop for a meal and rest. There was good water not far away, and they drank all they wanted, glad of the chance to quench their rapidly overpowering thirst. "Now," began Mr. Holton, "we're going to have something to eat. But first let's put up the tents. It isn't wise to be in such a sun as this." The bags of supplies were removed from the camels. Then the tents were taken out and put up by Bob and Joe. Mr. Lewis and Mr. Holton got out the food and soon laid out a delicious meal of canned goods and native products. "Eat all you want, but don't gorge yourselves," cautioned Mr. Holton, as they sat about the tent. "There's plenty of stuff, but still we must be careful. If we're to be gone any length of time, we'll have to use our provisions sparingly." They ate quietly, taking it easy in the shade of the tent. The heat of the fierce African sun was somewhat abated by the heavy canvas, which would also serve as a shelter from sand storms, should any come up. When the meal was over, they sat for a few minutes talking. Then Fekmah got up and went over to the corner of the tent. "Let us sleep for two or three hours," he said, curling up on the soft soil. "The sun will soon get so hot that we cannot travel without making sick." "Suits me," agreed Joe. "I feel like I could sleep for two or three days." "One of us had better stand guard, though," said Mr. Lewis. "That bandit caravan might return unexpectedly." "I'll do it," volunteered Dr. Kirshner. "I'm not sleepy. I'll just take it easy here and read." For the next three hours Bob and Joe slept soundly, forgetting that they were under a scorching desert sun. They were not tired, but were extremely drowsy from the heat. Then suddenly they were awakened with a start. They looked about wonderingly. Dr. Kirshner stood over them, holding his rifle in readiness. "The bandits!" he exclaimed excitedly. "I believe they're coming!" Mr. Holton and Mr. Lewis jumped to their feet and grabbed their guns. Cautiously they peered out, holding the flap but a few inches up. "Where are they?" demanded Bob's father, while Tishmak and Fekmah ran forward. "I'm not sure that it's they," the archæologist said. "But I heard camel steps a moment ago, and in this country it is best to investigate before it's too late." A second later Tishmak stopped still and listened. He held up a hand for silence. Fekmah had also caught a sound. "It's they," he whispered. "Camels! They're coming this way!" The swishing sound increased, and Dr. Kirshner called his friends together for a plan of defense. "Chances are those bandits were planning on surprising us while we slept," he said quietly. "They figured that the time to get the camels they wanted was during our afternoon siesta. But it apparently didn't occur to them that we would set a guard. "Now the thing for us to do is get together and give them a real welcome with bullets. They'll probably come around the back of the oasis, where our dromedaries are grazing. We'll go around there and hide beside that sand dune. Then when the robbers--and I think that's who the newcomers are--come, we'll fire a volley of bullets into the air. If we find we can't frighten them away, we'll shoot their camels from under them. Then if that fails, we'll have to shoot the men." The others thought this good advice. "We must act cautiously, though," warned Mr. Lewis, as they made their way to the back of the oasis. When they came to the dune, they crouched down and waited. Tishmak glanced around the corner. A moment later he drew back, his face scowling. He mumbled quietly to Fekmah. "They're coming," the latter said. "And they are the robbers." The swishing of footsteps grew louder, indicating that the Arabs were coming nearer. "Now!" said Mr. Lewis. "Fire in line, aiming at the sky. Then we'll see what happens." Seven rifles spoke up in rapid succession, a dense cloud of smoke arising. That the robbers had been totally surprised was certain, for a loud chattering followed. Then the sand was thrown up, and they rode off at lightning speed. Joe peeped around the corner of the dune. "They aren't going far," he announced, following the Arabs' movements closely. "They've stopped behind that sand hill over there." "By George!" exclaimed Mr. Holton. "They're going to plant a battery, are they? Well, just let them waste their ammunition. We won't fire until necessary." "We may need our bullets to use on those two thieves who stole Fekmah's map," said Bob to his chum, smiling. The explorers waited ten minutes for the robbers to take the aggressive, but they did not. "Well," said Dr. Kirshner, turning about, "I'm going over and get our things packed back on the dromedaries. If nothing prevents, we want to get started in a short time now. It is much cooler, and we should cover a good distance by night." "We'll stay here and guard a few minutes longer," declared Mr. Lewis. "There's no telling what those fellows may do." Suddenly a sound from the opposite direction caused them to turn about. Then their expressions changed. Not fifty feet down the slope were the robbers, riding at full speed toward the explorers. The Arabs had their rifles in position to fire, which they were undoubtedly intending to do when slightly nearer. "Quick!" cried Bob, his voice cool but determined. "Fire at them before they get us!" A moment later he took careful aim and pulled the trigger. His rifle cracked, and the foremost camel went down, sending its rider sprawling over the ground. Bang! came the sound of Mr. Lewis's gun, and another camel fell. The eight Arabs who were still mounted wheeled about and galloped back hurriedly. As quickly as possible they formed a wide line, one beside the other, until it stretched several rods. "They're going to charge!" observed Dr. Kirshner. "Have your rifles in position, and make every shot count." When the bandits were confident of their formation, their leader gave the command, and bending low over their camels, they dashed with all speed toward the explorers. Shots rang out from the Arabs' pistols, but they were too unsteady to cause any damage. The explorers' rifles spoke out, and those of Bob and the naturalists found their marks. Again the rifles cracked. Three more camels went down simultaneously. Now only two of the animals remained on foot, but they were halted abruptly by their panic-stricken riders. "Luckily we downed the leader," remarked Mr. Lewis. "And now," he added, "suppose we get away from here at once. There will be no danger of those men starving, for this oasis will furnish them with food and drink. They can wait for another caravan to furnish them with more camels." Without hesitation the party placed the packs back on the dromedaries and rode off, Tishmak in the van. A few pistol bullets whizzed past uncomfortably close, but soon they died down as the Arabs saw the futility of their efforts. "Whew! That was some experience," remarked Bob, when they were well out of sight of the oasis. "I hope we see no more such fellows." "And you're not the only one," said Dr. Kirshner, shaking his head. "But the desert swarms with bandits, and it will be strange if we don't have another such encounter." "Maybe we won't have such good luck the next time," mused Joe. "Nonsense!" Bob retorted. "We'll drive them off the same as we did these men." "But you got that wrong," corrected Mr. Holton, smiling. "They made _us_ get away." Bob looked a little sheepish as he saw where he had been caught. "Well, anyway," he grinned, "they didn't get us." As they plodded on, the sand became looser than ever before. The dromedaries, however, did not seem to notice the change. They plodded on with the same stiff steps. After two hours of constant traveling, the adventurers found themselves in a narrow valley between two high sand dunes. The country was gradually losing its level character and was steadily becoming more hilly. Suddenly Mr. Holton gave a cry of delight and pointed to something not far away. CHAPTER XII A Grim Discovery "What is it?" asked Bob, slow to catch sight of the object. "Gazelles," returned his father. "A small herd of them." In a moment the agile animals came running out in full view of all, their beautiful coats showing clearly in the bright sunlight. The creatures were about a hundred yards away, not any too near for an accurate shot, but the naturalists were much in desire of several as specimens. Their long-distance rifles were equipped with telescopes, making it much easier, according to the naturalists, to sight an object at a hundred yards or more. Bob's gun, however, did not have this convenience. Mr. Lewis prepared to take aim. "You take the animal to the extreme right, Howard," he said to Mr. Holton. "Bob, you pick the one in the middle, and I'll try to get one at the left. Tom," he said to Dr. Kirshner, "suppose you count to three. When you say three we'll all fire together. Let's go, now." "One, two, THREE." Bang! Three rifles spoke as one. Mr. Holton cried out in delight. "Hurrah!" he said. "Got all of the ones we aimed at. Good work." The report of the guns caused great disorder in the herd, the graceful creatures leaping about at a speed that did their thin, muscular legs full justice. Before long they had disappeared behind the sand dunes. "Now we'll ride over and see what the ones killed look like," said Mr. Lewis. As the dead gazelles were not in a direction that would take the explorers off their steady course, the pack camels were driven along also. When they reached the spot, Joe cried out in amazement at sight of the gazelles' sleek skin. It was of a yellowish brown color, and the abdomen was as white as snow. The legs were long and thin, narrowing down to a finely shaped hoof. "As beautiful an animal as one can find," declared Mr. Lewis, who with Mr. Holton had been everywhere and knew what he was talking about. "Two males and a female," observed Bob's father, noting the curved horns of the former. "Look at the eyes," said Joe. "They're almost jet black." The naturalists began at once the task of removing the skins, for it was best not to leave them on too long under such a sun. As soon as this was completed they were placed in a solution of alum that had been prepared by Dr. Kirshner under the naturalists' directions. "In our opinion, that's the best preservative there is," remarked Mr. Holton, "although there are many others in use." It required the better part of two hours to complete the task. The sun was just beginning to sink behind the distant mounds when they were ready to continue the journey. "Be dark before long," predicted Fekmah. "Then we will have to stop and wait for the moon. If you have not before traveled on desert under moon, you have much to see." They plodded continually on, Bob and Joe occasionally taking motion pictures. As the heat gradually became less intense, the youths felt a thrill of exultation run through their veins. Now there was nothing to worry about, no fierce sun to sweat under, no cares or anxieties to occupy their minds. Life--life on the boundless Sahara--seemed great. "The folks back home are sure missing something," smiled Bob. "Though I suppose a lot of them wouldn't care for doings of this kind." Slowly the darkness came. At last, when the little caravan was in a notch between two unusually high dunes, Tishmak called a halt and conversed with Fekmah. Then the latter turned to the Americans. "Tishmak says it is not thing to go on through darkness," he told them. "Might come on to something bad. We'll wait here for moon to come out, then go on." "Now's a good chance to get our suppers," said Dr. Kirshner, commanding his dromedary to lower. By the aid of flashlights a limited but satisfying meal was prepared on paper, and the adventurers all ate heartily. "Too bad there's nothing for the camels," said Mr. Lewis. "No need of worrying about them," returned Fekmah. "They can have no food or drink for good many days. Soon we come to region of thin vegetation. Then they eat." After the meal the explorers stretched out on the now cool sand, glad of a chance to rest their tired limbs. The constant jolting of the dromedaries had contributed much toward fatiguing them. "Now's the time when a coat comes in handy," said Bob, reaching into his bag on the camel's back. "Wait till dawn, if you want to see real cold weather," came from Dr. Kirshner. "Isn't that right, Fekmah?" The Arab nodded. "Temperature often gets down to thirty-five degrees," he said. Before long the moon came out in full splendor, flooding the vast expanse with enchanting light and creating a scene beautiful beyond description. The sand looked white all about, broken only by an occasional ripple caused by the wind. The brilliant moon was surrounded by a large white circle, which seemed to throw silver darts on the dunes. In the distance were groups of luminous clouds, whose ragged edges were transparent. It was a wonderful sight, and the explorers sat for some time as though transfixed. "Never saw anything like it in my life!" exclaimed Mr. Holton, his breath almost taken away by the magnificent spectacle. "Wonder if we're dreaming?" mused Joe, also fascinated. Fekmah and Tishmak had been out to witness such a spectacle before, but seemed to think no less of it. "I guess here's a case where familiarity doesn't breed contempt," laughed Mr. Lewis, his eyes on the Arabs. Bob got out the movie camera, intent upon taking several scenes that would be "really different." "Moonlight always makes a good impression on a motion-picture audience," remarked Joe. "And away out here on the Sahara--well, it'll seem wonderful!" Tishmak made signs that they move on, and the others were glad to do so. Since there was so much light, it would be easy to find their way. They were now in a region of high sand hills, with still no rocks other than the small bright-colored pebbles that were scattered about. Vegetation began to be more numerous in the form of _had_, _drinn_, and other plants, which were occasionally eaten by the dromedaries. "I wonder if Fekmah is sure he's headed right?" said Bob, as he and his friend again took their places at the end of the caravan. "He doesn't seem to be having any trouble yet," was the reply. "You remember he made another map from memory after the first one was stolen. Chances are he knows where he's going." "If he doesn't, we probably won't find the hidden riches," was Bob's return. They trudged on, up and down the sand hills, until about ten o'clock. Then Tishmak called a halt. "We camp here for night," announced Fekmah, after a short conference with the guide. "It not wise to go any farther tonight. We get a sleep; then start on in morning." "I was just thinking it's about time," laughed Dr. Kirshner. Tishmak had purposely picked out a deep gulch between the mounds as the stopping place. This would be a fair precaution against the nomad bandits who were reputed to be in this region. "Takes a guide to know what's best," remarked Bob, observing the high walls of sand all about them. "The country in this vicinity is so rough that a caravan wouldn't come anywhere near it, especially later on, when it will be pitch dark." The explorers dismounted and got out the tent. The poles were put up, and in a short time everything was in readiness for the night's sleep. "Curl up tightly in your blankets," advised Mr. Lewis, as he prepared to occupy a corner of the tent. "It will be very cold along toward dawn." "And will we sleep!" said Bob, throwing himself down in relaxation. Bob's prediction proved right. The boys enjoyed the deep slumber that only an explorer can experience. It was wholly unexpected that they be awakened at dawn by their elders. "It's a dirty trick!" grinned Joe, as his father urged him to fully awaken. "I know," the naturalist said sympathetically. "But we must be on our way before the sun gets so hot that traveling will be dangerous." But once up, it was easy to forget sleepiness and enjoy the early-morning air. "Talk about cold!" cried Joe, shivering in spite of the fact that he was wrapped in a heavy coat. "I'll bet the old mercury is down to thirty degrees." "Not quite that bad," laughed Dr. Kirshner, holding up a thermometer. "It's thirty-eight." "Even that is cold for the desert," said Bob. "I always had the impression that it is hot all the time." "There are some places that way," returned Mr. Lewis. "But certainly not the old Sahara." Mr. Lewis and Mr. Holton got out the provisions and began preparing the breakfast. "And while they're doing that, suppose we go up to the top of this mound," suggested Bob to his chum. "It's rather high. Maybe we can get a view of the country ahead of us." "Don't be gone long, boys," called Dr. Kirshner, as they made their way to the edge of the hill. The sand under their feet was, in many places, loose and unstable, but they found sufficient hard spots to make safe footholds. It was not a little difficult to estimate where they could safely climb higher. Perspiration was dripping from them when they at last reached the top and turned their gaze toward the horizon. A cry of astonishment came from Joe at the scene that was spread out before them. The dunes that stretched away in the distance were tinted with many colors, showing strangely in the early-morning light. Some were pink, others blue, still others green, while the ones farther away paled away into nothingness. "That's a new one on me," remarked Bob, highly puzzled. "I never expected anything like this." "Nor I. Wonder what causes it?" "Beyond me." They stood for some time gazing at the varicolored mounds. Then Joe turned about. "Better get back to camp," he suggested. "Breakfast may be ready." They were about to retrace their footsteps when they heard a rustling sound but a few feet away. "What's that?" muttered Bob, sensing that danger was at hand. The youths glanced around--and then shrank back in horror! CHAPTER XIII The Hideous Reptile "A horned viper!" exclaimed Bob fearfully, recognizing the long, sinister body that was coiled almost at their feet. "And it's going to strike!" cried Joe. "Get your pistol--quick! We'll both fire at it. Oh, how I wish we had our rifles!" The snake was preparing to lunge forward, its terrible head swaying slowly from side to side. Whether or not the fangs contained poison, the boys did not know, but they knew they could not take a chance. Neither Bob nor Joe was an outstanding shot with a revolver, and they felt rather panic-stricken as they raised the weapons and took aim. After a few seconds that seemed to the youths like hours, Bob pulled the trigger. A moment later the cold sweat burst out on his forehead, as he saw that he had missed. Before he could take another aim, the reptile would be upon him, a mass of scaly ferocity. Bang! Joe's pistol spoke out, and the bullet caught the snake in the neck, just as it was about to strike. Another shot from Joe's automatic struck in a vital spot. The fiendish head turned violently, then fell to the ground with a thud. The tail twitched about momentarily, and as life passed out, the horrible body lay still. It was some time before Bob and Joe could regain their natural peace of mind, for the strain had been great. Their hearts were beating rapidly from the unusual mental exertion. "A narrow escape!" breathed Joe, putting his gun back in its holster. "Thanks to you, old boy, we came out alive," praised Bob, giving his friend an affectionate pat on the back. "It was your coolness and determination that sent those bullets in the right place. I was too nervous, I guess." "But say," began Joe, turning aside the commendation of his friend, "our dads might want this fellow as a specimen. Do you suppose they would? Those bullets didn't shatter it as a rifle cartridge would have." The youths were not particularly anxious to handle the long, scaly body, but they felt it their duty to do all they could for their fathers. "What say we take it to the edge of the hill and roll it down?" suggested Bob. "The way is gradual and there are no protruding crags to tear it." "All right. We never can carry it without falling ourselves." The reptile was pushed over the side of the dune, and the boys made their way down. They slid more than climbed, but reached the bottom uninjured. Mr. Lewis came out to meet them, on his face a look of anxiety. "What kept you so long?" he asked. "That over there," replied Joe, pointing to the snake, which lay but a few feet away. The naturalist ran over to it. Then he straightened up in surprise. "A horned viper," he pronounced. "Where'd you find it?" Bob related the narrow escape at the top of the dune, not forgetting to point out Joe's part in killing the reptile. When he had finished, Mr. Lewis shook his head gravely. "Never leave camp without your rifles," he warned them. "In a strange land anything is likely to happen." During breakfast the youths' experience with the viper was the chief topic for conversation. Tishmak looked at the boys with a new respect as he heard the account of their daring deed. As soon as the morning meal was over, the tent and provisions were packed back on the dromedaries, and the explorers continued their journey. "How much ground did we probably cover yesterday?" asked Dr. Kirshner of Fekmah, as they followed a narrow way between the rolling sand dunes. "At least a hundred miles," the Arab answered. "Perhaps many more. Dromedaries trot rather rapid." "Then, at that rate, it shouldn't take us so very long to reach the Ahaggaras, should it?" asked Joe, who with Bob had not yet taken his place at the end of the caravan. "No. But something could keep us back. Maybe storm, or could be bandits. Never know about that." As the explorers moved on, they occasionally saw small animals and birds. The naturalists were constantly on the lookout, shooting any creature that came within range of their guns. Among the victims of their marksmanship were desert larks, rats, hares, lizards, and a small animal called the ferrec. Bob and Joe kept their time occupied in taking motion pictures of the country they were passing through. By the time that their caravan had stopped for the midday meal, the boys had "rolled off" a good many hundred feet of film. "Here's hoping our moving pictures here prove to be as successful as those that we took in Brazil," said Joe, as he took out a bag of rations from a camel's pack. "If they do, the Neuman Film Corporation may give us a job on every future expedition we might make with our dads," came from Bob. Thus far the day's traveling had not yet brought them to an oasis. Tishmak informed them that water would probably not be found until late the next night. The containers, however, held a large supply, making it unnecessary for the explorers to worry. "It's a good thing the dromedaries don't need it often," said Mr. Lewis, as he went about preparing the meal. "Four or five days is often enough for them," put in Mr. Holton. "They can go much longer than that, but it isn't wise to risk it." It was about eleven o'clock, the time advisable to begin the usual afternoon rest. Bob and Joe were glad of the chance to escape the heat of the fierce sun. Even in the morning it was too hot for comfort, although nothing compared to the baking atmosphere of the afternoon. The youths were tanned so dark as to resemble Arabs. "Funny," smiled Joe. "Back in the United States we fellows wanted to get burned by the sun. Here we try to keep out from under it." "All goes to prove that circumstances alter cases," laughed Dr. Kirshner. The tent was again pitched, and the meal eaten. This time, however, water was used sparingly. The adventurers did not wish to run the risk of getting dangerously short. It was thought best to set a guard again while the others slept or idly rested on the cool sand. Mr. Holton took the job, sitting in the shade of the tent facing the resting dromedaries. "Chances are nothing will turn up, though," he said, and proved to be right. Sharply at three o'clock Dr. Kirshner was up stretching himself and suggesting that they continue the journey. "It isn't the thing to wait too long," he reminded his friends, "even if we are drowsy. By night we want to have covered another hundred miles or more. I'm especially anxious to reach the mountainous region and see what I can find in the way of records of ancient peoples who might have lived there before the desert became a desert," he added, laughing. The others were more than willing to start on. When sleepiness or drowsiness threatened to overpower them at the wrong time, the thought of the two thieves who had stolen Fekmah's map spurred them on to action. "I don't know that it is necessary to set a guard while we take our afternoon rests," remarked Fekmah casually, as they packed the tent back in its place for the journey. The Americans looked at him wonderingly. "The dromedaries will give us warning," he explained. "They are much uneasy if stranger come near camp. They jump up and make noise." "A bit like watchdogs, are they?" said Mr. Holton. "Well, we'll give them a tryout the next time." They again took up the journey, winding in and out among the rolling sand hills. Occasionally they would come to a dune several hundred feet high. They seemed to be gradually mounting higher, for the camels did not move as rapidly as before. Vegetation increased still more, giving the dromedaries an opportunity to nibble often on the various plants and shrubs. A few scattered trees began to be seen, their sharp thorns protruding threateningly. "Camels don't bother with thorns," remarked Bob. "They know just where to take a mouthful without cutting their mouths." "And they aren't particular about their diet, either," Joe added, remembering what Fekmah had told him some time before. "Leather, paper, wood--almost anything will satisfy their appetites." At last they came to the region of high sand dunes that were visible the day before. Many of the hills towered five and six hundred feet, and a few were much higher than that. The explorers were lucky in finding a narrow lane that passed between the mounds. How long the good fortune would continue, they did not know. "Getting to look more like the dunes in Indiana, back in the United States," remarked Joe. "But of course these stretch a hundred times as far." In some places the ground was hard and brittle, while in others it was strewn with loose sand. At last the lane stopped, and the adventurers found themselves face to face with a high hill. "Guess we'll have to climb it," said Mr. Holton, looking about. "There is no other way out. The sand seems to be hard and safe enough. And it could be a great deal steeper." "Let dromedaries go slowly," cautioned Fekmah. "Do not hurry them." They began the dangerous ascent, keeping their eyes glued to the ground. Slowly the camels trudged up, feeling their steps carefully. They were almost to the top when suddenly the ground gave way from under Joe's dromedary. The animal fell to its knees, struggled for a moment, and fell backward. With a wild shout Joe plunged from the animal's back and went rolling helplessly down the hill! CHAPTER XIV Falling Helplessly Down the steep slope Joe went, powerless to catch himself. There were no shrubs or stalks to grip, no hard soil to cling to. His mind was in a whirl. Where would he land? How far had he yet to go? He comforted himself in the thought that there were no rocks or tree trunks to dash against, but if the soil at the bottom of the hill happened to be hard, his doom might be sealed. Already he could feel the jar and pain of suddenly coming to an abrupt stop on unyielding ground. Down, down he went, past the pack camels that were still slowly climbing the steep side of the mound, lucky enough to have been missed by the falling camel. Joe caught a momentary glimpse of his own dromedary, which was also rolling rapidly down. Suddenly he felt a severe jar and gradually came to a stop in the soft sand at the foot of the dune. A moment later he glanced up fearfully, as he saw his dromedary coming down at him with lightning rapidity. He tried to rise and dash to one side, but his feet failed to respond to his efforts. They had been numbed by the jar of striking the ground. The falling camel was almost upon him now. Something must be done at once! Summoning all his strength, he threw his body to the right of the oncoming animal. It was an act of desperation, and he felt sure that it would fail. But a moment later there was a rush, the sound of swishing sand, and the animal whisked past, stirring up a dense cloud of fine soil. Joe gave a sigh of relief and for a brief period sank back down on the sand, as though waiting for his strength to be restored. Then he was up, looking for the fallen camel. It had come to a stop in a drift of loose sand and appeared to be uninjured. But it was snorting and kicking furiously, its anger visibly heightened to a high degree. Joe ran over to it and attempted to give aid, but the furious dromedary kicked at him in a rage. Mr. Lewis and Bob came running down, finding footholds with difficulty. "Wait!" cautioned the naturalist. "Don't hurry the camel. Let him take his time. His fit of anger will be over in a few minutes," and then added: "That was some fall! We were afraid you'd be hurt seriously. No bones broken, are there?" "I guess not," Joe replied. "Just shaken up a bit. I'm afraid the dromedary is hurt more than I. Don't see what could prevent it." "You may be right," his father said solemnly. "We'll find out in a minute." Before long the animal's anger lessened, and it tried to rise. But its legs refused to move, despite the frantic efforts. Mr. Lewis's face took on an expression of anxiety. He bent down and felt of the struggling legs. Then he straightened up and shook his head hopelessly. "Broken," he muttered in a tense voice. "Two legs are broken." "What!" cried Mr. Holton, who, along with the others, had managed to scramble down the hill. "Look for yourselves," Mr. Lewis said gravely. "The camel's weight was too great to come continually against the rather fragile limbs, and the hind ones snapped in two." The explorers' faces were greatly sobered by the dread discovery. Now there was but one thing to do. The unfortunate beast must be left to die a slow and torturing death. There was no other way out, for the legs could not be set, and the beast could not be taken on. Mr. Holton unstrapped his rifle from his shoulder. "I'm going to put an end to it," he said with a sudden decision. "It seems only humane, for otherwise death will come slowly and horribly." He walked over to a small elevation along the side of the dune, while his friends moved away to a safe distance. After a moment of careful aim, he pulled the trigger. The high-velocity bullet sped true, penetrating the brain. There was but one spasmodic movement; then the camel rolled over, dead. For some time the explorers were silent. It was not pleasant to see the useful dromedary come to such an end. Finally Joe began the ascent of the dune. "It'll seem strange without that camel," he said. "How will I manage to have a mount?" "You'll have to take one of the pack animals," returned Dr. Kirshner. "We'll divide the supplies among the others and get along some way. If we do the right kind of scheming, I don't believe the other camels will notice the extra load." It was difficult work climbing the treacherous slope of the dune. Many times their feet would scarcely find a foothold when the sand would give way, making it necessary for them to sprawl out or clutch one another in order to prevent rolling down. At last they reached the top and began dividing the provisions among nine of the ten pack dromedaries. It required over an hour to complete the task, for it was difficult to find places for all their belongings. "Now you may find it hard to get used to the strange camel," said Mr. Holton, as Joe straddled the kneeling animal. "He may act up and threaten to throw you, but stick to it. It won't take long to show him you mean business." "He's been broken in some," remarked Fekmah. "Though it may been good time since he had rider." Much to their surprise the dromedary responded to Joe's commands at once, resigning himself over to his new master. "And am I glad!" the youth exclaimed, as the little caravan prepared to resume the journey. "That's rather an exceptional piece of luck," smiled Mr. Holton. "Usually it takes a good while for a camel to get used to its new rider." The explorers continued the journey, although they realized that they could cover but a few more miles before dark. Already the sun was beginning to sink behind the distant hills, tinting the dunes many colors. "Didn't get as far today as we did yesterday," observed Bob, as the boys waited for Tishmak to find a suitable stopping place. The guide found the place he wanted between two large dunes, which were spread out over a large amount of ground. "Tishmak say we wait here and get supper," said Fekmah, after a moment of conversation in the native tongue. "Then when moon come out, we go on and try to make up for lost time." "That suits me," agreed Dr. Kirshner. "Almost anything would satisfy my appetite right now." The explorers dismounted and prepared the meal, which after the strenuous hours of constant traveling tasted delicious. Then they sat quietly in the semidarkness. At last the moon came out, and the desert was again seen to take on a new appearance. The sand was even more beautiful than the night before, white as it was from the soft light. Tishmak motioned for the adventurers to mount their dromedaries and get under way. If they expected to get over much more territory, it would be necessary to hurry. "Here's hoping we can come up to our hundred-mile minimum," said Joe, urging his camel to trot faster. It was nearly ten o'clock when they finally stopped for the night's slumber. Fekmah was well satisfied with the distance they had made that day. "Tomorrow we will come to Tudemait Plateau," he said, after conversing with Tishmak. "It is a rocky region, with large black boulders." "Then we won't see any more sand dunes?" asked Bob. "No. The country will be rather level, but we will have to go many kilometers out of way to avoid rocks." "That'll suit me," put in Joe. "I'm tired of seeing nothing but sand." That night they trusted to good fortune and did not set a guard. Tishmak informed them that there was little danger of robbers in that region, and the alertness of the camels would be an added precaution. "We are nearing the country of the Tuaregs," explained Fekmah. "These natives are friendly, but drive away nomad robbers. We probably be safe tonight." And they were. The next morning they had completely regained their natural liveliness and pep, feeling thoroughly refreshed and ready for anything the day might bring. Breakfast over, the long journey was resumed. As Tishmak had predicted, the country gradually began to change. The sand dunes that had recently been high slowly became smaller and lower, and vegetation increased still more. Small rocks were everywhere, their color a dark gray or black. In the distance the sharp crags of the Tudemait Plateau could be seen. As the explorers neared a low long mound, Tishmak's dromedary suddenly halted and sniffed nervously. A moment later the animals of the other explorers also came to a stop. "What's this!" exclaimed Mr. Lewis, looking about wonderingly. "Guess they heard something," said Dr. Kirshner. "What it was, we'll see in a moment. They have an uncanny power of detecting noises that we men can't catch." Tishmak unstrapped his rifle and motioned for the others to do likewise. "Wonder if it's bandits," muttered Joe, holding his gun in readiness. The sound of camels' footsteps now reached the adventurers' ears. Then from behind a hill appeared a long trading caravan of Arabs, who also had their rifles in readiness. Tishmak rushed forward, throwing his hands apart in a gesture of friendliness. He was followed by Fekmah and the others. As soon as the Arabs saw that the whites meant no harm, they stopped and talked freely. Much to Dr. Kirshner's delight, he could understand the men easily, their language differing greatly from that of Tishmak. The Americans learned that the caravan was on its way to Wargla, loaded with a large supply of dried dates, grapes, and many other products of the desert oases. It was made up of over seven hundred camels, which were in a line several miles long. "Look at the leader," said Joe to his chum, referring to the head camel. "It's decorated with about as many colors as there are." "Want to make a good showing," smiled Bob. "From what I've heard, a caravan is judged by how well the first camel is engulfed by colors." Much as the explorers would have liked to talk with the Arabs, they did not stop long. Time was too valuable to be wasted, especially when they were literally running a race with the two thieves who had stolen Fekmah's map. But before they left, Bob and Joe took motion pictures of the caravan at several distances. Especially were the youths pleased by the friendly attitude of the Arabs when the camera was held before them. "Doubt if they know what it's all about," smiled Bob. "But that doesn't keep the pictures from being good." "Wouldn't they be surprised if they could see themselves on the screen!" laughed Joe. "They'd probably think something supernatural was taking place." With a cheery farewell the American expedition left the Arabs at the head of the trading caravan and again took up the journey. But it required nearly a half-hour to pass the last of the pack camels, which were guarded at intervals of every fifty animals by an armed Arab. "Seven hundred camels is a good many," remarked Bob, as the youths rode at the rear of their own pack animals. "Their owner must have a good bit of money." "Many of those Arabs are wealthy, I guess," said Joe. "Fekmah said some have as many as two thousand camels." As the explorers moved on, they saw other signs of small game. Occasionally Mr. Holton and Mr. Lewis displayed their skill with a rifle by shooting creatures from a great distance. "Seems to be getting a little darker," remarked Joe, as they descended into a little valley. "Darker? Couldn't be." Then, as Bob gazed ahead at the opposite slope, he uttered an exclamation of bewilderment. "It _is_ getting darker!" he cried. "Why--why, it's impossible. Dark at nine in the morning! Something's wrong somewhere!" A second later Mr. Holton rode up to the boys anxiously. "Get out your goggles!" he directed them. "We seem to be riding into a fog of black dust. Tishmak thinks we may have to stop for the day." CHAPTER XV As Guests of Heathens "What!" cried Bob excitedly. "Stop for the day! We--we can't. Our time is worth too much!" The naturalist laughed unwillingly. "This time it's a question of what we have to do," he said dryly. "If the blackness increases, it will be suicide to plunge through it with so many rocks and walls of stone near." The boys and Mr. Holton rode on up to the front of the caravan, where Tishmak and Fekmah were visibly moved with fear. The darkness was becoming more intense with every minute. Soon the explorers could not see one another. "It might be well to get off our dromedaries," suggested Mr. Lewis. "If this is to continue long, it won't pay to remain mounted." "This is likely to mean a loss of several hours," said Fekmah gravely. "Then again, the fog of dust might pass away in but few minutes." "Worst thing about it is the difficulty to breathe," pointed out Dr. Kirshner. "Tragedy has been known to come upon caravans in this manner." It was indeed stifling, but the adventurers managed to get air through the dust. They feared every minute that time would bring about an impossibility to breathe. Much to their relief, that dread moment did not come, and after a half-hour the blackness gradually thinned out until it again became light. "Thank goodness!" breathed Mr. Lewis. "Now let's get on our way again." Still more the country was changing. The rocks became more jagged, taking on many shapes and forms. Small trees and plants became more abundant, causing the region to resemble certain areas of the American desert. And along with this plant life came numerous traces of wild animals. "Wish we would run across a fox," said Joe. "I'm anxious to shoot anything." "Probably will," returned Bob. "I guess there are not only foxes but jackals and other small game. There should be much more here than in the sandy section." The party stopped at eleven o'clock for the meal and midday rest. This time the dromedaries alone were to be the guards, for they had already proved their efficiency in detecting unusual noises. At two they were again on their way, climbing a gentle slope widespread with sharp rocks. "Seems strange to get away from the sand dunes," remarked Bob. "It hardly is like a desert now." As they passed up a rocky hill, Fekmah called a halt. "We have come to the Tudemait Plateau," he announced, getting out the map that he had made from memory. "That sharp peak in the distance is one of the landmarks. Now we pass through this plateau for rest of today and part of tomorrow; then come to another sandy stretch." "Then what?" inquired Mr. Holton. "Get to Ahaggar Mountains," the Arab replied. "We have to follow compass more close from now on, because must see peak called Illiman. Then we know we near treasure." "And here's hoping those two thieves haven't gotten there first and taken everything away," said Joe. That afternoon they came to a small well and refilled their containers, which were beginning to get low. Despite the fact that the water was exceedingly warm, it was greatly welcomed by the explorers. A high hill was before them, and Bob suggested that they climb to the top afoot and make out the character of the land ahead of them. The others were in favor of doing so, for Fekmah might catch sight of something that would be recognized as a landmark on the map. The climb was tiresome but easy, the many boulders offering footholds. Finally they reached the top and turned their gaze toward the horizon. "What's that 'way over there?" asked Joe, pointing to a narrow valley walled closely by high rocks. Mr. Lewis and Mr. Holton had their binoculars strapped over their shoulders. They took them out and peered into the distance. Suddenly Mr. Holton started. "It's a village!" he exclaimed, and Mr. Lewis nodded. "A village of Arabs. Look at the low huts of sun-baked mud," handing the binoculars to Fekmah. "Yes," said Fekmah, gazing out through the glasses. "Suppose we go over there and see them. They treat us all right. It not take much of our time." "All right," returned Dr. Kirshner. "I'm anxious to make a casual study of them. They might have some primitive implements that belonged to their remote ancestors." The adventurers made their way down the hill and mounted their camels. Then they rode off toward the distant valley. It was a good distance away, and perhaps hard of access, but the explorers were determined to find it. In less time than they had expected, they came to a spot that would probably afford an opening into the valley. For a few minutes they wound in and out among the rocks. Then they came within sight of the village. A crowd of Arabs ran out to meet them, uttering hearty greetings. It was evident that expeditions rarely passed within sight of their dwellings, for they were very excited. Tishmak and Fekmah conversed with the people in a very friendly manner and then introduced the others of the American expedition. Dr. Kirshner and the naturalists found it almost impossible to understand the language, and they were satisfied with Fekmah's translations. "A good chance to take some movies," said Bob, getting out the camera. "Don't suppose the Arabs would object," added Joe. "At any rate, we'll risk it." The youths cranked off several scenes of the Arabs and their village. It was clear to the explorers that the people had never seen a motion-picture camera before. The strange purring box was an object of curiosity, and they crowded around like so many children. To the Americans, these people were of great interest. The men and women dressed almost alike, in a long, white robe that reached to the ankles. A tight-fitting cloth was wound around the head, and the back of the neck was protected from the sun by a black veil. They were of a naturally swarthy complexion, which was still further darkened by the fierce desert heat. "Not very pleasant to look at," said Bob to his chum. "But they sure are giving us a hearty welcome." "That's probably because they're so unused to seeing strangers," Joe remarked. "Nearly all friendly natives are that way." The Arabs led the explorers into the main part of the village, where there was a large open space before the chief's, or sheik's, hut. Suddenly the head native stopped and pointed to a distant large rock. He babbled animatedly to Tishmak and Fekmah, whose faces took on a look of disgust. "Sheik say over there is a place where they bury those guilty of witchcraft," Fekmah explained to the Americans. "They put to a terrible death, and then their bones taken over there." Mr. Holton shook his head repulsively. "Ignorance is the root of evil," he said. "These people are even worse off than the Negroes of the Congo. They so infrequently come into contact with civilization that they have degenerated into a state of almost nothingness." "With even more respect for Fekmah and Tishmak, the Arabs in many remote sections of the Sahara are a bloodthirsty, treacherous, and immoral people," put in Dr. Kirshner. "They do not at all compare with their brothers in Algiers and other places nearer the coast." Fekmah nodded. "Praise be to Allah that I was not born here," he muttered. The sheik invited the explorers to stay for dinner, but Fekmah politely refused, saying that they must hurry on. "We have many miles to go yet," he told them in the native tongue. "If we are to get far today we must be going now." The explorers left the village for their camels, the Arabs shouting warm farewells. "Professor Bigelow ought to be here," smiled Joe, referring to a famous anthropologist who had accompanied them on their expedition in Brazil. "Wouldn't he be tickled," laughed Mr. Lewis. "But then--maybe he's already been here. He has been about everywhere else studying primitive people." Soon the adventurers were out of the narrow valley, again taking up the journey. They were glad to get started again, welcoming any new sight in the way of oddly shaped rocks, deep valleys, and other formations of nature. Darkness was rapidly falling, but they kept traveling until it became impossible to see ahead. Then Tishmak held up his hand for them to stop. Again they waited for the moon, not continuing the trip until it came out. "Tonight we must make up for the lost time at village," said Fekmah. "We can stand to stay up an hour later." It was not until eleven o'clock that they finally came to a stop in a wild, rocky region. The tents were put up for the night. The next morning the explorers were barely up when Joe happened to notice something crawling toward him as he sat near the tent. He was up in a moment, looking about fearfully. "A scorpion!" he cried excitedly. CHAPTER XVI Steady Aim The creature that was slowly moving toward Joe was as large as his hand, with long, powerful legs that were doubled ready to spring. And Joe well knew what that spring would mean. The youth viewed the hideous scorpion with a terrible awe, fearing to move lest it become angered and charge. What was he to do? He knew he could not get up in time, for his terrible enemy would be upon him. Yet if he should remain sitting, he would surely feel the hairy mass upon him in a very few seconds. Slowly Joe reached into his holster for his pistol. He was a poor shot with such a weapon, but the chance had to be taken. Still there was a possibility that he might kill the huge spider by throwing the gun at it. With a sudden movement the youth drew out the automatic and carefully but hurriedly threw it with all his strength. Then his heart sank as he saw the gun whiz past the scorpion and roll across the hard ground. The sudden movement angered the creature still more, and it crouched as if to charge. Suddenly, as a last resort, Joe sprang to his feet and dodged to one side, just as the scorpion left the ground. As the result the charge was unsuccessful, the huge spider alighting several feet to the youth's left. The next moment Joe was in the tent, looking about nervously. He picked up his rifle and dashed back outside. The scorpion was slowly crawling toward the entrance to the tent when Joe took careful aim and fired. His aim was true. The small bullet caught the creature squarely, shattering it into pulp, which flew in several directions. After watching the remains of the scorpion for a moment, Joe turned about, to find Dr. Kirshner and Bob standing beside him with small rifles. "That was a wonderful shot, Joe," praised the archæologist. "Bob and I happened to have our rifles and would have taken a shot at the scorpion if you had missed." "So you saw, did you? Well, I don't mind saying that I was frightened stiff for a few minutes. Thought sure I was a goner." He was forced to tell of the entire experience, and in the end his listeners looked grave. "A very narrow escape," said Dr. Kirshner, who, along with the naturalists and Fekmah, had listened breathlessly. "Scorpions are terrible adversaries," said Mr. Holton soberly. "The fluid they inject is extremely poisonous! From now on we'll have to watch more closely." After breakfast the explorers continued on the dromedaries. They were to reach another stretch of sand dunes late that afternoon, Tishmak told them. "Sand hills will seem good after these endless miles in the Tudemait Plateau," remarked Joe. "But there won't be any shade, and there is a little here from the rocks." "Wait till we get to the Ahaggars, if you want shade," smiled Mr. Lewis. "Some of that region resembles the mountainous part of Arizona. There are deep ravines, narrow valleys, high peaks, unknown caves, and many other remarkable phenomena of nature." "That is where our journey comes to an end, isn't it?" asked Bob. "Yes. In the southern part of the Ahaggar range. Thus far, Fekmah hasn't had much need of the map, because he has directed us more by compass. But when we see the mountains, it will be necessary for him to consult it frequently. Whether or not it will prove accurate, made from memory as it was, we have yet to see." The way now led through a dry river valley, which wound through the many black rocks. Some of the rugged hills near by towered to two and three thousand feet, their perpendicular sides gray or deep black. There was sparse vegetation, but a few gum trees were scattered about over the hard soil. Tishmak had informed them that they would come to a well some time that afternoon. The water, he said, would be very cool, for it came from far underground. "I'd like to see that Land of Thirst you were talking about," remarked Joe to Fekmah, as the Arab mentioned the well of cool water that lay ahead of them. "It must be an interesting region." Fekmah shook his head. "Caravans avoid it much as can," he said grimly. "Too much danger of falling dead. Then, too, it is supposed to be inhabited by evil spirits." "Evil spirits?" "Yes. Superstitious natives near there never see parts of it. I much glad we not have to go through it, because we sure to get very much thirsty." Shortly after the explorers had passed around a large hill they heard camel steps from behind a sharp corner in the river bed. "Quick!" directed Dr. Kirshner. "Let's hide in back of these rocks. It may be more bandits." The adventurers drove their dromedaries out of sight and then followed, looking about cautiously. The sound of footsteps grew louder, and soon a small caravan of natives came into view, looking very strange indeed with their faces tightly covered with black veils. "Tuaregs!" exclaimed Dr. Kirshner, who had made a study of the peoples in the Sahara. "Tuaregs at last!" He rode out from behind the place of hiding and shouted a friendly greeting in their own language. The people at once called back and moved on up to the archæologist. "Guess we might as well go out," smiled Mr. Holton, urging his camel to move forward. Soon the others joined Dr. Kirshner, who seemed to be having no trouble in understanding the people. "They live in the Ahaggars," explained the archæologist, after a few minutes of conversing with them. "They're on their way north to In Salah. That's a town of considerable importance." The natives did not stop long, and the American expedition was also anxious to be going. "I didn't know Tuaregs were found this far north," said Mr. Lewis, as the people disappeared from view. "Their home is in the lower Ahaggars, and they seldom ever, if what I've heard is true, wander far away." The explorers stopped before noon for the meal and rest. Then, at two o'clock, they continued on their way, anxious to leave the plateau behind. Suddenly, as they gradually ascended a long grade, an agile form darted out to one side of Bob's dromedary, its red coat showing brightly in the sunlight. "A fox!" Bob exclaimed and raised his rifle to his shoulder. Glancing along the sights, he pulled the trigger. There was a howl of pain as the bullet struck the animal broadside. Another howl; then silence. "You got him!" cried Joe, delighted. "A big specimen, too," declared Mr. Lewis, getting out his knife. The animal was carefully but rapidly skinned and the hide placed in the solution of preservative. "Already we have a large number of specimens," said Mr. Holton, as they left the skinned body behind. "And we hope to see a good many other animals and birds as we pass on." Late that afternoon the adventurers came to the well that Tishmak had told about, and found the water very cool. It reached the surface in a shady spot among the many high rocks. All drank with a thirst that came from long traveling in a dry, hot region. Bob and Joe especially welcomed it, the latter declaring it better than flavored beverages. "That's right," agreed Mr. Holton. "One can drink many things, but water is, after all, the old stand-by." When the containers were filled, the explorers rested in the shade of the rocks. There was something about that spot that made them hesitate to leave it behind. Perhaps it was the cool water, or it might have been the wall-like formations of stone all about. Finally Tishmak got up and mounted his dromedary, motioning for the others to follow suit. All the remainder of that afternoon they trudged on over the Tudemait Plateau. Slightly to their surprise, they had not yet reached the region of sand that lay at the south of the plateau. Fekmah especially was very restless, saying that he could not understand why the rocky region had not been left behind shortly after the midday rest. "It supposed to be only about a hundred and seventy kilometers [about one hundred miles] across, and we have traveled at least that far," he said, very much perplexed. "Perhaps we have followed the arc of a circle," suggested Mr. Lewis. "Suppose you ask Tishmak." The guide was also in the dark, not being able to give an explanation. "Well," said Bob, "it might be well to keep going awhile longer. We'll surely come to the sandy region before long." The others thought this good advice, but late that evening they were still on the plateau. They retired that night with high hopes that the morning would bring good fortune. During the last few hours they had had an uneasy feeling that their efforts to find the region of sand were in vain. The next day they were off early, after a hurried breakfast. "We'll get out of these rocks some time this morning," predicted Mr. Lewis with a smile. And he was right. Gradually the boulders they passed grew smaller and the soil more loose. By the time they had stopped for the noon meal they were again among sand dunes. The heat was now terrific. If it had been warm before, it was scorching now. Everywhere they went they were under the blaze of the fierce sun. How the camels managed to keep from burning their feet was a mystery to the youths. Their throats were parched, their tongues numb. Water, water! If they could only drink and drink and drink! But only small amounts were allowed to be taken, for this region was many, many miles across, and there was no well or oasis anywhere near their path of traveling. "If we have much more of this I'm afraid I'll fall off my camel," said Bob with a grim smile. "Not quite that bad off, are you?" laughed Dr. Kirshner. "Dying of thirst is a rare occurrence in this part of the Sahara. But it does happen sometimes, and it is a tragic death indeed." "Worst thing is," explained Mr. Holton, "there is a time when the victim of thirst would die should he touch water. In that case, water is virtually a poison." The sand hills that they were passing over were much lower than those in the country below Wargla. The desert stretched away to the horizon in endless waves, which, as far as the travelers could see, were unbroken. Vegetation was scarce, only a scattering of yellow plants dotting the dunes. This promised to be a disadvantage to the dromedaries, for previously they had occasionally nibbled on the trees and shrubs that were clustered about. "Look at the sky," said Joe, turning his gaze upward. "Funny color, isn't it?" Bob returned. Then, as he peered into the distance, he uttered an exclamation of surprise and fear. But the others had seen also and were equally as excited. Away to their right a heavy mist had risen and was rapidly turning reddish. "A sandstorm!" cried Fekmah in great anxiety. "A sandstorm is coming!" CHAPTER XVII Moments of Horror The explorers, particularly Tishmak, knew the danger of a sandstorm. It was not infrequent for large caravans to be completely engulfed by the heavy veil of sand, leaving only the dead bodies of the camels and their riders. The Americans remembered a tale that Fekmah had told them about a trading caravan of five hundred dromedaries coming to a tragic end in this region. Would their little caravan also perish? "Get your goggles," commanded Fekmah, his tone indicating that he was calm even in the face of danger. "And be sure they fit tightly!" warned Dr. Kirshner. "Even then we'll get some of the sand." The atmosphere was rapidly becoming extremely dry and hot, and at intervals a fierce wind brought minute particles of sand into the explorers' faces. "Now," began Fekmah, after conversing briefly with the guide, "we must get dromedaries in group, so they not get fright and run away. Then we crouch down behind them." The camels were drawn up together and fastened in a circle with ropes. "It might be wise to put up our tent, mightn't it?" asked Mr. Lewis, but Fekmah shook his head vigorously. "No, no," he said. "Then we get in trap and not get out. If sand very heavy, we want to be in open." The dense mist was thickening and spreading, until it soon covered the whole horizon. The sky in the distance was not visible for the heavy cloud of fine particles. The explorers got out blankets and wrapped themselves tightly. Even then, said Fekmah, the small bits of soil would get through to their skins. They had scarcely finished preparations when the first breaker suddenly came with all force, striking the adventurers in the face and penetrating the blanket. It was blinding, smothering, but they managed to get air and fought with a determination that was born of adventure. Crouching behind the sturdy dromedaries, they held their heads low to avoid as much of the fury of the storm as possible. It was with great difficulty that the camels kept their positions together, but they succeeded admirably. "Doesn't seem right for them to have to stop the sand for us," said Joe, shouting in order to make himself heard. "It's a shame," Bob shouted back. "But they can probably stand it better than we can." Slowly they found themselves enveloped in a heavy opaque atmosphere, so dense as to seem almost as a wall. The thought of being completely covered up was constantly in their minds, bringing about almost a feeling of despair. The burning wind was constantly lashing them in the face, until it seemed that they could stand it no longer. Indeed, if their heavy goggles had not been of unbreakable glass, the furious particles of sand would have smashed them in the explorers' eyes. Even as it was, some of the sand found its way in. "This is terrible!" moaned Joe. "Awful--simply----" He stopped suddenly, as his mouth became filled with sand. Another gust of wind had come, bringing with it an enormous quantity of the burning sand. The explorers' eyes were smarting, their lips were cracked and bleeding. They felt that they would smother. Nothing could have been worse, it seemed. They could hear the dromedaries snorting with fear and irritation. What if the brutes could not stand? Conversation was now impossible, for they dared not open their mouths for fear of swallowing some of the stinging sand. Even when they breathed, the fine particles filtered through the net that hung over their faces. The sky above was of a bright red color, and a weird light trickled through the fog of yellow. It was the most unusual happening that the Americans had ever witnessed. "If it just wasn't for this terrible wind!" muttered Mr. Holton, when there had come a slight lull. "Yes," agreed Fekmah. "Then it not be so hard to stand it." He had scarcely finished when another gust of hot sand struck them cruelly, making their faces sting anew. Suddenly Tishmak noticed that they were nearly engulfed in a heavy pile of sand. With a quick motion he drew himself out and drove the dromedaries to another spot. For a brief moment the explorers were exposed to the full violence of the storm. Then they again took places behind the newly located camels. "Not taking any chances on being covered up, are you?" said Dr. Kirshner to Tishmak. The latter did not understand the words, but he caught the meaning and smiled. How long the terrific onslaught of sand lasted, no one knew. They had lost all sense of time, and the heavy atmosphere completely hid the sun. It was only gradually that the terrible storm subsided, and then the air was exceedingly hot and dry, promising to remain that way for some time. Slowly the cloud of sand about them grew thin, until it finally cleared away completely. Now only an occasional hot wind annoyed them, but it was scarcely anything compared to the previous bombardment of sand. "No more of anything like that for me!" muttered Bob, as he worked his feet loose from the high pile that strove to bury him alive. The dromedaries, too, had their legs embedded in the sand so deeply that it required several minutes of constant digging to relieve them. "Suppose we rest awhile before going on," suggested Bob. "It has been a great strain for all of us, standing against that terrible rush of sand." The others readily agreed, and all thoughts of continuing the journey at once were dismissed from mind. "At least," Joe said, "we got out alive, and that's more than you can say of many caravans." "Yes," returned his father. "Perhaps under this very spot are the bones of men and camels that were not as lucky as we were." "That storm rather short lasting," remarked Fekmah, glancing at his watch. "Many times storm last several hours." Joe sighed. "I'd hate to have had to stand much more of it," he said. It was nearly noon, and the tent was pitched for the midday rest. All were very weary after the terrific strain. "Let's have our lunch," suggested Mr. Lewis. "I'm very hungry, and I'm sure everyone else is." The noon meal and rest followed, the explorers not continuing until after three o'clock. Late that afternoon they came to one of the largest uninhabited oases that they had yet seen. It was situated snugly on a narrow stretch between high dunes. "It's a wonder a small town hasn't sprung up around here," remarked Bob, drinking greedily of the refreshing water that gushed from the large spring. Dr. Kirshner nodded. "With all these palm trees and the abundance of water it is surprising," he said. "But I suppose there are so few people, even among the natives, who would live here that it wouldn't pay." The containers were hurriedly filled. "It might be well to stay here for the night," said Fekmah. "It is getting late, and we all need sleep very bad." He turned to Tishmak and put the question before him in the native language. The guide at once gave his approval, more than glad of the chance to stop. "He say he wanted to stay here for night, but thought we in big hurry," Fekmah told the Americans. "We are," returned Mr. Holton. "But here is a very good place to camp, and I think we'd better take advantage of the opportunity." The tent and provisions were unpacked from the camels, which seemed more than glad of the chance to relax. "Funny," remarked Mr. Lewis, "that camels don't care to lie in the shade when there is an opportunity. You would think the terrible sun would be avoided as much as possible, but that is not the case." "Either they like the heat or they are too lazy to move," said Joe. For some time the two youths sat with their elders. Then Bob got up and stretched. "Suppose you and I get on our dromedaries and ride over to that distant hill," he said to Joe, pointing away to the horizon. "I'd like to see what's beyond there. This seems to be very high ground, and we might get a view of the distant mountains from the top of that dune." "Be sure and take your rifles, boys," warned Mr. Lewis. "And don't stay too long." The boys slung their guns over their shoulders and rode off, waving to their friends. The hill that Bob referred to was at least a mile away, and the ground on the way was of loose sand. The boys urged their mounts to trot faster, however, and they would probably cover the distance in a very short time. "I wonder if we could get a glimpse of the Ahaggar Mountains?" said Joe. "Might. But you must remember that we are still a great distance away." As the boys had expected, they came to the hill in but a few minutes. It was very high and steep, but the soil was hard. The dromedaries had no difficulty in climbing steadily up. At last they came to the top and gazed out into the distance. "Look!" cried Joe. "The mountains! We can see them!" Sure enough, the Ahaggar range was visible, stretching miles and miles to either side. A few sharp peaks protruded high above the others, but for the most part the line of mountains was rather regular. "Suppose that high peak is Illiman?" asked Joe, pointing to a high crag that towered above the other mountains. "You mean the one Fekmah was talking about? It might be. He would know if he saw it, I suppose. And of course Tishmak would." The youths spent nearly a half-hour peering out at the mountains, greatly impressed by the wonderful view. "How far away do you suppose they are?" questioned Joe. "Fifty miles, at least; maybe more. It will probably take us another half-day to get to them." Finally the youths turned and rode back down the hill to tell their elders of the magnificent view. Fekmah particularly would be pleased, Joe thought. But the boys were not overly anxious to get back to the oasis at once. There were many other high sand dunes that they would like to ride over. "We won't stay much longer," said Bob. "Just ride around a bit." To their right was another high hill that might afford a view in another direction. The youths rode over to it and climbed the gradual side. Then, when they came to the top, they cried out in surprise and fear. In the distance appeared to be a whole regiment of galloping horsemen coming toward them! CHAPTER XVIII Savage Tribesmen For a moment the youths were taken completely aback in surprise. That they would see anything like this away out on the Sahara was not in the least expected. They stood for some time in sheer amazement and not a little fear. "An army coming at us!" muttered Bob, staring at the distant spectacle. "An army, yes. Must be five hundred cavalrymen." "But--but it can't be! It's impossible. What would soldiers be doing away out here on the desert? Something's seriously wrong somewhere. If just one of us should see such a thing it might indicate that the old brain wasn't working just right, but for you and I both----" "Come on," suggested Joe, giving his dromedary a slight kick. "Let's get out of here. I'm greatly worried." The youths turned their camels back to camp for a short distance; then they urged them on to a fast trot. They were not a little relieved when they finally reached the oasis, where they found their friends awaiting them. "Where have you been so long?" inquired Mr. Lewis, his face not a little serious. "We thought maybe something held you back," added Dr. Kirshner. "It did," replied Bob, trying to remain calm. The men sat up quickly, sensing that some misfortune had come upon the boys. "What was it?" demanded Mr. Holton tensely. "An army," Joe returned soberly. For a second there was silence. Then the men broke out in laughter. Evidently they thought the youths were joking. Even Fekmah joined in, his dark features drawn together in mirth. "Nothing to laugh at," said Joe, vexed because the men thought their experience funny. "It nearly scared Bob and me out of our wits." Mr. Holton grew more serious. "Come, now," he said. "Tell us what you mean." Joe told of seeing the phenomenon from the top of the hill, saying that there appeared to be at least five hundred horsemen coming toward them. When he had finished, the naturalists and Dr. Kirshner jumped up in wonder and not a little fear, but Fekmah only laughed. "W-what's humorous!" demanded Mr. Lewis, greatly perplexed. "Everything," said Fekmah, laughing still harder. "What the young men saw was only an illusion or mirage. There no army on Sahara. Only look like army." "You mean it was a trick of nature, like the more common mirages of lakes on the desert?" asked Dr. Kirshner with great interest. "Yes," the Arab answered. "Caused by the bending of the rays of light when they strike the hot sand." "Well, that's a new one on me!" confessed Bob. "I was aware of the fact that mirages of lakes are common, but that I should see an army----" It was now rapidly becoming dark. The explorers thought it best to sleep all through the night and not wait for the moon, for they greatly needed the rest. "Tomorrow morning I'd like to see that mirage that you boys thought was an army," said Mr. Holton, when they prepared to retire. "And I, too," put in Dr. Kirshner. "As it isn't out of our way, we can all ride over there." "It'll be a good chance to take some motion pictures," said Bob. "A scene as unusual as that is sure to attract the curiosity of an audience." Tishmak informed them that they would be out of this short sand stretch early the next morning. Then they would come into the Ahaggar Mountains, the real home of the mysterious Tuaregs. "And I expect to begin my work in this region," announced Dr. Kirshner. "Perhaps if I put legend and history together, I can locate something that will prove of great value to the world of archæology. I have in mind at present the tomb of a great king who reigned in those mountains many thousands of years ago. He is said to be an ancestor of the Berbers, who are related to the Tuaregs. When we come to the many Tuareg villages, I intend to make inquiries as to their ancient legends." They were up early the next morning, anticipating the exploration of the mountains that lay ahead of them. But in order to get to the Ahaggars, it would be necessary to continue for a short distance over the sand dunes. After breakfast they rode over to the distant hill to get a view of the mirage seen by the boys the day before. Sure enough, the army of horsemen appeared to be riding toward them, and the details were rather plain. Mr. Lewis shook his head in bewilderment. "Sure is strange," he muttered. "Why should the horses and the riders be so clearly defined? I can easily understand the mirage of a lake, but this sure gets my goat." They stood for some time staring at the distant spectacle, Bob and Joe taking motion pictures. Finally they rode on up the hill to catch a glimpse of the Ahaggars. "I rather think that peak not Illiman but Oudane," said Fekmah to the youths, in answer to their question asking the name of the distant high mountain. "Mount Oudane very high, and much nearer than Mount Illiman." More movies were taken by the youths. Then they rode down the opposite side of the dune in the direction of the mountains. "Ahaggars very strange," said Fekmah to the Americans, as they rode in a group at the back of their pack camels. "There are high cliffs, tall needle-like peaks, deep caves. There are canyons, ravines, underground passageways. We see much, and we too be in great danger." "Danger?" Joe looked up in some surprise. "Yes. Very great danger. Wild Tuaregs roam about, and when on a raid, think only of robbing travelers. Then, too, we be in region where the two thieves who stole my map are. They perhaps be waiting for us and shoot us quick without giving warning. Many other dangers we might see." Fekmah sobered the Americans a little. They had not anticipated any great peril, although they knew the two thieves might, should they have arrived at the hidden riches first, give them trouble. "But we'll come out all right," predicted Bob, again becoming cheerful. "We'll show those fellows that we're capable of attending to any crisis." A little farther on they reached the wall of rock that had previously shut out the view of the mountains. It stretched many miles to their right and left, but there were numerous breaks that afforded openings into the country beyond. They had barely reached the other side of the wall-like formation when Joe caught sight of a group of tents quite a distance to the east. He motioned for his friends to look in that direction. "Probably Arabs," pronounced Fekmah, after Tishmak had chattered rapidly for a moment. "They nomads, who wander about the desert taking their flock of goats with them." "Suppose we go over and see them," suggested Mr. Holton. "Perhaps they can give us a description of the country ahead of us. There may be many more wells than we think, and it will do us no harm to know of them." The others were in favor of carrying out Mr. Holton's move. But Fekmah warned them to be on the lookout for treachery. "They probably not do us harm, but can never tell," he said, as the dromedaries were turned in the direction of the tents. They reached the encampment in a very short time and were about to look up some of the Arabs when a savage growl made them wheel around in surprise and fear. "Look!" cried Joe, laying his hand on his rifle. Two large, savage dogs were making toward them with all fury, showing their terrible teeth in anger. The enraged creatures were probably owned by the Arabs in the tents and were acting as guards against all marauders. The foremost dog was almost upon Mr. Lewis's camel. In another moment the beast would sink its teeth in the dromedary's throat. Displaying the quickness of a cat, the naturalist unslung his rifle, took hasty aim, and fired. The report of the gun was followed by a longdrawn howl from the huge dog. "Quick!" cried Bob. "The other dog!" The second beast was rushing forward angrily. Mr. Lewis again took aim. The others, trusting in his marksmanship, made no move to get their rifles. Click! There was no report this time. His magazine was empty! Mr. Holton tried vainly to get his rifle out in time. Something must be done at once, for the savage dog would be at the camels in but a moment. Suddenly Joe leaped from his camel directly in the path of the oncoming animal. The dog stopped for a second, then rushed at the youth with terrible ferocity. "It's now or never!" Joe thought and brought the butt of his rifle down with all his strength on the dog's head. There was a cry of pain, and the next moment the beast rolled over in a dazed condition. At last the terrible enemies had been overcome. "Great work, Joe!" praised Mr. Holton. "We weren't expecting to see you act so quickly." "I didn't know whether I could hit him at the right time or not," the youth said, wiping the perspiration from his brow. "But I thought I'd take a chance. It----" He stopped fearfully as a rifle shot rang out. Another report followed the first, and Tishmak fell from his dromedary. "Back!" cried Dr. Kirshner. "It's the Arabs shooting from the tents. Hurry or we'll all be hit!" Tishmak was rapidly picked up and placed on his camel, and then the explorers retreated behind a formation of rock near the high wall of stone that was to their right. "You look after Tishmak," said Mr. Holton to Dr. Kirshner. "Meanwhile we'll keep these Arabs away. We certainly aroused their tempers when we put those dogs out." A volley of shots came from the Arabs' tents, and the Americans at once answered with their own rifles. Wherever a shot was heard, Mr. Holton directed his friends to fire at the spot. Suddenly Mr. Lewis caught a glimpse of a large one-armed Arab who emerged into full view to send a bullet at his white enemies. Without hesitation the naturalist fired, bringing the man down with a thud. "Look!" cried Bob. "They're backing up. That fellow you shot must have been the leader." "Does seem that way," agreed Mr. Lewis. "But we must remain on guard. These are treacherous characters." Only an occasional shot rang out. Then finally there was silence. "Now we'll see how Tishmak is," said Mr. Holton, leaving his position at the end of the rocky crag. They found that Dr. Kirshner had bound and treated the wound, which was in the left arm. The Arab seemed in high spirits, despite the fact that he was evidently in pain. "It doesn't appear serious," said the archæologist. "With the right kind of attention it will probably be all right in a few days." "Lucky that he wasn't killed, or that more of us weren't hit," remarked Mr. Lewis gravely. "The Sahara is a dangerous place for explorers." They waited several minutes for any more rifle shots from the Arabs, but none came. Finally Mr. Holton mounted his dromedary. "Let's get on our way," he suggested. "I don't think there's any danger now. The Arabs have retreated to a distance beyond their tents, and I believe they'll stay there awhile." Tishmak was helped on his camel. Then, when the others had also mounted, they rode off. They were now rapidly leaving the region of low sand dunes behind. Rocks of all sizes and shapes became more numerous, and vegetation was more abundant. There were, however, stretches of coarse sand plains, which were now and then dotted with boulders. Suddenly, as they ascended a long low hill, Bob and Joe cried out in delight and pointed to something a half-mile or so away. "A lake!" exclaimed Joe happily. "A lake of water!" CHAPTER XIX Searching for the Ancient "Not a lake," said Fekmah, shaking his head. "Only another mirage. They are rather common all through this region, and we may see much more short time." "Well, if there was a real lake there beside that mirage, I wouldn't know which to pick," confessed Joe. "And look! Even waves are there. And foam caps!" "Wonderful facsimile, all right," remarked Dr. Kirshner. "Old Nature is capable of playing mighty big jokes on us sometimes." For over a half-hour the illusion was visible to the explorers; then, when they rounded a large pile of rocks, it could no longer be seen. "And I'm glad," said Bob. "Now maybe I can get my mind away from thinking only of water. It wasn't very pleasant to see what looked like it and not be able to have it." "When do we come to another oasis?" inquired Joe of Fekmah. "Tishmak say within next fifty miles," was the response. "It be very small, but there be much water to drink." Late that evening they came to the foothills of the Ahaggars. Majestic Mount Oudane was directly before them, and the whole Ahaggar range appeared to be only a few miles away in the clear desert air. They at last reached the small oasis among the many red boulders. After filling their containers, they continued toward the mountains, greatly refreshed and ready for action. But darkness was rapidly falling, and it would be necessary to stop before long for the night. Tishmak, however, thought it best to travel in the moonlight. The others were more than willing to do this, for now that they were so near their goal they hesitated to lose any precious time. "We can go on for a while," said Mr. Lewis, as daylight rapidly faded. "Then we'll turn in and get a few hours of sleep." Soon it became dark, making it necessary to stop. But before long the moon came out in full splendor, flooding the rocky vastness with enchanting light. The distant needle-like peaks took on a strange appearance, like mysterious towers of a fairyland. The scene was unusual and slightly weird, resembling the rough surface of the moon. For some time the Americans were silent, absorbed in thought. Finally Bob roused himself. "Those mountains seem rather intangible, or ghost-like," he remarked, as he and Joe rode at the rear of the caravan. Joe nodded. "It's like we're the characters of an Arabian Nights story," he muttered. "No vegetation, no life of any kind around anywhere. Gets under my skin a little." Through the early part of the night they rode ever on, on toward the mysterious Ahaggars. One question stood out in the minds of all. What did the future hold in store? Finally Tishmak brought his dromedary to a halt beside a huge boulder. He motioned for the others to follow suit. "We'll stop here for the night," announced Fekmah, after conversing with the guide. "But we must be up very early in morning and get on way to mountains." That night everyone slept soundly, anxious to refresh themselves thoroughly for the tiresome march through the Ahaggars. "Let's go," urged Joe, as he dressed the next morning at dawn. "We can't get to those hidden riches any too soon for me." Mr. Holton laughed unwillingly. "Who ever heard of fast traveling in the mountains?" he asked. "If we make ten or fifteen miles in a day we'll be lucky." "There are stretches of smooth country, though," Dr. Kirshner put in. "And when we get to the central plateau of the Ahaggars, it won't be so hard to cover territory." A breakfast of limited food but a bountiful supply of water was prepared by Mr. Lewis, and then camp was broken. In the early-morning light the peaks ahead looked pale purple, but, said Fekmah, this color would gradually change to mauve and blue as the sunlight became more radiant. As they rounded a tall, red boulder, Tishmak suddenly halted his camel and pointed to a little crevice between the rocks. "Well, as I live!" murmured the archæologist in surprise. "Camels--dead, mummified camels." The beasts had evidently been dead a long time, for their skins were extremely dry and cracked. The fierce desert sun had preserved their bodies for an indefinite period. "And look, they've got their mouths down to the ground, as if they were searching for water," observed Joe. "They were," affirmed Fekmah. "There once a well here, but it dried up just before camels got to it." "Perhaps they wandered for days searching for it, and then finally found it--dry." Bob shuddered. It was a pitiable sight, particularly to the Americans. They half expected to come across the mummified body of some unfortunate explorer who had died a tragic death from thirst. "We must be doubly careful to have the containers filled with water," warned Mr. Holton. "This is a dangerous region, and disaster could easily come upon our little expedition." They trudged on in the rapidly rising temperature of the terrible sun, keeping their eyes off the ground as much as possible to escape the glare. They could easily have worn sun glasses, but hesitated to do so because of the rather obstructed vision. "What's this!" cried Dr. Kirshner, as they came to a huge rock that was directly in their path. "Some kind of an inscription, isn't it?" inquired Bob. "It is that!" came the excited reply. "An ancient Libyan record, perhaps of a noteworthy event that took place in this vicinity. If you will give me a few minutes I'll copy this down. It may prove of great interest in my future study of early Sahara peoples." The others waited for the archæologist to transcribe the writing. It proved very difficult to read offhand, but that a full translation would eventually come to light was not in the least doubted by the other Americans. In fact they had come to regard Dr. Kirshner as a wonder among men of his profession. At last he put the paper back in its place and made a sign to Tishmak that he was ready to continue the journey. "Now let's make time," said Bob anxiously. "We ought to get over a good many more miles before time for the noon rest." And they did. The country had not yet become rough enough to hinder the progress of the dromedaries, even though huge boulders were strewn about. By ten o'clock they had reached the base of the Plateau of the Mouydir, a thousand-foot-high wall of solid stone. "Tuaregs have many superstitious legends about this rock," said Fekmah, after talking several minutes with Tishmak. "They believe evil spirits up in great caves come down and kill travelers. They too think sandstorms and whirlwinds are caused by spirits hiding up in large cracks there." "How interesting," said Dr. Kirshner, getting out his small portable typewriter. Bob and Joe had taken motion pictures along the journey, and now they saw another opportunity to film a scenic wonder. "I'd like for you to do a little acting," said Bob to Fekmah, as the youth turned his camera in the direction of the mammoth wall of rock. The Arab looked up in some surprise. "I want you to point to the Plateau of Mouydir and talk to Dr. Kirshner," the young man explained. "Tell him about the legend of the Tuaregs. Meanwhile I'll be photographing you. Too bad this can't be a talking picture. All right. Let's go." Fekmah understood and smiled. Dr. Kirshner was also willing to assist the young photographers in their work. The Arab and the American engaged in conversation, while Bob took movies of them pointing to the high rock. When it was finished, Bob and Joe smiled in satisfaction. "That's the kind of scenes we ought to have more of," Joe said. "They're different from the usual monotony of 'shooting' the country alone." "Gives a sort of individuality, huh?" laughed Mr. Holton. "Well, any time we can be of use to you, let us know." Camp was made at the very base of the huge rock. Then the usual meal was prepared. "Use water sparingly," cautioned Mr. Lewis, as they sat down on the cool sand in the shade of the tent. "Tishmak says we will not come to another well till tomorrow afternoon." "That's a long time to wait," said Dr. Kirshner gravely. "Can we make what we have hold out?" "We've got to," Joe's father returned. "We'll have to restrain from taking any undue exercise in the heat of the sun." "Hum-m!" Dr. Kirshner looked disappointed. "That seems to want to spoil my plans for this afternoon." "How's that?" "I had intended to do a little exploring up on top of that wall of stone." There were exclamations of surprise and anxiety. "What!" cried Mr. Lewis. "Why, you couldn't scale that steep cliff with ladders and ropes!" "Maybe not in some places," the archæologist smiled. "But I have noticed that there are large fissures that would offer footholds with comparative ease, and I'm going to chance it. There's no telling what I may bring to light from up on that lofty rock." There was a period of silence, finally broken by Bob. "May Joe and I go with you?" he asked. There were loud protests from the youths' fathers, who thought it almost madness to attempt to climb the steep slope. But Dr. Kirshner held up a hand for silence. "Wait till we finish this meal and I'll show you a place where it will be more or less easy to get to the top," he said. "If it's there, I'd like to see it," came from Mr. Holton. When the noon meal was over, the archæologist led them to a point perhaps a quarter of a mile from the camp. He pointed up and smiled. "Doesn't that look like an easy climb?" he asked. "Plenty of safe footholds and cracks to grasp. I'm going up." Bob and Joe put in a request to their fathers to accompany the scientist and were finally given permission. "But be careful," warned Mr. Lewis. "And don't wander too far away." Dr. Kirshner led the way up the side of the cliff, followed by Joe and Bob. The climb was in some places difficult and a little dangerous, but they plodded surely up. At last, panting and perspiring, they came to the last foothold and pulled themselves up to the top. Then they turned to take in the view below. Cries of astonishment came from all at the wonderful panorama that stretched out before them. Hundreds of feet down and to their right was the camp, and a short distance away were Mr. Holton and Mr. Lewis. The dromedaries were tethered beside a large rock near the cliff. "I suppose Fekmah and Tishmak are in the tent," remarked the scientist, scanning the landscape. With the aid of his powerful binoculars the camp was made to appear quite near, and the features of the naturalists were easily made out. At last Dr. Kirshner turned about. "A fine view," he said. "But let us not spend too much time here. I want to explore the roof of this cliff." The rocky surface was in most places flat, but there were a few huge fissures that apparently extended far into the rock. They had come to one unusually deep crack when Dr. Kirshner stopped and slid down the steep side, desirous of seeing the unusual. He reached the bottom some fifteen feet below, sending a score of small rocks down the side of the crevice. "What's there?" Joe called down, bending over the side. "Nothing, I guess. There is---- Wait a minute!" The next moment he was all excitement, having evidently come across something on the side of the rock. "Drawings!" he cried animatedly, pointing to the wall about him. "Prehistoric drawings of--of elephants!" CHAPTER XX The Horror of Thirst "Elephants?" asked Bob, almost bursting out in laughter. "Come on," suggested Joe, moving slowly down the side of the fissure. "Let's have a look at the strange drawings." The youths slid to the bottom, where Dr. Kirshner stood staring at the wall. Bob nodded. "Drawings of elephants, all right," he said, his eyes on the etched rock. "And look how plain they are." The archæologist took out his notebook and copied the sketches as best he could. Then he turned to the youths. "Here is proof that the desert was not always a desert," he said, his eyes becoming bright with interest. "Thousands of years ago this region was green with tropical vegetation, like the dense forests of East Africa. It was probably inhabited by tribes of people much different from the Arabs and Tuaregs who now live here. Then came a gradual dry spell, and in time the luxurious growth gave way to a hot desert of sand and rocks." "Those drawings of elephants, then, were made while this region was covered with forests?" questioned Joe, becoming as interested as the scientist. The latter nodded. "Elephants and other wild game probably roamed about here in great numbers," he explained. After one last look at the strange sketches, the explorers began the task of climbing up the side of the ravine. It was not easy to pull themselves up out of the steep crevice, but the rocky walls were solid, not even threatening to give way. Then followed an hour of exploration about the top of the cliff, during which time the archæologist came upon the remains of many other ancient drawings and inscriptions. By the time that they were ready to begin the descent of the cliff, he had filled his notebook. "But when we get to the Ahaggars we'll undoubtedly find many more," he said, slowly leading the way down. After what seemed a long time, they came to the bottom of the precipice and lost no time in getting back to camp. "Have any luck?" asked Mr. Holton, looking up with interest as the three explorers moved toward the tent. "Did we!" laughed Joe and proceeded to tell of the many drawings and inscriptions. "You boys should have taken the motion-picture cameras with you," Mr. Lewis said. "They would have furnished proof to the outside world." "Perhaps we can yet," said Joe. "No, you can't," protested Mr. Holton. "We must not waste any time here, if we are to find the hidden riches. Right now," he added, "you three had better turn in and take your afternoon rest. That sun is terrible!" Dr. Kirshner and the youths did as suggested, glad to rest their tired limbs. But they were up promptly at three, packing the tent and provisions on the dromedaries. Now, as they continued farther toward the barren mountains, they began to realize what thirst really meant. As Tishmak had told them, no well would be reached until late the next afternoon, and their water containers were none too full. Their throats were parched, and their tongues began to feel numb. The fierce sun seemed all the hotter, greatly stimulating thirst. All through that day they rode onward, the Ahaggars gradually becoming nearer. It was late that night when they finally stopped and camped in a wild region of large red rocks. The next day their thirst became almost overpowering, even though they did not exercise. It seemed that they could stand it no longer, but they rode continually on toward the well that was located at the foot of the mountains. The noon meal was almost without water. They did, however, sip a small amount of the precious fluid. "Oh, if we could only drink all we want!" groaned Joe, hesitating to eat the beans that had been prepared. "Everything is so dry without water." But although the explorers were extremely anxious to come to the well, they gave full consideration to the midday rest. It would have meant destruction to ride under that terrible desert sun. "Before long we'll come to the well," said Fekmah, as they prepared to continue the journey. "In an hour it be seen." "And how glad we'll be," muttered Bob, anticipating the pleasure of drinking a large quantity of the refreshing fluid. The hour passed slowly. They were looking about now, searching among the many huge rocks. Suddenly Tishmak halted abruptly, and the expression of hope that had been on his face changed to one of fear. He motioned for the others to move on up to where he was. No translation of his excited words was necessary to the Americans. They understood his anxiety. The well was dry! For a moment the explorers sank back, and fear--stark fear--seized them. Thoughts of disaster haunted their stricken brains--stories of how large trading caravans had been brought to a tragic end because of no water. It was torture unthinkable! "And after all this waiting," groaned Bob, his hope almost gone. The others were equally touched. Now that they had met with defeat, they felt at a loss to know how to carry on. As a last resort Tishmak had fallen into a convulsion of motions asking Allah that they might be delivered from the jaws of death. His enthusiasm grew more intense with every moment, becoming almost disgusting to the others. Even Fekmah, although he was a devout believer in Mohammedanism, thought the actions of his fellow countryman detestable. "Come, now," urged Dr. Kirshner, using his knowledge of the native language to console Tishmak. "We'll come out all right. This isn't the only jam we've been in." The guide finally became his natural self, although still a bit panicky. "You'd think after all the expeditions he's led into the Sahara he would be calm in the face of danger," remarked Bob. "Danger, yes. But not in the face of tragedy!" thought Dr. Kirshner, although he said nothing. He feared all too much that this might be the end. "Where is the next well?" asked Mr. Lewis calmly. Fekmah put the question before the guide, who replied that there was no water within a distance of fifty miles. And mountains lay directly before them, hindering travel. It might mean a several days' journey before they would come to the well, and then there was a possibility that it, also, was dry. Disaster seemed almost inevitable! "But let's hurry on," said Mr. Holton. "Perhaps if we make time we can get to it much sooner than we think." The camels were urged forward at a fast trot. But before long they were entering the mountains, and the rapid pace was necessarily slackened somewhat. During that desperate ride against time, the explorers hardly thought of the scenic wonders that lay before them. Indeed if they had not been in such anxiety, they would have seen much to interest them greatly. Tall, needle-like peaks were all about, grotesque rocks dotted the irregular plateau before them, deep gulches and ravines were everywhere. It was a wonderful view, that beheld by the adventurers, and could have been enjoyed to the fullest had they not been in such terrible plight. Luckily there was a full moon that night, lighting the vast expanse with a weird brightness. Countless stars shone down from the clear sky, appearing so close that they could seemingly be touched. "Like we're in another world," breathed Bob, as he and his chum rode rapidly at the rear of the pack camels. "Does seem strange, doesn't it? I wonder if we'll live to find the hidden riches?" "Of course we will." Bob cheered his friend as best he could, and himself felt much the better for it. Luck was with them that night. The plateau remained open and free from peaks and rocky crags that would have delayed progress. It was, however, very unlevel, and the dromedaries often found it necessary to slow down to a difficult walk. It was very late when they finally halted and made camp under the beautiful mountain sky. After a brief supper, at which almost the last drop of water was used, they fell asleep, not to awaken until the sun was well up in the sky the next morning. "You know," remarked Fekmah, "it seems strange that that well was dry. I been thinking about it since we left it behind. Tishmak too thinks it strange." "Why?" questioned Mr. Lewis, sensing that something was in the wind. "Because," Fekmah said gravely, "it a large well, and should not go dry much easy. Tishmak think it been covered up." There were exclamations of surprise from the Americans. "You mean," began Mr. Holton, beginning to catch the point, "that someone did it to keep us from continuing the journey?" "Yes. I think it might have been the two thieves who stole my map. They did it to keep us away from hidden treasure." There were cries of astonishment from the others. For the past few days the thought of the thieves had been absent from their minds. Now they began to realize that at last they had probably come into the region in which were the hidden riches. "Then the rascals must be around here some place," said Joe, looking about sharply. "Perhaps they're right around here." Fekmah got out the map he had made from memory after the original one had been stolen. He studied it closely for a few minutes. "Hidden treasure still great distance away," he said at last. "We not find it till several days pass. I think the two thieves not here but somewhere near treasure." "What's the next landmark?" inquired Mr. Lewis, as the camels were made to move forward. "The gorge of Arak," Fekmah returned. "It quite a distance from here, but Tishmak lead us to it quickly." All morning they trudged on without coming to the well that Tishmak knew was somewhere in the first range of mountains. Although it seemed impossible, their thirst rapidly increased still more. "Say," cried Bob, as a sudden thought struck him, "if those two thieves could cover up the first mountain well, they might do the same to others. Wouldn't it be possible?" "Not the next one," returned Fekmah. "It too large. Take many, many men to stop it. But there are several small ones farther on that could be covered." At an hour before noon it was necessary to stop for the daily rest, even though they would have liked to continue in search of water. They were in a narrow valley between tall, sharp peaks. A ribbon-like dry river bed wound in and out among the brightly colored rocks, suggesting that once a rushing stream had forced its way through the mountains. "How I wish the river were still here," said Joe with a sigh. As soon as camp was made, the explorers took it easy in the shade of the tent, more than glad to escape the terrible heat of the sun. But before long Bob and Joe became restless. At last Joe got up and stretched. He sipped a very small quantity of water; then motioned for Bob to get up. "What's up?" the latter asked. "Come on," said Joe, picking up his rifle. "Let's go out awhile. I'm anxious to explore these mountains around here. There's no telling what we may come across." Bob was willing, and as the sun was slightly less hot, they started out in the direction of a large mountain that had tall, sharp points reaching up into the sky. "What's that over there?" asked Bob, pointing to a wall of rock some two hundred feet away. "Don't know. Let's go over and see." The youths walked over to the precipice and then halted before a small crack that looked to be the entrance to a cave. "Shall we go in?" asked Joe. "I'm game. Come on." The hole in the rock was so small that it was necessary to crawl on their hands and knees for a short distance. Then the cave became larger, and they could stand. Bob had his flashlight in his pocket and at once switched on the light. "We're in a large cave, all right," observed Joe, casting eager eyes about. "There's another opening away over there," pointing to the far side of the cave. "Let's go through it and see where it leads us." The hole was so small that the boys barely got through crawling on their stomachs. But at last they reached the other side, and Bob turned the light ahead. "Just another cave," said Bob. "Chances are----" "Wait!" started Joe, gazing at the darkness before them. "Let's have some light over there." The beam was turned in the direction indicated by Joe, and the next moment the boys gave startled exclamations. "A narrow passageway," observed Bob. "Come on. We'll see where it takes us." Suddenly, as they rounded a sharp corner, the youths came face to face with something that made them cry out in delight. There, directly before them, was a large underground pool of sparkling water. With a word of thanksgiving the young men rushed over and gulped up large quantities of the precious fluid. "At last!" cried Bob, too happy for words. "At last we've found water!" CHAPTER XXI Captured! To the two boys, who had hoped against hope that their parched throats could be relieved, the priceless water tasted like nectar. They had felt sure that grim tragedy was near. Now their spirits were restored to a new high level, and they considered themselves equal to anything. At last, when they had fully quenched their thirst, they glanced about the cavern. Near the edge of the pool were the tracks of wild animals, which had evidently made this place a frequent haunt. The youths did not recognize all the imprints, but Joe stoutly declared that gazelles had been there. "Doesn't seem pleasant to know that we've been drinking after wild animals, does it?" laughed Bob. "No. But we won't think of that, especially since our thirst was so great. Then, too, it's not likely that many germs are to be found away out here in the desert mountains." The youths stretched out on the cool white sand beside the pool. The atmosphere in the cavern was such a departure from the fierce outside heat that they were content idly to while the time away, despite the fact that they should be getting back to camp. At times they bent over to drink of the refreshing water, delightfully knowing that they could have all they wanted. Then they grew drowsy and gradually fell asleep, a thing that they should not have done. At last they were awakened--suddenly! Every nerve in their bodies seemed tense. Something told them not to move. Slowly they edged around and looked toward the back of the cave. Then they started, as a savage growl rent the air. A fierce tiger cat was crouched ready to spring. It had evidently come to the pool for water when it had discovered the youths. There was no time to take aim with their rifles, for the beast would be upon them. Slowly Bob reached for his pistol, and Joe followed suit. At last the boys were ready for action. With a quick motion Bob whirled about and took hasty aim; then fired. A second later the report of Joe's gun rang out. "Missed!" cried Joe in horror. "Both shots missed!" "Well, we won't miss again," said Bob, gritting his teeth. "We've got to stop him." Bob jumped to his feet and took aim. Five shots followed in rapid succession. Joe continued the defense with his revolver. When the deadly fire ceased, the tiger cat was literally riddled with bullets. It gave a convulsive twitch and rolled over, dead. "Finally stopped him," muttered Joe, his face wet with perspiration. "And a powerful fellow, too." "One can do a lot of things if he has to," remarked Bob, putting his gun back in its holster. The youths lost no time in getting out of the cave. They would have liked to remain in its cool retreat much longer, but they realized that it was necessary to get back to camp. "Won't our dads and the others be tickled beyond words when we tell them we've found water!" smiled Joe, as they crawled through the narrow passageway. "Tickled is too weak to describe it," said Bob. "I bet old Tishmak will hug us to death." At last they reached the outside and turned their footsteps toward camp. It was but a short distance away, beyond the tall precipice at the entrance to the cave. The youths put unusual energy into their legs and in but a few moments were met by all of their friends. Their fathers, in particular, rushed forward anxiously. "Where have you been so long?" demanded Mr. Holton, vexed to the utmost that the young men should stay away from camp for an indefinite period without giving an explanation of where they were going. Joe's father's temper was also wrought up. "Did something hold you back?" he asked. "Yes," Joe answered quietly. "Several things kept us from returning sooner. But it may interest you more if we tell you that we've found water." "Water!" Mr. Lewis was all excitement. "You mean--you actually have located a well?" Mr. Holton and Dr. Kirshner listened breathlessly. Fekmah translated joyfully to Tishmak. "Not exactly a well," returned Bob, "but something just as good. An underground pool. And how cool it is! Come on," he added. "I know you're all dying for a drink." Hastily the men followed their young companions over to the large cliff. Then, after crawling through the small opening, they found themselves at the edge of the pool of bubbling water. For a moment the men could hardly believe their eyes. At last! Water! Suddenly, as though urged on by some unseen power, they bent down and drank until they could hold no more. It was pleasure unthinkable! At last Dr. Kirshner straightened up. "I've never had such enjoyment in years," he said happily, and then added: "Lucky that our thirst was no worse than it was, or it would have been necessary to restrain ourselves from drinking too much at once." When the men had finished drinking, they glanced about the cave. Their flashlights fell on the body of the tiger cat, and they looked up in surprise. "What's this?" inquired Mr. Lewis, pointing to the bullet-riddled carcass. Bob and Joe smiled. "That old boy tried to make us remain for dinner, but we fooled him," explained Bob. "We had to empty our revolvers to stop him, though." There was a clamor of excited questions, and the youths were forced to relate every detail of the encounter. When they had finished, the naturalists bent over to examine the striped skin. "Too bad, but I'm afraid you've put too many bullets in him for us to use the skin," said Mr. Holton regretfully. "And a large specimen, too. But then," he went on, "we won't think of that when your lives hung in the balance." The explorers spent a few minutes sitting in the cool white sand. Then they went back outside to get the water containers. They had had an uneasy feeling that perhaps the camels had been molested during their stay in the cavern, and gave a sigh of relief upon seeing them sitting peacefully near the tent. As it was getting late, camp was broken, and the dromedaries were led to the entrance of the cave. The water containers were carried in to the pool and filled to capacity with what stood between the explorers and death. "Now that everything is in readiness, I suppose we must be getting on our way," said Dr. Kirshner. "But I must admit I hate to leave that pool behind. Somehow I've become greatly attached to it." "Does seem too bad," Mr. Lewis agreed. "But I suppose we will find other wells and sources of water. Where is the next one, Fekmah?" "Many miles away," the Arab returned. "But come to think of it, Tishmak says one around here near. If it very far away, we go to it." When the question was put to him, the guide replied that the well was but a few miles away. He considered it unnecessary to find it, as another was a day's journey in their direction. He informed them that since it was very large, it could not be easily covered up by the two thieves. With one last look at the high precipice, the explorers turned the camels back on the lane between the mountains. With the right kind of luck they would come to the gorge of Arak some time the next day, and another landmark on Fekmah's duplicate map would have been noted. As they penetrated farther into the mountains, the scenery became more beautiful. There were many wonders that caused the explorers to gasp in astonishment. "The Ahaggar range is of larger extent than the Alps," said Dr. Kirshner, as they circled about among the rugged cliffs. "And although not of extremely high altitude, these Saharan mountains have many show points that cannot be found elsewhere." "And they are comparatively unknown to the outside world," put in Bob. "Why, the average person doesn't even dream of mountains being in the heart of the old Sahara." All along the way Bob and Joe took motion pictures of the many strange marvels of nature. They photographed the tall peaks, the deep gorges, and the narrow valleys. They turned the cameras on the many ancient inscriptions that were of so much interest to the archæologist. "We've run off a good many hundred feet of film," remarked Joe, after the cameras had "purred" for an unusually long period as the youths filmed a deep canyon through which they passed. "In fact, if they had given us twice as much film we could easily have used it all." Bob nodded. "And there's less danger of losing it in a hot, dry region like this," he said. "Isn't at all to be compared with the damp, tropical climate of Brazil." Slowly the country became more rough, until that evening, after the meal, the adventurers found it very difficult to pick out a way between the many large rocks. On one occasion they passed through a dark tunnel-like passage beneath high, overhanging peaks, and had literally to feel their way through. There was not the faintest ray of moonlight to lighten the deep passageway. When they finally came to the other end they gave sighs of relief that at last the moon could again be seen. But now something else hindered progress. A peculiar desert plant, with sharp, poisonous needles and a rather disagreeable odor, had been known previously to the explorers. Now, as they emerged from the dark recesses of the tunnel, they came upon large clusters of these plants. Everywhere the dromedaries went, it seemed, they were forced to tramp through these formidable shrubs. "It's a wonder they can stand it," said Joe, shaking his head. "Their feet are already swollen almost double." "Be tragedy if the animals would have to stop," the other youth said. "It would mean our end, I guess." "They'll make it all right," put in Mr. Lewis, who was riding at the rear with the boys. "But, needless to say, we couldn't walk on them." Suddenly, as they came to the edge of a dry river bed, Dr. Kirshner halted his camel and looked about on the ground. The others waited a moment to see what he had discovered. "An ancient tool of flint," he announced, commanding his camel to kneel. The archæologist picked up the instrument and examined it carefully with the aid of a flashlight. It was about a foot long and shaped to resemble a crescent. The inner edge was as sharp as a razor. "Doubtless some kind of a knife," Dr. Kirshner said, as the others crowded around him. "Shaped out of flint by people of the Neolithic age. Perhaps it was used to harvest crops." "Crops? In the desert?" Bob was amazed. The scholar nodded. "It is firmly believed that primitive people lived in what is now the desert rather than along river valleys of more modern prominence. Of course the Sahara was at that time much less arid, or dry, than it is today." Dr. Kirshner searched about for other relics, but found none. "It is strange how that tool got on the surface of the ground," he remarked, as they turned the dromedaries ahead. "Other expeditions have penetrated into this region, and it is quite obvious that they would have found it had it been in sight." "Perhaps a rainstorm washed it out of the ground," suggested Mr. Holton. They rode until late that night, for they were anxious to come to the gorge of Arak some time the next day. "We should see it tomorrow afternoon," predicted Fekmah. Notwithstanding this, they rode all the next morning without coming to the landmark. Finally Tishmak gave up in disgust and stopped in the shade of an overhanging rock. It was nearly noon, and the necessity to get a meal was becoming more apparent. When they had finished eating they continued to rest in the tent. At this high altitude the sun was less hot than it had been on the plateaux, and it would have been possible to ride farther. But they had become accustomed to the usual afternoon rest and were loath to depart from this regularity. But Dr. Kirshner had sat only a few minutes before he got up and stretched. Mr. Holton and Mr. Lewis were asleep, but Fekmah and Tishmak remained awake. Bob and Joe sat in one corner of the tent, sleepily gazing out at the distant peaks. "I'm going out and look around," Dr. Kirshner said to them. "Care to go along?" Bob replied in the negative, but Joe arose and walked over to his rifle. "Don't stay too long," advised Bob, as Joe and the archæologist started out. They were familiar with the country in the immediate vicinity of camp. As there was nothing of new interest to be found there, they hiked farther to the south. The scientist wished particularly to find more ancient inscriptions, and, if possible, other evidences of ancient civilizations. "What's this?" cried Joe, slapping his hand to his face. "Well I'll be---- Some kind of a fly." "It is a wonder we haven't come across insect pests long before this," Dr. Kirshner said. "They are very common all through this section." The flies had been discovered while they were trudging through a long, hot passageway between two high wall-like rocks. Now, as the two adventurers passed farther on, they came into more of the insects, which swarmed about as if thirsty for human blood. "Ought to have some kind of a spray," remarked Joe, pushing them away in great numbers. "We have, in camp," his friend said. "If the pests bother us much we'll have to make use of it." After an hour's hike they came to another dry river bed, and again Dr. Kirshner found flint implements scattered about. Joe had a small motion-picture camera with him, and at the scientist's request he filmed the half-buried primitive tools as they lay hardly visible in the sand. "I want proof that these antiquities came from the Sahara," Dr. Kirshner said, placing them in the small box he carried over his shoulder for the purpose. A little later Joe started to take a motion picture of a small animal that darted across the river bed, but cried out in disgust. "A pesky fly got in front of the lens," the youth explained. "Looked as big as an elephant." "One scene ruined," laughed the archæologist. "But you'll have to get used to that." The adventurers stopped here and there to rest and sip a small amount of water. Then they would hike on, always on the lookout for the unusual. They had just rounded the corner of a tall, cone-shaped peak when Joe stopped and pointed to the sand near by. Dr. Kirshner's jaw dropped in surprise. "Footprints!" he cried. "Human footprints!" He had hardly uttered the words when there came a chorus of yells from behind a large rock. A moment later ten or twelve rough-looking Arabs darted out and surrounded the Americans. The natives at once disarmed the whites by sheer force and then displayed long knives threateningly. The Arabs chattered ominous words, which caused Dr. Kirshner to start in alarm and fear. "We are being captured!" he exclaimed excitedly. "These Arabs are hired by the two thieves who stole Fekmah's map!" CHAPTER XXII The Cave of Treasure At Dr. Kirshner's dread explanation, Joe cried out in surprise and fear. "Captured!" he mumbled in a strange voice. "Find out how long they are going to keep us." The scientist put the question before the Arabs, who laughed mockingly. "Until the treasures have all been taken from the hidden cave," they replied in the native language. Dr. Kirshner could hardly believe his ears. "Then--the riches have been found?" he demanded. "Yes. And we are to keep you away. We know not how long it will be. If you act right, we will treat you well. But if you try to get away you will be severely punished." "Where are you taking us?" For answer the Arabs only laughed. "What do you think of it?" asked Joe, after his friend had translated the natives' words. Dr. Kirshner shook his head. "Looks like we're not going to get back to camp today," he said gravely. "Worst thing is, these rascals may hunt out our friends and capture them also. If we could just leave some word that would give them a hint to be on the lookout----" The two Americans were forced along the narrow edge of a deep canyon, and more than once they felt that they were but an inch from death. Their tempers were thoroughly aroused, but they knew that they had no chance against such a horde. "These fellows are a bit different from American roughnecks," Dr. Kirshner said. "Arabs would not hesitate to stick a knife through you if not satisfied with your actions, but our own countrymen would ordinarily think twice before doing such a thing." The two explorers were in the midst of the group, with swarthy natives on each side of them. To attempt to break loose would indeed be futile. "I wonder if we will be taken near the hidden riches?" muttered Joe, gazing ahead at the distant country. "Hard telling," the archæologist replied. "Of course it is possible, but I doubt it. Still they might purposefully show us the treasure to let us know how much we are missing." A half-hour's traveling brought them to the base of an unusually high peak. It might, thought the Americans, be Mount Oudane or Illiman, as it was every inch of ten thousand feet. There was a small well in a crevice between the rocks, and much to their great delight the prisoners were given the opportunity to drink to their hearts' content. The water was unusually cool, protected as it was from the heat of the sun. But only a few minutes' rest was allowed, even though the Americans were very tired after the ceaseless afternoon tramp. Another hour of hiking over the rough country brought them to a high hill, which Dr. Kirshner said led to the central plateau of Atakor. For a great distance it was almost flat country, with little or no vegetation. The prisoners were forced to climb a narrow ledge and came at last to the top of the mountain. To their right was a large entrance that led undoubtedly into a cave. The Arabs motioned for the whites to stop and turn into the cavern. Dr. Kirshner and Joe hesitated for a moment then did as directed. At first they found themselves in utter darkness. As their eyes became more accustomed to the blackness, they saw that a long, narrow tunnel stretched away from the back of the cave. Whether it led to any place in particular they did not know. "Well, I guess we've come to the end of our tramp," observed Joe, looking about to see what the Arabs intended to do next. There were no chairs or boxes to sit on, but slabs of rock invited the newcomers to sit down. As soon as it became evident that the Americans had settled themselves, the Arabs stationed themselves at the entrance of the cave. Before long, however, all of the men but three departed. "Looks bad for us," remarked Dr. Kirshner. "We were fools to start out alone in this country when we knew we were getting near the hidden riches." "Too late now," mourned Joe. "We'll have to make the best of it, I guess. But I'd feel a lot better if we had some way to warn Dad and Bob and the others. Perhaps they'll walk right into a trap set by those Arabs." The cave in which they were guarded was in the side of a wall of rock, which was several hundred feet above the surrounding mountains. From their lofty positions the Americans could look out over scores of miles of rugged country. Dr. Kirshner had his binoculars strapped over his shoulder and took them out to view the distant panorama. The binoculars were of very high power, made by a well-known firm. Suddenly his eyes fell on something that made him gasp in astonishment. "The cave of riches!" he cried. "I can see it! And there are five or six Arabs walking inside!" CHAPTER XXIII Met by Enemies Down a little valley between two high mountains rode four explorers, their eager eyes penetrating every crevice and notch in the mountainous country about them. High-power binoculars were turned upon every level stretch, rifles were fired at regular intervals, voices were brought to new swells. It was a search that under ordinary circumstances would have brought Dr. Kirshner and Joe back in a very short time. Finally, after the searchers had been out several hours and darkness was beginning to fall, Mr. Lewis stopped and buried his face in his hands. He realized that defeat was staring them in the face. "Guess they're really lost," sighed Bob Holton, his face extremely sober. "Or else something has happened to them," added Fekmah in a voice that he tried to keep steady. Mr. Lewis said nothing, but he feared all too much that the Arab was right. And yet, he reasoned, they were likely to be very careful and not take chances. Still that would not prevent nature or wild tribes from harming them. Mr. Holton, however, was very optimistic. He believed that, despite the length of their stay, the two were safe. Perhaps they had fallen asleep from exhaustion or had wandered farther away than they had intended and were forced to spend the night in the mountains. Tishmak had been left at the camp, as it was thought best to have someone there in case the archæologist and Joe should return while the searchers were gone. "We're a long distance from camp," said Mr. Lewis, as the searchers sat on their camels at the brink of a deep gully. "Shall we try to get back tonight?" "I'm in favor of it," returned Mr. Holton impatiently. "Of course we left word with Tishmak that we might spend the night away, but he may be greatly worried. Then, too, he might not be safe there alone." The others thought this good advice, and turned the dromedaries back up the lane. They could possibly get half of the way there before the darkness would halt them. Then the moon would probably furnish sufficient light to continue. "Here's hoping they will be at camp when we get there," said Bob. But Tishmak was the only one who greeted them when finally they rode wearily up to the tent. The guide had fully expected to see the lost ones return with the others, and his face wore an anxious look when he saw that their search had been in vain. Fekmah immediately related their past experiences, concluding by asking what Tishmak thought had happened to them. The guide replied that, as Mr. Holton had said, perhaps they had wandered farther away than they had intended and were forced to spend the night away. Of course, he went on, tragedy might have come upon them, but he doubted this very much. The Tuaregs who inhabited this region were friendly to strangers, showing excellent hospitality. And both Dr. Kirshner and Joe he considered able to take care of themselves. He finished by saying that, through his guiding numerous expeditions into the Sahara, he believed himself capable of judging a true explorer. When Fekmah translated this to the Americans, they were much relieved. Especially was Mr. Lewis hopeful. He had confidence in Joe and believed him equal to taking care of many tight situations. Notwithstanding this, there was little sleep for any of them that night. When at last the sun began to peep through the distant mountains they were up ready for action. "We've got to find them today," said Bob, gritting his teeth. "We will, if they are anywhere around here," Mr. Lewis added. "Let's hurry and have breakfast." As soon as the meal was over, they again started out on the search, this time taking Tishmak and leaving Fekmah. The latter thought this the best procedure, as the guide could render more assistance in searching the mountains. Taking the opposite direction from the one they followed the day before, the explorers rode off, bidding warm farewells to Fekmah. For several miles they rode over the smooth surface of a dry river bed. Then they turned and followed a path around a small mountain. "Wonder how this path got here?" said Joe, as they plodded up the hill. "Wasn't made by nature," concluded Mr. Holton, observing the regularity that was persistent with every step. He resolved to use his limited knowledge of the native language and inquired of Tishmak, for surely the guide would know. When finally the latter understood, he replied that the lane had been made by Tuaregs who inhabited this region. Perhaps the path would lead them to a village. But the searchers trudged on around the hill without seeing any signs of natives. However, they finally broke away from the narrow way and emerged on level country. They were now on a high plateau, with towering peaks on all sides of them. As far as the explorers could see, there were no breaks or ravines anywhere about. Rifles were discharged at intervals, and hoarse shouts often rent the air. At every few steps the searchers stopped to look about, almost expecting eventually to find the lost ones nearer than they thought. Once Bob thought he heard footsteps, but several minutes of listening convinced them that no one was about. Perhaps it had been his imagination. "Sounded like someone was coming toward us," the youth said. "But I guess I just thought so." "We'll have to keep our ears and eyes wide open," Mr. Lewis reminded them. "If Joe and Dr. Kirshner are anywhere around here, it might be possible to hear them." "Isn't likely that they fell into the hands of Tuareg raiders, is it?" asked Mr. Holton. "Tishmak said not," Joe's father returned. "He thinks that the Tuaregs around here are friendly and peaceful." A little farther on they passed several large slabs of rock that were covered with ancient inscriptions and drawings. Dr. Kirshner would surely throw a fit of delight if he could see them. But, thought Bob, perhaps he had already come to them and was searching for more, quite forgetful of the necessity to get back to camp. But no, this could not be, for Joe would realize that necessity if the scientist did not. At noon they stopped for lunch under a large crag that resembled an inverted hook. There was plenty of water in their containers, giving each the opportunity to satisfy his thirst. There was not much conversation during that rest, for they were all busy with their thoughts. And those thoughts were anything but cheerful. But they refused to give up hope so soon, for another half-hour might see the two lost ones back with their friends. Scarcely ten minutes were spent in the shade of the rock. Even then Mr. Lewis felt that that time had been wasted. "Something might have happened to them during that time," he said, greatly worried. Mr. Holton laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Snap out of it, Ben, old man," he begged. "I'm willing to bet that they are safe and well. And I firmly believe we will find them before another day will pass." Mr. Lewis did resolve to cheer up and be hopeful; but still he possessed a haunting fear that perhaps tragedy had come upon them. The sun blazed very hot that afternoon, scorching the already baked soil. This did not hinder the progress of the searchers, however, who trudged constantly on. Suddenly, as they passed over a wide valley strewn with rocks and dotted with cracks and ravines, Bob stopped and looked about expectantly. The others had also caught a sound. The next moment the explorers were seized with fear, for ten or twelve evil-looking Arabs darted out on dromedaries and rushed toward the explorers. "What's this!" cried Mr. Holton, as one of the men caught hold of his camel. There was no chance to use their guns. The Arabs were on the lookout for any treachery. Suddenly Bob saw a chance and, drawing the reins of his dromedary, he dashed away at full speed for a short canyon between the rocks. CHAPTER XXIV A Dangerous Undertaking Urging his dromedary on to the utmost, the youth was carried over the narrow valley at a pace that ate up the distance surprisingly. In fact, never had he traveled so rapidly on camelback. When he was several hundred feet away, he glanced back, to see that two of the Arabs were pursuing him desperately. At the start he had put a good distance between himself and his enemies, but now the latter were gaining swiftly. They were more familiar with the country and knew better how to command their camels to move fast. "If I can only make that little canyon," the youth thought, bending low so as to lessen the wind resistance. The canyon was near now, but a hurried look over his shoulder told Bob that the Arabs were near also. If he could only get there! He lashed the dromedary with a new determination and entered the narrow way between the mountains just as the Arabs passed over a small grove of low shrubs some two hundred feet away. Bob knew that this was a very short canyon and that there were numerous large rocks and crevices at the opposite end. Perhaps he could successfully evade his pursuers by hiding in one of these openings in the mountainsides. Sharp jagged crags protruded from all sides of the thread-like passageway between the high walls. It was very dangerous to ride with much speed in such a place, but the chance had to be taken. He reached the other end of the passage with but a moment to spare. Immediately his dromedary was cut over to the right behind a barrel-like rock. But the youth did not stop there; he wound in and out among the many huge boulders. At last he came to a stop in a large crevice between two imposing slabs of stone. With every nerve on edge, the young man listened. "They're coming!" he thought, getting out his revolver. "But they won't get me if I can help it!" But he was in a very secure hideout, and it was unlikely that the Arabs would locate it. Still he realized that they probably knew this region better than did he. As Bob waited breathlessly, his mind was in a whirl. Who were these Arabs? What did they want? Why had they descended upon the little exploring party so mysteriously? Bob did not know what to make of the situation, but he knew that danger was at hand. What further added to his perplexity was the fact that Arabs did not normally inhabit the Sahara so far south as this. Suddenly he started, as a thought struck him. Was it--the two thieves who stole Fekmah's map? Entirely possible, of course. Then a strange thing happened. As though informed by some unseen power, Bob grasped the whole situation. He saw Dr. Kirshner and Joe in the clutches of the two thieves, being held as prisoners. He visioned his father, Mr. Lewis, and Tishmak riding away under the guard of the Arabs. "Those thieves did it, then, to keep us away from the hidden treasure," thought the youth, and he could not have had a more accurate realization. For some time he listened closely for any sound from the two Arabs who had pursued him. He thought once he heard the footsteps of camels, but was not sure. What was he to do next? He was now doubly glad that good fortune had enabled him to escape from the would-be captors. If the Arabs had been nomad plunderers, he would probably not have suffered much by remaining with his father and the others. But as it was, there was a possibility of bringing rescue to his friends. "How am I to do it?" the youth mused, trying to remain calm. Suddenly the far-away noise of footsteps came to his ears, and he knew that the two Arabs who had followed him had given up and were abandoning the chase to join their friends back in the valley. After several minutes of waiting, Bob got off his camel and tethered the brute to a small protruding rock. Then he walked over to some distance beyond the mountain near which he had been hiding. He glanced up to the top of the peak and saw that it was unusually high. The sides stretched almost straight up. "If I could only get to the top of some tall mountain," Bob thought, his eyes scanning the landscape. "Then I might be able to see where Dad and the others will be taken." The peak before him offered no footholds and therefore could not possibly be scaled. He looked about for other sky-piercing hills. At last his eyes fell on one about a hundred yards away, and he resolved to inspect it. "Looks like there might be a chance there," the youth thought and then walked over and untied his dromedary. He rode over to the mountain, every step bringing new hope. The peak, rocky as it was, was rather gradual and not straight up, as were many others in the vicinity. Once more the camel was tied by the rocky side, and Bob moved over to gaze up to the top. The dizzy height almost took his breath away. But he saw at once that it would be possible to climb to the very summit of this imposing peak of rock. Bracing himself to the task that was before him, Bob began the dangerous ascent, slowly, at first, and then climbing faster. It was exhausting, fear-inspiring, but he went bravely up. There was no option in this case. He must observe where his father and the others would be taken by their Arab captors. "If I can only get up in time," the young man thought, as he sought out a means to ascend a five-foot plate of smooth stone that was directly above him. To do this, it was necessary to edge on around the mountainside until he came to a rough, gradual section. Then climbing became comparatively easy. Once, when he was but a third of the way up, he glanced back over his shoulder to the ground below and almost lost his balance. But he caught himself with a quick motion, and after resting a moment from the terrific strain, continued the climb. That glance to the ground had revealed that he was several hundred feet up. How easy it would be to slip backwards! Another hundred feet and he found himself on a wide shelf, which seemed to encircle the peak. A short rest was taken here, and in the end he felt much better for it. "Wonder if I can get down from here?" the boy mused, again taking up the climb. "I'll find some way, though," was his conclusion. For a few more hundred feet the way was very gradual, with many rocks of different sizes affording footholds. But as he came to a sharp break in the side of the mountain, the lofty pointed crag shaped up straighter and more jagged. Once he thought he had gone as far as possible, but finally managed to get to the brink of a slab that had threatened to hinder his progress. "On to the top," he thought, bringing his foot up another notch with difficulty. At last, panting and perspiring, he ascended the last stretch and took his position on the flat surface of a platform-like formation. Then he turned to look below. A cry of astonishment came from his lips as he saw that he was hundreds and hundreds of feet in the air. Far, far below, he could dimly make out his dromedary by the outermost side of the mountain. The beast seemed no larger than an ant. "I wonder if Dad and the others can be seen," he mused, turning his gaze in the opposite direction. "Yes!" he muttered excitedly. "There they are." He had caught sight of his father and friends being led up the valley by their Arab captors. The camels on which they rode seemed only crawling, so small did they appear. As usual, his binoculars were strapped over his shoulder, and he took them out to get a closer view. Through them he could see the worried expressions on his friends' faces, and the surly grins of the Arabs. There was a sort of narrow ledge that passed up the little valley and around the mountain. It was up this that the captives were being led. "There's probably a hideout somewhere around here," the youth thought, shifting his eyes from the camel procession to the rugged country ahead. From his lofty perch it might be possible to get a glimpse of the hidden cave in which were the riches. Bob scanned the landscape about him but finally gave up and again followed the movements of his friends and the Arabs. "If it's anywhere around here, it's concealed from view," he thought. The youth was crouching low behind a flat shelf of rock, so as to be invisible to the Arabs if they should happen to look up in that direction. He knew that their seeing him would spell his doom. As Bob watched the line of camels and their riders, it seemed that they were making no time at all; yet he knew that they were winding around the mountain as fast as possible. Up, up, up they went, but always in sight. Bob noticed that they were gradually moving away from him, and he wondered if he would be able to follow their movements to the end. "If I can't, I'll have to change peaks," he thought, although he realized that this would be difficult and dangerous. The Arabs and their captives were now nearing a high wall of rock that would prevent them from being seen. But it would be for only a short time--if they did not stop opposite it. After what seemed like hours to Bob, they emerged again into view, this time at the brink of a high cliff. "Hope they don't step off of there," the youth breathed, his heart in his mouth. At last, just as the sun was beginning to sink behind the distant peaks, the camels and their riders came to a stop at an opening in a mountainside that evidently led into a cave. Hardly able to hold the binoculars steady, Bob watched breathlessly, almost expecting to catch sight of Joe and Dr. Kirshner. But those individuals did not make an appearance. Bob did not doubt, however, that they were in the cave. A moment later, captors and captives dismounted from their dromedaries and walked through the opening out of sight. Bob waited silently for another half-hour, thinking that it might be possible that this was only a temporary prison. But when at the end of that time no one had left the cave, he was convinced that this was a permanent hideout. "Now I suppose it's up to me to get down from here right away," Bob thought, gliding silently off the shelf and onto a narrow ridge that was directly below. Carefully he felt his way down with great difficulty. As he had surmised, the descent would prove much harder than the ascent. Once his heart sank, as he saw that a five-foot wall of stone was directly below him. But then he suddenly remembered that a little to his right there were protruding rocks that would offer footholds. He edged around, and in a short time was again climbing steadily down. The minutes passed. When he was a third of the way to the bottom, darkness began to fall rapidly. He realized that he could not get to the base of the peak before pitch darkness would envelop him. "But I've got to keep going down," he told himself, frantically feeling his way among the rocks. For the past five minutes he had been getting drowsy, sleepy. The day's strain was beginning to tell on him. With an effort he kept himself awake. He knew the grim consequences if he should suddenly fall asleep while making the dangerous descent of the peak. He was half of the way down; now two thirds. But a few more hundred feet remained, and he braced himself and continued his slow, careful movement. "Not much more now," he observed, glancing down. "Ought to make it in a few more minutes." Long before, darkness had come upon him, making the frequent use of his small flashlight necessary. Even then it was a hard task. "Must be almost to the bottom," he thought, when another fifteen minutes had passed. He flashed the light downward and saw that fifty feet still remained. Again he bent his efforts upon the descent that was still before him, and in no time had covered most of the distance. But just when he prepared to use his flashlight, a small rock gave way from under his left foot. He tried vainly to catch hold of a sharp crag, and then felt himself falling! CHAPTER XXV Going for Help When Bob reached the ground, he was sore from numerous bruises, but to his great joy his legs and arms responded to his efforts to move them. He glanced up the side of the peak, but the darkness veiled his vision. "Wonder what became of the old flashlight?" he mused, feeling about on the soft ground. Finally his hand came upon something hard, and a thrill of delight ran through him as he realized that he had found the electric torch. But his heart sank as he saw that it had been damaged by the fall. "Lens wasn't broken, though," he observed. "Must be the bulb." Without the light there was no way of knowing how far he had fallen. But he readily guessed that it was not over eight or nine feet. The moon was just beginning to show itself from behind the thin clouds, and it might be possible to travel in its light. Whether to do so or not, Bob could not easily decide. He knew that Fekmah would be extremely worried if no one returned to camp that night, but he doubted if he could keep awake long enough to direct his dromedary over the right way. He finally made up his mind to stretch out beside the mountain and surrender himself over to sleep. "I hate to treat Fekmah that way, but I don't believe I could make it back," the youth thought, closing his eyes. A second later he fell asleep, not to awaken until the sun was well up in the sky. "Eight o'clock!" he cried, looking at his watch. "By George! I bet Fekmah is throwing a dozen fits." Bob at once jumped up and untied his dromedary. He was on the animal in a moment and rode back toward camp. "I hope I know the way," he thought, as he was carried to the spot where his father, Mr. Lewis, and Tishmak had been captured. But the youth had carefully observed the landmarks as they left camp on the search, and had no difficulty in recognizing the way. First, however, Bob had made a small sketch map of the distant cave in which his father and friend were being held captive. He was positive he could locate it, perhaps without the use of the map. Bob was now passing up the path that Tishmak had believed made by Tuaregs. For a good distance it would be necessary to follow this lane; then he would turn off on a level stretch. Suddenly, as Bob made a sharp bend in the path, his jaw fell in surprise and horror. Not twenty feet away sat a native, a Tuareg, with his back against a low rock. The man was terror-stricken as he watched a long reptile move toward him with a slow, terrible fascination. That the man knew not what to do, Bob rightly guessed. If he should make the slightest move, the reptile, a deadly horned viper, would strike. "It's up to me to come to his rescue," thought Bob, and, raising his rifle, he took steady aim. The report of the gun was followed by a terrible twitching of the snake. Meanwhile the Tuareg had jumped in surprise at the sound of the gun and was now looking at his benefactor thankfully. Bob rode on up to the man and dismounted, to be met by the Tuareg. The latter was of unusual height, towering several inches above Bob, who was himself six feet. The man quite promptly threw his arms around Bob and hugged him, too thankful for words that he had escaped a terrible death. It was rather embarrassing for the young American, but he smiled modestly and passed the thanks aside as best he could. Finally the Tuareg stood away and motioned for Bob to follow him up the path. The youth did as directed, even though he was anxious about getting back to camp. As Bob followed his newly made friend up the lane, he took note of the man's dress. He was garbed in a loose black robe, which reached almost to his feet. On his chest were numerous decorations that distinguished him as a man of some importance among his people. What seemed most unusual was a black veil that covered his face, leaving little more than his eyes visible. On his head was a strange high cap of black and white. "Quite a specimen," thought Bob. "And evidently a chief or nobleman." Ten minutes of walking brought them to the top of the hill. Then, as they moved around a large rock, Bob caught sight of several tents placed about a hundred yards apart on a vast plain. Several natives came running out, followed by a score more. They rushed forward as they caught sight of Bob and his friend. The latter at once spoke excitedly to his fellow people, and Bob rightly guessed that he was telling of being saved from the snake by the white youth. When the man had finished, the Tuaregs looked at Bob with gratitude and admiration. They asked him by signs to come into their tent village, and he did so. "Wish I could speak some of their language," he thought, as he was being shown the various things about the tents. It now became apparent that the man whom Bob had saved from death was the chieftain of the tribe, as he was held in high esteem by all. And no one else wore such decorations as did he. Suddenly a thought struck Bob, and he smiled in renewed hope. Perhaps it would be possible to engage the aid of these Tuaregs in rescuing his friends from the Arabs. Could it be worked? Bob was now extremely anxious to get back to camp, for he knew that Dr. Kirshner had prepared a paper with many Tuareg words on it for reference. The youth would get that paper and then come back and ask for help in rescuing his father and the others. Perhaps they would be willing to give aid. As best he could, Bob told the Tuaregs by signs that he must be leaving, and it was evident that they understood. With a last farewell, the youth turned his dromedary away. His hopes were high as he rapidly covered ground toward camp. Before coming across these Tuaregs, Bob was in doubt as to whether he could tackle so many of the Arabs alone in order to rescue his father and friends. Now, with the prospects of getting aid from the Tuaregs, the future looked brighter. "Still they might not be willing to help," he thought. "But at least I can ask them." After winding in and out among the huge rocks and peaks for well over an hour, Bob turned his camel up a little hill and came in sight of camp. How good it looked! Since his friends had been captured by the Arabs, the youth had had an uneasy feeling that perhaps he could not find his way back. "Where's Fekmah, I wonder," he mused, looking about. A moment later the Arab came running up, delighted beyond words at again seeing him alive and well. "What kept you away so long?" Fekmah asked. "And where are the others?" Bob's face darkened. He told of his father, Mr. Lewis, and Tishmak being captured by the Arabs, and of his own good fortune in getting away. "But," he said, "I have a plan to bring about their rescue." "What is it?" Fekmah waited breathlessly. "On the way back to camp this morning, I came upon some Tuaregs who live in a tent village several miles from here. They were very friendly and wanted me to stay longer, but I told them I had to get back. "Now Dr. Kirshner has a paper with a good many Tuareg words on it. I remember hearing him tell about it several days ago. If we can find that, everything will probably be all right. We'll take it with us to their village and ask them in their own language to help us. How does it sound?" "Very good," Fekmah returned. "But do you think they will?" "Won't do any harm to find out," Bob said, going in the tent. Dr. Kirshner's large satchel was on a box, and the young man at once took it down and searched its contents for the paper of Tuareg words. His nerves were on edge with a terrible fear that perhaps it would not be there. Papers and books and pamphlets were all taken out and hastily read. Scarcely would the youth glance at one sheet when he would pick up another. Under ordinary circumstances, Dr. Kirshner would not have permitted anyone to go through his belongings, but now it was a case of necessity. Suddenly Bob straightened up in great relief. He had at last found the object of his search. "Here it is," he said to Fekmah, who was standing beside him. "A translation of about three hundred Tuareg words. Now I guess we'll fool those Arab crooks." Bob had had nothing to eat that morning, and he was very hungry. He lost no time in preparing a satisfying breakfast. When he had finished eating, he turned to Fekmah. "Now," he said, "I'm going to that Tuareg village and ask for aid in rescuing Dad and the others. You had better stay here with the camels and supplies, hadn't you? It would probably mean tragedy for us if anything should happen to them." "Yes," the Arab returned, "I will stay. And I not afraid that you will fail." "I'll try not to," Bob said, getting on his dromedary. With a warm farewell the youth rode off at a rapid pace. His mind was desperately set upon a purpose. He would rescue his father and friends if he had to do it himself. The Tuareg village was several miles away, but his fleet-footed camel covered the distance in no time. "Here's where I get busy with this new dialect," Bob thought, getting out the paper of native words. A score or more Tuaregs came running up, led by the chieftain, whom Bob had saved from death previously. The people shouted sincere welcomes. Bob glanced down at the paper and found a few words for casual conversation. They were not difficult to pronounce, and the effect upon the natives was astounding. They were indeed surprised to find that this white youth could speak any of their language. But before long Bob got to the purpose. There was one word that stood out in his mind more prominently than any of the others. It was _reeskra_ (help). As best he could, the young American picked out several words and put them in sentences. He outlined briefly and simply that his father and friends were being held captives in a cave not a great distance away. If the Tuaregs would give aid, they would be rewarded. Would they help? The result of his request was instantaneous. The Tuareg men, nearly all six-footers, waved their guns in the air and commanded Bob to lead them to the cave where the whites were being guarded. A thrill of joy ran through Bob's veins, and he ordered his dromedary to move forward. At last his father and friends would be released. CHAPTER XXVI To the Rescue For a distance of several hundred yards the country remained comparatively level, although dotted with huge rocks. Then mountains loomed up before them, and they found it necessary to travel slower. Bob was followed by about fifteen Tuareg warriors, all magnificent specimens of "desert knights." Each man was armed with a rifle which, although inferior to Bob's high-velocity type, could do much damage. Bob was almost certain he could find the way without the small sketch map he had made from the top of the tall peak the night before. But he had the map in his pocket and intended to consult it if necessary. Breathlessly he led the way through the rough country and at last came to the spot where his father and friends had been captured by the Arabs. From then on, finding the way would be easy, the youth thought, for he had only to move toward an odd formation of twin peaks that loomed up above the other mountains in the distance. The cave in which those captured were probably being held was along the side of those tall double peaks. To make sure of this, Bob got out the map and scrutinized it closely. Then, satisfied that he was right, he dashed forward, the Tuaregs at his heels. The way now led up the side of a large hill. There was a break just to one side of the path, and the rescuers could look down to the foot of a deep gorge. Bob kept his dromedary as far away from the brink as possible, to do away with the grim possibility of the ground giving way from under his camel's feet. Finally, after trudging over a high plateau, they began climbing the base of the twin peaks. At first the ascent was very gradual, but in a short time the path curved upward around the side of the mountain. "Getting there, all right," observed Bob, as he noticed that they were now several hundred feet above the plateau. At last they came to the top of a wide ledge, from which they could look out over scores of miles of rugged country. As the shelf began to narrow, Bob called a halt. He took out the paper of native words and told the Tuaregs that they were now near the cave in which were his father and friends. It would only be necessary to round a corner before coming to its entrance. But first he divided the group of natives into two sections. One, under the command of the chieftain, was to move on around the ledge to the cave from the west. The other, led by himself, would climb the steep side of the mountain and walk on above to the other side of the cavern. Then they would meet at the entrance and surround the Arabs and release the prisoners. When Bob gave the word, the Tuaregs swung into action. Those in his group followed him up the cliff to the brink, while the men under the chieftain began moving around the ledge. It was a dangerous climb up the steep side of the mountain, but at last Bob pulled himself up to another ledge about fifty feet above the lower one. Then he led the way several rods along its surface. When he thought they had passed beyond the entrance to the cave, he led the descent to the lower shelf. A moment later he saw that he had miscalculated. He had not gone far enough beyond the cavern to escape the wary eyes of the Arabs who were stationed as guards. "Caught!" he exclaimed. "Caught square!" Four Arabs were sitting out in front, and they were on their feet instantly as their eyes fell on Bob. The latter was no more than twenty-five feet away from them, much nearer than he had expected to be. The Arabs' rifles were standing against the wall of rock near the cave. But before the men could get to them, Bob rushed forward. With a wild shout he kicked the rifles away and dashed into the cavern. Startled exclamations--exclamations of joy, surprise, happiness--came to the youth's ears, and he realized that he had at last found his father, Joe, and the others. "Bob! You here!" cried Mr. Holton in wild excitement. "You old rascal! I knew you'd get us out!" came from Dr. Kirshner. But there was no time for that. Danger was at hand. "Quick!" he commanded. "Hide. Here, take my rifle, somebody. I'll use my pistol. There's no time to lose!" The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the four Arabs darted inside the cave and made for the captives and their new enemy. They would not be beaten so easily! With a terrific crack to the chin, Bob sent the foremost Arab to the ground. The other three men were making for the prisoners in the back of the cave. Mr. Holton had taken Bob's rifle and was by the youth's side looking for other Arabs. Suddenly Bob noticed that the man whom he had knocked down was getting to his feet and making for the rifles not far away. Without hesitating a moment, the youth dashed out of the cave and directed a stinging blow to the Arab's nose. The latter staggered a moment at the edge of the cliff, and then, to the horror of the two Americans, fell backwards over the cliff. Bob gave a cry of regret. Despite the fact that the Arab was an enemy, the young man did not wish to send him to his death. Mr. Holton had also been touched deeply. "You--you shouldn't have done that," he muttered. "But--it couldn't have been helped." Now a chorus of shouts and yells rent the air, and the Tuaregs rushed into the cave. To the surprise and relief of the Americans, they had captured the two thieves who stole Fekmah's map. Where had they found them? Mr. Holton, Dr. Kirshner, and the other former prisoners were taken aback at sight of the natives. At first they thought them other enemies. Bob soon gave an explanation. The thieves were searched for Fekmah's map, but the latter was not found. Meanwhile a struggle was taking place at the rear of the cave. Joe in particular attracted Bob's attention. The former youth was grappling with a large, powerful fellow, who was vainly trying to choke his young enemy. "Joe's sure a fighter," remarked Bob, as he and his father looked on for a moment. "We had better help him, though," Mr. Holton said. "Come on." But a second later they saw that this would be unnecessary, for Joe had suddenly jerked away and sent his fist with all force into the Arab's jaw, knocking him out. "Great work!" commended Mr. Holton. "That fellow was dangerous." The two remaining Arabs saw that they had no chance against so many, and they surrendered without a struggle. "Now tell us all about it," urged Dr. Kirshner, speaking to Bob. "We want to know how you managed to engage the aid of these Tuaregs." Briefly the youth outlined his adventures since escaping from the Arabs the day before. He told of climbing to the top of the peak, of saving the Tuareg chieftain from death, and of getting the paper of Tuareg words. "That's all," he finished. "Only these natives came up here with me to get you out of the clutches of these Arabs." "A wonderful demonstration of ingenuity," breathed Mr. Lewis. "We expected you all the time. Knew you'd find some way." "But our greatest work is yet before us," Bob said. "We must drive the Arabs from the hidden treasure--if we can locate it." "No," came from Mr. Holton, "we won't need to do that." CHAPTER XXVII The Hidden Treasure Bob looked at his father in surprise. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Simply that no one is there to drive away now," was the reply. "We have captured all of the Arabs--even the two thieves who stole Fekmah's map. And I might add that we have located the hidden treasure." "What! You've been there?" "No, but we've seen the cave in which it is. In fact, it is possible to see it from here." Mr. Holton took out his binoculars and handed them to his son. "Look away over there," the naturalist said, pointing to a distant wall of rock that was many hundred feet high. "That small shelf on the side of the cliff is an opening into the cave in which are the hidden riches." Bob scanned the landscape ahead. Then he cried out in surprise and amazement. "A cave away up in that cliff? Seems impossible. How can you get to it?" "Must be an entrance on the other side," Dr. Kirshner replied. "Fekmah's map no doubt points it out. Whether he remembered to put it on the duplicate after the original was stolen, we have yet to see. Where is he now?" "Who, Fekmah? I left him at camp this morning." "Let's go there now." First, however, Dr. Kirshner engaged in conversation with the Tuaregs in their own language. He told them, among other things, of how grateful he and the other former prisoners were for their help in releasing them from the clutches of the Arabs. The natives were very courteous and friendly, inviting the archæologist to their village. He returned that he would be delighted to visit them, and concluded by saying that they would be given a reward for their generous services. "Now let's get out of here," he said, turning to his friends. "I'm particularly anxious to get back to camp and see Fekmah. I wonder if any misfortune could have come upon him and our camels." The Americans, Tuaregs, and Arab captives left the cave behind and trudged down the mountainside. But before they did so, they carried out the food supply that had been in the cave for the prisoners and their guards. It consisted of simple native food, but was welcomed by the Americans and Tishmak. "There is much more in the cave where the hidden treasure is," remarked Joe, as he walked beside his chum, who was leading his camel. "We won't need to worry about not having enough to eat for many weeks." "Doubt if we'll stay here that much longer," Bob said. "But I imagine it'll come in handy all right." The Arabs were ordered to walk in front of the Americans and Tishmak. The Tuaregs rode on to their village, after asking their newly made friends to visit them the next morning. It required several hours for the explorers and their captives to get back to camp, going on foot as they did. But when they finally came within sight of the tent and camels, all gave sighs of relief. Fekmah came running out to meet them, his face showing an intense thankfulness at again seeing his American friends and Tishmak alive and apparently none the worse for their experience. "So Bob got you from Arab demons," he muttered and then added: "I knew he would do it." Nothing would satisfy him but a complete detailed account of their experiences, and it was Mr. Lewis who related all of the happenings since they had last left camp. "Howard [Mr. Holton] and Tishmak and I were sure greatly relieved when our captors took us to the cave where Joe and Dr. Kirshner were being held," Mr. Lewis finished. "Funny, but we had not dreamed of them being prisoners." "And I see you've brought the rascals with you," observed Fekmah. "What are we going to do with them?" "I'm sure we've all been thinking about that," Dr. Kirshner returned. "There are no police so far south as this, and we can't very well take them with us back to Wargla. I wonder how it would be to take them to an oasis fifty miles or so from here and leave them? There would be no danger of them starving, because dates and water would furnish food. And they couldn't get away without camels." "Sounds all right," Mr. Holton said. "Do you know where there is such an oasis?" "No, but I'm sure our Tuareg friends do. I'll ask them in the morning. Until then we'll have to keep our eyes on these Arabs. It might be well to tie them up." This was thought good advice, and the captives were bound together so tightly that they could not escape. The remainder of that day passed idly, and the explorers retired shortly after the evening meal. "But we must be up early in the morning," Mr. Holton told them. "We have a big day before us." They all slept the sleep of exhaustion and did not awaken as early as they had intended. Breakfast over, Dr. Kirshner and Bob got on their camels and started for the Tuareg village. The others put in a request to go also, but the archæologist stoutly refused, saying that no time must be wasted. "We only want to make arrangements to take these Arab crooks to an oasis and leave them," he said. "If more of you go, it will necessarily keep us longer." It did not take the two long to get to the natives' village. The chieftain at once came out to meet the newcomers, and Bob introduced Dr. Kirshner to them. After a few casual remarks the scientist got to the point. He told the natives of his desire to banish the Arabs to an oasis, if any were near. He also asked if enough camels could be borrowed to take the crooks there. The chieftain at once replied that he knew of an oasis a half-day's journey from the village, and that he would gladly let them have the camels. "Fine!" Dr. Kirshner said in the native tongue. "We'll go there at once." The chieftain insisted upon leading them to the oasis, for, he said, they could not find it alone. Dr. Kirshner consented, and the head native at once herded enough camels to take the prisoners away. Then the Americans and the Tuareg chieftain started for the explorers' camp to get the Arabs. "Be glad when this job's over," remarked Bob, as they rode toward camp. "I'm anxious to see the hidden treasure." They arrived at camp and placed each Arab on a dromedary. After preparing a lunch to last them until they would return, Dr. Kirshner, Bob, and the Tuareg chieftain began the journey to the oasis, riding behind the prisoners and guarding them closely. The oasis was about forty miles away, situated on a barren sand plain surrounded by mountains. The Tuareg explained that there was no other well near and that the prisoners would be forced to stay there for an indefinite period, for no caravans passed along that way. In order to get to the place it was necessary to go through the mountains, and traveling was not any too easy. But they rode with a determination and finally arrived at the oasis. The Arabs were commanded to dismount and walk forward. Then, after filling their canteens with water, the Americans and the Tuaregs started the return journey, herding the dromedaries ahead of them. "Now that that's over, maybe we can rest easy," said Dr. Kirshner. "Those Arabs can't get away because of not having camels, and the monotony will punish them greatly." Bob, the scientist, and the Tuareg made good time that afternoon, arriving at the explorers' camp just before sundown. The chieftain lost no time in getting back to his village, after being thanked warmly for his services. "We'll see that those Tuaregs get a reward," said Mr. Holton. "Just as soon as we get to the hidden treasure we'll give it to them." The natives had not been told of the cave of riches, however, for fear that their age-old desire to raid might get the better of them. Very early the next morning the explorers got their belongings placed on the dromedaries and started out for the cave of treasure. Although it would mean only a few hours' journey, they were extremely impatient. "Wonder if those Arabs carried any of the riches away?" asked Bob, as they rode toward the high wall of rock, in the side of which was the cave. "No," Mr. Holton returned. "They hadn't started yet. Were just looking over everything. At least that's what our guards told us. It seemed that they intended to carry the stuff out in a day or two." "Wanted to catalog everything first, huh?" asked Bob. "Well, it's a good thing we stopped them when we did." Fekmah found it necessary to consult his duplicate map very frequently, and he wondered if he had remembered to put in all the details accurately. Finally, after they had passed the tall wall of rock and were following a narrow trail up the mountain on the opposite side of the cliff, Dr. Kirshner turned to Bob. "You asked the other day how we were to get into the cave," he said. "Of course it would be impossible to scale that lofty cliff. Fekmah's map points out a narrow opening in the rock somewhere in this vicinity, and we ought to find it in a very few minutes now." He had scarcely uttered the words when Fekmah cried out in delight and pointed to a peculiar rock formation not far ahead. "There it is," he declared joyfully. "There is where we enter mountain to get cave of treasure." The explorers, led by Fekmah, moved on up to the spot. "Here's an opening!" cried Joe, pointing to a small crack that was barely large enough to let them in. Getting out their flashlights, they followed Fekmah through the crack and into a narrow tunnel. The air was damp and heavy from the breath of ages, but they trudged on through. After what seemed like hours, the passageway gradually became lighter, and the explorers found themselves in a large cave. Suddenly Joe stumbled and fell, unable to catch himself. "What's this!" he mumbled. Then, as his light was turned to the floor, he gave an exclamation of joy. "The hidden riches!" he said excitedly. "I've found them!" CHAPTER XXVIII Back to Civilization At Joe's welcome declaration, the others ran over in a high state of excitement. There, directly at their feet, was a huge chest of metal, the lid of which was pushed back. Piled up to the top were emeralds, diamonds, and a myriad of other precious stones. There were gold coins, rifles of ancient design, small silver boxes, and a hundred or more other valuable trinkets. For several minutes no one could speak. They were too amazed at the value of the treasure. Finally Dr. Kirshner looked up. "Thousands and thousands of dollars' worth," he muttered, as though he could hardly believe his eyes. "And it has all survived through the ages. In addition to the gold and precious gems, those rifles and coins will be of enormous value as relics." "Relics?" asked Joe. "Yes. They date back to the Middle Ages. You see," he went on, "the Tuaregs have always been fond of raiding caravans and cities. Whenever they see an opportunity to take possession of riches, they go out at once on a raid. The treasure in this cave was undoubtedly collected many hundreds of years ago. That is why there are guns and implements of the seventeenth century." "How interesting!" exclaimed Mr. Lewis. "I suppose now you are doubly glad we searched for this cave, because these relics will fit right in with your work as an archæologist." A thorough search of the cave was made, and the explorers discovered many other articles of great worth. "Now we'll carry this stuff out to the dromedaries," said Mr. Lewis. "It isn't wise to leave it in here too long." They had brought several large burlap bags, and the treasure was divided into these. There were eight of them, each filled to capacity. "Guess we'll have to make two trips," said Bob. "It'll be too much for us to get it all out at once." "We won't mind that," smiled Mr. Lewis. "The more there is the better." They carried out five of the sacks and then went back for the other three. When finally everything had been taken from the cave, they rested in the shade of the rocks. A lunch was prepared of canned food that had been taken from the supplies. All ate heartily, their eyes remaining much of the time on the bags of riches. "We may have to have more camels to get this stuff back to Wargla," remarked Mr. Holton. "I wonder if there is a chance of buying them from the Tuaregs?" "Probably is," Dr. Kirshner returned. "We'll see when we get these riches back to camp." The explorers thought it best to get the bags of riches to their camp before going to the Tuareg village for camels. Despite the fact that the natives were friendly, they might have the desire to raid the American expedition for their precious find. Camp was made several miles north of the Tuareg village. Then Bob, Dr. Kirshner, and Joe started out to the habitation. "Do you think they'll let us have the camels?" Joe asked, as they moved out of sight of their camp. The archæologist nodded. "I'm inclined to think they will," he said. "We'll pay them a good price for the animals, in addition to rewarding them for helping get us out of captivity." At last they rode into the village, to be met by the chieftain. Dr. Kirshner told the native that he wished several more camels, and that he would pay a good sum for them. He finished by presenting the man with a number of large coins, treasured so highly by Tuaregs. These, he said, were in return for the services of him and his people in capturing the Arabs. The chieftain was delighted and at once said that they could have the camels. He walked out beyond the village to a large plain, where several hundred _meharii_, or native dromedaries, were grazing on the sparse vegetation. These were huge white animals, towering many inches above the mounts of the explorers. The Tuareg said the Americans could have the brutes for a very nominal sum, and Dr. Kirshner at once accepted his offer. Secretly he knew he was getting a bargain. "Now to get back to camp," the scientist said, after bidding the tall native good-bye. When the three Americans rode within sight of the tent, their friends were indeed surprised at sight of the large camels. "You sure brought something back this time," observed Mr. Lewis. "Never in my life have I seen camels of that size and strength." "Just what we need," laughed Joe. "I don't know how we could have managed without them." They took it easy the remainder of that day. In the evening, Dr. Kirshner called his friends together. "I make a motion that we start back to Wargla," he said. "You naturalists have collected scores of specimens of animals, Bob and Joe have exposed hundreds of feet of motion-picture film, and I have made numerous archæological observations. And to cap it all, we located the hidden treasure. If there is anything else to keep us any longer, I don't know what it is." "You're right," agreed Mr. Holton. "We should be getting back home. On the way, however, we can keep our eyes open for anything else that might interest us." It was decided not to leave until after a rest of two days. The explorers were greatly fatigued after the eventful week, and were content to do nothing but sit idly in the tent. But when the morning set for their leaving arrived, they were refreshed and ready for action. "We've had a big time of it here," remarked Bob. "But somehow I'm anxious to get back home." After attending to last-minute preparations, the explorers got on their dromedaries and turned the animals toward the north. It was slow traveling through the Ahaggars, with the numerous jagged rocks and peaks standing in their way. They were glad indeed when finally they reached the end of the mountain range and rode over a rocky plain. "Now let's make time," said Mr. Holton. "We'll have it comparatively easy from now on and should get to Wargla inside of a few weeks." "And we're likely to have many more adventures before we again see civilization," remarked Joe. Notwithstanding this, the journey back to Wargla was made without important incident, except that in a region of deep ravines Mr. Lewis's camel missed its footing and came near plunging down a twenty-foot crevice. At Wargla the explorers remained for several days, boxing and crating their specimens and antiquities. Here Fekmah divided the treasure among himself and his friends. They begged him to take much the largest share, but he firmly refused. "If it had not been for you Americans, I would not have had any of the hidden riches," he told them, as they sat in the station awaiting the train to take them to the coast. "It was Bob who did it," said Dr. Kirshner loyally. "It was he who got us out of captivity and brought about the success of the expedition!" THE END BIBLIOGRAPHY _Across the Sahara_, by Hanns Vischer--E. Arnold, London. _Across the Sahara by Motor Car_, by Haardt--D. Appleton Co. _Sands of Sahara_, by Sommerville--J. B. Lippincott. _Camping in the Sahara_, by Hull--Dodd, Mead & Co. _The Spell of Algeria and Tunisia_, by M. S. Mansfield--L. C. Page Co. _Encyclopedia Britannica._ Wood's _Natural History_--A. L. Burt. _Elements of Zoölogy_, by Holder--American Book Co. (D. Appleton.) _The World and Its Peoples_--The Thompson Publishing Co., St. Louis. * * * * * * Transcriber's note: The four books in this series have been transcribed in the same manner. This means that in some books, table of contents and or/list of series names have been added. Except in cases of obvious typographical errors, archaic and inconsistent spelling has been retained. 
40832	----	The Veiled Man Being an Account of the Risks and Adventures of Sidi Ahamadou, Sheikh of the Azjar Marauders of the Great Sahara By William Le Queux Illustrations by Alfred Pearce The Veiled Man, by William Le Queux. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ THE VEILED MAN, BY WILLIAM LE QUEUX. PREFACE. AUTHOR'S NOTE. The remarkable adventures of the notorious robber-sheikh Ahamadou, "the Abandoned of Allah," once the terror of the Areg Desert, but now friendly to the French, were collected during a journey across the Great Sahara. In the belief that some description of the wild life of the Desert, with its romance and mystery, told by one upon whose head a price was set for twelve years, and who a dozen times narrowly escaped capture, may interest those fond of adventure, I have translated, edited, and presented these reminiscences in their present form. CHAPTER ONE. THE CITY OF THE SEVEN SHADOWS. During half a century of constant wandering over the silent sunlit sands, of tribal feuds, of revolts, battle and pillage, of bitter persistent hatreds, of exploit, foray, and fierce resistance against the lounging Spahis, cigarette-smoking Zouaves, black-faced Turcos, and swaggering Chasseurs of the French, I have met with some curious adventures, and have witnessed wonders more remarkable, perhaps, than many of the romances related by the Arab story-tellers. They mostly occurred before I was chosen sheikh of the Azjar; when I was simply one of a band of desert-pirates, whose only possessions were a long steel lance, a keen, finely-tempered poignard, and a white stallion, the speed of which was unequalled by those of my companions. A thief I was by birth; a scholar I had become by studying the _Tarik_, the _Miraz_, the _Ibtihadj_, and the Koran, under the Marabut Essoyouti in Algiers; a philosopher I fain would be. When riding over the great limitless red-brown sands, I was apt to forget the race whence I sprang, the learning that had made me wise, the logical reasonings of a well-schooled brain, and give myself up with all the rapture of an intense enthusiasm to the emotion of the hour. It was the same always. Essoyouti, a scholar renowned throughout Tripoli and Tunis, had versed me in legendary lore, until I had become full of glowing fancies and unutterable longing to penetrate the entrancing mysteries to which he had so often referred as problems that could never be solved. I am a Veiled Man. Openly, I confess myself a vagabond and a brigand. Living here, in the heart of the Great Desert, six moons march from Algiers, and a thousand miles beyond the French outposts, theft is, with my nomadic tribe, their natural industry--a branch of education, in fact. We augment the meagreness of our herds by extorting ransoms from some of our neighbours, and completely despoiling others. Mention of the name of Ahamadou causes the face of the traveller on any of the caravan routes between the Atlas mountains and Lake Tsad to pale beneath its bronze, for as sheikh of the most powerful piratical tribe in the Sahara, I have earned an unenviable notoriety as leader of "The Breath of the Wind," while the Arabs themselves have bestowed upon my people three epithets which epitomise their psychology: "Thieves, Hyenas, and Abandoned of Allah." The only law recognised by my race, the Touaregs, is the right of the strongest. We wear the black _litham_ wrapped about our faces, leaving only our noses and eyes visible, and never removing it, even at meal-times. It becomes so much a part of us that any one being deprived of his veil is unrecognisable to friends or relatives. If one of our number is killed, and divested of his veil, no one can identify him until it has been restored to its place. We are therefore known and dreaded as "The Veiled Men." My first journey by paths untrodden resulted strangely. For two whole moons a party of us, numbering nearly three hundred, all well-armed and desperate, had been lurking in a narrow ravine in the far South, known as the Gueden, close to the point where it is crossed by the route taken by the caravans from Lake Tsad to El Aghouat in Algeria. News travels fast in the desert. We had received word that a caravan laden with ivory and gold-dust was on its way from Kuka to Timissao, and were awaiting it, with the intention either of levying toll, or attacking it with a view to plunder. In our sombre robes of dark blue kano cloth and black veils, we were a mysterious, forbidding-looking rabble. As day succeeded day, and we remained inactive, with scouts ever vigilant for the approach of our prey, I recollected that in the vicinity were some curious rocks, with inscriptions recording the Mussulman conquest, and one morning, mounting my _meheri_, or swift camel, rode out to inspect them. The sun rose, and beneath its furnace heat I pushed on into the great waterless wilderness of Tasili, the true extent of which is unknown even to us Children of the Desert, for the utter dearth of water there renders a journey of many days impossible. Until the _maghrib_ hour I remained in the saddle, then dismounting, faced towards the Holy Ca'aba, recited my _fatihat_, ate a handful of dates, and squatted to smoke and watch the fading of the blood-red afterglow. On the next day, and the next, I journeyed forward over the wide monotonous plain, where the poison-wind fanned my brow like a breath from an oven, and nothing met the aching eye but glaring sand and far-off horizon, until, when my shadow lengthened on the sixth day after parting with my companions, I found myself within sight of a range of high hills, looming darkly against the brilliant sunset. Well acquainted as I was with the geography of my native sands, I had never heard mention of these hills, and was therefore convinced that I had mistaken the route to the great black rock whereon the inscriptions were engraved, and was now approaching a region unexplored. On many occasions I had traversed the caravan route to Timissao, and crossed the rocky ravine where my companions were now in ambush; but none of us had ever before left that track, clearly defined by its bleaching bones, for to the solitary traveller in that inhospitable region a pricked water-skin or a lame camel means death. With irrepressible awe I gazed upon the hills, clothed in the deep purple light of the descending sun, because of one strange thing my eyes had detected. I saw, above the serrated line, two cone-like peaks, rising close to one another, in majesty solemn and sublime, and recognised in them a scene exactly as described by my master Essoyouti, in one of the curious romances he was fond of relating. I stood recalling every detail of the scene, just as I had imagined it when, seated under the vine, in the cool patio of his house, in the ancient Kasbah at Algiers, he had told me a story that held me breathless and entranced. Worn with fatigue, exhausted and feverish from long exposure to the fiery sun, half stifled by the sand-laden wind, and riding a camel scarcely less jaded than myself, I confess that, despite my love of adventure, and by reason of the strangeness of the story I had heard, I contemplated with no little dread the prospect of passing that night alone within sight of those twin mountain-crests. Twilight is brief in the desert, and soon the moon, having risen from behind a bank of cloud, afforded an uncertain light, which partly illuminated the prospect, and I sat hugging my knees and thinking deeply until sleep closed my eyes. Before the appearance of the first saffron streak that heralds the sun's coming, I had recited a _sura_ and mounted, with my face set resolutely towards the unknown range. In the skin across my saddle I had only just sufficient water to enable me to return to our ambush, therefore I broke not my fast, determined to hoard up my frugal store. The sand was soft and treacherous. At every step my camel's spongy feet sank deeper and deeper, until, after a toilsome ride of three hours, we arrived near the foot of the two dark, ominous-looking mountains. Then I pulled up, fearing to proceed further lest we should be overwhelmed by the quicksands. Near me was a narrow pass between the two mountains, and shading my eyes with my hand, I was startled at beholding two gigantic figures standing on either side of the entrance. The sight of them confirmed my suspicion that I had approached the Unknown, and with curiosity aroused, I urged my _meheri_ still forward, coming at last close up to the colossal figures. They were fashioned from enormous blocks of dark grey stone, ten times the height of a human being. One, carved to represent a beautiful woman, had her right hand lifted towards the sky, while the other, a forbidding-looking hag, with chipped, time-worn face still wearing a repulsive expression, pointed downward. Between these colossal figures was a space of about thirty paces. According to the legend related by the sage Essoyouti, and told by our story-tellers through ages, there existed beyond a land forbidden. I held my breath. I was about to view a country that had not been viewed; the ravine known in story as the Valley of the Ants. In eagerness I pressed onward, leading my camel, and passing up the stony valley until at length I came to a second and more fertile space of vast extent, covered entirely by the colossal ruins of a forgotten city. Aghast, I stood gazing upon the remarkable and unexpected scene. Ruined temples, with long rows of broken columns, and great houses cracked and fallen into decay, stood silent and deserted, grim, grey relics of a glorious past. Here and there obelisks and colossi still stood, and the broad streets of the giant city were everywhere well-defined by the ruins, half-buried by drifting sand on either side. Above, a single eagle soared high in the heavens, the only sign of life in that once populous and magnificent centre of a lost civilisation. Having tethered my camel, I started forward through the ocean of soft sand that through centuries had drifted over the place, and as I did so the story of old Essoyouti recurred to me. The appearance of the place agreed with the strange legend in almost every detail. The ruler of this gigantic capital had been Balkis, the wealthy and luxurious queen mentioned in our Book of Everlasting Will. This was actually the city of Saba, once the wealthiest and most magnificent capital in the world. According to the legend of the sages, this place existed somewhere in the Great Desert, but whereabouts no man had been able to determine, although it was believed that its entrance was between two cone-like mountains, but surrounded by quicksands of so treacherous a nature that none dare approach it. With hurried footsteps I scrambled on over fallen columns and great blocks of hewn stone, with inscriptions in characters unknown to me, until suddenly my eyes were bewildered at beholding on the mountain-side an enormous palace, with beautiful terraces and pavilions, apparently in an excellent state of preservation. From the city it was approached by a long flight of wide stone steps, flanked on either side by a pair of colossal figures of similar design to those at the entrance of the Valley of the Ants. At first, I doubted that the scene before me was one of actual reality, but having reassured myself that I was not dreaming, and was entirely in possession of my senses, I gripped my long lance firmly, and started to ascend the thousand steps that gave access to the historic palace of Balkis. Hardly, however, had I placed my foot upon the first step, when my eyes were blinded by a lightning-flash, and my ears deafened by a crash of thunder, that, shaking the earth, resounded among the hills, until it became lost in innumerable echoes. I halted in suspicion, puzzled to account for the strange phenomenon, which seemed like some ominous warning. Nothing daunted, however, I sprang up the steps, two by two, halting but once to regain breath, and in a few minutes entered the great, marvellously-sculptured portals of the magnificent dwelling-place of one of the most powerful and beautiful women the world ever knew. About to enter, my footsteps were suddenly arrested by the discovery that the floor of the palace was of running water, wherein fish disported themselves, and in the centre, raised upon a dais of ivory and gold, was the great empty throne of Balkis, constructed entirely of chalcedony, amethysts, and rubies. The extent of my discoveries entranced me. I twisted up my robe, and prepared to wade through the water, when, on setting foot into it, I discovered to my amazement that the floor was of transparent glass, laid over the running water, thus keeping the palace uniformly cool during the hottest hours. On approaching the throne I at once became aware of its enormous value, and with my poignard prised from its setting one of the largest rubies my eyes had ever beheld. It was the size of a pigeon's egg, and of matchless colour. Through the wonderful courts of the deserted palace I wandered, amazed at every turn. Of gigantic proportions, with strange grotesque embellishments that clearly showed its ancient origin, it had stood here in the zenith of its magnificence ages before the days of the Prophet, and for many centuries had remained hidden from the sight of man within that unknown valley. From the flat roof of one of its pavilions I stood gazing down upon the once mighty city, trying to reconstruct it in my imagination, and endeavouring to form an idea of its aspect in the long-past days, when the hosts of Balkis went forth to battle, and when the beautiful queen herself flashed forth in her golden chariot, amid the wild plaudits of the multitude. Many hours I spent in exploring this wonderful relic of a decayed civilisation, visiting pavilion after pavilion and finding most of them knee-deep in the accumulated dust of ages, until at last I came to a small chamber built right against the side of the mountain. This I entered, finding traces of the most extravagant luxury within. The decorations were richly ornamented with gold even now untarnished, the beams supporting the roof being set with gems which sparkled where a ray of sunlight fell upon them. Beyond was a door which, on examination, proved to be of solid iron. On dragging it open there was disclosed a small, dark, and cavernous burrow into the mountain-side. Minutely I examined this door, and finding thereon great bolts with sockets sunk deeply into the solid rock, it occurred to me that in this place might be hidden some of the treasure that the Koran tells us was possessed by the great Queen Balkis. Cupidity prompted me to search, and having constructed a large improvised torch, I propped open the door with a huge stone sculptured to represent a lion's paw, and started forward up the narrow gloomy tunnel. The natural sides of the cavern were rough, gleaming with long pendant stalactites; but soon it grew larger, and the air became so warm that the perspiration fell from my brow in big drops. One or two articles, old cross-hilted swords, a rusty, dinted helmet and a battered breastplate, showed that this place had long ago been frequented, therefore I pressed forward eagerly, hoping to discover that which would render me wealthy. The increasing heat within the cavern surprised me; nevertheless I went forward, my torch held high above my head, my eyes eagerly strained into the impenetrable gloom, and my feet stumbling ever and anon over the uneven ground, until suddenly a harsh grinding noise fell upon my ears, and next second a crushing blow fell full upon my skull, felling me like a log and rendering me unconscious. How long I remained in that dark stifling tunnel I have no idea. When, slowly and painfully, I opened my eyes I found that my veil had been removed, my brow deftly bandaged, and my fevered head was resting upon a woman's cool hand. A soft feminine voice gave me "Peace," and turning I saw by the light of a burning brazier that my companion was a girl of wondrous beauty. Her face was of the pure Arab type, her complexion white as those of the Englishwomen who come to Biskra at Ramadan; her little skull-cap was thickly embroidered with seed-pearls, and her bracelets and anklets, set with beautiful diamonds, gleamed with a thousand iridescent fires at each movement. At first I fancied myself dreaming, but when at length I entirely recovered consciousness, I recognised that we were together in a small apartment hung with heavy hangings of thick dark crimson stuffs. The golden perfuming-pan diffused an intoxicating odour of attar of roses, and the silken couch whereon I reclined was soft, restful, and spacious. Turning to my companion who, instantly divining my longing, handed me water in a crystal goblet, I enquired where I was. "Thou art with a friend," she answered. "Thou hast dared to enter the City of the Seven Shadows bent on plunder, and the wrath hath fallen upon thee." "Didst thou discover me?" I asked, raising myself upon my elbow, and looking at her. She nodded, and with bent head sat with her luminous dark eyes fixed upon the ground. "Thou hast entered this, the city upon which the seven lights of the heavens have cast the shadows of their wrath, and where all who enter are accursed," she exclaimed at last, speaking slowly and impressively. "Thou earnest hither with evil intent, to secure the treasure of Balkis. Yet out of evil cometh good, for in thee I have found a companion in adversity." "In adversity!" I echoed. "What art thou?" "I am Balkis, sole lineal descendant of the great queen who ruled over Saba, and guardian of her treasure," she answered. "I am a queen without court; a ruler without people. The palace that thou hast inspected is mine; the throne from the arm of which thou hast filched the great ruby is my lonely seat of royalty; for I am queen of a dead city. Although I am bearer of the historic name of Balkis, and possess treasure of greater worth than men have ever dreamed, my subjects number only fourteen persons, all of whom are my relatives and live here with me in this my palace. As thou hast already seen, our once-powerful city with its fifty brazen gates hath fallen into decay because of the curse placed upon it by Allah. The teeming populace that once crowded its thoroughfares and market-places have dwindled down until mine own family only are left, the last of a long illustrious, world-famed line. Soon, alas! I, too, shall pass into the grave, and the royal house of Balkis will become extinct," and her jewel-laden breast rose and fell slowly in a long deep-drawn sigh. "Why speakest thou in tone so melancholy?" I asked. "Thou hast youth, health, long life, everything before thee!" "No," she answered gravely, with her white pointed chin still resting thoughtfully upon her palm. "Already I am threatened; nay, I am doomed." "How?" I enquired, incredulously. "Listen, and I will explain," she said, slowly, raising her beautiful eyes to mine. "About two moons ago, attired in the _haick_ of an Arab woman, I journeyed with my aged uncle to In Salah, in order to make purchases in the market, as is our custom twice each year. On our return hither we came across an encampment of those red-legged dogs of French, and having accepted the hospitality of their tents through several days on account of the sand-storms, I was surprised and annoyed by receiving a declaration of love from the young lieutenant in charge, whose name was Victor Gaillard, and whose home, he told me, was in Paris. Believing me to be daughter of an Arab merchant, he announced his readiness to take me to Algiers and make me his wife; but hating these youthful irresponsible masters of our land, I declined that honour. He then declared that at all costs I should be his, for at the end of the year he was going north to the seashore, where he would be quartered until the spring, and that if I escaped him he and his host who ruled the Desert would treat me and my people as rebellious, and shoot us down like dogs. I laughed his declaration to scorn, for he little dreamed of my real name, birth, and dwelling-place. Next day I remained in the encampment, but on the following night, by bribing one of the Spahi sentries with a ring from my finger, I and my uncle managed to escape, and, beneath the crescent moon, pushed our way forward in the direction of Saba. Through four days we travelled almost incessantly, until at midnight on the fifth our camels' feet sank deep into the quicksands that render the entrance to Saba unapproachable. Laughing as I congratulated myself on my cleverness at outwitting him, I had gone some hundred paces when, chancing to glance back, I saw not far away, hesitating at the edge of the treacherous belt of ground, a single horseman. The glint of moonlight on his bright scabbard showed him to be an officer of the Roumis, and instantly I recognised the slim silhouette of Victor Gaillard. He sat motionless in his saddle, and with his field-glass raised calmly watched our difficult progress towards the two colossal statues which have guarded the entrance to our city from the day of King Solomon. My uncle, noticing my alarm, also turned and detected our pursuer. That night, before my family assembled in the palace, I explained the whole of the facts, and they, knowing how relentless are these harsh infidel rulers of ours, unanimously decided upon flight. But I declined to leave. Was I not Balkis, Queen of Saba? Was not the great store of gold and jewels given into my keeping that I should remain and watch them until I drew my last breath? They urged me to accompany them into the mountains, but finding me obdurate all fled, leaving me alone to face the unscrupulous man who had declared that at all costs I should become his wife. Ten weary anxious days have since gone by. Yesterday thou earnest hither, thy face wrapped in thy black _litham_, and naturally I supposed thou wert the accursed infidel in disguise. I watched thee explore my palace and enter to the cave wherein my treasure lieth concealed. When thou hadst entered I breathed more freely, full well knowing that thou hadst gone forward into thy grave." "How? Is the tunnel azotic?" "No. Within is an ingenious mechanical contrivance which was constructed by Balkis herself, whereby the unsuspecting intruder releases a spring, and is struck down by a great iron mace." "I was struck," I observed. She nodded, smiling sadly. "When I went forward to ascertain whether mine enemy still lived I found thy veil unloosened, and that thy features were not those of the hateful Frank. Then I tended thee throughout the night, and at dawn thou didst rally and art now rapidly recovering." "Of a verity I had a narrow escape." "Assuredly thou didst. Many others, as adventurous and stout-hearted as thyself, have met their fate at that spot." "So thou hast remained here alone and single-handed to guard the treasure of thine ancestor against the pilfering of the Franks?" I said, regarding the beautiful, frail-looking girl with admiration. "Assuredly thou art as courageous as the great Balkis who defied the combined powers of the ancient world." She sighed. "It hath been the duty of the Queens of Saba to remain within their kingdom even if evil threatened and all forsake them. I will never be wife of a Frank, neither will I exhibit fear to these new rulers of the Desert who are led by amorous youths from Paris boulevards," she answered, drawing herself up with queenly hauteur. "Peradventure he only useth idle threats," I observed. "No. The Franks who conquered Algeria and hold it beneath the thraldom of the religion they call Christianity, are our rulers also. He ordered me to remain in the encampment on pain of being outlawed. I disobeyed; therefore I and my people are rebels. That he will return and seek me out I am convinced." "Then why not fly?" I suggested. "I will take thee to where my tribe, are encamped. Although we are thieves and brigands, thou, a woman, wilt nevertheless meet with chivalrous treatment at our hands." She shook her head, and with dogged persistence announced her intention of remaining, while, on my part, I promised to render her whatever assistance lay in my power. "Then first help me to remove the throne into the treasure-house," she said, and opening a door that had been concealed behind the heavy hangings she led me into the great hall where water flowed beneath its pavement of glass. Together we dragged the bejewelled seat of royalty through several courts, until we came to the small pavilion which gave entrance to the cavern. Then, while she carried a flaming flambeau, I toiled on with it after her. When we had gone some distance into the heart of the mountain she stooped to secure the ancient mechanism so that the iron mace could not again descend, and advancing some further distance we found ourselves in a kind of _cul-de-sac_, with only a black wall of rock before us. To the right, however, was a cunningly-concealed door which gave entrance to a spacious natural chamber, wherein I saw, heaped indiscriminately, the most wondrous collection of golden ornaments and brilliant jewels my eyes had ever gazed upon. Some of them I took up, holding them in my hand in wonderment. The gems were of the first water, the spoils taken in battle by the notorious queen once feared by all the world, while heaped everywhere were bejewelled breast-plates, gem-encrusted goblets, golden dishes, and swords with hilts and scabbards thickly set with precious stones. Wheresoever I trod there were scattered in the fine white dust strings of pearls, uncut gems, rings, and ear-ornaments, while all around were piled great immovable boxes of hewn stone, like coffins, securely clamped with rusting iron. These had never been opened, and contained, according to the story of my companion, the tribute of enormous worth sent by King Solomon to Balkis. These I examined carefully, one after another, at length discovering one, the stone of which had split so that a small aperture was formed. I placed my hand inside and withdrew it, holding between my thumb and finger three cut diamonds, the like of which I had never before beheld. The stone box was filled to the brim with gems of every kind. In wonderment I was standing, contemplating this vast wealth of a vanished nation, when my fair conductress exclaimed-- "There is still one other marvel about this place. Listen! Canst thou hear a sound?" Distinctly I heard a dull, monotonous boom, which had continued uninterruptedly ever since we had been there. "Yea. What is its cause?" I asked. "The interior of this mountain is as a fiery furnace. That roaring is the unquenchable flame that has burned therein through ages. During mine own remembrance as a child smoke hath issued from the cone above, and so near are we to the fiery interior here in this treasure-house that its very walls are warm." Upon the rock I placed my hand, and so hot was it that I was compelled to withdraw it instantly. Only a thin partition of stone apparently divided us from the mysterious fathomless crater. "One of the beliefs that have come down unto me through ages," Balkis said, "is that within this place is Al-Hawiyat, the dwelling prepared for infidels and pagans, where their food shall be offal, and they shall slake their thirst with boiling pitch." "Allah is mighty and wise," I answered. "Alone he knoweth the hearts of his servants. May perfect peace remain ever upon thee." "And upon thee, O Ahamadou," she responded, raising her bright eyes earnestly to mine. "Now that I have shown thee this, the wealth of my ancestors, thou wilt promise never to conspire to gain possession of it while any of my family remain here in Saba." "Although of a tribe of thieves, I swear by Allah's might that never will I expose thy secret, nor will I seek to possess myself of what is thine," I answered. "Thy family shall ever be as mine, for I am no abuser of the salt." "In thee do I place my trust," she answered, allowing her soft hand, the hand that had so deftly bandaged my injured brow and bathed my face--to linger for an instant within my grasp. Then, drawing from my pouch the great lustrous ruby I had stolen, I handed it back to her. But she made me retain it as _souvenir_ of my visit to Saba, the city forgotten. The atmosphere in the treasure-house was stifling. Having, therefore, deposited the throne of Balkis in fitting place, we left, returning through the concealed door to the narrow burrow which had exit in the small pavilion. Side by side we slowly crossed court after court of the great palace which had witnessed pageants of such magnificence that their splendour has been proverbial till this day, she pointing out the principal objects of interest, halting to explain curious sculptured wall-pictures and inscriptions commemorating the triumphs of the great queen, or pausing to recall some long-forgotten story of love, hatred, or malice connected with the spot whereon we stood. In that mellow sunset-hour, as we lingered together beneath the cool shadows, I learnt more of the historic, time-effaced empire of Balkis than savants have ever known. As scholar, it delighted me to hear it from the lips of one who had descended in the direct royal line from that famous woman, who, according to our Sura, entitled "The Ant," became convinced during her visit to Solomon that, by worshipping the sun she had dealt unjustly with her own soul, and resigned herself unto Allah, the lord of all creatures. She had given me some wine and dates, and we had passed through the great hall with its transparent pavement and out upon the terrace before the palace when, of a sudden, a loud cry escaped her. "See!" she gasped, dismayed. "See! The Franks are here!" Next second a hulking Zouave who had secreted himself behind one of the great sculptured columns sprang upon her. She uttered a loud scream; but, ere he could secure her hands, I had drawn my poignard and dealt him an unerring blow, causing him to reel and fall back heavily upon the stones. A dozen soldiers, headed by Victor Gaillard, their evil-faced, narrow-browed, moustached officer in his gold-laced uniform and cherry-coloured trousers, had nearly gained the top of the steps. But the ugly sight of blood had already unnerved my fair companion, who, turning quickly to me, cried-- "Let us fly! Follow me. There is but one way to escape." She rushed away, and I followed, our pursuers close at our heels. I no longer wore my black _litham_, therefore the elegant youth from Paris, sent by the French to rule the Dwellers of the Desert, could not have been aware that I was a Touareg, one of the bandits of the Azjar, whom he amused himself by hunting when inclined for sport. Onward we sped, crossing court after court, until we again entered the subterranean burrow, and groping along it in the darkness, my companion found at last another secret door, which she opened, pushed me into it, and entering herself, closed it. Then we listened. There was no sound. Apparently our pursuers had not dared to follow us there. "This," she explained beneath her breath, "leadeth by a secret way out upon the mountain-side. We may yet escape." Upward we toiled in a tunnel so narrow that ofttimes we were compelled to crawl upon hands and knees, yet ever ascending, and feeling our way, we at last, after half an hour's frantic effort, saw a faint glimmer of light above, and succeeded in emerging upon the bare rocky side of the giant mountain. "Let us mount still higher and pass along to the other side," she urged. "I know the path." Together we started off in the fast falling gloom, when suddenly I heard an exclamation in French, and, looking down, saw Gaillard, with three of his Zouaves below us, scrambling up as quickly as they were able. Instantly I saw that their further progress was barred by a sheer cliff of rock quite fifty feet in height, and that we were in a position impregnable. Balkis, noticing our situation, also turned towards him with a low scornful laugh. Next instant the fierce uncurbed anger of this young _boulevardier_ found vent, for, with a loud imprecation in French he declared that she should never escape him, and ere I could divine his intention he had snatched a rifle from the man standing at his side and covered the woman he had desired to marry. I sprang quickly towards my fellow-fugitive; but ere I could drag her down to earth, our only cover, there was a flash, a loud report, and Balkis, with a shrill shriek, stumbled forward mortally wounded, and rolling helplessly down the mountain-side, fell dead almost at the very feet of her brutal murderer. The gold-braided officer laughed. It was one of the most heartless assassinations I had ever witnessed, but knowing that efforts would undoubtedly be made to shoot me also, I threw myself upon my stomach and crawled upward quickly with hands and toes. "See, men; I have brought down the dainty little bird!" I heard Gaillard exclaim, as he walked to where the body was lying crumpled in a heap. "Give me her necklaces and bracelets. The rest of her jewels you may divide. She was merely a rebel. It is our duty to repress revolt, even though we may sometimes be compelled to shoot women." The Zouaves ruthlessly tore the jewels from the body of the last remaining daughter of the Queen of Saba, while their lieutenant amused himself by firing at me. A dozen shots he sent after me, but all the bullets sang over my head, until at last, when the darkness became complete, I halted, breathless, behind a projection of rock, and there waited, watching from my elevated position the camp fires lighted, and the soldiers exploring the deserted ruins by the aid of flambeaux. Once during the night I thought I heard a noise like thunder, and distinctly felt the mountain tremble. But soon after dawn I had the satisfaction of seeing our enemies strike their camp and march slowly out towards the plain. The few jewels they found about the palace they had divided among themselves, and were apparently in high glee. Having remained in hiding three hours after their departure I descended, passing the body of the hapless Balkis, already surrounded by a screaming crowd of grey vultures, and, re-entering the palace to ascertain the extent of the depredations of the Franks, I was amazed to discover a dense black smoke issuing from the pavilion before the mouth of the cave. I tried to advance, but sulphurous fumes almost overcame me. Instantly I discerned the truth. The thin partition of rock which divided the treasure-house from the burning crater within had been broken through, and the suppressed fire of the volcano was issuing in great volume from the burrow, together with quantities of molten lava and ashes which have since entirely overwhelmed the ruins. Three years afterwards I had occasion to travel to Algiers to see Gaillard, then raised to a responsible position in the Bureau Arabe, regarding a Zouave whom we had captured and afterwards set free. I casually mentioned the buried ruins of the forgotten City of the Seven Shadows at the spot he knew so well, but he merely replied-- "Ah! yes, I know. I once explored them and found a curious cave there in the side of the mountain. I blew it up with dynamite in order that it should not be used as a hiding-place by any of your veiled tribe. The explosion, however, much to our dismay, opened a suppressed volcano, with the result that fire issued forth, killing all six of our men who performed the work." Victor Gaillard, although now a Colonel, and back in his beloved Paris, where he sits in the Chamber of Deputies as representative of a constituency in the Alpes Maritimes, does not know that by the irresponsible use of his explosive he lost for ever the greatest collection of gold and jewels that has ever been brought together. The only single gem of the vast treasure of Balkis that has been preserved is the magnificent blood-red ruby which at this moment adorns my sword-hilt. In both colour and size it is matchless. Never can I handle that weapon without reflecting upon its tragic story, or without visions rising to my eyes of the beautiful queen who reigned so briefly over her vanished and forgotten kingdom. CHAPTER TWO. A SAPPHO OF THE SAND. Throughout our breathless land of sun and silence there is a well-known adage that the word of a Veiled Man is like water poured upon sand which, when once dropped, is never to be recovered. I am, alas, compelled to admit that there is much truth in this; nevertheless, to every rule there is an exception, and in every tribe of the Touaregs, from those of the Tidikelt to those of the Adrar, are to be found men who are not thieves or evil-doers, even though they may be marauders. Those acquainted with the progress of recent events in Algeria will remember that when our brothers, the Kabyles, rose against our now masters, the French, and committed the terrible massacres at Al-Setit, news was promptly circulated over every one of the vast Saharan plains that the forces of Al-Islam had, at last, risen against the infidels. Eager for the fray, most of the desert tribes, among them the Touaregs of the Benin Sissin, Haratin, and Kel-Owi, or "People of the Light," united against the Roumis. Hence, we of the Azjar pressed northward in force in order to unite with the warlike Beni-Mzab in a formidable attack upon the French posts at Gardaia and Wargla, south of the great Atlas range. Assembling at the El Gettara oasis we left our women, old men, and children encamped, crossed the high sunbaked lands of the Tademayt, then, passing up the rocky waterless valley of the Miya, traversed the region of bare red sand-hills known as the Erg, and leaving Wargla fifty miles to the east, set our camels' heads towards Metlili, halting one day's march off that town. In ordinary circumstances we should never have dared to approach so near the sphere of French influence, especially as this was the region of the Beni-Mzabs, who zealously guarded any encroachment upon their territory. But war had been declared against the infidel, and the Shorfa (Faithful) were uniting beneath the green banner of Al-Islam. At high noon we halted, and soon afterwards there appeared a French Colonel with a large escort of his scarlet-burnoused Spahis. The officer, who had ridden from Metlili to intercept us, was received courteously by Tamahu, our Sheikh. He demanded the payment of taxes, but the proud old man whom I have since succeeded answered, "Tell that lord of yours, that if he wants our taxes he can come for them himself, and we will make sure he gets them, in silver coins too, for we will roll each franc into a bullet, and deliver it to him ourselves." The Colonel declared that the taxes must be paid, but our Sheikh courteously requested the infidel and his horsemen to return to the town. "Then you intend fighting?" the Colonel asked, at last. "We do," answered Tamahu. "Tell thy lord that The Breath of the Wind decline to make submission to the French." "You intend attacking Metlili?" the officer enquired, thoughtfully, twirling his pointed moustache. Our Sheikh nodded, his keen eyes watching the face of the infidel. The latter's countenance grew grave, whereat we, standing around leaning on our spears, laughed in derision. "Thou art of the great army of the infidels," Tamahu said. "Yet thy face palest when we speak of conflict!" The officer started, and knit his grey brows. "I fear not thine host of Veiled Men, fierce and relentless though ye be. True, I am a soldier, but one thing alone I dread." "Thou fearest to lose thy life," observed our Sheikh, knowing that the garrison at that little desert town was but small and weak. "For myself I care nothing," the Colonel answered. "It is the fate of my daughter that I fear." "Thy daughter! Why is she here, in the desert, so far from Algiers?" "Not having seen me for four years she travelled from Paris a moon ago to visit me. Both my captain and my lieutenant have died of fever, and we two are now the only Europeans in Metlili. The rising of thy tribesmen hath occurred so unexpectedly, or I would have sent her under escort back to the coast." "Is thy daughter a child?" asked Tamahu. "She is nineteen," answered the officer, whose name he informed us was Colonel Bonnemain. We at once knew him by repute as a distinguished traveller and soldier. "Thou knowest what is said of the word of a Touareg," the Sheikh said, regarding him keenly. The Colonel nodded. "Canst thou trust these my tribesmen with the escort of thy daughter?" Tamahu asked. "If thou wilt, no harm shall befall her. We have agreed with the Mzabs to attack and pillage thy town, because thou, with thine horsemen, hast established a post therein; therefore it must be done. But the Azjars wage not war upon women, and ere we commence the attack thy daughter shall find safe asylum within our camp." For a moment the Colonel hesitated, looking intently into the dark, bright eyes of our aged headman. But seeing honesty and truth mirrored in his face the infidel held out his hand, and in silence more eloquent than words gripped that of his enemy. At last his tongue's strings became loosened. "Henceforth, although I am an officer of the French, and compelled to fight against thee, I am nevertheless thy friend, and some day will prove my friendship. Gabrielle shall be within thy camp at dawn." "The Azjars will give her the welcome of friends," answered our Sheikh. With a brief expression of heartfelt thanks Colonel Bonnemain vaulted lightly into his saddle, and wishing us "Peace," spurred away to where his troop of expectant Spahis awaited him. "May Allah guard thee and thine!" answered Tamahu in response to the infidel's salutation, and a moment later our enemies were riding hard away towards the far-off horizon. The long breathless afternoon went slowly by. We had not encamped, because we knew not when our allies, the Beni-Mzabs, might approach, and rapidity of movement was of urgent necessity, inasmuch as a formidable French column was on the march. Spent by long travel, the majority of us stretched ourselves on the hot sands and slept, leaving half-a-dozen to act as sentinels and prevent surprise; but at the _maghrib_ hour all were awakened by the clear voice of our aged marabout reciting the _fatihat_. Every man, without exception, knelt upon the sand, his back turned upon the blaze of crimson in the west, and recited the _suras_, praying to Allah to prosper our expedition. When we arose, Tamahu, his right hand raised to heaven, and his left grasping his gleaming spear, exhorted us to remain faithful, and to bear arms bravely against the infidels. "Ye are called forth against a mighty and a warlike nation," he exclaimed. "Ye shall fight against them, or they shall profess Islam. If ye obey, Allah will, of a verity, give you a glorious reward; but if ye turn back he will chastise you with a grievous chastisement. Allah has promised you many spoils, which ye should take; and he giveth these by way of earnest; and he restraineth the hand of man from you; and the same may be a sign unto the true believers; and he guideth you in the right way. Allah knoweth that which ye know not; and he hath appointed you, besides this, a speedy victory." Long and earnestly the old Sheikh addressed us, quoting from our Book of Everlasting Will to emphasise his declarations. Then he referred to the compact he had that day made with the leader of our enemies. "A woman of the Franks we shall receive into this our camp. Remember, O my people, that she will partake of our salt, and that while this war continueth she is our friend. Let not a single hair of her head be injured. The word of thy Sheikh Tamahu hath already been given." That evening we spent in sharpening our spears and shangermangors, preparatory to the fight, singing snatches of war-songs and discussing the prospects of the attack. Perhaps of all the tribes in the trackless solitudes which constitute our home, we of the Azjar are among the most active, vigorous, and enterprising, inured as we are to hardships, and with our mental faculties sharpened almost to a preternatural degree by the hard struggle for existence in our arid rocky fastnesses. The rearing of oxen, horses, and goats is our chief occupation, but the scarcity of water and our speedy exhaustion of the scanty pasturage of the oases keep us perpetually on the march. Agriculture is scarcely possible under a sky from which rain does not fall for six or eight consecutive years; therefore it is, perhaps, not surprising that we have developed into desert-pirates. Those who have never set foot upon the Saharan plains can possess but a vague idea of their appearance. In the whole of the Great Desert, a track comprising over two million square miles, there is not a single carriage-road, not a mile of navigable waters, not a wheeled vehicle, canoe, or boat of any kind. There are scarcely even any beaten tracks, for most of the routes, though followed for ages without divergence of any kind, are temporarily effaced by every sandstorm, and recovered only by means of the permanent landmarks--wells, prominent dunes, a solitary eminence crowned with a solitary bush, the remains of travellers, slaves, or camels that may have perished of thirst or exhaustion between the stations. Long and patiently we waited for the arrival of the woman to whom we had promised protection; but although the night passed, the dawn rose, and the hours crept on towards the noon, our vigilance remained unrewarded. A second day passed in inactivity, then, wearied of waiting, we struck camp and moved forward. The afterglow had deepened into evening dusk when at length we came within sight of Metlili. Looming high up on a pinnacle of rock, white against the clear sky, its appearance astonished us, for it looked impregnable. Its flat-roofed houses rose tier upon tier around an exceedingly steep eminence crowned by a great mosque with high square minaret, while at the foot of the hill were some scattered date-groves. We had passed over the summit of a sand ridge, and were making a dash straight upon the French stronghold, when we noticed that our presence had already been detected. Upon the walls a few Spahis in scarlet and some white-burnoused Arabs were moving hurriedly. Suddenly there was a flash from the Kasbah, followed by a report, loud, sharp, echoless. Our enemies had opened fire upon us. Tamahu instantly gave the word to spur forward on the wings of haste. With one accord we rode in a huge compact body so swiftly as to justify our popular appellation "The Breath of the Wind," and, regardless of a rapid rifle-fire that was poured out from the white walls, pressed forward to the foot of the rock. Here we dismounted, and with loud yells of savage rage dashed up the rough narrow way that gave entrance to the town. Many of my companions fell dead or wounded ere they reached the hastily-barred gate, but by dint of fierce and dogged determination, we pushed forward in force so great that we managed to at last batter down the huge wooden doors. Next second we poured into the place in overwhelming numbers. Up its steep streets, so narrow that two asses could not pass abreast, we engaged Spahis and Zouaves hand-to-hand. So strong was our force that soon we overwhelmed them, and commenced loud cries of triumph as we dashed up towards the Kasbah. Suddenly, however, as we approached it we saw that its walls literally swarmed with French soldiers who, at word of command, fired a withering volley from their rifles which caused us to hold back dismayed. Colonel Bonnemain had evidently received reinforcements. With their firearms they were more than a match for us. "Courage, brothers!" I heard Tamahu cry as he brandished his spear. "Let us show these dogs of infidels that the Touaregs are no cowards. Of a verity the Roumis shall never be our masters." With set teeth we sprang forward towards the high sun-blanched walls of the citadel, determined to take it by assault, but alas! its battlements were full of well-armed Spahis and Turcos, and from every point showers of lead swept down upon us. Still we kept on undaunted. Once I caught a momentary glimpse of Colonel Bonnemain. He was standing upon the wall bareheaded, shouting and waving his sword. But only for an instant. He disappeared, and was seen no more. Almost at the same instant a loud incessant spitting of guns deafened us; bullets swept through our ranks in deadly hail, killing us by dozens and maiming hundreds. Then, dismayed, I saw mounted on the wall a strange-looking weapon, which once charged shed rifle-balls in hundreds. Death seemed inevitable. My companions, appalled by the sight of that terrible engine of destruction, wavered for an instant, then, with a cry that Eblis was assisting the infidels, turned and fled. Above the din of battle Tamahu shouted himself hoarse. But darkness having now fallen, none could discern him amid the dense smoke and constant flashing of the guns. Thus the defenders drove us back, sweeping us away with their deadly machine-gun, and, making a sortie from the fortress, bayonetted the more valiant ones. Our cause seemed lost. As soon, however, as we had drawn the Spahis outside their fort, we turned, and re-engaging them hand-to-hand, quickly hacked our way back to the very gates of the Kasbah, the streets in the vicinity being heaped with dead and dying. Suddenly, however, at the moment when we were relinquishing our hope as a forlorn one, loud shouts, followed by the beating of tam-tams, gave us renewed courage. From mouth to mouth the glad tidings were repeated. The Beni-Mzabs, one of the most powerful tribes on the desert border, had come up, and being our allies, were rendering us assistance. Of the exciting moments which immediately succeeded, I have but vague remembrance. Suffice it to say that the warlike race of the Atlas to the number of two thousand poured into Metlili, and with our forces combined we succeeded in dislodging and totally annihilating the French garrison. Everywhere throughout the town fighting quickly became general, but in such numbers had we now assembled that those holding the Kasbah were compelled to sue for peace. The Beni-Mzabs declined, however, to give quarter, consequently the scenes of bloodshed were terrible to behold. Before dawn the sack of the town had commenced, and everywhere the firebrand was applied. The loot obtainable was, we found, of very little value, nevertheless both the Beni-Mzabs and our own tribesmen were in high glee at their first success against the infidel forces. It was regarded as precursory of a great victory. Just as the sun was rising I was inside the ancient citadel so recently the infidel stronghold, and was exploring its many courts with their old blue-tiled fountains and cool, handsome colonnades, when suddenly as I passed beneath an archway in the thickness of the wall a noise startled me. My companions in arms were regaling themselves in an open square before the great white mosque, therefore I was alone. Around me lay many bodies of Touaregs, Spahis, and Beni-Mzabs, while some of the wounded were still groaning, dying slowly, for there had been no attempt to succour the disabled. To fall in a holy war is not a misfortune, but the reverse. The noise, a loud knock, again sounded, and turning I saw a bolted door, which I at once opened, and was confronted by a pretty dark-haired French girl, who, glancing at me in terror for an instant, screamed and fled down a flight of stone stairs into an impenetrable darkness. In a moment I dashed after her. Already the Kasbah had been set on fire, and to save her life instant escape was necessary. Below, in the small foul stone chamber, used long ago as a prison, I discovered her crouching. She screamed loudly at my approach, fearing me, perhaps, because of the mysterious black veil across my face, and knowing that the Veiled Men were of evil repute. "Thou art Mademoiselle Gabrielle, daughter of our friend Colonel Bonnemain," I exclaimed in the best French I could articulate. "Fear not, but fly at once with me, or we may both lose our lives." "How knowest thou my name?" she gasped in amazement. By the glimmer of light that came from the open court above I saw that her face was beautiful but deathly pale. "True, I am daughter of Colonel Bonnemain, but thou art a Touareg. Assuredly thou art our enemy, not our friend. Why, it was thine hosts who attacked us!" Briefly I explained the promise of our Sheikh, assuring her of our friendship. At first she was inclined to doubt my sincerity, but at length I prevailed upon her to accompany me in our race for life from the burning ruins. Quickly we sought Tamahu, and as there were no women with us she was at once placed under my protection. I was to be her guardian and her champion during the remainder of hostilities. Long and earnestly we both searched and enquired for her father, the Colonel, but could discover no trace of him. Some of his Spahis who survived declared that he had been struck down in the earlier hours of the conflict, while others maintained that they had seen him fighting uninjured up to the very last. From our enquiries it appeared evident that, on receiving unexpected reinforcements from the north, he had determined upon holding out against us, and overlooking our agreement with the Beni-Mzabs, was ill-advised enough to decline our good offices. Then, when he found an attack in force being made, he locked Gabrielle in a place of safety until the fight should end. Full of excitement were those days that followed. I must, however, here confess that within twenty-four hours I found myself deeply attached to this bright-eyed fragile girl whoso gallant father had disappeared so mysteriously. We, of the Azjars, leaving the prosperous town of Metlili a mere pile of smoking ruins, encamped for a few days in the vicinity where there was an excellent well, then together with the fierce horsemen of the Beni-Mzab set our heads towards Wargla, another French outpost. At first Gabrielle felt the fatigue of travel terribly. Fortunately she could ride well, and as her inseparable companion, I endeavoured to render her journey as comfortable as possible. At my suggestion she had exchanged her European clothes for the _serroual_ and _haick_ of the Arab women, finding that mode of dress more comfortable and less conspicuous than her own; and so light-hearted she grew that not unfrequently she would join me in a cigarette. Her grace and manner charmed us all. The fierce horsemen of the Azjar and the Beni-Mzab are scarcely chivalrous where women are concerned, but ere we had been on the march three days there was not a single tribesman who would not execute her slightest wish. Riding day by day over the breathless solitudes of sand, no single word of complaint ever escaped her. Whenever we halted, before she ate she would busy herself in attending to our wounded; sometimes bandaging an arm or a leg, at others pouring out water and handing it to a thirsty man with a pleasing smile that quickened his pulse. Then, after we had eaten and turned our faces to the Holy Ca'aba, she would take an old Spanish mandoline which one of my companions had picked up cheap long ago in Oran, and play and sing to us in a sweet contralto songs from her own far-off Paris. They were mostly gay _chansons_, such as one hears in the _cafes_ in Algiers, and those with refrains were sung lustily in chorus by the whole of the great assembly. One night after she had given us several songs I persuaded her to dance. To those unaccustomed to life in the desert the scene would have appeared a strange one. The bright moonlight shining full upon her, tipped also with silver the keen heads of a couple of thousand spears upon which her audience leaned. She had fascinated them. Unanimously it had been declared that she was an enchantress. Only one fact remained to mar her happiness: her uncertainty regarding her father's fate. "I will dance on one condition, Ahamadou," she answered in French, throwing back her pretty head and showing her white teeth as she laughed. "What is that?" "I will dance if thou wilt take off that hideous black veil. Thou hast been my friend all this time, yet, strangely enough, I have never beheld thy face." I hesitated. Such a demand was unusual, for a Touareg never removes his veil. My companions overhearing, and noticing my disinclination to acquiesce, with one accord urged me to accede, and at last, amid much good humour, I unwound my black _litham_. Long and earnestly she looked into my eyes. Her gaze lingered upon me strangely, I thought; then suddenly clapping her hands, she raised her long white arms above her head, and to the thumping of four _derboukas_, one of which I held, she commenced a slow graceful dance. Never tired of exerting herself to comfort the wounded or amuse those who were her father's bitterest foes, she danced on until she sank completely out of breath. Then she reclined upon the soft rugs spread for her, and, with Tamahu and myself, smoked a cigarette in silence. From her full red lips she blew clouds of smoke, and watched it curl upward in the still night air. I glanced at her furtively, and saw that she had grown unusually thoughtful. Her brilliant eyes were fixed upon the stars. At last, pillowing her handsome head upon a leopard's skin I rolled and placed for her, she wished me "Peace," and presently closed her eyes in sleep. Silence, dead and complete, had fallen upon the camp. The stillness was only broken by the uneasy groaning of a camel or the soft footfall of a sentry whose spear gleamed afar in the white moonbeams. Gabrielle's heart slowly heaved and fell as she slept. Through that calm night I sat, hugging my knees and thinking deeply. Try how I would, I could not get rid of the one thought that for days had possessed me, the thought of her. That she had entranced me; that she held me in her toils irrevocably, I could not deny. Never before had I looked upon any woman with affection until now. But I loved with all my heart and soul this delicate Roumi, whose fair face the sun had never kissed. Was it not in order to behold my countenance she had that evening requested me to remove my _litham_? Her every word, her every action, now that I recalled them, showed plainly that she did not regard me with disfavour. The moon waned, the stars paled, and dawn was nigh ere I cast myself upon the warm sand near her, and snatched a brief hour's repose, not, however, before I had carefully placed a rug about her, fearing lest the morning dew, so deadly to Europeans, should chill her. One bright balmy night we reached El Okaz, and halted. It was a large oasis with running water, luxuriant vegetation, and many palms. When the _maghrib_ had been said, the evening meal eaten, and the sun was slowly sinking, I went forth among the trees to search for camel-grass, and invited Gabrielle to accompany me. She walked by my side, and when we were out of hearing I took her tiny hand in mine, and, raising it reverently to my lips, declared my love. Slowly, but resolutely, she drew her hand away. The last ray of sunlight tipped her hair with molten gold as we stood together beneath a great high palm. Her brilliant eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Alas! no, Ahamadou," she answered huskily. "We must not love each other, it would wreck both our lives." "Why not?" I cried passionately, my arm around her waist, her slim white hand raised again to my lips. "I adore you. To me thou art my life, my love, my everything." "Ah! yes," she sighed sadly. "To you I owe my life. You have all been so good to me, although I am a woman of the Franks, that I can scarce believe that you are actually the Azjars, the dreaded Breath of the Wind, reports of whose exploits have times without number caused me to shudder." "An Azjar never forgets a favour nor forgives a false friend," I answered. "To our enemies we are brutal and relentless; yet those who eat our salt need never fear. Already hast thou had experience of the treatment the stranger receiveth within our tents." "True," she answered, her hand closing tightly over mine. "I have had experience of thine own tender care of me, Ahamadou, yet--" "Yet thou hast already grown tired of our life?" I hazarded reproachfully. "Ah! no," she said quickly, fixing her brilliant eyes upon mine. "Thou hast asked if I could ever love thee. I tell thee that I do love thee, yet there is between us a barrier of blood, and such love can only bring unhappiness unto us both." "Thou lovest me!" I cried, delighted, and taking her soft cheeks between my hard, sun-browned hands, our lips met for the first time in a long passionate caress. Again, she put me from her, saying--"No, it can never be. We are of different races, different creeds. What is right in thine eyes is sin in mine; what is worship to thee is, to me, idolatry. No, Ahamadou. It must not be. We must not love, for we can never marry." I was silent. Her argument seemed utterly unassailable. Never before had I faced the situation until now. She had, indeed, spoken the truth. "But we love each other!" I cried, dolefully. "Yes," she sighed, shaking her head. "I confess that I love thee," and her fingers again gripped my hand. "But it is the very fact that we love one another that should cause us to part and forget." "Why? Until the war is ended thou must, of necessity, remain in our camp," I observed. "And after?" "Then we could return to Algiers, or to Oran, and marry." She remained silent for a few moments, nervously toying with the single ring of emeralds upon her finger. "No," she answered at length. "This love between us is but a passing fancy. When the war is at an end, thou wilt have become convinced of the truth of my words." "Never," I answered. "I love thee now; I shall love thee always." "Alas!" she said, laying her hand softly upon my shoulder, and looking earnestly into my face. "Now that we have both made confession we must endeavour to forget. We love each other, but the wide difference in our races renders happiness impossible. Thou wilt find for wife some good woman of thine own people, and I--perhaps I shall find some man of mine own nationality to become my husband. From to-night, Ahamadou, if thou lovest me, thou wilt make no further sign." I bit my lip to the blood. Although she had uttered these words, I saw that she nevertheless loved me with a mad, passionate love, for soon down her pink cheeks tears were coursing. "Thou art all to me--everything, Gabrielle," I cried. "Allah knoweth how deeply and honestly I adore thee, I--" The sound of a rifle-shot startled us. With bated breath we both strained our ears. The evening gloom had crept on unperceived, and it was almost dark. In rapid succession other shots sounded, followed by the fierce fiendish war-cry of the Beni-Mzabs. Instantly the truth flashed upon me. We had been surprised by the French! By the route we had come we sped back to the encampment, where we found all confusion. A large body of Spahis had made a sudden and determined attack, but it had been repulsed. My first thought was of Gabrielle's safety. I found cover for her behind a huge boulder, and telling her to seat herself, and not attempt to watch the progress of the fight, returned, spear in hand, to bear my part against our enemies. The cessation of the fighting was only for a few minutes. We heard the sudden sound of a bugle, and from among the trees there dashed a formidable troop of red-burnoused horsemen, led by a young European officer, who sat his horse as if he were part of it. Even in that moment of excitement I admired the way he rode. The charge was, however, an ill-fated one. Not half those who dashed forward lived to retreat. The Arabs of the Mechefer, who had recently joined us, possessed guns, and the flashing of these, in combination with those of our enemies, illumined the darkness, while the still air was full of dense, stifling smoke. More desperate each moment the conflict grew. Undismayed by loss or misfortune, we thrice returned their attack, each time with increasing force, until our bullets and keen spears commenced to work havoc among the infidel ranks. East and furious became the fight, but gradually the attack upon us grew weaker, and at last, determined upon reprisals, Tamahu ordered a dash forward. With one accord we charged, and then before us the remnant of the ill-fated troop fell back and fled to save their lives. When I returned I found Gabrielle kneeling beside the officer whose riding had been so conspicuous, tenderly bandaging an ugly spear-wound he had received in the left shoulder. She had improvised a torch, and beneath its fitful light was pursuing her task unconscious of my approach. Upon the clammy brow of the unconscious man she placed her cool, soft hand; then, having felt his pulse, she seemed satisfied, and taking her flambeau went forward to one of my own tribesmen who had been injured in the breast. From the deep shadow wherein I stood I watched her, white-robed and fair like one of the good genii of whom the Koran tells us, passing from one to another, alleviating their sufferings as best she could, uttering cheering words, or giving water to the dying. I did not approach her, for my heart seemed too full. It was best, I thought, to leave her alone to her merciful work. Before the sun rose many of those whom she had so carefully tended and watched had drawn their last breath, but the young officer, whose name I afterwards learned was Andre de Freyville, lieutenant of Spahis, had recovered consciousness sufficiently to thank his nurse, and learn from her lips the curious circumstances which had led her to accept the hospitality of our tents. He proved a pleasant fellow, and during his convalescence we all three had frequent chats together. Although he was our prisoner-of-war, he soon became on excellent terms with Tamahu, and his time passed happily enough. Colonel Bonnemain had, he told us, escaped when Metlili fell, and had reached Algiers unharmed. Soon, in order to join forces with another large body of horsemen moving from the great Hammada, or stony tableland, in Tripoli, we advanced to the oasis of Medagin, two days' march from El Aghouat, then held in such force by the French that we dared not attack it. Reaching Medagin at noon, we encamped. When the stars shone both Gabrielle and De Freyville sang us some French _chansons_, the one accompanying the other upon the mandoline. Before we scooped out our hollows in the sand to form our couches I borrowed a gun from one of the Arabs, intending to go out at dawn to shoot some desert-partridges in which the oasis abounds. Ere day broke I rose, and leaving the whole camp in slumber, strolled away to a rocky spot I had on the previous day noted as a likely place to find the birds. It was on the edge of the oasis, at some distance from the well where we had encamped. When I arrived there the sun had not risen, and the birds were still roosting. Therefore, with my rifle loaded with a bullet (for I had no small shot), I sat down to wait. For perhaps half-an-hour I had remained when my quick ear detected the sounds of horses' hoofs. Believing the newcomer to be a French vedette I drew back behind a large boulder, with the barrel of my rifle placed upon the top of the rock in readiness to pick him off as he passed. On came the horseman, until suddenly he emerged from among the mimosas and euphorbias. An ejaculation of dismay involuntarily left my lips. There was not one horse, but two. The riders were fugitives. They were our prisoner-of-war, Lieutenant de Freyville, and Gabrielle Bonnemain, the woman I loved. Mounted upon horses they had secured, they spurred forward together at headlong speed. Their way on to the desert lay down a narrow stony ravine, to traverse which they would be compelled to pass close by the spot where I was lying in ambush. On they came swiftly, without a word. Inwardly I gloated over my revenge. This man was stealing from me the woman I loved dearer than life. And she--she had declared that she loved me! Yet her words were foul lies. She should die! I fingered the trigger, and held my gun to my shoulder in readiness as the pair pressed forward, unconscious of their approaching doom. If ever the spirit of murder entered my soul, it was at that moment. When within a leopard's leap of the muzzle of my rifle she turned back towards her companion, uttered some gay words to him, threw back her head and laughed lightly, displaying her white teeth. I raised my rifle and took deliberate aim at her panting breast. My hands trembled. Next second a flood of bitter recollections surged through my brain. I remembered those solemn words she had uttered: "We are of different races; different creeds. What is right in thine eyes is sin in mine; what is worship to thee is, to me, idolatry. It is the very fact that we love one another that should cause us to part and forget." Yes, my enchantress had spoken the truth. My hands were nerveless. I dropped my gun, the weapon with which I had so nearly taken her young life, and through a mist of gathering tears watched her ride rapidly away beside her newly-discovered lover, and disappear over the dune towards El Aghouat. When she had gone, my head sank upon my breast and my teeth were set, for full well I knew that never again could I love any woman as truly as I had loved her. My pole-star, the light of my life, had for ever been extinguished. CHAPTER THREE. THE SECRET OF SA. Through the very heart of the barren, naked Saharan country, that boundless sea of red-brown arid sands, which, like the ocean itself, is subject to fitful moods of calm and storm, there runs a deep rocky ravine which has ever been a mystery to geographers. It commences near the shore of Lake Tsad, and extending for nearly eight hundred miles due north to Lake Melghir, is known as the Igharghar, and is the dried-up bed of a river, which, with its tributaries, once rendered this bare wilderness one of the most fertile spots on earth, but which, for upwards of two thousand years, has ceased to flow. Strangely enough, the country traversed by this great stony ravine is to-day the most arid and inhospitable in the world. The river, which, according to the legendary stories told in the market-places of the desert towns, must have been as mighty as the Nile, dried-up suddenly from some cause which has always puzzled geographers. A portion of its course, about two hundred miles, half filled with sand, has for ages been used as the caravan route between the city of Agades, the capital of the Air country, and Temasinin, at the foot of the Tinghert Plateau; but the remainder is of such a rocky character as to be impassable, and has on many occasions served us as ambush when fighting the Ouled Sliman marauders, our hereditary foes. On one of these expeditions we were encamped in the shadow of some great rocks, which had once been covered by the giant flood. Around us on every hand was the sandy, waterless waste, known by the ominous name of _Ur-immandess_, "He (Allah) heareth not," that is, is deaf to the cry of the way-laid traveller. It is a dismal tract, one of the most hot and arid in the whole of Northern Africa. The poison-wind blows almost continually, and the general appearance of the sand dunes is altered almost hour by hour. We were six days' march off an interesting little walled town I had once visited, called Azaka 'n Ahkar, where stands the curious tomb of a chieftain who fell during the Arab invasion over a thousand years ago, and to the west, within sight, was the low dark hill known to us as Mount Hikena, a spot feared universally throughout the desert as the abode of the jinns. Already had we engaged the fierce host of the Ouled Sliman in deadly conflict at the well of Agnar, but finding our opponents armed with rifles procured from European traders, we had drawn off in an endeavour to entice them into the Wady Igharghar, where our superior knowledge of the ground would give us distinct advantage. Our losses three days before had been very serious, and our Sheikh Tamahu had despatched messengers in all haste to the oasis of Noum-en-Nas, six marches distant, to urge forward reinforcements. That night, when the moon had risen, I accompanied Hamoud, one of my companions, as scout, to travel northward along the dried-up watercourse, to make a _reconnaissance_, and to ascertain if the enemy were in the vicinity. To ride up that valley, choked by its myriad boulders, was impossible, therefore we were compelled to journey on foot. Had we ascended to the desert we should have imperilled our camp, for our enemies in search of us would undoubtedly detect our presence. We had pitched our tents at a secluded inaccessible spot, where the dried-up river had taken a sudden bend, in the heart of a country scarcely ever traversed. Through the long brilliant night with my companion I pressed forward, sometimes clambering over rough rocks, split by the heat of noon and chills of night, and at others sinking knee-deep in soft sand-drifts. When dawn spread we now and then clambered up the steep sides of the valley and cautiously took observations. In that region, the surface of the desert being perfectly flat, any object can be seen at great distances, therefore we at all times were careful not to stand upright, but remained crouched upon our faces. So dry also is the atmosphere that any sudden movement, such as the flapping of a burnouse or the swish of a horse's tail, will cause sparks to be emitted. Beneath the milk-white sky of noon, when the fiery sun shone like a disc of burnished copper, we threw ourselves down beneath the shadow of a huge boulder to eat and rest. Hamoud, older than myself, was a typical nomad, bearded, bronzed, and a veritable giant in stature. His physical strength and power of endurance was greater than that of any other of our tribesmen, and he was always amiable and light-hearted. While he lit his keef-pipe and chatted, I gazed about me, noticing how, by the action of the eddying waters of this dried-up river, the very name of which is lost to us, the hard, grey rock above had been worn smooth and hollow. The mystery of the Igharghar had always attracted me since my earliest boyhood. Why this mighty stream, in some places nearly six miles wide, should have suddenly ceased to flow, fertilise, and give life to the great tract it traversed was a problem which the wise men of all ages had failed to solve. True, the One Merciful heard not in that wild, unfrequented region. It was the country accursed and forgotten of Allah. When, in the cooler hours, we resumed our journey, ever-watchful for the presence of the Ouled Sliman, on every side we noticed unmistakable traces of the enormous width and depth of the giant waterway. About noon on the second day I had ascended to the desert to scan the horizon, when I discovered some ruined masonry, half-buried beneath its winding-sheet of sand. On the keystone of an arch I found an inscription in Roman characters, and here and there stood broken columns and portions of grey time-worn walls. It was the site of an effaced and forgotten city; a centre of culture and civilisation which had owed its very existence to this great river, and had declined and fallen when the stream had so mysteriously ceased to flow. The once fertile land had withered, and become a dreary, sunburnt, uninhabitable wilderness. Ask any marabout from Morocco to far-off Tripoli, and he will declare that for some reason unknown, Allah, before the days of his Prophet, set the mark of his displeasure upon the country known to us as the Ahaggar. It is not, therefore, surprising that the Ouled Sliman, our enemies, should be known throughout the desert as the Children of Eblis. As, spear in hand, I walked at Hamoud's side along that vanished fluvial basin, I discussed the probable causes of the sudden failure of that mighty flow. He suggested that its source might by some means have become exhausted; but geographers having ages ago disposed of that point, I explained to him how every theory possible had already been put forward and dismissed. The mysterious forgotten river was still a geographical problem as great as the existence of open water at the poles. Through two more days we journeyed forward, ever-watchful, yet discerning no sign of our enemies; but at length, coming to a steep bare cliff, once undoubtedly a roaring cataract, we found its granite bed had been worn into ridges two thousand years ago by the action of the torrent. At this point the plateau over which we had journeyed descended sheer and steep on to the plain, of which we commanded an extensive view for many miles. An hour before sundown the sky had suddenly darkened, indicative of an approaching sandstorm, therefore we resolved to remain there the night and retrace our steps next day. Our fears were realised. Shortly before midnight, as we sat together smoking, the unclouded starry sky assumed an extraordinary clearness. The atmosphere was perfectly still, when suddenly in the east a black cloud began to rise with frightful rapidity, and soon covered half the heavens. Presently a strong gust of wind enveloped us with sand, and threw little pebbles as large as peas into our faces. Soon, while we crouched beneath a rock, we were surrounded by a dense cloud of sand, and stood still in impenetrable gloom. The storm was of unusual severity. Our eyes were filled with grit every time we ventured to open them. We did not dare to lie down for fear of being buried. The tempest at last passed, the night quickly grew clear again, and, extricating ourselves from the sand that had drifted high about us, we lay down exhausted to sleep. Before dawn I rose, and, without disturbing the heavy slumber of my companion, strode forth along the brink of the dried-up cataract to examine more closely the hitherto unexplored spot. The sun-whitened boulders were all worn smooth where the gigantic rush of the waters had whirled past them ere they dashed below into that once fertile plain. And as I went along I presently discovered a place where I could descend the face of the cliff. Without difficulty I at last reached its base, and stepping forward, placed my foot upon soft drifted sand that gave way beneath my tread. With startling suddenness a strange sound fell upon my ears, deafening me. I felt myself falling, and in clutching frantically at the objects around, struck my head a violent blow. Then all consciousness became blotted out. How long I remained insensible I do not know. I have an idea that many hours must have elapsed, for when painfully I struggled back to a knowledge of things about me, I found myself enveloped in a darkness blacker than night, my ears being filled by a continuous unceasing roar like thunder. I was chilled to the bone, and on stretching forth my hand, found myself lying upon a mass of soft slime, that splashing over my face had half-suffocated me. With both hands outstretched, I tried to discover into what noisome place I had so suddenly been precipitated. Intently I listened. The roaring was that of some mighty unseen torrent. Creeping cautiously forward upon my hands and knees, fearing lest I should stumble into any further chasm, I soon came to water flowing swiftly past. Then the truth dawned upon me that I was beside the bank of some unknown subterranean river. Of the extent of that dark cavernous place I could obtain no idea. Thrice I shouted with all my strength, but in that deafening roar my voice was echoless. With a supplication to Allah to envelop me with the cloak of his protection, I cautiously pursued my way over the stones and slime in the direction the unseen stream was rushing. The incline was steep, and as the air seemed cool and fresh, I felt assured there must be some outlet to the blessed light of day. Yet onward I crept slowly, chilled by the icy mud, until my limbs trembled, and I was compelled to pause and rub them to prevent them becoming benumbed. Truly mine was an unenvious position. Throughout my life it has been my endeavour to tread those crooked and laborious paths whereby knowledge of hidden mysteries may be gained, therefore I worked on like a mole in the dark, and by diligent industry gained ground considerably. During several hours I pushed my way forward, until at length my hands came into contact with a wall of rock which barred all further passage, although the water lapping it swirled past on its downward course. Eagerly I felt about the rock, searching for some mode of egress, but could find none. The wall of the enormous cavern extended sheer and unbroken for five hundred paces, then turned back in the direction I had already traversed. Thus was a terrible truth forced upon me. I was entombed! My injured head pained me frightfully, and I must have become weakened by loss of blood. The terrors of that foul, fearsome place, where the deafening roar was unceasing, and the blackness could be felt, overwhelmed me. I groped back to the edge of the roaring torrent exhausted, and sinking, slept. When I awoke I was amazed to find the cavern illumined by a faint greenish light, just sufficient to enable me to see that the rushing, foaming waters were of great width and volume, and that the cavern whence they came was low, but of vast extent. Then, turning towards the light, I found that it shone up through the water beyond the wall of rock which formed that side of the cave. At first the strange light puzzled me, but I soon ascertained that the subterranean river emptied itself into the open air at that spot, and that the sun shining upon the water as it rushed out of its underground course, reflected the welcome light up to where I stood. The discovery held me breathless. I saw that in such enormous volume did those icy waters sweep down, that the opening in the rock whence they were let free was completely filled. There was, after all, no exit. At the edge of the boiling torrent I stood calmly contemplating the advisability of plunging in and allowing myself to be swept out into the air. The only thing which deterred me from so doing was the fear that outside the cataract fell down from some dizzy height into a foaming flood below, in which case I must be either battered to death upon the rocks or drowned beneath the descending tons of water. The thought of this terrible fate thrilled me with horror. Of a sudden I heard above the roar a man's voice; and startled, turned round, and saw a long boat, shaped something like a canoe, containing two dark figures, being propelled swiftly towards me. Agape in wonder I stood watching them. Ere I could realise the truth, they had run their craft up high and dry where I stood, and were beside me, questioning me in some strange, unknown tongue. In that faint green light they looked weird, impish figures. Small of stature, their skins were a lightish yellow; they wore curious necklets and armlets of chased bones, and their loincloths were scaly, like the skin of some fish or serpent. In their hands they both carried long barbed spears. They had been fishing, for their boat was nearly full. To their rapid questions I could only shake my head, when in an instant the roar of the waters increased, until speech became impossible. Terrified they both, next second, leaped into their boat and dragged me in after them. Their promptitude saved my life, for ere an instant had elapsed our boat became lifted by an enormous inrush, which flooded the whole cavern to a depth of many feet. Our boat rose so near the roof that we were compelled to crouch down to prevent our heads being jammed, and soon I found myself being rowed rapidly along in triumph into the impenetrable darkness. I had escaped death by a hair's breadth, but what grim adventure was yet in store for me I dreaded to anticipate. My impish captors bent hard at their paddles, exchanging muttered words, until soon the roaring of the torrent sounded indistinct, and we found ourselves out upon a great subterranean lake of limitless extent. The eyes of my companions, accustomed to that appalling darkness, could discern objects where I could distinguish nothing. As we went forward the current became weaker, and now and then I felt a splashing as a large fish was lifted from the water impaled upon a spear. Yet ever forward we kept on and on, for fully two hours, until suddenly I saw a faint glimmer of grey light upon the wide expanse of black water, and when we neared it I discerned that there was a huge crack in the roof of rock and it was open to the sky, but so great was the distance to the world above, that only a faint glimmer penetrated there. By its light I distinguished how clear and deep were the waters, and noticed that the fish my companions had caught were of a uniform grey colour, without eyes. In the impenetrable darkness of those subterranean depths the organs of vision, I afterwards ascertained, never developed. The eyes of the two men with me were also strange-looking, set closely together, dark and bead-like. But we paused not, holding straight upon our way, plunging again into the cavernous blackness, until presently there showed before us a golden shaft of sunlight striking full into the waters, and in a few moments we emerged into an open space green and fertile, surrounded on every side by high rocks, honeycombed with small caves, while the great unknown river itself disappeared beyond into a wide dark tunnel. Scarcely had we disembarked than the place literally swarmed with the uncanny-looking denizens of this underground realm, who, issuing from their cave-dwellings, eyed me curiously with greatest caution. I had not removed my _litham_, and they undoubtedly were suspicious of a stranger who veiled his face. My captors, with much wild gesticulation, explained the circumstances in which they had discovered me, and presently, when I had been thoroughly inspected by all, and my appearance commented upon, my veil was surreptitiously snatched from my pallid face, and I was hurried into one of the small cell-like caverns, and there secured to the rock by a rudely constructed chain. Soon food was brought me, and the inhabitants of the curious unknown country formed a ring near the river bank, and commenced to execute a kind of wild dance, accompanied by fiendish yells, working themselves into a frenzy, like the dancers of the Ouled Nails. For a long time I watched their weird pantomimic gyrations, when at length my eyes were startled at beholding, in the centre of the circle, a tall man of much paler complexion than my own, dressed in a few dilapidated rags. Once or twice only I caught a glimpse of him, and then I recognised that his face was that of an European, and his dress the tattered remains of a French military uniform. His beard and moustache seemed ashen grey, and upon his haggard countenance, as he stood motionless and statuesque amid the dancers, was a weary look of blank despair. He also was a captive. The strange-looking, yellow-skinned people of this riparian region at length ceased dancing, and with one accord knelt around him in adoration, worshipping him as though he were an idol. The scene, as they gabbled words in an unknown tongue, was weird and impressive. My fellow-captive did not apparently notice me, therefore, fearing to rouse the ire of this hitherto undiscovered people by shouting, I possessed myself in patience. The curious form of pagan worship at last ended; the unfortunate European was released and allowed to seek his abode, a small hole in the rock close to mine, and the impish-looking men dispersed, leaving me to my own dismal thoughts. Ere long the shadows lengthened as the sun sank behind the high rocks, and dusk crept on. About the open space which served as street, men and women of the curious tribe squatted, smoked, and chattered, while others, entering their boats armed with fishing-spears, paddled off down the subterranean stream in the direction I had come. Night fell, and at last the cave-dwellers slept. Slumber, however, came not to my wearied eyes, and for many hours I sat thinking over my strange position, my thoughts being suddenly disturbed by a noise as of some one moaning near me. It was the mysterious European. With slow steps and bent head he passed by, when, in a low clear voice, I accosted him in French. Startled, he halted, peering towards me; and when I had uttered a few reassuring words, telling him that I was his fellow-captive, he came towards me, looking half-suspiciously into my face, and enquired my name. I told him who I was, then made a similar enquiry. "My name is Flatters," he answered in Arabic. "Thou mayest, perhaps, have heard of me in thy wanderings through the Desert?" "Flatters!" I cried. "Art thou Colonel Flatters, the lost explorer whom the French have sought these three whole years?" "The same," he answered, sighing deeply, his arms crossed over his breast. "For three years I have been held captive in this noisome Land of Sa." His tall dark figure stood out against the starlight, his head bowed in dejection. By this brave explorer's exploits the whole world had more than once been thrilled. By his intrepidity and ability to withstand the sudden extremes of heat and cold in our Great Desert, the French War Department had been enabled to complete their map of the Saharan plains. It was he who explored all the hitherto unknown region around El Biodh; who discovered and published explanations of the wonderful ruins of Tikbaben; who found the Afeli source; who climbed the mountain of Iraouen, and penetrated the country of the Ennitra, into which even we of the Azjar feared to venture. Twice he traversed the stony Tinghert tableland; but on the third occasion, while in the far south near Lake Tsad, he suddenly disappeared, and although the French authorities had offered a reward of ten thousand francs to any one who could solve the mystery of his death or capture, and had sent two formidable expeditions across the desert, with a view of obtaining some tidings of him, all efforts had been futile. Yet he had been here, a prisoner in the hands of these uncanny dwellers beneath the earth's surface! "Hast thou made no attempt to escape?" I enquired, as he seated himself wearily upon a ledge of rock near me. "Yes," he answered despondently; "but my diaries and geological collections have been lost. All egress from this place is closed. Yon rocks are too sheer and high to be scaled, and the black flood hath risen so that there is neither entrance nor exit." Briefly, I told him the manner in which I found myself in that dark cavern with its noisy torrent, and when I had finished he explained the manner in which he had disappeared. "I set forth from Algiers with five European companions, and after travelling for nine months along unfrequented paths in the inhospitable Ahaggar, found myself at Mount El Aghil alone, all my fellow-travellers having died. Unable to return by the route I had come on account of the fierce hostility of the Kel-Rhela, whose vengeance I had narrowly escaped, I was compelled to push on still southward through the Air country, reaching at last, close to the dried-up course of the Igharghar, a large and curious oasis, the earth of which was perfectly black and quite soft, contrasting strangely with the dull red sand of the surrounding desert. The vegetation was luxuriant, water-melons grew in rich profusion, and in exploring it I discovered, to my astonishment, a small but beautiful lake. About the oasis were large rocks, and in one of these I found an opening with curious signs rudely curved at the entrance. They appeared to be the hieroglyphics of some ancient race, and their strange character aroused my curiosity. Unlike any hitherto discovered, they were of huge design, representing men, monstrosities, and animals of unknown species, yet only superficially outlined, apparently with the most inadequate tools. Not only were they at the entrance, but on lighting a torch I found the interior of the cavern completely covered by these grotesque drawings; and it was while engaged in these interesting investigations that I suddenly stumbled into a narrow chasm that had evidently been hidden by dried branches to form a pitfall for the unwary. When I recovered consciousness I, like thyself, found myself captive in the hands of these fierce primitive barbarians of the nether world." "But who are they?" I enquired. "I have never heard mention of them before." "Nor I," he answered. "To our world they are as absolutely unknown as this mighty subterranean flood. During my captivity I have managed to learn some words of their tongue. Their gloomy, mysterious region is known to them as Sa." "But the river itself amazes me," I observed. "True. Our accidental discoveries have proved an important geographical fact hitherto undreamed-of, namely, that the reason the mighty Igharghar no longer flows to irrigate the desert is because it has found a subterranean channel, and for ages has been still roaring on beneath its ancient bed towards the sea." "Whence, in your opinion, cometh this mysterious river?" I enquired. "From Lake Tsad, undoubtedly. The fish in its waters, although grey and sightless, because of the perpetual darkness in which they live, are of the same species as those I found in the lake. The strangest part of my adventure is that these people, never having before seen a white man, believe me to be some supernatural visitant, and worship me as Sa, their principal god." Then, while he listened attentively, I told him of the cavern where the river apparently rushed out into the open air, and suggested that, as a desperate and last resource, we might endeavour to escape by plunging into the chilly stream and allowing ourselves to be carried forth into the unknown. On due consideration, however, we agreed that this project was not feasible, on account of the swollen state of the dark flood, and as an alternative resolved to steal one of the canoes and explore the upper reaches of the mysterious underground stream. This decision we followed by immediate action. The explorer, obtaining a roughly fashioned hammer of stone from his own little cave, quickly severed my fetters, and together we crept out across the small deserted grass-plain to where the boats were moored. In one of them we found paddles, torches and spears, and, stepping in, pushed off and shot silently out into the darkness. Ere we had done so, however, we heard a loud ringing shout close to the bank. Our flight had been discovered. We each seized a paddle and pulled away with all our might against the stream. Quickly we entered the cavern opposite that through which I had been conveyed. The blackness was complete, but we strained every muscle in our efforts to propel forward our frail craft. Soon behind us we heard the wild, fierce yells of our pursuers, and knowing that their eyes, accustomed to that appalling gloom, could discern objects where we of the outer world could detect nothing, we feared lest we might be overtaken. Their angry voices echoed weirdly along the rocky roof, and we could hear the violent splashing of their paddles as they sped along in our wake. In this mad dash into the unknown realm of perpetual night we shot forward with utter disregard of what dangers lay before. We knew not, from one moment to another, whether we were heading up the great broad river, or whether rowing straight towards the rocky sides of the cavern. So light and flimsy was our craft that the least collision with a piece of jutting rock would have sent us down to depths unfathomable. At that moment we were enveloped by an hundred perils. To our surprise and profound satisfaction, we at length realised that the voices of our irate pursuers were growing fainter. They had evidently mistaken the direction we had taken, therefore we slowed up, and presently rested, spent and panting. I could hear the French officer's hard breathing, but the darkness was so intense that we could not see each other. "We have unconsciously entered a tributary of the main stream," he observed, gasping for breath. "Listen, the sounds are receding. At least for the present we are safe. Let us rest." Nothing loth, I bent slowly across my paddle, now and then pulling a few strokes to prevent us drifting, and discussing our position in a low voice so that no echo should betray our presence. Thus we remained fully half-an-hour, until both of us had refreshed ourselves, then together we paddled on swiftly, yet full of caution. No glimmer of light penetrated that dispiriting gloom, and we feared to ignite one of our torches. Toiling forward, the perspiration rolling off us in great beads, we still continued pulling against the strong current for several hours, until suddenly we saw before us two large shafts of brilliant light striking down from above into the water. Slowly we approached lest any of the denizens of Sa should be lurking there; but ere long, as we came nearer, our eyes were dazzled by a sight so amazing that expressions of wonder involuntarily escaped our parched lips. In the light before us we saw clearly outlined a colossal face with hideous grin, carved from the black rock. It was truly gigantic, marvellously fashioned, with huge ears and an expression absolutely demoniacal, the two shafts of bright light issuing forth from the eyes giving it an expression of intense ferocity. We rested on our paddles beneath it, and looked up aghast. "This," cried Colonel Flatters, "must be the god Sa, of whom I have heard so much during my sojourn with these people. He is their principal deity, and supposed to be the inexorable guardian of this remarkable kingdom." "See!" I exclaimed, regarding the extraordinary stone countenance in amazement. "The light from those eyes is sunlight! They are merely holes upon which the sun is shining full!" And such it proved to be. Through the round apertures far up above, light and air were admitted from the desert. When at last our vision became accustomed to the welcome rays of light we made another bewildering discovery. The rock descended sheer into the black flood, but in little niches which had been rudely fashioned lay small heaps of gold ornaments and glittering gems, the sacrifices of this stone god's votaries. Together we pulled our canoe close to the rock, taking care that the rapid swirl of the current did not hurl our craft against the jagged stones, and with my hand I clutched a heap of fine ornaments set with emeralds, pearls, and diamonds. In the sunlight we both examined them, finding they were evidently of very ancient manufacture, possibly the spoils of war against some long-forgotten but cultured nation. In workmanship they were similar to the ornaments found in the tombs of ancient Egypt; they had evidently never been manufactured by the barbarous people into whose possession they had passed. Before us was blackness impenetrable, and upon our ears there broke a distant roar, as of a cataract. The sound appalled us. If a cataract actually lay before, then escape was absolutely hopeless. But the fact that far above gleamed the sun gave us renewed courage, and after some discussion we became convinced that, this colossal face being regarded as the guardian of the unexplored country, an exit existed there. After some difficulty we ignited one of our torches, and with it stuck in the bows of the canoe, rode backwards and forwards, minutely examining the base of the rock. Once we passed so near that my companion was able to secure a handful of gems for himself, and both of us secreted these stolen votive offerings about our garments. The two parallel shafts of light from the eyes of the graven monstrosity, striking deep into the river, revealed curious fish and water-snakes disporting themselves around the boat, while great black bats which had come in through the two openings, startled by our presence, circled about us ominously with wide-spread flapping wings. The water glittering beneath the torch's uncertain rays, flowed past so swiftly, that we were compelled to continue pulling in order to remain abreast of the idol. Long and earnestly we both searched to find some means by which we could reach the two holes that formed the idol's eyes; yet they seemed so small that it was questionable whether, even if we successfully clambered up the sculptured face, we could squeeze our bodies through. A dozen times we allowed the canoe to drift past, while I endeavoured to discover some means by which to reach those glaring eyes. But the bright sunlight dazzled us, and beyond the tiny niches filled with jewels there was no other inequality to serve as foothold to gain the narrow ledge which formed the lips. Again, if I made a false step I should be instantly swept away by the swirling current, and lost for ever in the dark whirling flood. At length however my companion, muscular and agile, succeeded in springing clear of the canoe and gripping one of the small niches, tossing the jewels into the water by his frantic efforts. For an instant he struggled, his legs dangling in mid-air; then presently his toes found foothold, and he commenced slowly to clamber up the chin of the gigantic visage towards a kind of long ledge. I watched his progress breathlessly, not daring to utter a word, but keeping the canoe in readiness to row after him if he fell. With difficulty he ascended, clinging on to the face of the rock until he reached the great grinning mouth and stood up facing me. "What do you find?" I shouted, my voice echoing weirdly. I had noticed that as he glanced along the spot where he stood his face became transfixed by horror. "Follow me!" he replied hoarsely. "Have a care, a single false step means death." At that instant the boat was passing the spot where he had gripped the rock's face, and without hesitation I followed his example and sprang, clutching the narrow slippery ledge with both hands. My feet found a resting-place, yet next second a thought which crossed my mind held me appalled. I had omitted to moor the boat. Over my shoulder I throw a hasty glance. It had already drifted out of sight. I heard my white companion shouting, but taking no heed toiled on up the great face until a strong helping hand gripped mine, and I found myself standing beside him upon the narrow ledge forming the lips of the hideous countenance. Next instant, glancing round, my eyes encountered a sight which hold me petrified. A long dark aperture, about the height of myself, formed the mouth, and set therein were broad sharp teeth of rusted sword-blades, which overlapping, prevented entrance to the cavernous throat. Twenty blades were set in the jaw above and twenty below, forming an impassable barrier of razor-edged spikes. Our only means of escape being cut off by the drifting of the canoe, one fact alone remained to give us courage. From where we stood we recognised the utter impossibility of passing through, the eyes of the colossus, yet, as together we looked at the formidable teeth, we saw a human skeleton lying beneath them. The skull was beyond the row of blades, the legs towards us, proving that some means existed by which those jaws could be opened. The unfortunate man had, apparently, been impaled by the descending blades while in the act of escaping. After brief consultation we began an active search to discover the means by which the mouth could be opened. What lay beyond in that dark cavernous throat we knew not, though we strained our eyes into the blackness, and shook the sharp steel spikes in a vain endeavour to loosen them. For a full hour we searched, discovering nothing to lead us to any solution of the problem. That freedom lay beyond we felt convinced, by reason of the light and air from above; but whatever were the means employed to raise the deadly jaw they were a secret. Time after time we examined every nook and crevice minutely, until at last, when just about to give up our search as futile, I suddenly espied, projecting from the river's surface, a short bar of iron, with the appearance of a lever. To reach it was imperative, therefore at imminent risk I let myself carefully over the edge of the rock, slowly lowering my body until I could grip it. Beneath my weight it slowly gave way, and next instant there was a loud gurgling as of water drawn in by a vacuum, followed immediately by a harsh metallic grating sound. "At last!" I heard the Colonel cry in French. "It rises! Be careful how you ascend." Slowly, and with infinite care, I crept upward, but as I did so I heard my companion's echoing footsteps receding into the gloomy throat of Sa, yet just as I had gained the ledge forming the lips I heard a piercing shriek, followed by a loud splash. I shouted, but there was no answer. My companion had stumbled into some chasm, and I was alone. The light of the hideous eyes had died out, and the spot was in almost total darkness. A dozen times I called his name, but there was no reassuring reply. Then, cautiously creeping forward upon my hands and knees, fearing the worst, I soon came to the edge of an abyss. Some stones I gathered and flung in. By the sound of the splash I knew the water must be of enormous depth. There, in that dark uncanny spot, had Colonel Flatters, the great explorer, whose intrepidity has been for years admired by the world, met his death. A long time I spent alternately shouting and listening. He might, I reflected, have been saved by falling stunned upon some rocky ledge. But I remembered hearing the splash. No, he had undoubtedly been precipitated into the water: the inky flood had closed over him. After diligent search I found a spot where the abyss ended, and again crept forward, still in darkness most intense. Yet the air seemed fresh, and I felt convinced that some outlet must lay beyond. How long, however, I toiled on in that narrow tunnel I know not, save that its dampness chilled me; and when at last it widened in ascending, I found myself a few minutes afterwards amid brushwood and brambles in the outer world. That night I wandered across the large fertile tract, but could not at first recognise it. When dawn spread, however, I saw around me a ridge of dunes that were familiar landmarks, and recognised, to my amazement, that I was at the oasis of Am Ohannan, on the direct caravan route that runs across the barren Afelele to Touat. I had travelled nearly seventy miles in a subterranean region unknown to man, but in so doing had solved the problem that had so long puzzled geographers, the reason why the Igharghar no longer flowed. Besides, I had ascertained the fate of the hapless explorer, whose loss is lamented by both Arabs and Roumis to this day. Within one moon of my escape I was enabled to rejoin my people, and when news of my adventure reached the Bureau Arabe, in Algiers, I was summoned thither to give a detailed account of it before a small assembly of geographers and military officers. This I did, a report of it appearing in English in _The Geographical Journal_ a month later. Of late, several attempts have been made by French expeditions to reach that uncanny realm of eternal darkness, but without success. Its entrance beneath the dry cataract of the Igharghar is now merely an overflowing well, around which a little herbage has grown, while its exit on the Am Ohannan I have unfortunately failed to re-discover. But since this strange adventure I have been known among my fellow tribesmen throughout the desert as "El Waci," or The Teacher, because I have been enabled to prove to the French the existence of an undreamed-of region, and to elucidate the Secret of Sa. CHAPTER FOUR. THE THREE DWARFS OF LEBO. When my beard, now long, scraggy, and grey, was yet soft as silk upon my youthful chin, I was sent as spy into Agadez, the mysterious City of the Black Sultan. At that time it was the richest, most zealously guarded, and most strongly fortified town in the whole Sahara, and surrounded, as it constantly was, by marauding tribes and enemies of all sorts, a vigilant watch was kept day and night, and woe betide any stranger found within its colossal walls, for the most fiendish of tortures that the mind of man could devise was certain to be practised upon him, and his body eventually given to the hungry dogs at the city gate. In order, however, to ascertain its true strength and the number of its garrison, I, as one of the younger and more adventurous of our clansmen, was chosen by Tamahu, our Sheikh, to enter and bring back report to our encampment in the rocky fastness of the Tignoutin. Therefore I removed my big black veil, assumed the white haik and burnouse of the Beni-Mansour, a peaceful tribe further north, and contrived to be captured as slave by a party of raiding Ennitra who were encamped by the well of Tafidet, five miles from the capital of Ahir. As I had anticipated, I was soon taken to the City of the Black Sultan, and there sold in the slave-market, first becoming the property of a Jew merchant, then of Hanaza, the Grand Vizier of the Sultan. As personal slave of this high official I was lodged within the palace, or Fada, that veritable city within a city, containing as it did nearly three thousand inhabitants, over one thousand of whom were inmates of his Majesty's harem. In the whole of Africa, no monarch, not even the Moorish Lord of the Land of the Maghrib, was housed so luxuriously as this half-negro conqueror of the Asben. When first I entered the Fada as slave, I was struck by the magnificence of the wonderful domain. As I crossed court after court, each more beautiful than the one before, and each devoted to a separate department of the royal household, the guards, the janissaries, the treasurer, the armourers, and the eunuchs, I was amazed at every turn by their magnificence and beauty. At last we came to the court of the Grand Vizier, a smaller but prettier place, with a cool, plashing fountain tiled in blue and white, and shaded by figs, myrtles, and trailing vines. Beyond, I could see an arched gateway in the black wall, before which stood two giant negro guards in bright blue, their drawn swords flashing in the sun. Of my conductor I enquired whither that gate led, and was told it was impassable to all save the Sultan himself, for it was the gate of the Courts of Love, the entrance to the royal harem. Through the many months during which I served my capricious master, that closed, iron-studded door, zealously guarded night and day by its mute janissaries with their curved scimitars, was a constant source of mystery to me. Often I sat in the courtyard and dreamed of the thousand terrible dramas which that ponderous door hid from those outside that world of love, hatred, and all the fiercest passions of the human heart. The Sultan was fickle and capricious. The favourite of to-day was the discarded of to-morrow. The bright-eyed houri who, loaded with jewels, could twist her master round her finger one day, was the next the merest harem slave, compelled to wash the feet of the woman who had succeeded her in her royal master's favour. Truly the harem of the Sultan of the Ahir was a veritable hotbed of intrigue, where ofttimes the innocent victims of jealousy were cast alive to the wild beasts, or compelled to partake of the Cup of Death--coffee wherein chopped hair had been placed--a draught that was inevitably fatal. One brilliant night, when the silver moonbeams whitened the court wherein I lived, I sat in the deep shadow of the oleanders, sad and lonely. Through six long dreary months had I been held slave by the Grand Vizier, yet it was Allah's will that I should have no opportunity to return to my people. So I possessed myself in patience. Through those months mine eyes and ears had been ever on the alert, and long ago I had completed my investigations. Suddenly my reflections were interrupted, for I saw standing before me a veritable vision of beauty, a pale-faced girl in the gorgeous costume of the harem, covered with glittering jewels, and wearing the tiny fez, pearl-embroidered zouave, and filmy _serroual_ of the Sultan's favourites. Not more than eighteen, her unveiled countenance was white as any Englishwoman's; her startled eyes were bright as the moonbeams above, and as she stood mute and trembling before me, her bare, panting bosom, half-covered by her long, dark tresses, rose and fell quickly. I raised my eyes, and saw that the negro guards were sleeping. She had escaped from the Courts of Love. "Quick!" she gasped, terrified. "Hide me, while there is yet time." At her bidding I rose instantly, for her wondrous beauty held me as beneath some witch's spell. And at the same time I led the way to my tiny den, a mere hole in the gigantic wall that separated the royal harem from the outer courts of the palace. "My name is Zohra," she explained, when she had entered; "and thine?"-- she paused for an instant, looking me straight in the face. "Of a verity," she added at length, "thine is Ahamadou, the spy of the dreaded Azjar, the Veiled Men." I started, for I had believed my secret safe. "What knowest thou of me?" I gasped eagerly. "That thou hast risked all in order to report to thy people upon the Black Sultan's strength," she answered, sinking upon my narrow divan, throwing back her handsome head and gazing into my eyes. "But our interests are mutual. I have these ten months been held captive, and desire to escape. By bribing one of the slaves with the Sultan's ring I contrived to have poison placed in the kouss-kouss of the guards--" "You have killed them!" I cried, peering forth, and noticing the ghastly look upon their faces as they slept at their posts. "It was the only way," she answered, shrugging her shoulders. "To obtain me the Sultan's men murdered my kinsmen, and put our village to the sword. Mine is but a mild revenge." "Of what tribe art thou?" I enquired eagerly, detecting in her soft sibillations an accent entirely unfamiliar. "I am of the Kel-Oui, and was born at Lebo." "At Lebo!" I cried eagerly. "Then thou knowest of the Three Dwarfs of Lebo?" "Yea. And furthermore I have learnt their secret, a secret which shall be thine alone in return for safe conduct to my people." "But my clansmen are in deadly feud with thine," I observed reflectively. "Does that affect thy decision?" she enquired in a tone of reproach. I reflected, and saw how utterly impossible it seemed that I myself could escape the vigilance of these ever-watchful guards of the many gates which lay between myself and freedom. I glanced at the frail girl lying upon my poor ragged divan, her girdle and throat blazing with jewels, and felt my heart sink within me. "Thou thinkest that because I am a woman I have no courage," she observed, her keen eyes reading my secret thoughts. "But hist! listen!" I held my breath, and as I did so the footsteps of men fell upon the flags of the courtyard. We peered forth through the chink in the wooden shutter, which at night closed my window, and saw two men carrying a bier, followed by two gigantic negro eunuchs. Upon the bier was a body covered by a cloth; and as it passed we both caught sight of gay-coloured silks and lace. Below the black pall a slim white hand, sparkling with diamonds, moved convulsively, and as the _cortege_ passed, a low stifling cry reached us--the despairing cry of a woman. "All!" gasped my companion, dismayed. "It is Zulaimena! Yesterday she ruled the harem, but this morning it was whispered into our lord's ear that she had tried to poison him, and he condemned her and myself to be given alive to the alligators," and she shuddered at thought of the fate which awaited her if detected. Conversing only in whispers, we waited till the palace was hushed in sleep. Then, when she had attired herself in one of my old serving-dresses and bound her hair tightly, we crept cautiously out into the moonlit court. Over the horse-shoe arch of the harem-gate the single light burned yellow and faint, while on either side the guards crouched, their dead fingers still grasping their ponderous scimitars. All was still, therefore quietly and swiftly we passed into the Court of the Treasury, and thence into that of the Eunuchs. Here we were instantly challenged by two guards with drawn swords, clansmen of those who lay dead at the harem-gate. "Whence goest thou?" they both enquired with one voice, suddenly awakened from gazing mutely at the stars, their blades flashing in the moonbeams. "Our master, the Grand Vizier, has had an apoplexy, and is dying!" I cried, uttering the first excuse that rose to my lips. "Let not his life be upon thine heads, for we go forth to seek the court physician Ibrahim." "Speed on the wings of haste!" they cried. "May the One Merciful have compassion upon him!" Thus we passed onward, relating the same story at each gate, and being accorded the same free passage, until at last we came to an enormous steel-bound door which gave exit into the city; the gate which was closed and barred by its ponderous bolts at the _maghrib_ hour, and opened not until dawn save for the dark faced Sultan himself. Here I gave exactly the same account of our intentions to the captain of the guard. He chanced to be a friend of my master's, and was greatly concerned when I vividly described his critical condition. "Let the slaves pass!" I heard him cry a moment later, and, with a loud creaking, the iron-studded door which had resisted centuries of siege and battle, slowly swung back upon its creaking hinges. At that instant, however, a prying guard raised his lantern and held it close to my companion's face. "By the Prophet's beard, a woman!" he cried aloud, starting back, an instant later. "We are tricked!" "Seize them!" commanded the captain, and in a moment three guards threw themselves upon us. Swift as thought I drew my keen _jambiyah_, my trusty knife which I had ever carried in my sash throughout my captivity, and plunged it into the heart of the first man who laid hands upon me, while a second later the man who gripped Zohra, received a cut full across his broad negro features which for ever spoilt his beauty. Then, with a wild shout to my companion to follow, I dashed forward and ran for my life. Lithe and agile as a gazelle in the desert she sped on beside me along the dark crooked silent streets. In a few minutes the tragedy of the harem-gate would be discovered, and every effort would be then made to recapture the eloping favourite of the brutal Black Sultan. We knew well that if captured both of us would be given alive to the alligators, a punishment too terrible to contemplate. But together we sped on, our pace quickened by the fiendish yells of our pursuers, until doubling in a maze of narrow crooked streets, we succeeded at last, with Allah directing our footsteps, in evading the howling guards and gaining one of the four gates of the city, where the same story as we had told in the Fada resulted in the barrier being opened for us, and a moment later we found ourselves in the wild, barren plain, at that hour lying white beneath the brilliant moon. We paused not, however, to admire picturesque effects, but strode boldly forward, eager to put as great a distance as possible between ourselves and the stronghold of the Ahir, ere the dawn. Fortunately my bright-eyed fellow-fugitive was well acquainted with the country around Agadez, therefore we were enabled to journey by untravelled paths; but the three days we spent in that burning inhospitable wilderness, ere we reached the well where we obtained our first handful of dates and slaked our thirst, were among the most terrible of any I have experienced during my many wanderings over the sandy Saharan waste. On that evening when the mysterious horizon was ablaze with the fiery sunset, and I had turned my face to the Holy Ca'aba, I was dismayed to discover that, instead of travelling towards the country of her people, the Kel-Oui, we had struck out in an entirely different direction, but when I mentioned it she merely replied-- "I promised, in return for thine assistance, to lead thee unto the Three Dwarfs of Lebo, the secret of which none know save myself. Ere three suns have set thine eyes shall witness that which will amaze thee." Next day we trudged still forward into a stony, almost impenetrable country, utterly unknown to me, and two days later, having ascended a rocky ridge, my conductress suddenly halted almost breathless, her tiny feet sadly cut by the sharp stones notwithstanding the wrappings I had placed about them, and pointing before her, cried-- "Behold! The Three Dwarfs!" Eagerly I strained mine eyes in the direction indicated, and there discerned in the small oasis below, about an hour's march distant, three colossal pyramids of rock of similar shape to those beside the Nile. "Yon fertile spot was Lebo until ten years ago, when the men of the Black Sultan came and destroyed it, and took its inhabitants as slaves," she explained. "See! From here thou canst distinguish the white walls of the ruins gleaming amongst the palms. We of the Kel-Oui had lived here since the days of the Prophet, until our enemies of the Ahir conquered us. But let us haste forward, and I will impart unto thee the secret I have promised." Together we clambered down over the rocks and gained the sandy plain, at last reaching the ruined and desolate town where the cracked smoke-stained walls were half overgrown by tangled masses of greenery, welcome in that sunbaked wilderness, and presently came to the base of the first of the colossal monuments of a past and long-forgotten age. They were built of blocks of dark grey granite, sadly chipped and worn at the base, but higher up still well preserved, having regard to the generations that must have arisen and passed since the hands that built them crumbled to dust. "By pure accident," explained the bright-faced girl when together we halted to gaze upward, "I discovered the secret of these wonders of Lebo. Thou hast, by thy lion's courage, saved my life, therefore unto thee is due the greatest reward that I can offer thee. Two years ago I fell captive in the hands of thy people, the Azjar, over in the Tinghert, and it was by thine own good favour I was released. That is why I recognised thee in the palace of Agadez. Now once again I owe my freedom unto thee; therefore, in order that the months thou hast spent in Agadez shall not be wholly wasted, I will reveal unto thee the secret which I have always withheld from mine own people." Then, taking my hand, she quickly walked along the base of the giant structure until she came to the corner facing the direction of the sunrise; then, counting her footsteps, she proceeded with care, stopping at last beneath the sloping wall, and examining the ground. At her feet was a small slab, hidden by the red sand of the desert, which she removed, drawing from beneath it a roll of untanned leopard-hide. This she unwrapped carefully, displaying to my gaze a worn and tattered parchment, once emblazoned in blue and gold, but now sadly faded and half illegible. I examined it eagerly, and found it written in puzzling hieroglyphics, such as I had never before seen. "Our marabout Ahman, who was well versed in the language of the ancients, deciphered this for me only a few hours before his death. It is the testimony of the great Lebo, king of all the lands from the southern shore of Lake Tsad to the Congo, and founder of the Kel-Oui nation, now, alas! so sadly fallen from their high estate. The parchment states plainly that Lebo, having conquered and despoiled the Ethiopians in the last year of his reign, gathered together all the treasure and brought it hither to this spot, which bore his name, in that day a gigantic walled city larger by far than Agadez." I glanced around upon the few miserable ruins of mud-built houses, and saw beyond them large mounds which, in themselves, indicated that the foundations of an important centre of a forgotten civilisation lay buried beneath where we stood. "Lebo had one son," continued Zohra, "and he had revolted against his father; therefore the latter, feeling that his strength was failing, and having been told by the sorcerers that on his death his great kingdom would dwindle until his name became forgotten, resolved to build these three pyramids, that they should remain throughout all ages as monuments of his greatness." "And the treasure?" I asked. "Is it stated what became of it?" "Most precisely. It is recorded here," she answered, pointing to a half-defaced line in the mysterious screed. "The king feared lest his refractory son, who had endeavoured to usurp his power in the country many marches farther south, would obtain possession of the spoils of war, therefore he concealed them in one of yonder monuments." "In there!" I cried eagerly. "Is the treasure actually still there?" "It cannot have been removed. The secret lies in the apex of the third and lastly constructed monument," she explained. "But the summit cannot be reached," I observed, glancing up at the high point. "It would require a ladder as long as that of Jacob's dream." "There is a secret way," she answered quite calmly. "If thou art prepared for the risk, I am quite ready to accompany thee. Let us at once explore." Together we approached the base of the third pyramid, and Zohra, after careful calculation and examination, led me to a spot where there was a hole in the stone just of sufficient size to admit a human foot. One might have passed it by unnoticed, for so cunningly was it devised that it looked like a natural defect in the block of granite. "Behold!" she cried. "Climb, and I will follow." The day was hot, and the sun had only just passed the noon, nevertheless I placed my foot in the burning stone, and scrambling forward found that she had made no mistake. At intervals there were similar footholds, winding, intricate, and in many instances filled with the nests of vultures, but always ascending. For fully half an hour we toiled upward to the apex, until we at length reached it, perspiring and panting, and minutely examined the single enormous block of stone that capped the summit. By its size I saw that no human hands could move it. If the treasure lay beneath, then it must remain for ever concealed. "That parchment giveth no instructions how the spoils of war may be reached. We must discover that for ourselves," she observed, clambering on, still in her ragged male attire with which I had furnished her before leaving the stronghold of the Black Sultan. I was clinging with one arm around the apex itself, and with the other grasping her soft white hand. She had looked down from the dizzy height and shuddered, therefore I feared lest she might be seized with a sudden giddiness. But quickly she released herself, and proceeded to scramble along on hands and knees, making a minute investigation of the wall. Her sudden cry brought me quickly to her side, and my heart leapt wildly when I discerned before me, in the wall of the pyramid, immediately at the base of the gigantic block forming the apex, an aperture closed by a sheet of heavy iron, coloured exactly the same as the stone and quite indistinguishable from it. Some minutes we spent in its examination, beating upon it with our fists. But the secret how to open it was an enigma as great as that of the closed cavern in our book of the "Thousand Nights and a Night," until suddenly, by merest chance, we both placed our hands upon it, and it moved slightly beneath our touch. Next moment, with a cry, we both pushed our hardest, and slowly, ever so slowly, it slid along, grating in the groove, which was doubtless filled by the dust of centuries, disclosing a small, dark, low chamber roofed by the apex-stone. Stepping inside, our gaze eagerly wandered around the mysterious place, and we at once saw that we had indeed discovered the treasure-house of Lebo the Great, for around us were piled a wondrous store of gold and gems, personal ornaments and great golden goblets and salvers. The aggregate value of the treasure was enormous. "Of a verity," I cried, "this is amazing!" "Yea," she answered, turning her fine eyes upon me. "I give this secret entirely and unreservedly unto thee, as reward for thine aid. At the going down of the sun I shall part from thee, and leave this home of my race for ever. In six hours' march, by the secret gorges, I can reach our encampment, therefore trouble no further after me. Close this treasure-house, return to thine own people, and let them profit by thy discovery." "But thou, Zohra, boldest me in fascination," I cried passionately. "Thou hast entranced me. I love thee!" "Love can never enter mine heart," she answered with a calm smile, but sighing nevertheless. "I am already the wife of thine enemy, Melaki, ruler of the Kel-Oui." "Wife of Melaki!" I exclaimed amazed. "And thou hast done this?" "Yes," she answered in a lower voice. "I have given thee thy promised reward, so that thou and thy people may become rich, and some day make brotherhood with us, and unite against the Black Sultan." "If such is in my power it shall be done," I said, stooping and imprinting a passionate kiss upon her soft white hand. Then soon afterwards we closed the mouth of the chamber and descended, finding the task no easy one. At the base of the "Dwarf" we parted, and never since have mine eyes beheld her beautiful countenance. Ere a moon had passed away, I had conducted a party of my clansmen unto the Three Dwarfs, and we had removed the treasure of the great founder of the Kel-Oui. Of such quantity was it that seven camels were required to convey it to Mourzouk, where it was sold to the Jews in the market, and fetched a sum which greatly swelled our finances. True to my promise, when I assumed the chieftainship of the Azjar, I effected a friendly alliance with the Kel-Oui, and endeavoured to seek out Zohra. But with poignant grief I learnt that soon after her return to her people she had been seized by a mysterious illness which proved fatal. Undoubtedly she was poisoned, for it was her evil-faced husband, Melaki, who told me how he had found in her possession a mysterious screed relating to the treasure of Lebo, and how, when questioned, she had admitted revealing its secret to the man who had rescued her from the harem of the Black Sultan. Melaki never knew that the man with whom she fled from Agadez, and who loved her more devotedly than any other man had ever done, was myself. CHAPTER FIVE. THE COMING OF ALLAH. One breathless evening, when the golden sun had deepened to crimson, and the shadows of the rocks were lengthening upon the white furnace of the sands, an alarm spread through our camp that strange horsemen were riding hard down the valley in our direction. Marauders that we were, fierce reprisals were of no infrequent occurrence, therefore the women and children were quickly hurried out of the way, the camels tethered, and each man gripped his spear, prepared to resist whatever onslaught might be made. Along the Wady Ereren, six days' march south of the town of Ghat, where we were at that time encamped, we had taken the precaution to post three men in order to give us warning in case of any projected attack by the Kel-Alkoum, the powerful people with whom we were at feud on account of the murder of six of our clansmen up in the north of Fezzan. Our outposts, however, had sent us no word, therefore the only conclusion was that they had been surprised and killed ere they could reach us. Hearing the news, I clambered up the bank of the ancient dried-up watercourse, in the bed of which we had pitched our tents, and, looking across the bend, we saw four dark specks approaching. The eye of the Touareg is as keen as that of the eagle, for, living as we do upon plunder, our intelligence becomes so sharpened that we somehow instinctively scent the approach of the stranger long before we see or hear him. In a few moments the men crowded about me for my opinion. Tamahu was dead, and this occurred in the first year of my chieftainship of the Azjar. "Let all four be captured and brought to me," I said, my eyes still fixed upon the approaching figures. "If they resist, kill them." In an instant twenty men, dark and forbidding in their black veils, sprang into their high-backed brass-mounted saddles, and with their gleaming spears held high, ready to strike, swept away down the valley to meet the new-comers. Half an hour passed anxiously. The women in the rear chattered excitedly, and the children, held back by them, rent the air by their cries. From where I stood I was unable to witness the meeting of our men with the strangers, but suddenly the sound of firearms reached our ears. Then I felt assured that the mysterious horsemen must either be the advance-guard of some valuable caravan from Algeria, or of an army from the north. Yet again and again the guns spoke forth, and so rapidly that I feared for the safety of our men; but at last there was silence deep and complete, and when I descended to the camp I found a tumultuous excitement prevailing. The four men, escorted by those who had gone to arrest them, were still carrying their guns, and as they slipped from their saddles before me, smiles broadened their unveiled faces. I looked at them puzzled. It seemed as though the firing had been but powder-play. "Behold! O Ahamadou, our Sheikh! We are thy kinsmen, yet thou hast sent to attack us!" they exclaimed. "Our kinsmen!" I cried, noticing that they wore the white burnouse of the north, with their _haicks_ held around their heads by ropes of twisted camel's hair. They wore no veils, and a Touareg is unrecognisable, even to his relatives, if his black _litham_ be removed. "Yea," cried one, the elder of the four. "Lend us a veil, and we will show thee." A strip of black cotton cloth was thrust into his hand by one of the crowd, and he assumed it, twisting it deftly as only a Touareg can. Then he turned and faced the onlookers, who with one accord laughed immoderately, hailing him as Taghma, son of Ifafan. Then the other three assumed the veil, and were, one by one, recognised and received back by their relatives. At the conclusion of this strange ceremony, Taghma turned to me explaining how long ago before Ramadan they had wandered afar with their flocks to the oasis of Ezirer, and were there taken captives by the Kel-Alkoum. "But," he added, "we have seen with our eyes the greatest wonder on earth. Allah himself hath come down from heaven!" "What?" I cried, starting to my feet. "Thou liest!" The sensation caused by the man's calm announcement was intense. "If my tongue uttereth falsehood, O Sheikh! then let it be cut out," he said. "I have seen Allah, the One. He guideth the Kel-Alkoum our enemies, and we are of a verity forsaken." "Ah!" wailed the old marabout Ajrab. "Did I not warn ye that because of your inattention to your devotions and your neglect to say the five prayers, the One Merciful would leave you to perish and be eaten by the vultures like the lame camel in the wilderness?" "Loose not thy tongue's strings," I commanded quickly. "Let us hearken unto Taghma, who hath seen the One from above." "Of a verity, O Ahamadou!" answered the escaped captive, "we are lost, for Allah hath promised to render assistance unto the people he favoured in their expeditions. He declareth that we, of the Touaregs, are the parasites of the earth, and that we shall be exterminated, not one being left. Truly he can render our spears as broken reeds, and our blades as useless as rusted tin. Each day at the _maghrib_ he standeth beneath a baldachin of purple and giveth the people an assurance of his favour, while all fall down and kiss the hem of his crimson garment so that they may be blessed. In Salemma, El Had, El Guerat, and the villages around Gatron, he hath healed the sick and performed wondrous miracles, while before our own eyes hath he caused a great tree to rise from the bare sand--a marvel which no earthly being could accomplish." "The latter thou hast thyself seen?" I enquired, much interested in this most remarkable statement. "We have, O Sheikh!" he answered. "The face of Allah is in the darkness as a shining light. Verily the promise in the _sura_ is fulfilled. He hath come in person to lead the Faithful unto conquest." Alone I sat in my tent that night, smoking and pondering deeply over the strange report. In the camp the excitement had already risen to fever-heat. The aged Ajrab was addressing the crowd of men and women, urging them to earnest supplication. Allah had come, and would vent his wrath upon those who had discarded His Book of Everlasting Will. From my divan I could hear the grey-bearded marabout's declaratory argument, and began to wonder whether the statement that Allah had descended upon earth had any foundation in fact. I confess to being sceptical. From the wailing of the women, and the low growls of the men, I knew plainly that the belief in the report must have a seriously disheartening effect upon our fighting men, who, if convinced that Allah assisted their enemies, would no doubt throw down their arms and flee. I therefore saw that the statement of Taghma and his companions must be investigated, and after deep thought at length resolved to assume a disguise, and go myself to the camp of the Kel-Alkoum and see the miracles of which the men had spoken. To leave the Azjar without its Sheikh at such a time would, I knew, result disastrously; therefore, calling together the marabout and three of the most trusted headmen, I secretly explained to them my intention, and told them to account for my non-appearance during the next few days by spreading the report that I was seized by a slight fever and confined to my tent. Then just before the waning of the moon, the dress that Taghma had worn was brought to me, and, assuming it, I mounted a fleet horse and set forth alone down the winding wady. With the facts I had elicited from the four fugitives vivid within my mind, I journeyed forward, arriving ten days later in the little stone-built town of Zemnou, a cluster of white houses surrounding its small mosque capped by three thin whitewashed minarets. Wearing as I did the correct garb of a tribesman of the Kel-Alkoum, my presence was unnoticed, and I was therefore enabled to stroll about the market-places and make my observations while pretending to bargain for goods I had no intention of purchasing. At sunset each day, when the voice of the _mueddin_ sounded from the minaret, "Allah is great!" I crossed to the mosque, washed my feet in the marble basin and entered, in the expectation of seeing the Ruler of Earth, but was each day disappointed. At that hour the surrounding terraces were peopled with white forms, which stood out against the summits of the palm-trees and the green of the baobab. Their backs were turned to the purple splendours of the dying light, for their faces looked towards the already darkened east, lighted for us by that eternal light in which Mecca is to be found. At length, after a week had elapsed, a great and excited crowd gathered in the market, and, when I enquired its reason, I learned that Allah was coming. For an hour we waited in the full glare of the noon-day sun, until suddenly a shout of joy arose, and all fell upon their knees in adoration. Then, lifting my eyes, I witnessed for the first time the One Merciful in the flesh. Truly Taghma had not lied. He was of middle-age, a trifle pale, but his dark eyes had a kindly, sympathetic look, and his countenance was open and bright, a face such as is never seen on earth. In his robe of blood-red he stood with his head uncovered, and while the people about him kissed his feet and the hem of his robe, he stretched forth both hands over them, pronouncing upon them his blessing and an assurance of his favour. One fact, however, struck me as curious. Abreha, the Sheikh, stood aloof, with arms folded, watching the scene from beneath his shaggy brows. The glare in his keen eye told me that within his heart he concealed a fierce jealousy that his power had thus been eclipsed. The people, frantic with joy at the words of the Giver of all Good Gifts, cried aloud their praises, repeating their _fatihat_, and making open declaration of their belief. The scene was the strangest and most exciting that ever I had witnessed, for, carried away by their enthusiasm, many fell fainting, and were trampled upon by the crowd eagerly struggling to press Allah's garment to their lips, and obtain the remission of all past sins. Suddenly the tall, erect, imposing figure in blood-red, truly kingly, raised both arms above his head, and, in a clear voice that echoed across the market above the clamours of the wild perspiring crowd, commanded silence. In an instant one could have heard a cricket chirp. Every mouth was open in breathless eagerness, for Allah was about to speak to them, his chosen, with his own lips. "Give ear, O my well-beloved!" he cried, with an accent unfamiliar. "Among ye have I come because ye have repeated your _suras_ faithfully, and have believed in my Prophet. Of a verity will I bless you with abundant blessings, and the sun of my favour shall shine upon you so that your enemies may wither before the dazzling light shed by your faces. You, the Kel-Alkoum, my beloved, shall sweep from the face of the earth the wicked who have oppressed you, and their entrails will be burned by the all-consuming fire of my vengeance. The Touaregs, those who hide their faces in veils because of the hideousness of their iniquities, shalt thou put to the sword, and they shall be consigned to the place Al-Hawiyat, where their food shall be offal, and melting pitch shall slake their thirst. I am thy leader, henceforward fear not, for thou hast a stronger hand than all nations of the earth, and at my will all who oppose thee shall be routed and die. The Kel-Alkoum, my chosen, shall rule the world." He paused, and glanced round with an eye keen as a falcon's, while loud praises arose from every hoarse throat around. "We will rout the Azjar from their mountain fastnesses!" they cried. "We are ready at any moment to do thy bidding, and sweep away the wicked. Thou wilt give strength to our arms that none can resist. Be praised, O King of earth and heaven! Be praised, O One!" A smile of satisfaction played about the lips of the red-robed visitant from the unknown; but, without further word, he turned and stalked slowly to the mosque, the excited crowd closing in behind him, rending the air with their adulatory cries. Throughout many days I remained in Zemnou. Once I saw the mysterious visitant pass in the darkness, and truly his luminous face shone like a lamp. One morning, however, while wandering among the palms outside the town, I met the Ruler of Earth walking alone, his head sunk upon his breast in pensive attitude. With his red cloak trailing heedlessly in the dust, he presented a decidedly dejected appearance. My footsteps startled him, and, raising his head quickly, he walked erect with his usual gait, apparently being desirous of concealing his melancholy. "Praise!" I exclaimed, stopping, and bowing low before him. "If thou art, indeed, Allah, thou alone knowest the innermost thoughts of thy servant." He paused, and stretched both his white tapering hands above my bowed head. "Thy thoughts are of me," he answered. "Thou desirest speech with me alone. Speak." So calmly he looked upon me that I was convinced that such a kindly, sympathetic face, with its expression of a sweet sadness, could not be human. Besides, had he not healed the sick, and caused trees to grow from out the desert sand? Yet a spirit of scepticism possessed me, and, scarcely knowing what words I uttered, I said-- "If thou art the mighty and wise One thou canst tell me my name, and whence I have come." In an instant his brows knit, and his eyes flashed angrily. "Thou art an unbeliever, and one of my accursed. Thou, who darest to question my immutability and omnipotence, go dwell with Eblis, Ruler of Darkness, where maleficient spirits shall haunt thee, and the tortures of the flesh shall rend thee for ever. Begone!" And drawing his robe about his shoulders, he moved forward with truly imperial gait. At that moment I saw through the trees a pious fanatical crowd approaching. The news had evidently spread that the All-merciful was walking in the outskirts of the town, and they had come forth to touch his garments and receive his blessing. But when he saw them he halted, and, pointing towards me, cried-- "Lo! Yonder is one of the sons of Eblis, a scoffer and unbeliever. Let his body be given to the dogs." Ere I could realise that the kind-faced man had condemned me to death, the mob, with loud yells of execration, rushed forward to seize me, and hurry me to an ignominious end. But in an instant I dashed in among the trees, and fled for life so quickly that I at length managed to out-distance my irate pursuers, and till evening I slept beneath the shadow of a rock. Then, determined to speak again with the Almighty One, I returned into the town, taking the precaution to purchase new garments to prevent recognition. The All-powerful had aroused further suspicion within me by his embarrassment when I had questioned him, and by his anxiety that I should be killed ere I could utter denunciation. Without doubt, he possessed a mixture of firmness and independence which raised him above all prejudices, for he expressed his opinions to Abreha, the Sheikh, with the same frankness he employed towards the humblest tribesman; nevertheless, when we had spoken, I had detected a dramatic pose and an artificiality of manner which puzzled me. Again, at the moment when I had addressed him, I had noticed, walking at some little distance behind him, a young girl of extreme beauty. She was unveiled, in the manner of the Kel-Alkoum, but somehow her face struck me as familiar, and I desired to again behold her. With that object I resumed my former quarters in the market-place, and kept watchful vigil. Next morning she came. Her face was paler than before, and it wore an anxious, terrified expression. I inquired who she was, and was told that to all she was a mystery. Whence she came no man knew, but Allah had declared her to be one of his chosen, hence none molested her, or made enquiry. I smiled, for I had recognised her. She was Mezouda, daughter of one of our fighting men, who had been long ago captured by the Kel-Oui, and whose whereabouts had remained unknown. An hour later I contrived to have secret speech with her. At first she did not recognise me, but when I told her who I was, then she at once expressed her eagerness to return to her own people. "Thou shalt return to our camp only on one condition, namely, that thou wilt induce that man known as Allah to accompany thee," I answered. "He is thy friend." "But the Kel-Alkoum are his well-beloved," she said, using the same expression he so often used. "He must forsake them," I observed, explaining to her the baneful effect the report had exercised upon our men of the Azjar. But she shook her head. "No, he will not leave the Kel-Alkoum. He is already their ruler," she said. "The power of Abreha is now fast waning." "Take me to him," I commanded. "But his house is a holy place. None dare enter on penalty of being cast out for ever." "I will risk it," I answered. "Guide thither my footsteps." Reluctantly she led me through a number of narrow crooked streets, until she paused before a small mud-built hut, and pointed to it. Without ceremony I pushed open its closed door, and, entering, discerned the great King, half-dressed, standing before a scrap of broken mirror combing his beard. His face and neck were brown, so were his hands, but his breast and arms were white! The sympathetic countenance and tapering fingers were ingeniously stained to match the colour of the men of the desert, but the remainder of his body showed him to be a European. "How darest thou thus disturb my privacy, accursed son of Eblis?" he cried in anger, evidently recognising me as the one whom he had condemned to death on the previous day. "I have entered in order to denounce thy profane chicanery," I answered boldly. "Thou, the self-styled Allah, art an infidel, an impostor, and a fraud!" He started at my fierce declaration, for the first time recollecting that parts of his chest, arms, and legs were exposed to my gaze. His face blanched beneath its artificial colouring, and his white lips trembled. "Well!" he gasped, "and if thou hast discovered my secret--what then?" "The people of the Kel-Alkoum shall be made aware of how completely they have been tricked," I answered, taking up a small pot, which I smelt, and found contained a preparation of phosphorous. This he had evidently used to cause his face to be luminous in the darkness. "No!" he cried, "anything but that. I would rather kill myself outright than face the ferocity of these people." "Then truthfully answer my questions," I said firmly, when I had explained to him who I was, and the sensation caused in our camp by the report of his assistance to our enemies. "Whence comest thou?" "I come from the land of the Roumis over the great black water," he answered, suddenly casting off all cant and concealment. "My name is Mostyn Day, and I am an English mining prospector. Long ago, while in my own country, I read of the ease with which the fanatical Arabs may be imposed upon by fearless and unscrupulous men who desire to obtain power over them; and, truth to tell, hearing that great mineral wealth existed in the country of the Kel-Alkoum, and knowing Arabic well, I conceived a plan to come here, announce myself as Allah, and obtain over the tribe such complete authority and control that I should either become their Sheikh or obtain a concession to exploit all the mines in this rich region. My object was very nearly accomplished. To-morrow there is arranged a great rising of the people against Abreha, with the object of declaring me their ruler, but,"--and he paused sighing--"your discovery has put an end to it all." "But what of the miracles you have worked in various villages?" "Mere conjuring tricks and sleight-of-hand," he laughed. "Once, long ago, I was connected with an English travelling show, therefore I am familiar with most stage tricks. But now I have confessed to you, you will not expose me. Remember, unless you allow me to fly, these people will assuredly take my life." "I will preserve silence on one condition only," I replied. "That to-night, an hour after sundown, you leave with me, journey to my encampment, and there exhibit to my people your painted face and arms, explaining to them the reason of your imposture, and showing them how you contrived to render your countenance luminous at night." At first he demurred, but finding me inexorable he at length submitted, and asked to be allowed to take Mezouda with him. "She is my wife," he explained. "I married her in Algiers two years ago, and by her aid alone have I been enabled to approach so nearly the realisation of the plot I had conceived." "It was truly an ingenious one," I laughed. "Yes, Mezouda shall go with thee. Remain in silence of thine intentions, and meet me among the palms outside the town an hour after sundown." At first I feared that the intrepid Englishman, who had so nearly been the cause of a great Jehad through the whole Sahara, would endeavour to escape, but both he and his pretty and adventurous wife kept the appointment, and after some days we eventually arrived at our encampment. The excitement caused by our appearance was unbounded. Taghma and his companions at once recognised the Englishman in his blood-red robe as the Allah of the Kel-Alkoum, and all fell on their knees, crying aloud in adoration. But their supplications were quickly cut short by the few loud words of authority I uttered, and when half an hour later the reckless adventurer exhibited his stained face and hands, and then entertained them by showing the simple means by which he accomplished his tricks of magic, the air was rent by roars of laughter. The veiled warriors of the Azjar danced for joy, and held their sides when convinced how completely their enemies had been tricked, and how dejected they, no doubt, were when they knew that the Allah, in whom they trusted, had forsaken them without a single word of farewell. For a month the ingenious impostor remained a guest within our tents; then he departed for the north, taking his wife Mezouda with him. But since that day the Kel-Alkoum, believing themselves the forgotten of Allah, have ever been a cowed and peaceful nation. CHAPTER SIX. THE EVIL OF THE THOUSAND EYES. The camp fire was dying in the gloomy hour before the dawn. In the Great Desert the light comes early from the far-off Holy City, golden as the Prophet's glory, to light our footsteps in those trackless waterless wastes which are shunned by man and forgotten by Allah. My tribesmen of the Azjar, still wrapped in their black veils, were sleeping soundly prior to the long march of the coming day, and all was quiet save the howling of a desert fox, and the shuffling tread of the sentries as they traversed the camp from end to end, silent and weird in their long black burnouses and veils. Alone, I was sitting gazing into the dying embers, deep in thought. I had been unable to sleep, for a strange premonition of danger oppressed me. We were in the country of the Taitok, a tribe of pure Arabs, fierce in battle, who when united with the Kel-Rhela, their neighbours, were among our most formidable opponents. The Sheikhs of both tribes had made treaty with the French, and placed their country beneath the protection of the tricolour of the Infidels, therefore in our expedition, against their town of Azal, we knew that we must meet with considerable opposition. We had exercised every caution in our advance, travelling by various ancient dried-up watercourses known only to us, "The Breath of the Wind," approaching in secret the town we intended to loot and burn as a reprisal for an attack made upon us a month before. But the report of a spy, who had gone forward to Azal, was exceedingly discouraging. The French had occupied the Kasbah, the red-burnoused Spahis were swaggering about the streets and market-places, while the tricolour floated over the city gate, and the fierce fighting men of the Taitok were now fearless of any invader. It was this report which caused me considerable uneasiness, and I was calmly reflecting whether to turn off to the east into the barren Ahaggar, or to push forward and measure our strength with our enemies, the Infidels, when suddenly my eyes, sharpened by a lifetime of desert wandering, detected a dark crouching figure moving in the gloom at a little distance from me. In an instant I snatched up my rifle and covered it. Unconscious of how near death was, the mysterious stranger still moved slowly across, lying upon his stomach and dragging himself along the sand in the direction of my tent. As I looked, a slight flash caught my eye. It was the gleam of the flickering flame upon burnished steel. The man held a knife, and at the door of my tent raised himself before entering, then disappeared within. Quick as thought I jumped up, drew my keen double-edged _jambiyah_ from my girdle, and noiselessly sped towards my tent, drawing aside the flap, and dashing in to capture the intruder. The dark figure was bending over a portfolio wherein I keep certain writings belonging to the tribe, the compacts of friends and the threats of foes. "Thou art my prisoner!" I cried fiercely, halting inside, casting aside my knife and raising my rifle. The figure turned quickly with a slight scream, and by the feeble light of my hanging-lamp I was amazed to detect the features of a woman, young, beautiful, with a face almost as white as those of the Roumi women who sit at cafes in Algiers. "Mercy, O Ahamadou!" she implored, next second casting herself upon her knees before me. "True, I have fallen prisoner into thine hands, but the Book of Everlasting Will declares that thou shalt neither hold in slavery nor kill those who art thy friends. I crave thy mercy, for indeed I am thy friend." "Yet thou seekest my life with that knife in thine hand!" I cried in anger. "Whence comest thou?" I demanded, for her Arabic was a dialect entirely strange to me. "From a country afar--a region which no man knoweth," she answered. "The country of the Azjar is the whole of the Great Desert," I answered, with pride. "Every rock and every wady is known unto them." "Not every wady," she replied, smiling mysteriously. "They know not the Land of Akkar, nor the City of the Golden Tombs." "The Land of Akkar!" I gasped, for Akkar was a region which only existed in the legendary lore of the Bedouins, and was supposed to be a fabulous country, wherein lived a mysterious race of white people, and where was concealed the enormous treasure captured during the Mussulman Conquest. "Knowest thou actually the position of the wondrous Land of Akkar?" "It is my home," she answered in soft sibillation, as stretching forth my hand I motioned her to rise. I saw that her beauty and grace were perfect. She wore no veil, but her dark robe was dusty and stained by long travel, while her striking beauty was enhanced by a string of cut emeralds of great size and lustre across her brow, in place of the sequins with which our women decorate themselves. She wore no other jewels, save a single diamond upon the index-finger of the right hand, a stone of wondrous size and brilliancy. It seemed to gleam like some monster eye as she sank upon the divan near, a slight sigh of fatigue escaping her. "And thy name?" I enquired. "Nara, daughter of Kiagor," she answered. "And thou art the great Ahamadou, whom all men fear from Lake Tsad, even unto the confines of Algeria, the leader of the dreaded Breath of the Wind. In our secret land reports of thy prowess and ferocity in the fight, of thy leniency towards the women and children of thine enemies, have already reached us, therefore I travelled alone to seek thee." And she looked up into my face, her full red lips parted in a smile. "Why?" I enquired, puzzled. "Because I crave the protection of thine host of black-veiled warriors," she answered. "Our land of Akkar is threatened by an invasion of the Infidel English, who have sent two spies northward from the Niger. May Allah burn their vitals! They succeeded in penetrating into our mountain fastness, and were captured by our scouts. One was killed, but the other escaped. He has, undoubtedly, gone back to his own people; and they will advance upon us, for they are a nation the most powerful and most fearless in all the world." "Of a verity thy lips utter truth," I observed, "for we once fought in the Dervish ranks against the English on the Nile bank, and were cut down like sun-dried grass before the scythe. But who hath sent thee as messenger to me?" "I come on my own behalf," she responded. "I am ruler of the Akkar." It was strange, sitting there in conversation with the ruler of a mysterious region, the existence of which every Arab in the Soudan and the Sahara firmly believed, yet no man had ever set foot in the legendary country, the fabulous wealth and strange sights of which were related by every story-teller from Khartoum even unto Timbuktu. And yet Nara, the Queen of Akkar, was a guest within my camp, and had fallen upon her knees before me in supplication. Ambition was fired within me to visit her wondrous land of the silent dead, and I announced my readiness to effect a treaty with her, first accompanying her alone to see the wonders of her mystic realm. As I spoke, however, a curious change appeared to come over her. Her face flushed slightly, her eyes gleamed with a fiery glance, and there was a hardness about her mouth, which, for one brief moment, caused me suspicion. "Thou art welcome, O Ahamadou!" she answered, smiling bewitchingly, next instant. "We will start even now, if thou wilt, for no time must be lost ere thine armed men unite with the guards of my kingdom to resist the accursed English, that white-faced tribe whom Eblis hath marked as his own. Let us speed on the wings of haste, and within a week thou mayest be back here within thine own camp." And she rose in readiness to go forth. "My _meheri_ is tethered behind yon rock," she continued, pointing out beyond the camp where a great dark rock loomed forth against the fast-clearing sky. "Join me there, and I will guide thy footsteps unto my City of the Golden Tombs." Whilst she went forth secretly I called Malela, son of Tamahu, and imparted to him the circumstances, telling him of my intention to go secretly to Akkar, and giving him instructions how to preserve from the tribe the fact that I was absent. Malela was one of the fiercest of desert-pirates, as valiant a man as ever drew a _jambiyah_ against an enemy; but when I mentioned my intended visit to the silent legendary land, the wealth and terrors of which he had heard hundreds of times from the lips of the story-tellers and marabouts, his face paled beneath its bronze. "May the One of Praise envelope thee with the cloak of His protection," he ejaculated with heartfelt fervency. "Have we not heard of the awful tortures of those in the mute land--the mysterious region which the Moors have declared to be the veritable dwelling-place of Eblis, the region inhabited by those who have served the Devil and refused both the blessings of Allah and the intercessions of his Prophet?" "Are not the Azjar without fear, and is not Ahamadou their leader?" I asked proudly, reflecting upon Nara's marvellous beauty, and feeling an intense curiosity to visit the country wherein no man had hitherto set foot. Again, had not the Queen of Akkar singled out the Veiled Men of the Azjar as her allies against the eaters of unclean meat, the Infidels whose bodies Allah will burn with his all-consuming fire. Again Malela uttered a prayer to the One, as he stood facing the Holy Ca'aba, and I, too, murmured a _sura_ as I thrust some cartridges into my pouch, drew tighter my belt with its amulets sewn within, and buckled on my sword with the wondrous jewel in the hilt--the mark of chieftainship--for I was to be guest of the Queen of an unknown land. Then, with a whispered farewell to Tamahu's son, I stole forth, treading softly among my sleeping tribesmen, and carefully avoiding the sentries until I came to my own swift camel, I mounted it, and a few minutes later joined my handsome guide. She had already mounted, and had twisted a white haick about her face until only her eyes and the row of emeralds across her brow remained visible. It is needless to recount the long breathless days we spent together in journeying westward, resting by day and travelling ever in the track of the blood-red afterglow, until we came upon a range of giant snow-crested mountains, as great as the monster Atlas that loom as a barrier between ourselves and the so-called civilisation of the Franks. "Yonder," she said, pointing to them, when first their grandeur burst upon our view in the pale rose of dawn. "Yonder is our land which none can enter, save those who know the secret way. There are but two entrances--one here and the other far south, the way through which the English have unfortunately discovered." "Then on all sides but one thy kingdom is impregnable," I observed, gazing with amazement at the serrated barrier, which seemed to rise until it reached the misty cloud-land. "On all but one," she answered. "Those who know not the secret must meet with death, because of the dangers by which Akkar is surrounded as safeguards against her enemies." Throughout two days we travelled, slowly approaching the snowy range, and one night we halted beside a narrow lake, beyond which was practically an impassable barrier of rugged cliffs and towering mountains. The night was moonless, and as I laid down to sleep, only the rippling of the water lapping the pebbles broke the appalling stillness. At last, however, I dropped off into a heavy slumber, and was only awakened by a strange roar in my ears like the thunder of a cataract. I put forth my hand and tried to open my eyes, but both efforts were alike useless. To my amazement I found my hands secured behind me, and my eyes blindfolded. Then, in an instant, it occurred to me that I had been entrapped. I struggled and fought to free myself, for the air was hot and stifling, and I felt myself being asphyxiated with a deadening roar in my ears, and a close indescribable odour in my nostrils. In my attempt to tear the irritating bandage from my eyes, my head came suddenly into contact with something soft. I placed my cheek against it, and found to my amazement that I was lying on some kind of silken divan, my head supported by an embroidered cushion of the kind usual in our harems. But the odour about me was not the intoxicating fragrance of burning pastilles, but a damp mouldy smell, as of a chamber long closed. How long my mental torture and sense of utter helplessness continued I know not. All I recollect is that, of a sudden, the air seemed fresher and cooler, the thunder of the waters died away instantly, and the smell of the charnel-house gave place to a delicate perfume of fresh flowers. There was a genial warmth upon my cheeks, and I awakened to the fact that the sun was shining upon me, when I felt a hand unloosen the bandage tied behind my head, and heard the voice of Nara say-- "Lo, the danger is past. Thou art in Akkar," and she drew away the piece of black folded silk that had held me without vision. In abject amazement I looked around stupefied. We were together in a kind of boat shaped like an inverted funnel, which opened only at the top and could be closed at will by a complicated arrangement of levers and wire ropes, a subaquatic vessel fitted with comfortable lounges, having a lighted lamp hanging in the centre. Everything--seats, tables, and all the fittings--swung in rings, therefore, whichever way the boat rolled, even though it might turn complete somersaults, those riding in it could remain seated without inconvenience. On looking back I saw that the narrow stream we were navigating was fed by a mighty torrent that rushed from the mountain-side, a roaring, boiling flood which sent up a great column of spray, reflecting in the sunlight all the colours of the spectrum; and I also observed that we had entered the Land of Akkar by means of that strangely-shaped boat of bolted iron plates as strong as the war-ships of the Infidels, and were now in a deep and fertile valley, having descended from the lake by an unknown subterranean watercourse through the very heart of the giant mountain. I gazed about me in blank amazement, for even as my conductress spoke, she deftly stretched forth a pole and arrested the progress of the boat at a flight of well-worn steps, while above, my wondering eyes fell upon the great white facade of a palace with an enormous gilded dome. "Yonder is my dwelling-place," she explained with a wave of the hand, and as we stepped upon the bank a crowd of fierce-looking armed warriors appeared, raising their spears high in salutation. "This is Ahamadou," she explained, "the dreaded Sheikh of the Azjar, who hath come to make brotherhood with us. He is guest of Nara, thy Ruler." "Welcome, O Ahamadou!" they cried, with one voice. "Of a verity thou art the lion of the desert, for the leader of the Breath of the Wind knoweth not fear." "I am thy friend, O friends," I answered, as by Nara's side I strode onward to the wondrous palace, so magnificent, yet of such delicate architecture that one marvelled how human hands could have fashioned it. The country I had entered was red with flowers and green with many leaves; a fruitful, peaceful region, the spires and domes of the great City of the Golden Tombs rising in the distance far down the valley, white and clear-cut as cameos against the liquid gold of the sunset. Together we ascended the long flight of marble steps which led to the great colonnade, and gave entrance to a palace of similar design to those of the ancient palaces of Egypt in those forgotten days long before the Prophet. As our feet touched the last step, the air was rent by a fanfare of a hundred trumpets, causing the valley to re-echo. Then a file of armed men, headed by the blood-red banner of Akkar, lined our route, bowing low as we passed on into a hall, high vaulted and of enormous proportions, in the centre of which stood a wonderful throne of gold, covered with hundreds upon hundreds of eyes of every variety and size, wrought in gems to imitate those of human beings and of animals. As I gazed upon it I suddenly recollected what I had heard from the story-tellers about this wondrous seat of Akkar's Queen. It was the ancient throne whereon, for nearly two thousand years, the rulers of the City of the Golden Tombs had sat, and was known in legendary lore as the Throne of the Thousand Eyes, each eye recording a battle, and being formed of the greatest gem taken in the loot on that occasion. As I approached I saw that some were of diamonds, others of rubies, of emeralds, of jade, of jacinth, of jasper, of pearl, and of sapphires, each perfectly formed, but some kindly-looking, while on others the expression was that of terror, of hatred, or of agony, truly the strangest and weirdest seat of royalty in all the world. Around me the excitement rose to fever-heat as the people assembled, and Nara seated herself upon the throne after casting aside the travel-stained haick she had worn on the journey. I saw everywhere evidences of unbounded riches. The silken robes of the courtiers were sewn with jewels, and as their queen sank among her soft cushions, and her women put upon her necklaces and anklets of enormous worth, the great chamber became filled with the clank of arms and the murmur of many voices, while I was closely scrutinised and my appearance commented upon. Suddenly, the great Queen rose, lifting her arms, and with an expression of uncontrollable anger upon her white face, said-- "Lo, my people, hear this my word! I have travelled afar into the country of our enemies, and have brought hither the person of Ahamadou, their chief." "I am not thine enemy, O Queen!" I hastened to assure her. "Thine ally, if thou wilt." "I have brought hither this man," she cried, "I have brought him hither in fulfilment of my oath in order that punishment shall be meted out to him." "Punishment!" I gasped, wondering if I had taken leave of my senses. "Remember, that this man is Ahamadou, chief of the pirates, who have captured so many of our caravans, and who slew my son Kourra, heir to this my throne, six moons ago!" she cried, in a paroxysm of rage, lifting her thin bare arms, her face growing hideous in her fearful ebullition of anger. I saw that I had fallen helplessly into the hands of my enemies, and bit my lip without uttering a single word. To escape from that unexplored rock-bound kingdom was hopeless. I could only show them that fear dwelleth not in the heart of an Azjar, even though thousands lifted their hands against him. "I have," she cried, "sought out this man, alone and unaided, according to the oath I took before the sacred scarabaeus upon this the Throne of the Thousand Eyes, and conducted him hither in order that ye may pass judgment upon him. Speak, say what torture shall he undergo?" In an instant the air was rent by loud cries of-- "Let the scarabaeus devour him! Let him witness the torture of the spies, and afterwards let the same be applied to him! Let him die the most terrible of all deaths; let the sacred beetle crush him beneath its fangs!" A dozen men, aged, white-robed, with beards so long that some almost swept the ground, whom I judged were priests, held brief consultation: then, amid the uproar, they seized me, wrenched from me my arms, and led me away ere I could raise my voice to charge their dreaded ruler with treachery. Followed by the jeering, excited multitude, they conducted me along the wide level road to the mysterious city, upon the high gates of which were mounted strong guards, with breast-plates whereon the image of the sacred beetle was worked in crimson, and through great streets and squares until we came to a huge mosquelike structure, the three golden domes of which I had noticed glittering afar as the dying rays of the sunset slanted upon them. The dimly-lit interior was magnificent, but as they dragged me forward, I saw placed beneath the central dome a colossal figure of the sacred Scarabaeus a hundred feet in height, and two hundred feet square, plated over with gold. From the two hideous eyes shone lines of white light like the rays of the searchlights of the Infidels, while, by some mechanical contrivance, the wide mouth now and then opened and closed, as though the monstrous emblem of the eternal were eager to devour those who worshipped before it. The bearded priests who held me threw themselves upon their knees before it in adoration, uttering a low kind of chant, while almost at the same instant a quivering terrified man, haggard, thin, and bearing signs of long imprisonment, was dragged forth from a kind of cell in the colossal walls, and made to bend upon his knees upon a grey circular stone immediately before the monster Throat of Death. "No! no!" he shrieked in horror. "Kill me by the sword! Let my body be given to the alligators--anything--but spare me the torture of the Beetle! I am innocent! It is but Nara's love of bloodshed and torture of the flesh that hath caused her to condemn me. May the curse of the Beetle be ever upon her!" Ere he could utter another word six black slaves, veritable giants in stature, seized the unfortunate wretch, and as the mouth of the monster again opened, they flung him headlong into it. Next second the cruel terrible mouth closed, and the shrieks and crushing of bones told how terrible was the torture of the human victim within its insatiable maw. The sight caused me to shudder. To this frightful ignominious death had this fair-faced, soft-spoken woman condemned me. Again the enormous golden jaws opened, and again, as they closed, the victim's piercing shrieks told that his agony was renewed, and that death did not come quickly within that weird colossal figure of the insect, once held sacred from the shores of the Red Sea unto the great black ocean. In this, the last place in all the world where its worship still remained, the people were the most cruel and relentless of any in our great dark continent, Africa. A dozen times the mouth opened and closed, and each occasion the cries of the agonised man were frightful to hear, until at last they died away, and as they did so the light also died from the monster's eyes. Soon, however, another thin, cringing man, starved almost to a skeleton, was brought forth, and with similar scant ceremony was cast into the colossal jaws, whereupon the light in the giant eyes grew brilliant again, and the shrieks for release, as the mouth reopened, were only answered by the loud jeers of the assembled multitude, by this time increased until every part of the magnificent building was crowded to suffocation, while at that instant Nara, still upon the Throne of the Thousand Eyes, was dragged in by a crowd of nearly a thousand persons. Twelve black slaves slowly fanned her as she sat, her chin resting upon her hand, watching in silence. One after another were victims brought forth and hurled to the horrible monster, to be slowly cut to pieces by the myriad gleaming knives and fine-edged saws set within those terrible jaws, until at last some one in the crowd cried out with a loud voice-- "Let the pirate Ahamadou die! His men killed our Prince, the valiant Kourra, therefore no mercy shall be shown the Veiled Man. Let him be given to the Sacred Beetle!" In an instant the cry was taken up on every hand. "Let him die!" they shouted wildly. "Let us witness his body being cut to ribbons!" The priests hesitated, while in that perilous moment I repeated a _sura_, and heeded not these Infidel worshippers of insects and idolators of golden effigies. But at a sign from Nara, the relentless figure in white seated upon her wondrous Throne of the Thousand Eyes, they seized me, forced me to kneel upon the circular stone, and then, as those hideous jaws opened with a swift movement, they lifted me and cast me in. For an instant my head reeled, and all breath left me, for I knew that a fearful agonising death was nigh; but as Allah willed it, I alighted upon my feet, and finding in the darkness that the floor sloped down, I started running with all my might, gashing myself upon the knives, set upright like teeth, but nevertheless speedily forward, heedless of the pain. Slowly and surely the walls of that strange torture-chamber closed about me with a creaking and groaning horrible to hear, until I found myself squeezed tightly with irresistible force on every side. I held my breath, for upon my chest was a great weight, and I knew that next instant my frame must be crushed to pulp. Slowly, however, almost imperceptibly, the frightful pressure upon my body began to relax, and ere I realised the welcome truth, I found myself able to breathe again. By dashing forward I had advanced far down the dreaded Throat of Death to a point where the passage began to widen, and by the freshness of the air I now felt that some outlet lay beyond. Therefore, without hesitation, I sped again onward, stumbling over some soft objects on the ground, which I instinctively knew to be the remains of my fellow victims, until a faint grey glimmer of light showed in the distance. The floor still sloped steeply, and by feeling about me, I discovered that the Throat was now simply a natural burrow in the rock. Without loss of a second I soon gained the outlet, and peered forth, aghast to discover that the tunnel ended abruptly in the face of a bare precipice; and that in the valley some two hundred feet below lay a great heap of sun-bleached bones, the remains of those who had passed through the Throat of Death. Undoubtedly, when the channel became choked with the rotting remains of the victims they were cast forth to the vultures and the wolves. Eager to escape from the noisome place, I climbed with difficulty down the face of the mountain, and on gaining the valley, quickly recognised, with satisfaction, that I was actually beyond the confines of the accursed Land of Akkar. Truly I had encountered death as a very near neighbour. The high range with their snowy crests were the same as my treacherous guide had pointed out to me, and next day I skirted the lake which, emptying itself by the subterranean river, gave entrance to the mystic land of Nara. Through many weary weeks I travelled hither and thither, ill and half-starved, until at length I fell in with a camel caravan, and travelling with them to Ideles, subsequently rejoined my own tribesmen, who had, by that time, begun to despair of my safety. Within six moons I made a report of the mysterious land, and all that I had witnessed therein, to the Bureau Arabe, in Algiers, and ere six more moons had waned, the Franks sent an armed expedition to enter and explore the country. Of this expedition I was appointed guide, all past offences of my tribesmen being forgiven; but the soldiers of Nara offering a determined resistance, their country was at once subdued and occupied by the white conquerors. The sacred Scarabaeus was destroyed by dynamite, and the Throat of Death widened until it now forms one of the entrances to the land so long unknown. The dreaded Nara was sent as prisoner down to Senegal, where she still lives in exile; but her wondrous throne still remains in her great white palace--now a barrack of the Spahis and Chasseurs--and the Arab story-tellers in every desert town, from the Atlas to Lake Tsad, continue to relate weird and wonderful tales of the City of the Golden Tombs and the Evil of the Thousand Eyes. CHAPTER SEVEN. THE GATE OF HELL. Lounging on a bench under the tall date-palms in the market-place of Hamman-el-Enf, I smoked a rank _cherbli_ in dreamy laziness. The day was dying; the blazing African sun sank, flooding the broad Bay of Tunis with its blood-red afterglow, and the giant palms cast their long, straight shadows over the hot, sun-blanched stones. There are no half lights in Northern Africa; all is either glaring brilliance or sombre shadow. Little twilight is there in that land of mosques and marabouts; night follows the death of day with astonishing rapidity. Even while I sat, darkness crept on; the squatting, chattering crowd of white-burnoused Moors and Arabs and red-fezzed negroes had dispersed, and the sunbaked little village seemed almost deserted. Suddenly the white figure of an Arab woman glided slowly and ghost-like from the deep shadow of the ilexes. Like all others of her sex, she was enshrouded in a _haick_, and the lower portion of her face was hidden by her thick white veil, only a magnificent pair of black sparkling eyes, and a forehead upon which rows of gold sequins tinkled, being visible. Halting for a few seconds, she stared at me as if in surprise, then, in soft musical Arabic, gave me peace, exclaiming-- "Sadness dwelleth in the heart of the Touareg. Of a verity thou art not more sad than I," and, sighing, she drew her _adjar_ closer across her face, and was about to pass on. "Sad, art thou?" I answered, surprised that she should address me, a veiled man of the desert. In the dim light I could distinguish that her hose were of the finest white silk, that her tiny shoes were Paris made and of patent leather, and that the hand which held the _haick_ around her was loaded with valuable rings. "Loosen thy tongue's strings, O one of beauty," I said, gallantly. "Tell me why speakest thou unto me; why unhappiness hath fallen upon thee." "Ah, no!" she replied, in a hoarse half-whisper, glancing round in apparent fear. "My people must not observe me having speech with thee. Ah, Allah may bring one of us to Certainty before to-morrow, and--if thou wouldst only help me!" "What service can I render?" I asked, quickly, well aware that the fact of her speaking to a Touareg in a public place was of itself a very grave offence in the eyes of the fanatical Aissawa. The barrier between the Berber and the Touareg in Tunis is still insurmountable. "First, thou must trust me," she said frankly. "I am called Fathma Khadidja; and thy name--already I know it. It is dangerous for me to hold converse here with thee. Let thy footsteps follow mine. Come, and may Allah, who knoweth the innermost parts of the breasts of men, shower upon thee bounteous blessings," and she turned and started off with that waddling gait peculiar to all Arab women. I hesitated. If really in distress, it was strange that she had not called upon her own people to help her, instead of requesting a Touareg and a stranger to render assistance. No. I decided not to go, and sat watching her receding figure cross the market-place where slaves were sold even within recent years, and disappear in the shadow of the mosque. In an hour I had forgotten the mysterious Fathma and her troubles, and returned to Tunis. Next afternoon, as I entered my temporary abode in the Kasbah-Kasneh, my slave handed me a note. As I tore it open it emitted an odour of geranium, the favourite perfume of the harem. Having read the three long lines of sprawly Arabic characters it contained, I placed the missive in my pocket and turned away. If I valued my life, I was to meet Khadidja that evening. Was that a threat, or a warning? During the remainder of that day I lounged outside the cafes and pondered deeply. For hours I ruminated over absinthe and mazagran, cassis and bock; and, after much consideration, I at length resolved to keep the appointment, and ascertain the extent of the mysterious danger of which she wrote. At the appointed hour I awaited her at a secluded spot outside the Bab Alewa. The clock of the Mosque of Sidi Mahrez, close by, struck solemnly, and as the last sound died away I heard the _frou-frou_ of feminine garments, as a shrouded figure advanced to meet me. "Ah, so thou hast kept thine appointment, O Touareg!" she exclaimed, stretching forth to me a soft white hand. "Thou thinkest, because I believe in the One, and in Mahomet his Prophet, that I am unworthy thy regard; that I am not to be trusted, eh?" Then she laughed lightly, adding, "Come, let us hasten. I want to have serious speech with thee upon a matter that affecteth us both." Without replying, I walked on beside her, wondering whether she were ugly or beautiful. Crossing a deserted garden, we passed out to where two asses were tethered, and, mounting them, rode away into the darkness. I remember that we went through several villages, and at length came to a larger place built upon the low cliffs, where a number of spacious flat-roofed houses overlooked the sea. Suddenly she dismounted before a low arched door in one of the great square, inartistic, whitewashed residences, and placed her fingers upon her lips indicative of silence. Taking a key that was suspended around her neck, she unlocked the door and led me into a dark passage so thickly carpeted that my feet fell noiselessly as she guided me onward. Once I caught a glimpse of a spacious patio, rendered cool by a plashing fountain and green with many leaves; then through two small chambers we passed, until we came to a closed door, which she opened, and I found myself in a spacious, dimly illumined apartment, decorated in quaint Arabesques of dark crimson and dull gold. Everything was rich and luxurious. The air was heavy with sensuous odours rising in a thin blue column from the gold perfuming-pan. On the floor lay costly Arab rugs, and a couple of lion skins were thrown down on each side of the centre mat. A _derbouka_, and a _ginkri_, fashioned from a tortoise-shell, lay thrown aside, while from a magnificent hanging-lamp of gold a soft, mellow light was diffused, though scarcely sufficient to show the heavy draperies that concealed the walls. "Best thee a moment, and I will return," my mysterious veiled guide said; and then, drawing aside some of the silken hangings, she disappeared through a door that had been hidden. With hands behind me, I slowly wandered round, wondering what apartment of the house this was, when some half-finished embroidery that had apparently been tossed hurriedly aside upon a coffee stool of inlaid pearl and silver caught my eye. That told me the truth. My heart gave a sudden bound. I was in the harem! A French novel lay open on one of the little tables. I took it up, and, as I stood in wonderment, a movement behind me caused me to turn, and then I beheld the most beautiful woman I had ever gazed upon. She was not more than twenty-two, with a complexion fresh as a Frenchwoman's, features that were perfect, pretty lips parted in a glad smile, and a dress that was the most gorgeous I had ever seen. The ugly _haick_ had been replaced by a _rlila_ of palest leaf-green brocaded silk, beneath which showed a rose-pink velvet vest; and, in the place of the baggy trousers, she wore the _serroual_, of silken gauze. Her tiny bare feet were thrust into slippers of rose velvet; on her head was set jauntily a little crimson skull-cap embroidered with seed-pearls; and her _fouta_, or sash, was of tricolour-striped silk, richly ornamented with gold. Upon her bare arms and ankles diamonds flashed and sparkled with a thousand fires, and her bangles jingled as she moved. She dazzled and fascinated me. With an apology for having left me, she sank slowly among her cushions with graceful abandon, at the same time losing one of her slippers, and motioning me to a seat near her. "Thou thinkest it strange," she said; "perhaps even thou art angry, that I have brought thee hither alone unto this gilded cage. But I must speak with thee, O Man of the Desert--to warn thee;" and her dimpled chin rested upon her dainty palm as she, with seriousness, looked straight into my eyes. "To warn me! Of what?" "Thou art threatened," she answered slowly. "Thou wilt, perhaps, remember that a month ago thou wert in Kabylia, and left Fort National for Tizi Ouzou. Thou hadst the careless indifference that thy free life giveth, and, no doubt, thou wert prepared to meet Eblis himself if he promised an adventure. On that occasion with whom didst thou travel?" "I journeyed in company of a wealthy man of thy people, who was returning from the wine market." "True, O friend," she replied. "A week ago thou didst describe that journey to a Frank of the _Moniteur de l'Algerie_, and ridiculed thy companion. See here!" and stretching forth her hand, she took up a paper containing an interview in which I had treated the journey in a comic vein, and had denounced in no measured terms the bigotry of my fellow-traveller. "Thou art a Veiled Man; and that man," she continued, "hath sworn upon the book of Everlasting Will to kill thee!" "How dost thou know this, O thou whose face is rivalled only by the sun?" I asked quickly. "Because--because the man thou hast ridiculed is my husband!" she replied, rising, and adding wildly, "Because I overheard the villainous scheme that he hath planned with his brother to take thy life, and at the risk of mine own honour I determined to save thee. Allah alone knoweth how terrible is my life alone in this place with my servants, bound to a fierce, brutal man who loveth me not, and upon whose brow the Cafer hath set seal." "Is thy husband neglectful, then?" I asked, noticing the poignant sorrow that in that moment seemed to have crushed her. "Alas! yes. Whithersoever I go the curse of Sajin seemeth upon me," she sighed, passing her slim, bejewelled hand slowly across her white forehead. Tears welled in her brilliant eyes, as she added in a broken voice, "I am lost--lost to all; soulless, uncared for, unloved." She hesitated a moment thoughtfully, glancing first at her own bejewelled hands find then at mine. With a quick movement she drew from one of her fingers a curious ring of silver, around which were Arabic characters in gold. "See!" she cried, as if a sudden thought had occurred to her. "Take this, and wear it. It is my talisman, and as long as it is upon thy finger no harm can befall thee. It beareth the stamp of `La Belle,' and will preserve thee in health and guard thee in the hour of tribulation." She took my hand in hers, and drawing my own ring from my finger, replaced it by her strange-looking talisman, afterwards slipping my own ring upon her hand. A sob escaped her. "We have exchanged rings!" she exclaimed brokenly, looking up into my face with tear-stained, world-weary eyes. Then, clutching her bare breast as if to still the throbbing of her heart, she cried, "When--when thou art far away, thou wilt, peradventure, sometimes gaze upon mine, and remember that a service was once rendered thee by a poor, unhappy woman--thou wilt recollect that her name is Fathma Khadidja--that--that--ah! forgive me, for I am mad! mad!" Raising my hand to her warm lips, she kissed it passionately with all the fire and ardour of the Child of the Sun. Then, releasing me, she tottered back, panting, and sank upon her silken divan, with her face buried in her hands, sobbing as if her heart would break. "_Cama tafakal kathalika tola ki_," I said, quoting at random from the Koran. "Come, come," I added sympathetically, sinking down beside her, tenderly stroking her long, silky tresses. "Despair not. The One Worthy of Praise knoweth how thou sufferest, and will give unto thee strength in the hour of thy need, and bring thee into the shadow of the great lote tree." "Ah! Thy mouth uttereth pearls of wisdom," she cried wildly. "But I have touched thee, a Touareg, and am accursed by Allah. I care nought for the future, for already am I forsaken, already have I tasted of the bitter fruit of Al-Zakkum, and am doomed to the torture of Al-Hawiyat, the place prepared for the evil-doers." Then, raising her face to mine, with an intense look of passionate love, she said in a soft, sibilant whisper, "Once only! Kiss me once! Then thou mayest go, and never shall we meet--never!" Her beautiful head fell upon my shoulder, and her hair--soft as spun silk--strayed across my face. For a moment her lips met mine in a hot, passionate kiss, a caress enough to make any man's head reel. "I love thee," she whispered, in low, half-frightened tones, as she clung to me, and would not allow me to release myself. "Unseen by thee, I have watched thee many moons, and to-night have I brought thee hither to tell thee--to confess to thee my secret." I tried to draw my lingering lips from hers, but with the fire of passion gleaming in her brilliant eyes she gripped me with a force I should not have supposed her capable of. "Stay," she whispered. "Without thee the canker-worm of love eateth away my heart." But I tore myself from her and left. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Next day my business of selling sheep took me to the Haras Fortress, away behind the hills of Ahmar, and the voices of the _muddenin_ were already calling the faithful for the _maghrib_ when I re-entered the Kasbah. Kasneh, my slave, was playing _damma_ in the courtyard, but rose quietly, saluted, and told me that he had taken to my room a small package which had been left by the negro servant that had brought the letter on the previous day. Could it, I wondered, be a present from Khadidja? Rushing in, I found on my table a small box, packed in white paper and secured with black seals. Eagerly I tore away the wrappings and opened it. As I did so a shriek of horror escaped me. I fell back awe-stricken at the sight presented. Inside a satin-lined bracelet-case, bearing the name of a Paris jeweller, on a piece of pale-blue velvet, there was stretched a human finger that had been roughly hacked off at the joint! It lay stiff, white, and cold, with the blood coagulated where the blunt knife had jagged the flesh. The finger was a woman's--slim, well-formed, with the nail stained by henna. It was loaded with costly rings, which scintillated in the golden ray of sunset that strayed into the room, and fell across them. As I looked, breathless in amazement, I saw among the ornaments my own ring! A scrap of paper that fluttered to the ground bore the words, scrawled in Arabic character, "From the husband of Fathma Khadidja!" That same night I strode furiously along the seashore, watching the glimmering lights in the distance. In fear and trepidation, I took the hideous souvenir of love, and, when far from the city, cast it away from me into the dark rolling waters. Perhaps there, deep in its lonely hiding-place, it met the white, dead thing of which it had once formed part--the body of the matchless daughter of the sun whose wondrous hair enmeshed me, whose full, red lips held me like a magnet, shackling me to the inevitable. Who can tell? Truly, in that brief hour when I lounged at her side, I was at the dreaded Bab-el-Hawiyat. CHAPTER EIGHT. THE QUEEN OF THE SILENT KINGDOM. I entered the Silent Kingdom six years ago. Praise be to Allah, whom the weight of a pearl upon the earth does not escape. May prayer and salvation be with the master of the first and last, our Lord Mahommed. Of a verity have I been blessed with blessings abundant, and enveloped by the cloak of his protection. We had left the shore of Lake Tsad after pillaging a great caravan from the north, and were moving westward across the stern, sterile desert in the direction of Gao, or Kou-kou, as it is popularly known among us, where we could dispose of our stolen merchandise. For months we had travelled across that immensity of sands where the very birds lose themselves, our camels often stumbling upon some skull, tibia, or even an entire skeleton, the remains of bygone generations of travellers who had perished on those lonely wastes. The sun blazed fiercely in the flaming sky, the skin cracked, the lips were parched. All the water we had was warm and impure, and even that was insufficient to quench our thirst. A scaly viper occasionally crossed our route, and at long intervals the swift flight of an antelope was seen. For days, months, nothing had rejoiced our eyes save the deceitful vision of the mirage, and one evening I decided upon a three days' halt for rest. On the previous day our eyes had been gladdened by the sight of a small well, where we filled our water-skins, therefore we were enabled to take our case; although being in an entirely unfamiliar country, the watchfulness of our sentries was never for a single instant relinquished. We were travelling with the sun only as our guide, therefore knew not into what territory we had entered, save that it was as barren and inhospitable a region as it had ever been our lot to encounter,--a shadowless land of solitude, abandonment, and misery. In our raid upon the caravan near Lake Tsad a bundle of papers had come into our possession, and these had been handed to me; but travelling constantly, I had not had time or inclination to examine them. That night, however, alone in my tent, I untied them and spread them out. Most of them, including a kind of diary, were written in the language of the Roumis, and as some bore the image of the Liberty of the Franks, I concluded that they must have belonged to some French officer in the northern region of the Desert, who had probably perished in an attempt to penetrate south. One paper, however, the last I took up, was written in my own tongue, and I read it eagerly. It was an official letter, dated from Paris, urging its recipient to secure, if possible, during his explorations, the _Fatassi_ of Koti, as the French Government were extremely anxious to obtain possession of it, and by that letter offered to pay any sheikh or tribesman almost any sum in exchange for it. I put the letter down, smiled, and resumed my pipe. The hapless explorer, whoever he was, had probably died, and certainly his hopes would never be realised, for the _Fatassi_ of the learned Koti was the phantom book of the Soudan. There was not a clansman in the whole of the Great Desert who did not know all about that priceless volume, yet no one had ever seen it. It had been lost to the world for ages. Mohaman Koti, or Koutou, the great marabout, lived in Timbuktu in the year 850 of the Hegira, and was the most esteemed and even tyrannical councillor of our ancestor, its powerful king. His authority is said to have originated in the following manner. The king one day distributed some dried dates to his court, and Koti, who had recently arrived, was overlooked. Shortly afterwards the learned councillor assembled a number of people and dispensed fresh dates among them. This miracle-- for we have no dates in that region of the far south--having reached the king's ears, he discerned that upon Koti was set the divine seal, and from that moment gave him all his confidence. A few years later, according to Tarik e Sudan, Koti edited a history of the Kingdoms of Ganata, Songhoi, and Timbuktu, the only history written of those once all-powerful centres of civilisation, and in addition he dealt with the concerns of many peoples and many men. Families, since grown rich and powerful, and the chiefs of various countries, were shown to be with very humble origins, sometimes being the offspring of slaves. But while the book was being written, news was conveyed to the King of Timbuktu that the Songhois had revolted, and had combined with the great nation of Mossi to attack and capture his capital; therefore, in order to save his great store of treasure, he at once had it made up into single camel-loads, taken out of the city, and secreted in various distant spots on the confines of his empire. It was necessary, of course, to keep a strict and minute description of each spot where the wealth of the capital was concealed, in order that it might be recovered after the war; therefore Koti was ordered to inscribe in his book instructions how to unearth the great store of gold and gems, the spoils of war during four centuries. This, according to a legend completely borne out by our Tarik, he did, and the precious manuscript was given into the king's own keeping. Ere one moon, however, the learned historian died suddenly at Tindirma, where a little white mosquelike house marks his grave till this day. The war was fought, proving, alas! disastrous to the king, who was compelled to fly, but, strangely enough the Tarik maintains silence regarding his subsequent adventures, or of what became of the precious _Fatassi_. Legend has it that the king was treacherously poisoned by a slave, as rulers were apt to be in those turbulent days; but by whatever means the once-powerful monarch met with his death, the fact remains that the priceless volume and guide to the enormous treasure of ancient Timbuktu was lost to all. For more than four centuries the recovery of the _Fatassi_ has been the dream of poor and rich alike. The scholar coveted it because it would shed so much light upon the obscure past of these vast regions; the camel-driver, the merchant, and the prince alike desired to possess it for the information it was known to contain regarding the long-lost wealth. It was because of the latter that the government of the Franks desired to obtain it. But theirs, like my own, was but a vain desire. A whole moon passed, and still we pressed forward towards Gao, ever in the crimson track of the setting sun. One night, however, when the camp was asleep, the guards raised the alarm, but so suddenly were we attacked that we scarce had time to defend ourselves from a column of French Spahis who had swept down upon us. It was a mad, terrible rush. Although our tribesmen fought valiantly and well, it was impossible to withstand the frightful hail of bullets poured forth upon us by a gun they carried which spat forth lead in deadly hail. Our men, seeing the havoc wrought by this new weapon, turned and fled. Fortunately the poison-wind had sprung up, and its clouds of sand cannot be faced by the men of the north; therefore we were enabled to escape, although unfortunately compelled to leave the greater part of the stolen camels and merchandise in their possession. As, in the confusion, I sprang upon a horse and rode through the blinding sandstorm for my life, I heard the thud of the horses' hoofs of my pursuers. From the noise there must have been a score of men, anxious, no doubt, to secure the marauding chief feared by all the caravans. But swift as the wind itself, I rode on alone the greater part of that hot, stifling night, until, pulling up, dismounting, and placing my ear to the ground, I could, detect no sound of pursuit. In the glimmering twilight, as night gave place to day, I saw before me a huge, dark rock, shaped like a camel's hump, rising from the sand, and, riding onward, I there tethered my horse beneath it, and flung myself down to snatch an hour's sleep ere the sun rose, intending then to go forth again and rejoin my scattered people. How long mine eyes were closed Allah alone knoweth; but when I opened them I found myself lying on a panther's skin in a darkened chamber, filled with the music of running water. The place was cooled by the stream, and in the dim recesses of the room I could distinguish rich divans. Suspended from the roof was a fine Moorish lamp of chased gold, which shed a soft, yellow light, and from a perfuming-pan was diffused the sweet odour of attar of rose. The light was soft and restful, and in wonder I rubbed my eyes and gazed about me. "Allah give thee peace, O stranger!" a thin squeaking voice exclaimed. And glancing quickly behind me, I beheld a wizen-faced man, small of stature, dressed in a robe of bright blue silk, and so bent by age that his white beard almost swept the ground. Notwithstanding his venerable appearance, however, his face was dark and forbidding, and his small, black piercing eyes, that time had not dimmed, had a glint of evil in them. Instinctively, ere we had spoken a dozen words, I mistrusted him. "To whose hospitality do I owe the rest and repose I have enjoyed?" I inquired, slowly rising to my feet and stretching my cramped limbs. "My name," the old man croaked, "is Ibn Batouba. I discovered thee sleeping in the sun outside this my dwelling-place, and brought thee in, for the rays had smitten thee with a grievous sickness, and thou wert on the point of death. Thou hast remained here twelve days." "Twelve days!" I cried, with incredulity, at the same moment feeling my head reeling. "Then to thee I owe my life?" The hideous old man in blue grinned with satisfaction, regarding me with a strange, covert glance. By this time my eyes had grown accustomed to the semi-darkness, and I saw that the chamber was a natural one--a kind of arched cavern, the floor of which had been levelled, and a channel formed for the cool spring that bubbled forth and rippled away into gloomy depths. "This thy dwelling is beneath the surface of the earth," I observed, glancing around me. "Why dwellest thou here in secret?" "The true Arab answereth not the question of Ahamadou, Sheikh of the Azjar Touaregs," he replied, with a sneering accentuation on the final word. "Allah hath sent thee as my guest; partake of all that I have, but seek no explanation of who or of what I am." He evidently recognised me, and his strange words puzzled me. First, I had no idea that such a luxurious abode could exist in the centre of that inhospitable region; secondly, the very fact pointed to the conclusion that in my flight I had approached near to a town; but thirdly, I had already proof positive that my strange host, the man who declared he had saved my life, lied to me. At the well where we had halted on the day before the fight, I had plucked a sprig of jasmine, and placed a tiny piece behind my ear, beneath the black nicab around my head. This I recollected, and, taking it in my hand, found it still limp and undried. By that alone I knew I had not been there many hours, and that his story was untrue. I suggested that I should be reluctantly compelled to leave; but he at once became profuse in his hospitality. "No, not yet," he urged. "I am alone, save for my slaves, and thy companionship is pleasant. Remain, and I will show thee over this my hidden dwelling-place. It may interest thee." And taking down a torch, he lit it and led the way across a tiny bridge that spanned the running water, and opening a door in the rock, conducted me through several intricate passages, narrow and dark, until we came to a series of caverns of various sizes, each hung with rich silken hangings, and the floors covered by the most beautiful carpets from the East. Over each a great golden lamp of filigree shed a soft light, showing how rich and costly were the antique tables of inlaid pearl and silver, and how wide and soft were the divans. In each the thin blue smoke, curling upward from the golden perfuming-pan, gave forth an intoxicating fragrance, and in one I noticed lying discarded a pair of tiny green slippers, embroidered with seed-pearls, and a ginkra, one of those little two-stringed guitars fashioned from a tortoise-shell, both betraying the presence of a woman. When we had passed through half a dozen similar chambers in the solid rock, the old man, croaking as he went, stopped suddenly at the further end of the last and most gorgeous of all his subterranean domain, and with a grim expression on his evil countenance, said-- "And this is the Bab-el-Hawiyat--the dreaded Gate of Evil, whence none return." I started, and drew back. Throughout the Desert there has been for all ages a legend that somewhere there exists the entrance to the dreaded kingdom of darkness where Eblis reigneth. He opened wide the small door; but there was only darkness impenetrable, and an odour of damp earth. Holding his torch aloft, he crossed the threshold, and bade me peer in. Then I distinguished, a few spans from where he stood, a great yawning chasm opening to the very bowels of the earth. "Hearken!" he cried in his squeaking, uncanny voice, at the same time returning into the room and snatching up from one of the coffee-stools a large metal dish, which an instant later he hurled into the dark abyss. I listened to ascertain its depth. But no sound came back. I shuddered, for I knew it was unfathomable. As he faced me in closing the door I detected in his keen eyes a strange exultant look, and was seized by a sudden desire to ascend once again to the light of day. True, I could have crushed the life out of him as easily as I could crush a spider in my fingers, while in my belt was my jambiyah that had a score of times tasted the life-blood of mine enemies, yet he had not harmed me, and to kill one's host is forbidden by Al-Koran. Therefore I stayed my hand. As we retraced our steps he poured upon me nauseating adulations, declaring me to be the most valiant sheikh in the Great Desert, and using the most extravagant simile of which the Arabic tongue is capable, a fact which in itself filled me with increasing suspicion. Suddenly, however, as we reached the chamber where flowed the cooling spring, the truth was made plain. As he opened the door two officers of the French, in linen garments and white helmets, who had apparently been lying in wait, pounced upon me, uttering loud cries of triumph. The old white-bearded recluse--may Allah burn his vitals--had betrayed me. He had held me, and sent word to the Franks to come and capture their prize--Ahamadou, the chieftain of the Azjar. But in an instant I, upon whose head a price was set, drew my blade and defended myself, slashing vigorously right and left, succeeding at last in escaping down the dark winding passage through which we had just passed. Forward I dashed through room after room, upsetting some of the tables in my mad rush, while behind me were the white-faced officers with drawn swords, determined to take me alive or dead. Well I knew how desperate they were, and in that instant believed myself lost. Yet, determined to sell my life dearly, it flashed across my mind that rather than suffer the ignominy of being taken in chains to Algiers, the infidel city, and there tried by the tribunal as others had been, I would cast myself into the fathomless pit. I sprang towards the small, low door, but at first could not open it. In a few moments the crafty Ibn Batouba, with the Franks, gained the spot; but I had already unlocked the door and flung it open. Then, just as they put out their hands to seize me, I swung aside, lifted my knife, and struck my evil-faced betrayer full to the heart. With a piercing shriek he fell forward over the door lintel, and his lifeless body rolled into the awful chasm, while at the same instant I gave a bound, and with a cry of defiance, leaped down into the darkness after him. I felt myself rushing through air, the wind whistling in my ears as deep down I went like a stone in the impenetrable gloom. Those moments seemed hours, until of a sudden a blow on the back knocked me half-insensible, and I found myself a second later wallowing in a bed of thick, soft dust. Instantly it occurred to me that because this carpet of dust deadened the sound of things pitched into the chasm, the belief had naturally arisen that it was unfathomable. I rose, but sank up to the knees in the soft sand, which, stirred by my fall, half-choked me. Far above, looking distant like a star, I saw the light of a torch. My infidel pursuers were peering into the fearsome place in chagrin that I had evaded them. The air, however, was hot and foul, and I knew that to save my life I must be moving; therefore, with both hands outstretched, I groped about, amazed to discover the great extent of this natural cleft in the earth, formed undoubtedly by some earthquake in a remote age. Once I stumbled, and bending, felt at my feet the still warm body of my betrayer--may Eblis rend him. I drew my jambiyah from his breast, and replaced it in its sheath. Then, tearing from his body the silken gauze which formed his girdle, I fashioned a torch, igniting it after some difficulty with my steel. Around me was only an appalling darkness, and I feared to test the extent of the place by shouting, lest my pursuers above should hear. So forward I toiled in a straight line, floundering at every step in the dust of ages, until the cleft narrowed and became tunnel-like with a hard floor. I stooped to feel it, and was astounded to discover that the rock had been worn smooth and hollow by the tramp of many feet. Besides, the air had become distinctly fresher, and this fact renewed courage within me. At first I felt myself doomed to die like a fox in a trap; but with hope reawakened there might, after all, I thought, be some outlet. Of a sudden, however, there arose before me a colossal female figure seated on a kind of stool, with features so hideous and repulsive that I drew back with an involuntary cry. It was a score times as high as myself, and as I hold my torch above my head to examine it, I saw it was of some white, semi-transparent stone of a kind I had never before beheld. The robes were coloured scarlet and bright blue, and the face and hands were tinted to resemble life. One hand was outstretched. On the brow was a chaplet of wonderful pearls, and on the colossal fingers, each as thick as my own wrist, were massive golden rings which sparkled with gems. But the sinister grinning countenance was indeed that of a high-priestess of Eblis. In amazement I held my breath and gazed about me. Around the sides of the cavern were ranged many other smaller female figures, seated like the central one, and the face of each bore a hideous, repulsive grin, as if in mockery of my misfortunes. Before the great central colossus was a small triangular stone altar, upon which was some object. I crossed, and glancing at it found to my dismay that it was a beautiful and very ancient illuminated manuscript of our holy Koran. But through it had been thrust a poignard, now red with rust, and it had been torn, slashed, and otherwise defiled. The truth then dawned upon me that this noisome place into which I had plunged was actually the abode of the ancient and accursed sect who worshipped Eblis as their god. As I gazed wonderingly about me, I saw everywhere evidence that for ages no foot of man had entered that dark silent chamber. The dust of centuries lay smooth and untrodden. Again I passed beneath the ponderous feet of the gigantic statue, when suddenly my eyes were attracted by an inscription in Kufic, the ancient language of the marabouts, traced in geometrical design upon the hem of the idol's garment. My torch had burned dim, so I lit another, and by its flickering rays succeeded in deciphering the following words:-- "Lo! I am Azour, wife of Eblis, and Queen of all Things Beneath the Earth. To me, all bow, for I hold its riches in the hollow of my hand." I glanced up quickly, and there, far above, I distinguished that in the idol's open palm there lay some object which the fickle flame of my torch could not reveal. But consumed by curiosity, I at once resolved to clamber up and ascertain what riches lay there. With extreme difficulty, and holding my flambeau in my left hand, I managed at length to reach the platform formed by the knees of the figure, and then scrambled up the breast and along the outstretched arm. But on mounting the latter, I was dismayed to discover that the object for which I had toiled was neither gold, silver, nor gems, but merely a brown and mouldy parchment scroll. Standing at last upon the open hand, I bent and picked it up; but in an instant I recognised that my find was of priceless value. Ere I had read three lines of the beautifully formed but sadly faded Arabic characters, I knew that it was none other than the long-sought manuscript of the _Fatassi_, the mysterious phantom book of the Soudan. I placed my treasure beneath my dissa, and at once proceeded to descend, eager to discover some means of escape from that gloomy cavern, peopled by its hideous ghosts of a pagan past. In frantic haste I sought means of exit; but not until several hours had elapsed did I succeed in entering a burrow which, leading out into a barren ravine in the desert, had once, no doubt, been used as entrance to the secret temple of those who believed not in the One Merciful, but in Eblis and Azour. After travelling many days, I succeeded in rejoining my people at a spot four marches from Gao, bearing concealed in my dissa the priceless history of my ancestors, with the minute plans for the recovery of their hidden treasure. At this moment the _Fatassi_, traced by the hand of Koti, so long coveted by the Franks, is in my possession; though only to two of my headmen have I imparted the secret that I have recovered it. To seek to unearth the ancient treasure at present would be worse than useless, for our conquerors would at once despoil us. But when the great Jehad is at last fought, and more peaceful days dawn in the Soudan, then will the secret treasure-houses be opened and the Azjar become a power in the land, because of the inexhaustible riches left to them by their valiant ancestors for the re-establishment of their lost kingdom. Until then, they possess themselves in patience, and trust in the One. To thee, O Reader of this my Tarik of toil and tumult, peace. CHAPTER NINE. THE FATHER OF THE HUNDRED SLAVES. Ahamadou, squatting upon his haunches before our camp fire, calmly smoking his long pipe, related to me the following story, declaring it to be a true incident. All wanderers in the Great Desert, be they Arabs or Touaregs, are born story-tellers, therefore I reproduce the narrative as he told it. It must be remembered that the Azjars were, at one period--not so very long ago--slavers who made many raids in the primeval forests south of Lake Tsad, and that Ahamadou himself profited very considerably by that illegitimate trade. It was rumoured down at "the coast" that the leaders of these Touareg raiders were not Africans, and this story appears to substantiate a statement which was, at the time, ridiculed at the Colonial Office in London. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Get up, you lazy devil. Stir yourself. We're in a complete hole!" "Hole? hole? Ah, your English tongue is indeed extraordinaire! A hole is a place in the ground, _n'est ce pas_?" "Yes, and you'll have a hole in the ground all to yourself, my dear Pierre, if you don't bustle up a bit." Pierre Dubois, the man addressed, a bronzed, grey-bearded, stout, small-eyed Belgian of fifty, was lying tranquilly on his back on a pile of soft rugs, like an Oriental potentate, smoking his _shisha_, or travelling pipe, and being fanned by an extremely ugly negress. Dubois was the name he had adopted after leaving the Congo hurriedly, carrying with him a goodly sum belonging to the Belgian Government, in whose employ he had been for ten years. A native of Liege, he was one of the pioneers of that so-called Central African civilisation of trade, gin, and the whip; but after lining his pockets well, and making good his escape through the boundless virgin forests of "darkest Africa," he had started as a trader in that most marketable of all commodities--black ivory. Pierre Dubois and Henry Snape, his partner, were slave-raiders. They dressed as Arabs, and lived as Arabs. Outside in the blazing noon, beneath the scanty shade of a few palms and mimosa scrub which surrounded that desert watering-place known as Akdul, a number of their heavily-armed followers were lying stretched upon the sand, sleeping soundly after their two-bow prayer to Allah, while here and there alone sat one of their number on his haunches, wrapped in his white burnouse, hugging his knees, his rifle at his side, keeping watch. They were a forbidding, evil-looking lot these Songhoi Touaregs, pirates of the forests and the desert, each with his black _litham_ wrapped around his face concealing his features, a complete arsenal of weapons in his girdle, a string of charms sewn in little bags of yellow leather around his neck, and, strapped beneath his left arm, a short cross-kilted sword, keen-edged as a razor. Beyond, lying in the full sun glare, were sixty or seventy wretched, woolly-haired negroes, men and women, chained together and guarded by a dozen of the veiled men. Throughout Northern and Central Africa the very name of the Songhoi was synonymous with all that was fierce, cruel, and relentless, for they lived by robbing the desert caravans or capturing slaves in the boundless virgin forests between the Niger and the Congo, being essentially a nomadic race, and having no other home than their tents in the Sahara, that limitless wilderness of rock and sand. Of all the slavers of Central Africa these "veiled men" were the worst, for they attacked and burned villages, placed the unfortunate blacks to torture to compel them to reveal the hiding-places of their store of ivory, and afterwards took them prisoners, and sold them in the great central slave-market at El Obeid, away in Kordofan. Among the natives of the Upper Congo and the Aruwimi, even the hordes of that notorious king of slavers, Tippu-Tib,--so called by the negroes because the guns of his men created a noise, from which they have named him phonetically,--were more tolerated than the fierce Songhoi bands, with their black veils, which none ever removed, sleeping or waking; for the track of the latter through the forest or grass-land was always marked by murder, devastation, and wanton cruelty. Dubois, when in the service of King Leopold, had been active in endeavouring to put down the trade, but seeing how lucrative it was, and finding Snape, an English adventurer, ready to join him, he had collected a following of the fiercest Touaregs he could gather, and as he paid all well for their services, while on their part they were proud to be led by a white man in whom they had once lived in fear, their trade had, for a long time, been a most lucrative one. They were the terror of the whole region from Stanley Falls to Tanganyika. A dozen times they had been north to El Obeid with ivory of both varieties, white and black, and on each occasion the profits had been far beyond their expectations. The trade is still easy enough in the Congo State, and slaves are captured without very much difficulty. The great risk, however, is to transport them by the route they had been following for the past two months, as, in order to reach the central market, they had to pass through that portion of British territory where a very watchful eye is kept, and where the notorious Arab raider Kilonga-Longa met his fate only a few months before. But Dubois and Snape had run the gauntlet many times, and were absolutely fearless. On the present raid through the country of Emin and Junker, they had made their captures in the Moubouttou, within the Belgian sphere of influence, with the complicity of the Belgian agent at Sanga, whom they, of course, bribed with a goodly present of ivory; then, marching through the great Forest of Eternal Night, due northward to Zayadin, they had passed through the Dinka country to Fatik, which, being only two days' march from the Bahr-el-Guebel upon which the British have posts, is a dangerous point. Nevertheless, they had pushed forward night and day, and were now in the centre of that great, sunburnt desert, the Wilderness of Nouer, which stretches northward for three hundred miles to El Obeid. Dubois grumbled loudly at the Englishman for interrupting his meditations, saying-- "Go and sleep, _mon cher_. You'll be getting fever if you worry too much." "Worry!" echoed Snape. "There's danger, I tell you. Surely you're not a confounded fool, man?" "Ah," answered his partner, quite calmly, "is there not always danger here, in Africa? You have a wonderful imagination, my dear Henri, I quite admit; but do allow me to finish my sleep. Then let us talk of this extraordinary hole, whatever it may be." "Idiot!" ejaculated the Englishman, hitching up his flowing white burnouse. He was a tall, good-looking fellow of forty, whose career, however, had been a singularly eventful one. Since he left Balliol he had met with a good many adventures in various lands, most of them being to his discredit. He had been a born gambler, and had drifted from the London clubs to the tables at Monte Carlo, and thence, by a very crooked channel, to that sink of the world, Africa, where chance had brought him in contact with the scoundrel and arch-slaver Dubois. They were a well-matched pair. At college Snape had taken honours for Arabic, therefore his knowledge of that language now served him in good stead. He was one of those men who could never run straight, even though he had often tried. He was a born outsider. "Why idiot?" inquired his partner lazily. The old negress waved the fan backwards and forwards, understanding not a word of the conversation between the headman and the great white Sheikh, who, on account of his raiding, the Touaregs had named The Father of the Hundred Slaves. "Well, I'm not the sort of fellow to let the grass grow under my feet when there's any danger," snapped Snape. "You remember what Zafar said yesterday." "He's like yourself, _mon cher_,--always apprehensive of some horrible calamity," muttered the Belgian, blowing a cloud of smoke from his lips. "This time, I tell you, it's no mere imagination," the Englishman went on. "Last night, after the _dua_, I left secretly, so as not to arouse any misgivings, and rode due east until the dawn, when I discovered, encamped among the _aghrad_, a whole troop of Soudanese soldiers. I got near enough to ascertain that the officers were Englishmen." "Well?" "They've got word somehow that we are passing through," he said. "And now, if you don't stir yourself, you'll never see Brussels again--you understand?" "I have no wish to see Bruxelles, _mon cher_," the elder man replied, quite undisturbed. "If I did, it would only be to see the inside of a prison. No; I prefer Africa to the pleasures of the miniature Paris. Here, if one has a little ivory, one is a king. Life is very pleasant." "I admit that," his companion said. "But do, for Heaven's sake, get up and let us decide what to do. There's danger, and we can't afford to be trapped, especially with all those niggers tied in a string. The evidence is a bit too strong against us, and the officers are English. There's no bribing _them_, you know." The Belgian stirred himself lazily at last, and asked-- "Are they at a well?" "No. They are without water." "Then as this is the only well for about a hundred miles, they'll arrive here to-day--eh?" "Of course. That's why I came straight to warn you. There's no time to be lost. Let's strike camp and get away. It's skip or fight." "If we skeep--I suppose you mean march--ah! your English language!--then they will skeep in pretty quick time after us. They've got wind of our presence in the vicinity, therefore why not remain and fight?" "Fight my own people?" cried Snape. "No, I'm damned if I do!" "Why not?" asked the Belgian, with gesticulation. "Our Touaregs will slice them into mincemeat. Besides, at long range they're as good shots, and better, than those Soudanese, all fez and swagger." "No," the Englishman argued. "Let's fly now, while there's time. In two days we shall be in the Nioukour, and they'll never find us in the mountains. We hid there quite snugly once before, you recollect." "Muhala," said the Belgian, turning to the old negress, "go. Call Yakub, and remain outside." The hideous old woman went forth into the sun glare, and in a few moments an old thin-faced Touareg entered, making a low salaam. "Now, Yakub," exclaimed the Belgian in Arabic, "answer me. Of what did our caravan consist when we left the Aruwimi?" "Three hundred and thirty-three slaves, and twenty-nine tusks," answered the villainous-looking old fellow. "And now?" "Seventy-three blacks and twenty-nine tusks." "Then two hundred and sixty have died?" "Yea, O master," he responded. "The new lash of elephant hide has killed many, and the black death has been responsible for the remainder. Five are suffering from it now, and never a day passes ere one or more is not attacked. I have feared that none will live to sight the mosques of El Obeid." "In short, Yakub, they are a diseased lot--eh? You think they're worthless?" "Only two women are left, O master, and both were seized by the black death yesterday." "In that case," observed the Belgian, turning to his partner, "the whole batch are not worth transporting. The game is not, as you English say, worth the lamp." "Then what's your suggestion?" asked Snape. "Well, as you are so much in fear of these confounded English, we must, I suppose, act." "How?" "It is quite simple. We just abandon the whole lot, and save ourselves and the ivory." "Very well," his companion agreed. "I'm open to any move except fighting against the English." "Bah! You are full of scruples, _mon cher_ Henri," he laughed. "I have none--none. And I am happy--perfectly happy." He was silent a moment, as though reflecting deeply. "But," he added, "I do wish we could teach these interfering English a lesson. It would do them good. They try to rule Africa nowadays. Ah! if we could--if we could!" And there was a strange glint of evil in his eyes. An hour later Dubois and Snape, at the head of their formidable troop of brigandish horsemen, were riding at full speed across the desert due west, towards the far distant forest of Dyonkor, it having been decided to skirt this, and then travel south for a fresh raid in Congo territory. As for the poor wretches bound together, and dying of thirst and disease, they were still secured to the palm trunks and abandoned to their fate, tortured by being within sight of the well, yet unable to slake the frightful thirst consuming them. Dwellers in the damp, gloomy forest, where the sunlight never penetrates, the intense heat of the desert struck them down one after another, sending them insane or killing them outright. Time after time Snape turned in his high Arab saddle, glancing back apprehensively to see if they were followed. But his partner only laughed sarcastically, saying--"You still fear your friends the English? Ah! you have the heart of the chicken. All is quite unnecessary. We have made them a present of the whole lot, and I hope they will appreciate our kindness. Now we shall take it easy, and hope for better fortune with the next batch. I fancy that the new lash must be too hard. The women can't stand it, so it seems." "A little less whipping and a little more water would keep 'em in better condition," Snape observed. "Yakub is eternally lashing them for some imaginary laziness or offence." "Yes, it's all due to that new lash," the Belgian admitted. "It must be used with less frequency on the next lot." "It's a revolting punishment. Twenty blows kill a strong nigger," his companion declared. "The thing ought to be thrown away." "Ah, yes," sneered his companion. "You would, if you had your own way, keep women to brash the flies off them, and carry feather-beds for them to sleep on. You always forget that you are not dealing with civilised beings. They're mere niggers." "Well, we're not of the most civilised type, you and I, if the unwelcome truth be told," the Englishman responded. "If we are trapped there'll be a howl in Europe." "But I, for one, don't mean to be caught," laughed the Belgian gaily, with perfect confidence of his security. And they both rode side by side, the troop of white-burnoused Pirates of the Desert thundering on behind, raising a cloud of dust which, in that clear atmosphere, could be seen many miles away. On, on they sped over the burning sand, riding easily at a hand gallop, without a halt, the black-veiled raiders laughing and chaffing, chattering, pushing forward, even in the blood-red track of the dying day. Night fell quickly, as it does in that region. The slavers encamped in a sandy hollow beneath the rocks, and Dubois, ordering the tent to be pitched, sat smoking with his partner after the dish of _dakkwa_ (pounded Guinea-corn with dates) which old Muhala had prepared. They were alone. "To camp like this before we reach the forest is, to my mind, simply inviting capture," Snape grumbled. "The military detachment is evidently out in search of us, and the little lot we've abandoned will point out to them the direction we've taken. Then they'll follow and overtake us." "Oh no, they won't," answered the Belgian, with a serene smile. "What makes you so sure?" "Remember that, coming up from the river, they must have been at least six days without water; therefore they'll halt at Akdul to drink and fill their water-skins before pushing forward." "Well?" inquired Snape. The crafty Belgian looked curiously into the face of his companion, and smiled grimly. "Well, if they halt there," he said, "they won't trouble us any more." "I don't understand." "I doctored the water before we left. That's why I didn't leave the blacks loose to drink it." "What!" gasped the Englishman wildly, starting to his feet. "You've actually poisoned the well?" The Belgian nodded and laughed, without removing his _shisha_ from his lips. "You scoundrel! You fiend!" the Englishman shouted, his face white with passion. "I've done some shabby tricks in my time, but, by Heaven! I'd rather have given myself up than have assented to the wholesale murder of my own people like that!" A sarcastic smile crossed the Belgian's sinister features. "Excitement is entirely unnecessary, _mon cher_ Henri," he said, calmly. "It may, you know, bring on a touch of fever. Besides, by this time there isn't many of them, white or black, left to tell the tale. Yakub, whom I left behind to watch, has just come in to report that they arrived an hour after we had left, released the slaves, and watered freely, enjoying themselves immensely. Before he started to return, fully fifty were dead or dying, including all the white officers. But why trouble further? We've saved ourselves." "Trouble!" roared Snape, his eyes flashing with a fierce fire of indignation, "Get up, you infernal scoundrel, or I'll shoot you as you lie! You're an outlaw; so am I. Trouble! Why, one of those white officers was Jack Myddleton, my brother, and," he added in a harsh tone--"and I'm going to avenge his death!" Instantly Dubois saw his partner's intention, and sprang to his feet, revolver in hand. Two reports sounded almost simultaneously, but only one man fell. It was the Belgian, who, with an imprecation on his lips, dropped back with a bullet through his temple, and in a few seconds expired. At dawn Muhala discovered her master dead, and his companion missing. Search was at once made for the Englishman, who was found lying dead upon the sand half a mile from the camp. He had committed suicide. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Around the well of Akdul the caravans that water there in crossing the arid wilderness still see quantities of hones of horses and of men. Long ago the vultures have stripped them, and they now lie bleaching in the sun, a mute record of a coward's treachery, of the revolting vengeance of The Father of the Hundred Slaves. CHAPTER TEN. THE MYSTERY OF AFO. In the mystic haze of the slowly dying day, mounted on a _meheri_, or swift camel, I carried my long rifle high above my head, and rode speedily over the great silent wilderness of treacherous, ever-shifting sand. Once I drew rein to listen, turning my eyes to the left, where the distant serrated crests of the mountains of Nanagamma loomed forth like giant shadows; but as nothing broke the appalling stillness, I, a mere tribesman then, sped forward again, reaching a small oasis, where I made my camel kneel, and then dismounted. As I strode towards the lonely shrine of Sidi Okbar--a small doomed building constructed of sun-dried mud, under which reposed the remains of one of our most venerated marabouts--I fear my burnouse was brown, ragged, and travel-stained; the haick that surrounded my face was torn and soiled, and upon my feet were rough, heavy slippers, sadly the worse for wear. The latter, however, I kicked off on approaching the shrine; then, kneeling close to the sun-blanched wall, cast sand upon myself, kissed the earth, and, drawing my palms down my face, repeated the Testification. In fervent supplication I bowed repeatedly, and, raising my voice until it sounded distinct on the still air, invoked the blessing of Allah. "O Merciful! O beneficent Grantor of Requests!" I cried; "O King of the day of Faith, guide us, ere to-morrow's sun hath run its course, into the path that is straight, and leadeth unto the _kasbah_ of our enemies of Abea. Strengthen our arms, lead us in times of darkness and in the hours of day, destroy our enemies, and let them writhe in Al-Hawiyat, the place prepared for infidels, where their meat shall be venomous serpents, and they shall slake their thirst with boiling pitch." Startled suddenly by a strange sound, I listened with bated breath. The thought occurred to me that my words might have been overheard by some spy, and instinctively my hand drew from my belt my _jambiyah_, the long, crooked dagger that I always carried. Again a noise like a deep-drawn sigh broke the silence, and I sprang to my feet and rushed round to the opposite side of the building, just in time to see a fluttering white robe disappearing in the gloom. Quick as lightning I sprang towards it, and in twenty paces had overtaken the eavesdropper, who, with a slight scream, fell to earth beneath my heavy hand. "Rise!" I cried, roughly dragging the figure to its feet. "Thou son of Eblis!" Next second, however, I discovered that the fugitive was a woman, veiled, enshrouded in her haick, and wearing those baggy white trousers that render the Arab females hideous when out of doors. "Thou hast overheard my orison," I cried, raising my knife. "Speak! speak! or of a verity will I strike!" But the mysterious woman uttered no word, and in a frenzy of desperation I tore the veil from her face. Aghast I stood; the knife fell from my lingers. The countenance revealed was amazingly beautiful, so charming, indeed, that instantly I became entranced by its loveliness, and stood speechless and abashed. She was not more than eighteen, and her features were regular, with a fair complexion, a pair of brilliant dark eyes set well apart under browns blackened by kohl, and a forehead half-hidden by strings of golden sequins that tinkled musically each time she moved. Upon her head was set jauntily a little scarlet _chachia_, trimmed heavily with seed-pearls, while her neck was encircled by strings of roughly-cut jacinths and turquoises, and in the folds of her silken haick there clung the subtle perfumes of the harem. Slowly she lifted her fine eyes, still wet with tears, to mine, and, with her breast rising and falling quickly, trembled before me, fearing my wrath. "Loosen thy tongue's strings!" I cried at last, grasping her slim white wrist with my rough, hard hand. "Thou art from Afo, the City in the Sky, and thou hast gained knowledge of our intended attack?" "Thy lips, O stranger, speak the truth," she faltered. "Why art thou here, and alone, so far from thine home on the crest of yonder peak?" I inquired, gazing at her in wonderment. "I came hither for the same purpose as thyself," she answered seriously, looking straight into my face,--"to crave Allah's blessing." "Art thou a dweller in the house of grief?" I asked. "Tell me why thou didst venture here alone." She hesitated, toying nervously with the jewelled perfume-bottle suspended at her breast; then she answered, "I--I am betrothed to a man I hate. The Merciful Giver of Blessings alone can rescue me from a fate that is worse than death--a marriage without love." "And who is forcing thee into this hateful union? If it is thy father, tell me his name?" "Yes, it is my father. His name is Abd el Jelil ben Sef e' Nasr, Sultan of Abea." "The Sultan!" I cried in amazement. "Then thou art Kheira!" I added, for the extraordinary beauty of the only daughter of the Sultan of Abea was proverbial throughout the Great Desert, from Lake Tsad, even to the Atlas. "Yes," she replied. "And from thy speech and dress I know thou art of the Azjar, our deadliest enemies." "True," I answered. "To-morrow my tribe, to the number of ten thousand, now lying concealed in the valley called Deforou, will swarm upon thine impregnable city and--" "Ten thousand?" she gasped, pale and agitated. "And thou wilt kill my father, and reduce our people to slavery. Ah, no!" she added imploringly. "Save us, O stranger! Our fighting men went south one moon ago to collect the taxes at Dehagada, therefore we are unprotected. What can I do--how can I act to save my father?" "Dost thou desire to save him, even though he would force upon thee this odious marriage?" "I do," she cried. "I--I will save the City in the Sky at the cost of mine own life." "To whom art thou betrothed," I asked, tenderly taking her hand. "To the Agha Hassan e Rawi, who dwelleth at Zongra, beyond the Nanagamma. He is threescore years and ten, and 'tis said he treateth his wives with inhuman cruelty. One of his slaves told me so." I stood silent and thoughtful. Though I was a member of a tribe who existed wholly upon loot obtained from the caravans and towns we attacked, yet so earnestly did the Sultan's daughter appeal, that all thought of preserving the secret of our intended attack by murdering her disappeared, and I found myself deeply in love. Mine was a poor chance, however, I told myself. The proud Sultan of Abea would never consent to a brigand as a son-in-law, even if she looked upon me with favour. "To-night, O Daughter of the Sun, we meet as friends; to-morrow as enemies," I said. "Our spies have reported that thy city remaineth undefended, and, alas! there is a blood-feud between my people and thine; therefore, when the hosts of the Azjar enter with fire and sword, few, I fear, will be spared. Wilt thou not remain here with my tribesmen, and escape?" "No," she answered proudly. "I am a woman of Afo, and I will return unto my people, even though I fall before to-morrow's sundown under thy merciless swords." As she spoke, one hand rested upon her supple hip, and with the other she pointed to the high, shadowy peak whereon stood the great white stronghold known to the Kanouri people as The City in the Sky. "But thou, who art like a sun among the stars, knowest our plans, and it is my duty to kill thee," I said, hitching my burnouse about my shoulders. "I am in thine hands. If thou stainest them with my blood, thou wilt ever have upon thy conscience the remembrance that thou hast taken the life of one who was innocent of intrigue. If thou givest me freedom, I shall have at least one brief hour of felicity with my people before-- before--" And she sighed, without concluding the sentence. "Thou, a fresh rose from the fountain-head of life, art in fear of a double fate,--the downfall of to-morrow, and the marriage feast next moon. Let not thy mind be troubled, for I stretch not forth the tongue to blame," I said at last, endeavouring to smile. "In Ahamadou, of the tribe Azjar, thou hast a devoted friend, and one who may peradventure assist thee in a manner thou hast not dreamed. Therefore mount thine horse and return with all speed to Afo--not, however, before thou hast given me some little souvenir of this strange meeting." "Thou slakest my thirst with the beverage of kindness!" she cried in joy. "I knew when first I saw thee that thou wert my friend." "Friend?--nay, lover," I answered gallantly, as, taking her tiny hand again, I pressed her henna-stained nails softly to my lips. She blushed and tried to draw away, but I held her firmly until she withdrew one of her gold bangles from her wrist, and, with a smile, placed it upon mine. "Behold!" she exclaimed with a merry, rippling laugh, "it is thy badge of servitude to me!" "I am a slave of the most handsome mistress in the world," I said happily. Then, urging her to warn the Sultan of the intentions of the Azjar, I kissed her once tenderly upon the lips, lifted her into the saddle of her gaily caparisoned horse, and then she twisted her torn veil about her face, and, giving me "Peace," sped away swift as an arrow into the darkness, bearing intelligence that would cause the utmost sensation in the mountain fastness. "I love her," I murmured, when the sound of her horse's hoofs had died away. "But how can I save her? To-morrow, when we enter Afo and loot the Palace, she will be secured as slave. No!" I cried, "she shall never fall into Nikale's brutal hands--never while I have breath!" The sound of whispering caused me to fix my gaze upon a dark shadow thrown by some ethel-bushes, and next second, half a dozen of my fellow tribesmen advanced. "So, dog of a spy! thou hast betrayed us!" cried a voice, which in a moment I was startled to recognise as that of my enemy Mohammed El Sfaski. "Yes," the others shouted with one accord; "we watched the son of offal speaking with the woman, and we overheard him telling her to warn the Sultan!" "Follow her on the wings of haste!" cried El Sfaski. "Kill her, for death alone will place the seal of muteness upon the lips of such a jade." And in a few seconds two black-veiled figures vaulted into their saddles and tore past in the direction Kheira had disappeared. "Speak!" thundered El Sfaski, who, with the others, had now surrounded me. "Knowest thou the punishment of traitors?" "Yes," I answered, hoarsely. "Who is the woman whose blackness and deceit hath captivated thee?" Three rapid shots sounded in the distance. The men had evidently overtaken and murdered the daughter of the Sultan! I held my breath. "I--I refuse to give thee answer," I said, resolutely. "By Allah! thou art a traitor to our lord and to our tribe, and of a verity thou hast also the eye of perfection. Therefore shalt thou die!" Then, turning to the others, he added-- "We have no time to bandy words with this accursed son of the Evil One. Tie him to yon tree, and let the vultures feast upon their carrion." With loud imprecations the men seized me, tore off my haick and burnouse, and bound me securely to a palm trunk in such a position that I could only see the great expanse of barren sand. Then, with that refinement of cruelty of which the nomadic Azjar are past-masters, they smeared my face, hands, and feet with date-juice, to attract the ants and other insects; and, after jeering at me and condemning me to everlasting perdition and sempiternal culpability, they remounted their horses, and, laughing heartily, left me alone to wait the end. Through the long, silent night, with arms and legs bound so tightly that I could not move them, I remained, wondering what terrible fate had befallen the beautiful girl who had overheard my orison. My two clansmen had not returned. I knew the men were splendid riders, therefore it was more than probable that they had very quickly overtaken her. Utterly hopeless, well knowing that to the blazing sun and the agonies of being half-devoured by insects I must very soon succumb, I waited, my ears on the alert to catch every sound. In the sky a saffron streak showed on the edge of the sandy plain, heralding the sun's coming. I watched it gradually spread, knowing that each moment brought me nearer to an end of agony. I lifted my voice in supplication to Allah, and showered voluble curses upon the expedition about to be attempted by my tribe. The pale, handsome face of Kheira was ever before me, haunting me like a half-remembered dream, its beauty fascinating me, and even causing me to forget the horror of those hours of dawn. Saffron changed to rose, and rose to gold, until the sun shone out, lighting up the trackless waste. The flies, awakened, began to torment me, and I knew that the merciless rays beating down upon my uncovered head would quickly produce the dreaded delirium of madness. The furnace heat of sunshine grew intense as noon approached, and I was compelled to keep my eyes closed to avoid the blinding glare. Suddenly a noise fell upon my ear. At first it sounded like a low, distant rumbling; but soon my practised ears detected that it was the rattle of musketry and the din of tom-toms. The City in the Sky was being attacked! My tribesmen had arranged to deliver the assault at noon, but what puzzled me was a sullen booming at frequent intervals. It was the sound of cannon, and showed plainly that Afo was being defended! From where I was I could see nothing of it. Indeed, the base of the mountain was eight miles distant, and the city, perched upon its summit, could only be approached from the opposite side by a path that was almost inaccessible. Yet hour after hour the rapid firing continued, and it was evident a most desperate battle was being fought. This puzzled me, for had not Kheira said that the city was totally undefended? Still, the tumult of battle served to prevent me from lapsing into unconsciousness; and not until the sun sank in a brilliant, blood-red blaze did the firing cease. Then all grew silent again. The hot poison-wind from the desert caused the feathery heads of the palms to wave like funeral plumes, and night crept on. The horrible torture of the insects, the action of the sun upon my brain, the hunger, the thirst, and the constant strain of the nerves, proved too much; and I slept, haunted by spectral horrors, and a constant dread of the inevitable--that half-consciousness precursory of death. So passed the second night, until the sun reappeared; but mine eyes opened not. The heat of the blazing noon caused me no concern, neither did the two great grey vultures that were hovering over me; for it was not until I heard voices in the vicinity that I gazed around. One voice, louder than the others, was uttering thanks to Allah. I listened; then, summoning all my strength that remained, I cried aloud, in the name of the One Merciful, for assistance. There were sounds of hurrying footsteps, voices raised in surprise, a woman's scream, and then objects, grotesquely distorted, whirled around me, and I knew no more. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ When I again opened my weary, fevered eyes, I was amazed to find myself lying upon a soft, silken divan in a magnificent apartment, with slaves watching, ready to minister to my wants. I took a cooling draught from a crystal goblet handed to me, then raised myself, and inquired where I was. The slaves made no reply, but, bowing low, left. Then in a few moments the _frou-frou_ of silk startled me, and next second I leaped to my feet, and, with a cry of joy, clasped Kheira in my arms. In her gorgeous harem dress of pale rose silk, with golden bejewelled girdle, she looked bewitching, though around her eyes were dark rings that betrayed the anxiety of the past few days. As our lips met in hot, passionate kisses, she was followed by a tall, stately, dark-bearded man of matchless bearing, whose robe was of amaranth silk, and who wore in his head-dress a magnificent diamond aigrette. Kheira saw him, and withdrawing herself from my embrace, introduced me to her father, the Sultan of Abea. "To thee I owe my life and my kingdom," said the potentate, giving me "Peace," and wringing my hand warmly. "Kheira hath related unto me the mercy thou didst show towards her; and it was thy word of warning that enabled us to repel and defeat the Azjar." "Then thou, didst escape, O signet of the sphere of elegance!" I cried, turning to the Sultan's daughter. "Yes; though I was hard pressed by two of thine horsemen, I took the secret path, and thus were they baffled." "The Director of Fate apprised our fighting men of our danger," said the Sultan; "and they returned on the same night. The breeze of grace blew; the sun of the favour of Allah shone. The news brought by Kheira was quickly acted upon, and the defences of the city so strengthened, that when at noon the assault was delivered, our cannon swept thy tribesmen from the pass like grains of sand before the sirocco. For six hours they fought; but their attempts to storm the city gate were futile, and the handful of survivors were compelled to retire, leaving nearly five hundred prisoners, including your Sheikh himself, in our hands." "And how was I rescued?" I inquired, after briefly explaining how my conversation with Kheira had been overheard. "On the day following the fight, we went unto the shrine of Sidi Okbar to render thanks to Allah, and there found thee dying of heat and thirst. Thou didst sacrifice thy life to save our ruler and his city, therefore we brought thee hither," she said. Then, taking my hands, the Sultan added, "Thou hast the verdure of the meadows of life. May Allah preserve thee, and grant unto thee long years of perfect peace, and an eternal rose-garden of happiness. Wipe off the rust of _ennui_ and fatigue from the speculum of thy mind, and follow me; for a feast is already prepared for the celebration of this victory." And we passed onward through the private pavilions--bewildering in their magnificence of marble and gold, and green with many leaves--to the Great Hall of the Divan, where, standing under the royal baldachin of yellow silk brocade, the Sultan of Abea rejoiced me with his favours, proclaiming me, Ahamadou, tribes man of the Azjar, the Saviour of the City in the Sky. No Touareg has ever contracted marriage with an Arab; therefore, after tarrying in Afo for many moons, I made peace with my people and returned unto them, for the wild life of the limitless sands was more congenial to me than the ease and perfumes of palaces and the favours of kings. THE THRONE OF THE GREAT TORTURE. Far south, beyond the Atlas Mountains, beyond that great, limitless plain of the Talidat where nothing meets the aching eye but a dreary waste of red-brown, drifting sand, one experiences some curious phases of a life comparatively unknown, and little understood in European civilisation. There, life to-day is the same as it was ten centuries ago--the same as it will ever be: free and charming in its simplicity, yet with many terrors ever present, and sun-bleached bones ever reminding the lonely traveller that a pricked water-skin means the end of all things. The Veiled Man--by William Le Queux On a journey alone from Biskra to Mourzouk, in Fezzan, I foolishly disregarded the injunctions of my fellow tribesmen, and was rendered extremely uncomfortable by the astounding discovery that the camel caravan I had joined in Zaouia Timassanin, and with which I had been travelling for twenty days, belonged to the Kel-Izhaban, a tribe of marauders and outlaws with whom we had had for years a fierce blood-feud, and whose depredations and relentless butchery of their weaker neighbours caused them to be held in awe from Morocco across to Tripoli, and from Biskra to Lake Tsad. In addition, I ascertained that the Sheikh, known to me as Sidi El-Adil, or "The Just," was really none other than Abdul-Melik, like myself, a pirate of the desert, against whom the French Government had sent three expeditions, and upon whose head a price had been set. With bronzed, aquiline features, long grey beard, and keen, deep-set eyes; tall, erect, agile, and of commanding presence, he was a splendid specimen of the true-bred Arab of the plains. Though he expressed intense hatred for the Infidel, and invoked curses most terrible upon the horsemen of the Roumis in general, and those of the Azjar in particular, he, nevertheless, treated me with haughty courtesy, and extended to me the hand of friendship. As, at the head of our cavalcade of two hundred armed horsemen and a long string of camels, he rode day by day across the parched wilderness, interspersed by small sand-hills and naked ledges of rock, speckled with ethel-bushes half overwhelmed by sand, he was truly an imposing figure. His burnouse was of finest white wool, embroidered heavily with silk; the haick surrounding his face was of spotless china-silk, and around his head was wound many yards of brown camel's hair. The saddle upon which he sat was of crimson velvet, embroidered with gold and set with precious stones, and stirrups and spurs of massive silver completed the trappings of his splendid coal-black horse, which he managed with rare perfection and skill. On my white Ku-hai-lan stallion, I usually rode at his side, chatting to him in his own tongue, while two hundred of his people, erect in their saddles, and with their long-barrelled rifles slung behind, were ready to instantly execute his slightest wish. The days were breathless and blazing. Scorched by the sun, and half-suffocated by the sand-laden wind, our way lay through a wilderness that Nature had forsaken. At night, however, when the outlaws of the desert had cast sand upon their feet and prayed their _maghrib_, and we had encamped under the palms of the oasis, eaten our dates and kouss-kouss, and slaked our thirst from our water-skins, then commenced the real luxury of the day--the luxury of idleness--as, reclining on a mat in front of the Sheikh's tent, with coffee and a cigarette, the great Abdul-Melik would relate with slow distinctness stories of past encounters between his people and the hated Christians. While sentries with loaded rifles kept a vigilant look-out lest we should be surprised by the ever-watchful Spahis or Chasseurs, half--a-- dozen Arabs would squat in a semicircle before the great Sheikh, and, twanging upon their queer little banjos fashioned from tortoise-shells over which skin is stretched, would chant weirdly, in a strange staccato, Arab songs of love and war. At that hour a coolness falls over everything, intense silence reigns, the sky above grows a deeper and deeper blue, and the palms and talha trees look mysterious in the half-light. Soon the stars shine out like diamond points, and it grows darker and darker, until the chill night-breeze of the desert stirs the feathery heads of the date-palms. Then the lawless nomads, my companions, would wrap their burnouses closely about them, scoop out a hole in the warm sand, and there repose until the first flush of dawn. About five weeks after I had inadvertently thrown in my lot with the Kel-Izhaban, and after penetrating a region that, as far as I am aware, has never been explored by Europeans--for it remains a blank upon the most recent map issued by the French Depot de la Guerre--we were one evening, at a spot evidently pre-arranged, joined by a body of three hundred horsemen, who armed themselves with the rifles they obtained from our camel's packs, and then, leaving the camels in charge of half-a-dozen men in a rocky valley called the Anzoua, we all continued our way in high spirits, jesting, laughing, and singing snatches of songs. Throughout that night, and during the following day, we rode at the same steady pace, with only brief halts that were absolutely necessary. On the second night darkness fell swiftly, but the moon rose, and under its bright mystic light we sped forward, until suddenly the gaunt man, in a dirty, ragged burnouse, who acted as our guide, shouted, and we pulled up quickly. Then, in the moonlight, I could just distinguish among the trees of the little oasis a few low, white houses, of what I subsequently learned was the little desert village of Tilouat, inhabited by the Kel-Emoghri, and distant ten leagues from the town of Ideles. Abdul-Melik shouted an order, clear and distinct, whereupon the horsemen spread themselves out in two long lines, and with their guns carried across their saddles, the first line crept slowly and silently forward. By this movement I knew that we were about to attack the village, and held my own rifle ready for purposes of self-defence. Sitting in the second line, I advanced with the others, and the breathless moments that followed were full of excitement. Suddenly a shot startled us, and at the same moment a muttered curse fell from the Sheikh's lips as he saw that our presence had been detected, for the shot had been fired in the village as a sound of warning. Almost instantly it was apparent that we had been betrayed, for a great body of horsemen galloped out to meet us, and in a few moments I found myself lying behind my horse pouring forth volley after volley from my rifle. The fusillade was deafening, and for fully half an hour it was kept up. About twenty of our men had been killed or wounded, when suddenly the first line rose with loud shouts as if they were one man, and, mounting, rode straight at their opponents, while we followed at headlong speed upon our enemies almost ere they had time to realise our intention. The melee was awful. Swords, rifles, and keen, crooked _jambiyahs_ were used with terrible effect, but very soon all resistance was at an end, and the work of looting the village commenced. Half demented by excitement and success, my companions entered the houses, shot down the women with relentless cruelty, tore from them what little jewellery they possessed, and plundered, wrecked, and burned their homes out of sheer delight in destruction. I stood watching the terrible scene, but unable to avert the great calamity that had fallen so swiftly upon the peaceful little place. The fiendishness of our enemies had, alas! not been exaggerated. Abdul-Melik laughed gleefully, uttering some words as he rode past me swift as the wind. But I heeded him not; I loathed, despised, and hated him. While dawn spread in rosy streaks, the work of plunder still proceeded, but when the sun shone forth, only the smoke-blackened walls of Tilouat remained standing. The plunder was quickly packed upon our horses, and soon afterwards we rode off, carrying with us twenty men and women who had been captured, all of whom would eventually find their way into the great slave-market, far away at Mourzouk. At sundown, five days afterwards, we descended into a rocky valley, and suddenly came upon a wonderful mass of scattered ruins, of amazing magnitude and extent, which Abdul-Melik told me were the remains of a forgotten city called Tihodayen, and as we approached, I saw by the massive walls of hewn stone, the fallen columns half embedded in the sand, and by an inscription over an arched door, that they were relics of the Roman occupation. When we dismounted, I found that the ruined city gave shelter to the outlaws, and was their habitual hiding-place. An hour later, reclining on mats under the wall of what had once been a great palace, the outlaw Sheikh and myself ate our evening meal of _saubusaj, beryseh_, and _luzinyeh_, and drank copiously of _dushab_, that luscious date-syrup which is so acceptable after the heat and burden of the Saharan day, while my companions feasted and made merry, for it appeared that they kept stores of food concealed there. On commencing to smoke, Abdul-Melik ordered that the captives should be brought before him, and when, a few minutes later, they were ushered into his presence, they, with one exception, fell upon their knees, grovelled, and cried aloud for mercy. The single captive who begged no favour was a young, dark-haired girl of exquisite beauty, with black, piercing eyes, pretty, dimpled cheeks, and a complexion of almost European fairness. She wore a zouave of crimson velvet heavily embroidered with gold, a heavy golden girdle confined her waist, and her wide trousers were of palest rose-pink silk, while her tiny feet were thrust into velvet slippers of green embroidered with gold thread. But her dress had been torn in the fierce struggle with her pitiless captors, and as she stood, erect and defiant, with her hands secured behind her with a leathern thong, she cast at us a glance full of withering scorn. The Sheikh raised his hand to command silence, but as her fellow-captives continued wailing, he ordered the removal of all but this girl, who apparently set him at defiance. Turning his keen eyes upon her, he noted how extremely handsome she was, and while she returned his gaze unflinchingly, her beauty held me in fascination. In all my journeys in the Land of the Sun I had never before seen such an absolutely perfect face. "Who art thou?" demanded the dreaded chief, roughly. "What is thy name?" "I am called Khadidja Fathma, daughter of Ali Ben Ushshami, cadi of Ideles," she answered, in a firm, defiant tone. "Ali Ben Ushshami!" echoed Abdul-Melik, knitting his brows fiercely. "Thou art his daughter; the daughter of the accursed son of offal who endeavoured to betray me into the hands of the Roumis," he cried, exultantly. "I have kindled the lights of knowledge at the flambeau of prophecy, and I vowed that I would ere many moons seek vengeance." "I have anticipated this thy wrath ever since thine horde of cowardly ruffians laid hands upon me," she answered, with a contemptuous toss of her pretty head. "But the daughter of the cadi of Ideles craveth not mercy from a servant of Eblis." "Darest thou insult me, wench?" he cried, pale with passion, and starting up as if to strike her. "Thou art the child of the man who would have given me into the hands of the Spahis for the sake of the two bags of gold offered for my head. I will return his good offices by sending him to-morrow a present he will perhaps appreciate, the present of thine own hands. He will then be convinced that Abdul-Melik knoweth how to repay those who seek to injure him." "Dost thou intend to strike off my hands?" she gasped, pale as death, nevertheless making a strenuous effort to remain calm. "At sunrise the vultures will feast upon thee, and thine hands will be on their way to Ideles," he answered, with a sinister smile playing about his hard mouth. "Malec hath already set his curse upon thee," she said, "and by each murder thou committest so thou createst for thyself a fresh torture in Al-Hawiyat, where thy food will be offal and thou wilt slake thy thirst with boiling pitch. True, I have fallen captive into thine hands, having journeyed to Tilouat to see my father's mother who was dying; but thinkest thou that I fear thee? No!" she added with flashing eyes. "Though the people dread thee as the great and powerful Chief, I despise thee and all thy miserable parasites. If thou smitest off mine hands, it is but the same punishment as thou hast meted out to others of my sex. Thou art, after all, a mere coward who maketh war upon women." "Silence, jade!" he cried, in a tumult of passion, and, turning to the men beside him, commanded: "Take her away, secure her alone till dawn, and then let her hands be struck off and brought to me." Roughly the men dragged her away, but ere she went she cast at us a look of haughty scornfulness, and, shrugging her shoulders, treated this terrible mandate with ineffable disdain. "The jade's hands shall be sent to her father, the Cadi, as a souvenir of the interest he taketh in my welfare," the Sheikh muttered aloud. "Her tongue will never again utter rebuke or insult. Verily, Allah hath delivered her into my hands a weapon to use against mine enemies." I uttered eager words of intercession, pointing out the cruelty of taking her young life, but he only laughed derisively, and I was compelled to sit beside him while the other captives were questioned and inspected. That night I sought repose in a shed that had been erected in a portion of the ruins, but found sleep impossible. The defiantly beautiful face of the young girl who was to die at dawn kept recurring to me with tantalising vividness, and at length I rose, determined if possible to save her. Noiselessly I crept out, my footsteps muffled by the sand, saddled one of Abdul-Melik's own horses, and without attracting the notice of either sentry on duty at each end of the encampment, I entered the ruin where, confined to an iron ring in the masonry by a leathern band, she crouched silent and thoughtful. "_Fi amani-illah_!" I whispered, as I approached. "I come to have speech with thee, and assist thee to escape." "Art thou a friend?" she inquired, struggling to her feet and peering at me in the gloom. "Yes, one who is determined that the outlaw's command shall never be executed," and taking the _jambiyah_ from my girdle, I severed the thongs that confined her hands and ankles, and next second she was free. Briefly I explained how I had saddled a fleet horse and placed a saddle-bag with food upon it. "If I get safely away I shall owe my life to you," she said, with intense gratitude, pressing my hand for an instant to her quivering lips. "I know this place, and ere two moons can have risen I can travel through the rocky defile and be at my father's house in Ideles. Tell me thy name, so that my father may know who was his daughter's liberator." I told her, and in the same hasty breath asked for some souvenir. "Alas! I have nothing," she answered; "nothing but a strange ornament which my father's mother gave to me immediately before she died, an hour previous to the attack being made upon the village," and placing her hand deep into the breast of her dress she drew forth a rough disc of copper, about the size of a crown piece, with a hole in it, as if it had been strung upon a thread. "When she gave it to me she told me it had been in her possession for years, that it was a talisman against terror, and that some curious legend was attached to it, the nature of which I do not now recollect. There is strange writing upon it in some foreign tongue of the Roumis that no one has been able to decipher." I looked, but unable to detect anything in the darkness, I assured her that its possession would always remind me of her, and slipped it into the pocket of my gandoura. Then together we crept along under the shadow of the wall, and, gaining the spot where the horse stood in readiness, I held her for a second while she kissed my hand, uttering a fervent word of thanks, and afterwards assisted her into the saddle. Then a moment later, with a whispered "_Allah iselemeck_!" she sped away, with her unbound hair flying behind her, and was instantly lost in the darkness. On realising that she had gone I was seized with regret, but feeling that at least I had saved her from a horrible doom, I returned to my little shed and, wrapping myself in my burnouse, slept soundly until the sun had risen high in the heavens. Opening my eyes, I at once remembered Khadidja's quaint souvenir, and on examining it, was astonished to find both obverse and reverse of the roughly fashioned disc covered with an inscription in English crudely engraved, or rather scratched, apparently with the point of a knife. Investigating it closely I was enabled, after some difficulty, for I have only an elementary knowledge of the tongue of the Roumis, to read the following surprising words:-- "_This record I leave for the person into whose hands it may fall, for I am starving. Whosoever reads this let him hasten to Zemnou, in the Zelaf Desert, two days from the well of El Ameima, and from the Bab-el-Oued pace twenty steps westward outside the city wall, and under the second bastion let him dig. There will he be rewarded. John Edward Chatteris, held captive in the Kasbah of Borku by order of the Sultan 'Othman, Sunday, June 13, 1843_." Chatteris! Instantly it occurred to me that a celebrated English explorer, archaeologist, and member of the Royal Geographical Society of that name, had years ago been lost, and his fate had remained a complete mystery. Inquiries for news of him had been circulated throughout the great Desert among the wandering tribes, with an offer of a reward. This, then, was a message inscribed, with apparent difficulty within the impregnable citadel of the warrior Sultan of Borku, whose little mountain kingdom was situate five hundred miles south of Mourzouk, between the Tibesti Mountains and Lake Tsad; a secret that for half a century had been in the keeping of those who could not decipher it. What might not be buried at the spot indicated by this curious relic of the great traveller? My curiosity was excited to the utmost. Impatient to investigate the truth, but compelled, nevertheless, to remain patient until such time as I could escape from my undesirable companions, I concealed the disc and rose to join Abdul-Melik at his morning meal. Khadidja's escape caused the old outlaw intense chagrin, and his anger knew no bounds, but luckily no suspicion fell upon me, and having remained with them during two whole moons I succeeded one day, when we were near the town of Rhat, in evading them and getting away. As quickly as possible I returned to In Salah, where I exhibited the metal disc with its strange inscription to our three headmen, who became at once interested in it, announcing their intention to accompany me next day to investigate the truth of the engraved record. With an escort of twenty of our men, all well mounted and armed, we rode out of In Salah at dawn, and for nine days continued our journey across the desert due eastward, first taking the caravan route to Tarz Oulli, beyond the French boundary, and continuing through the rocky region of the Ihehaonen and across the Djedid Oasis, until one evening, at the _maghrib_ hour, the high white walls and three tall minarets of the desert city of Zemnou came within view. It was unsafe to take our men nearer, therefore we returned and bivouacked until darkness set in. Then, dressed in the haick and burnouse of the Arab of the plain, the three headmen with myself, carrying spades concealed beneath our flowing drapery, approached the town and crept under the shadow of the walls, until we reached the Bab-el-Oued, or principal gate. Guarded by strong watch-towers on either side, the gate was closed, and silently we crept, anxious and breathless, on over the sand westward until we had counted twenty paces and reached the second bastion. Then, after glancing eagerly around to reassure ourselves that we were not observed, we all five commenced to dig beneath the wall. Discovery, we knew, would mean death. The sand was loose, but full of stones, and for some time we worked without result. Indeed, I began to fear that someone had already been able to decipher the record and obeyed its injunctions, when suddenly the spade of one of my companions struck something hard, and he uttered an ejaculation. With one accord we worked with a will, and within ten minutes were unearthing an object of extraordinary shape. At first it puzzled us considerably, but at length, when we had cleared the earth sufficiently to remove it, we made a cursory examination by the aid of wax tapers, and discovered that it was a kind of stool with a semi-circular seat, supported by six short columns of twisted gold in imitation of serpents, the seat itself being of gold inlaid with many precious stones, while the feet consisted of six great yellow topazes, beautifully cut and highly polished, held in the serpents' mouths. The gold had become dimmed by long contact with the earth, but the gems, as we rubbed off the dirt that clung to them, gleamed and sparkled in the tapers' fitful rays. The stool, or throne, was so heavy that it was with difficulty two men dragged it out of the trench, and breathless with anxiety we all lent a willing hand to carry it over the five miles of open desert to where the men were awaiting us. Our arrival was greeted with cheers, but quickly the strange relic was wrapped in saddlebags and secured upon the back of a spare horse. At once we set out on the first stage of our return journey, reaching In Salah in safety ten days later, and learning with satisfaction on our arrival that Abdul-Melik had, during our absence, been killed in a skirmish with the French Spahis in the Ahaggar. Not until I had sent the jewelled seat to England, through an Arab merchant whom I knew in Algiers, and it was exhibited before a meeting of the Royal Geographical Society, was I aware of its real antiquarian value. From the letters sent home by the intrepid Dr Chatteris, and still preserved in the archives of the Society, it appeared that during 1839 Salman, the great Sheikh of Aujila, assembled a formidable following, and proclaiming himself Sultan of Tunis, led an expedition through the country, extorting money from the people by reason of horrible tortures and fearful barbarities. While sentencing his unfortunate victims, he always used a curiously-shaped judgment-seat, which, for ages, had been the property of the Sultans of Sokoto, and it thus became known and dreaded as the Throne of the Great Torture, it only being used on occasions when he sentenced the unfortunate wretches to torture for the purpose of extracting from them knowledge of where their wealth was concealed. Against this fierce rebel the Bey of Tunis was compelled to send a great expedition, and after several sanguinary encounters at Sinaun, and in the Um-el-Cheil, he was utterly routed and killed in his own stronghold at Aujila. Dr Chatteris, in the last letter received from him, mentioned that he had secured the jewelled throne, but that on account of the superstitions of the Arabs it was an extremely difficult matter to convey it to the coast. Fearing lest he should lose it, he had apparently buried it, and soon afterwards unfortunately fell into the hands of the Sultan of Borku, who held him captive until his death. Khadidja is still living in Ideles, where she is happily married to the younger son of the Governor, but in the seclusion of her harem she is still in ignorance that, by the curious little souvenir with which she rewarded me, she added to England's national collection of antiquities a valuable and highly interesting relic. Visitors to the British Museum will experience but little difficulty in finding it, for in the Oriental section at the present moment one of the most frequently inspected and greatly admired treasures is the quaint, historic, and bejewelled Throne of the Great Torture. The End. 
36914	----	_Featuring_ BERT LYTELL AND CLAIRE WINDSOR NEW YORK THE MACAULAY COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY THE MACAULAY COMPANY PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. TO MY FRIEND DOROTHEA THORNTON CLARKE WITHOUT WHOSE HELP AND CONSTANT ENCOURAGEMENT NEITHER THIS NOR ANY OF MY BOOKS WOULD HAVE BEEN WRITTEN PREFACE A beach of white sand, the whisper of palms answering the murmuring moonlit sea, the fragrance of orange blossoms, the perfume of roses and syringa,--that is Grand Canary, a bit of Heaven dropped into the Atlantic; overlooked by writers and painters in general. Surely one can be pardoned a bit of praise and promise for this story, laid, as it is in part, in that magic island. The Canaries properly belong to the African continent. That is best proven by their original inhabitants who were of pure Berber stock. The islands are the stepping stone between Europe and the Sahara. Mysterious Arabs and a continual stream of those silent men who come and go from the great desert tarry there for a while, giving color and romance to the big hotels. The petty gossip, the real news of the Sahara "breaks" there.--Weird, passionate tales; believable or not, they carry an undercurrent of reality that thrills. From such a source came this story. Unaltered in fact, it is given to you, the life story of a man and a woman who turned their backs on worldly conventions that they might find happiness. If it is frank, forgive it. Life near the Equator is not a milk and water affair. THE PUBLISHERS. CONTENTS PART I PART II PART III ILLUSTRATIONS With Annette limp across his saddle, Casim Ammeh sped away . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ He had come to the harem to say farewell For sale as a common slave at the Taureg auction block "Let us both dance for you, so that you may judge between us" PART I A Son of the Sahara CHAPTER I In the days when France was pursuing a vigorous forward policy in Africa, a policy started by General Faidherbe and carried on by subsequent governors, one of the bravest among her pioneer soldiers was Colonel Raoul Le Breton. He was a big, handsome man with a swarthy complexion, coal-black hair and dark, fiery eyes, by nature impetuous and reckless. With a trio of white sergeants and a hundred Senegalese soldiers, he would attempt--and accomplish--things that no man with ten times his following would have attempted. But there came a day when even his luck failed. He left St. Louis, in Senegal, and went upwards to the north-east, intending to pierce the heart of the Sahara. From that expedition, however, he never returned. The Government at St. Louis assumed that he and his little pioneer force had been wiped out by some hostile negro king or Arab chief. It was but one of the tragedies attached to extending a nation's territory. When Raoul Le Breton went on that ill-fated expedition, he did what no man should have done who attempts to explore the Back of Beyond with an indifferent force. He took his wife with him. There was some excuse for this piece of folly. He was newly married. He adored his wife, and she worshipped him, and refused to let him go unless she went also. She was barely half his age; a girl just fresh from a convent school, whom he had met and married in Paris during his last leave. Colonel Le Breton journeyed for weeks through an arid country, an almost trackless expanse of poor grass and stunted scrub, until he reached the edge of the Sahara. Annette Le Breton enjoyed her travels. She did not mind the life in tents, the rough jolting of her camel, the poor food, the heat, the flies; she minded nothing so long as she was with her husband. He was a man of rare fascination, as many women had found to their cost; a light lover until Annette had come into his life and captured his straying heart once and for all. On the edge of the Sahara Le Breton met a man who, on the surface at least, appeared to see even more quickly than the majority of negro kings and Arab chiefs he had come in contact with, the advantages attached to being under the shadow of the French flag. It would be difficult to say where the Sultan Casim Ammeh came from. He appeared one afternoon riding like a madman out of the blazing distance; a picturesque figure in his flowing white burnoose, sitting his black stallion like a centaur. He was a young man, perhaps about twenty-four, of medium height, lean and lithe and brown, with fierce black eyes and a cruel mouth: the hereditary ruler of that portion of the Sahara. His capital was a walled city that, so far, had not been visited by any European. In his way he was a man of great wealth, and he added to that wealth by frequent marauding expeditions and slave-dealing. With a slight smile he listened to all the Frenchman had to say. Already he had heard of France--a great Power, creeping slowly onwards--and he wondered whether he was strong enough to oppose it, or whether the wiser plan might not be just to rest secure under the shadow of its distant wing, and under its protection continue his wild, marauding life as usual. As he sat with Colonel Le Breton in the latter's tent, something happened which caused the Sultan Casim Ammeh to make up his mind very quickly. It was late afternoon. From the open flap of the tent an endless, rolling expense of sand showed, with here and there a knot of coarse, twisted grass, a dwarfed shrub, or a flare of red-flowered, distorted cacti. The French officer's camp was pitched by an oasis; a little group of date palms, where a spring bubbled among brown rocks, bringing an abundance of grass and herbs where horses and camels browsed. As the two men sat talking, a soft voice said unexpectedly: "Oh, Raoul, I'd no idea you had a visitor!" All at once a girl had appeared in the entrance of the tent She was small and slim, with two thick plaits of golden-brown hair reaching to her knees; a beautiful girl of about eighteen, with wide grey eyes and a creamy white skin. Her voice brought Le Breton to his feet. "What is it, Annette?" he asked. "I thought----I'll come later," she said; the blushes mounting to her cheeks. The Sultan Casim Ammeh got to his feet also. Not out of any sense of deference; he had none where women were concerned, but drawn there by the beauty of the girl. "You needn't mind what you say in front of this man," her husband remarked. "He doesn't understand a word of French. "Ill tell you later, Raoul, when there's nobody here." She would have gone, but Le Breton called her forward and, in Arabic, introduced her to his visitor. Annette bowed to the lean, lithe, brown man in the white burnoose, and her eyes dropped under the fierce admiration in his. The Sultan looked at her, all the time wondering why the white man was such a fool as to let this priceless pearl, this jewel among women, go unveiled, and allow the eyes of strange men to rest upon her with desire and longing. Annette said she was pleased to meet him: a message her husband translated, and which brought a fierce smile to the young Sultan's face and made the wild desire in his savage heart suddenly blossom into plans. So she, this houri from Paradise, was pleased to meet him! This fair flower from a far land! But not so pleased as he was to meet _her_. And her husband let her say such things to strange men! What a fool the man was! Not worthy of this houri! He could not appreciate the treasure he possessed. Not as he, the Sultan, would, were she his. Casim Ammeh despised Colonel Le Breton utterly. As soon as the introduction was over, Annette would have gone. "Don't run away, my pet," her husband said fondly. "I shall soon have finished." But the girl went, anxious to get away from the Arab chief who watched her with such covetous desire and smouldering passion in his fierce black eyes. When she had gone, the two men seated themselves again. But the Sultan gave no thought to the business in hand. He only wanted one thing now--the girl who had just gone from the tent. Soon after Annette's departure he left, promising to visit Le Breton again within the course of a few days. He kept his word. Five days later he swept out of the desert with a horde of wild horsemen. And in less than half an hour there was only one of Raoul Le Breton's ill-fated expedition left alive. The next day, with Annette limp across his saddle, the Sultan Casim Ammeh set off with his following to his desert stronghold. CHAPTER II The city of El-Ammeh lies about a hundred miles within the Sahara proper. It is a walled town of Moorish aspect, built of brown rock and baked mud. Within the walls is a tangle of narrow, twisted, squalid lanes--a jumble of flat-roofed houses, practically devoid of windows on the sides overlooking the streets. Here and there a minaret towers, and glimpses of strange trees can be seen peeping over walled gardens. Along one side stands a domed palace; a straggling place, with horse-shoe arches, stone galleries and terraces. In front of it a blue lake spreads, surrounded by fertile gardens and groves of fruit trees. And the whole is encircled by the desert. Annette Le Breton remembered nothing of her journey to El-Ammeh. Her life was a nightmare of horror that held nothing but her husband's murderer, whom she could not escape from. She was taken to the palace, and placed in the apartment reserved for the Sultan's favourite. A big room with walls and floor of gold mosaic, furnished with ottomans, rugs and cushions, and little tables and stools of carved sandalwood inlaid with ivory and silver. On one side of the apartment a series of archways opened on a screened and fretted gallery, at the end of which a flight of wide, shallow steps led down into a walled garden, a dream of roses. But it was weeks before Annette knew anything of this. All day long she lay, broken and suffering, on one of the ottomans, and dark-faced women fawned upon her, saying words she could not understand; women who looked at her queerly, jealously, and talked about her among themselves. A strange girl, this new fancy of the Sultan's! Who wanted none of the things he piled upon her--not even his love. A girl who looked as though life were a mirage; as if she moved in bad dreams,--a listless girl, beautiful beyond any yet seen in the harem, who seemed to have neither idea nor appreciation of the honour that was hers; who lay all day in silence, her only language tears. Tears that even the Sultan could not charm away. In fact they seemed to fall more quickly and hopelessly when he came to see her. Yet he did everything that mortal man could do to comfort her. Jewels were showered upon her; jewels she refused to wear, to look at even; casting them from her with weak, angry hands, when her women would have decked her with them for her master's coming. And never before were so many musicians, singers, dancers, and conjurors sent to the women's apartments. Hardly a day passed without bringing some such form of diversion; or merchants with rare silks, perfumes and ostrich feathers. The harem had never had such a perpetual round of amusements. All for this new slave-girl. And she refused to be either amused or interested. She would look neither at the goods nor the entertainers. She just stayed with her face turned towards the wall and wept. One day when the Sultan came to the harem to visit his new favourite, some of the older women drew him aside and whispered with him. They suspected they had found a reason for the girl's strange behaviour. Their words sent the Sultan from the big hall of the harem to the gilded chamber set aside for Annette, with hope in his savage heart, and left him looking down at her with a touch of tenderness on his cruel face. He laid a dark hand on the girl, caressing her fondly. "Give me a son, my pearl," he whispered. "Then my cup will be full indeed." Annette shuddered at his touch. She had no idea what he said. He and his language were beyond her. As the long weeks ground out their slow and dreary course, Annette grew to suspect what her attendants now knew. The weeks became months and Annette languished in her captor's palace; her only respite the times he was away on some marauding expedition. He loved rapine and murder, and was never happy unless dabbling in blood. Sometimes he was away for weeks together, killing and stealing, bringing slaves for the slave-market of his city, and fresh women for his harem. During one of his absences Annette's baby arrived. The child came a week or so before the women had expected it. "The girl has wept so much," they said, "that her son has come before his time, to see what his mother's tears are about. And now, if Allah is kind, let us hope the child will dry them." For a fortnight Annette was too ill to know even that she had a son. When the baby was brought to her, she hardly dared look at it, not knowing what horror might have come from those ghastly nights spent with the Sultan Casim Ammeh. But when she looked, it was not his face, dark and cruel, that looked back at her. In miniature, she saw the face of Raoul Le Breton! This son of hers did not owe his life to the Sultan. He was a legacy from her murdered husband. Something that belonged to her lost life. With a wild sob of joy, Annette held out weak arms for her baby. Weeping she strained the mite to her breast, baptizing it with her tears. Tears of happiness this time. Light and love had come into her life again. For Raoul was not dead. He had come back to her. Weak and tiny he lay upon her heart, hers to love and cherish. She was lying on her couch one day, too absorbed in tracing out each one of her dead lover's features in the tiny face pillowed on her breast, to notice what was happening, when the voice she dreaded said in a fierce, fond manner: "So, Pearl of my Heart, you love my son, even if you hate me." Annette did not know what the Sultan said. But she held her child closer, watching its father's murderer with fear and loathing; afraid that he might put his dark, defiling hands upon her treasure. But he did not attempt to touch either her or the child. Seating himself at her side, he stayed watching her, tenderness on his cruel face, for the first time having pity on her weakness. The weakness of the woman who had given him the one thing his savage heart craved for, and which, until now, had been denied him--a son. CHAPTER III By the time Annette knew enough Arabic to make herself understood, and to understand what was said around her, she realized that if the Sultan learnt her boy was not his, this one joy of her tragic life would be taken from her. He would murder the son as he had murdered the father. As the baby grew, her one idea was to keep its true parentage from her savage captor. If she could have done so, she would have kept his dark, blood-stained hands from touching her son. But this was impossible. When in El-Ammeh, the Sultan came every day to see the child, often sitting with it in his arms, watching it with an air of proud possession. And fearsomely Annette would watch him, wondering why he never suspected. But he was too eaten up with his own desire for a son ever to give a thought to her dead husband. The baby was given the name of Casim Ammeh. But Annette always called her boy by another name, "Raoul Le Breton." And at the age of five he said to her: "Why do you always call me 'Raoul,' not 'Casim,' as my father does?" His father! Annette's heart ached. His father had been dead these long years, murdered by the man her son now called by that name. "The Sultan and myself are of different races," she said. "He calls you by his name. I, by one of my own choosing, Raoul Le Breton.'" "Why do you always say 'the Sultan,' and never 'your father'?" Sadly she smiled at her small questioner. "Some day, my son, I'll tell you. When you are a man and understand things." At five, Raoul Le Breton was a big, handsome boy, spoilt and pampered by the whole harem, and spoilt most of all by the man he proudly called "Father." The Sultan in his flowing white robes, with his half-tamed horses, his horde of wild followers and barbaric splendour, was a picturesque figure, one to capture any brave boy's heart. Annette did all she could to counteract her captor's influence, but, as the child grew, he was more with the Sultan than with her. What was more, he craved for men's company. He soon tired of the amusements the harem could offer. He much preferred to be on his own horse, galloping with the Sultan or some of his men along the desert tracks about the city. And knowing Annette loved her son, and hated him, despite their years together, the Sultan did all he could to win the boy's affection and wean him from his mother. He might have succeeded, except for one thing. The boy loved learning, and to hear of the great world that his mother came from; a world that seemed as remote from El-Ammeh as the paradise his Moslem teachers spoke of. The Sultan was not averse to the mother teaching her son. He was a shrewd man, if savage and cruel. And that France from where the girl came was growing ever more powerful. It would be to the boy's advantage to learn all the arts and cunning of his mother's people. The Sultan Casim gave Annette but one present that she took from him willingly; a sandalwood bureau with shelves and drawers and little sliding panels, an elaborately carved and handsome piece of furniture; stocked with slate and pencil, paper, quills and ink--such as the priests at the mosques used themselves. For this strange girl who hated him had more learning than all the priests put together. But, for all that, the youngster had to sit at their feet at appointed times, and be taught all the Sultan had ever been taught, to read and write, and recite scraps from the Koran, and to be a true Moslem. Annette hated this wild, profligate religion, and into her son she tried to instil her own Roman Catholic faith. But at eight years, although he learnt with avidity all her other teachings, he laughed at her religion. "Yours is a woman's religion, little mother," he said one day. "It's all right for you--a religion that prays to a woman, but it is not suitable for men. Give me my father's religion. A religion where men rule. In that, one does not bow the knee to a woman. A good religion, my father's, fierce and strong, of love and fighting, not a puling thing where one prays to a woman and a babe. No, little mother, keep your religion, and be happy with it. I prefer my father's and my own." "Raoul, my son, you mustn't forget the white side when you are with the Sultan," she said gently, a touch of chiding in her sad voice. The boy looked at her speculatively, knowing already that his mother had no affection for the man he called "father." "You should be proud, not sorry, to be the Sultan's wife," he remarked. "It is an honour for any woman to be loved by the Sultan. Even a woman as lovely and learned as you, little mother." At twenty-seven Annette was even more beautiful than on the day the Sultan Casim Ammeh first saw her; but more fragile and ethereal. Although her captor's fancy often strayed to other women, he never lost his passion for her. "Oh, my boy, you don't understand," she said sadly. "When you are a man I'll tell you, and then perhaps you'll think differently." "When I am a man, I shall be like my father, but richer and more powerful, because I shall have more knowledge, thanks to you, my mother." "I hope you will be like your father, Raoul, I ask for nothing better." When her boy reached manhood Annette intended to tell him the truth, and to leave him to deal with the situation as he would. At ten years, her son had as much general knowledge as the average French boy of his age, thanks to his mother's teachings. And he knew, too, a great deal more than she taught him. He was a big lad for his years, handsome and quick-tempered, the Sultan's acknowledged heir. On every side there were people anxious to spoil him and curry favour with him. In the scented, sensual atmosphere of the harem, he learnt things his mother would have kept from him. But she was powerless among so many, all ready to flatter her boy and gain his good graces. "When I grow up," he said to her one day, "I shall have a hundred wives, like my father." "In the France I come from a man has but one. You must always remember that, Raoul." "Only one! Then, mother, I call that a poor country. How can a man be satisfied with one woman? My father has promised me wives of my own when I am sixteen." It seemed to Annette that in this profligate atmosphere her boy was drifting further and further away from her and his own nation; becoming daily more akin to the barbaric people around him. Every day she felt she must tell him the truth. Yet every day she put it off. For her boy was only a child still, and in his anger and rage he would not be able to keep his knowledge from the Sultan; then evil would befall him. It was written that many years were to pass before Raoul Le Breton learnt the truth about himself. Soon after this episode the Sultan took the boy with him on some thieving expedition. Whilst they were away, one of the deadly epidemics that occasionally visited El-Ammeh swept through the city, claiming among its many victims Annette Le Breton. CHAPTER IV With the passing years, the Sultan Casim Ammeh increased in wealth and power. He gave very little thought to France now. It was a vague power, too far away to trouble him, and only once had it really sent a feeler in his direction; that ill-fated expedition headed by Colonel Le Breton. Emboldened by his success, he had extended his marauding. But, if he heard nothing more of France, France occasionally heard of him, in the form of complaints from various parts of the Protectorate, from other chiefs whose territory he had raided. The Government knew his name but it had no idea where he came from. On one occasion the Sultan and his robber horde swept down to within a hundred miles of St. Louis. But there he met with a severe defeat. He retired to his desert stronghold, deciding not to adventure in that direction again. And he owed his defeat to strange guns such as had not come into his life before. Guns that fired not a couple of shots, but a whole volley; an endless fusillade that even his wild warriors could not face. He went back to El-Ammeh determined to get hold of some of those wonderful guns. Obviously it was out of the question to attack St. Louis where they came from. If they were to be obtained, they must be searched for in some other direction. Sore with defeat, he brooded on the strange guns. And very often he talked of them to the boy he called his son. Raoul Le Breton was about thirteen when the Sultan met with his first rebuff at the hands of France. And he had the welfare and prestige of the desert kingdom at heart, and was as anxious as the Sultan to possess this new weapon. Far away in the south was the outpost of another European power; just a handful of white men struggling to keep a hold on a country an indifferent and short-sighted government was inclined to let slip. Round and about the River Gambia the British had a footing. Among the men most determined to keep a hold on this strip of territory was Captain George Barclay. He was a man of about twenty-eight, of medium height and wiry make, with a thin face and steady grey eyes where tragedy lurked. His confrères said that Barclay had no interests outside of his work. But they were wrong. He had one thing that was more to him than his own life; a tiny, velvety-eyed, golden-haired daughter. He had come out to North-West Africa in quest of forgetfulness. At twenty-three, although he was only a penniless lieutenant, the beauty of the London season, the prospective heiress of millions, had thought well to marry him. It was a runaway match. For his sake Pansy Carrington had risked losing both wealth and position. She was only nineteen, and her guardian and godfather, whose acknowledged heiress she was, had disapproved of George Barclay; gossip said because he was madly in love with her himself, although he was nearly thirty years her senior. However, whether this was so or not, Henry Langham had forgiven the girl. He had taken her back into his good graces, and, in due course, had become godfather to the second Pansy. "Grand-godfather," the child called him as soon as she could talk. It had seemed to George Barclay that no man's life could be happier than his. Then, without any warning, tragedy came upon him after five years of bliss. For one day his girl-wife was brought back to him dead, the result of an accident in the hunting-field. With her death all light had gone out of his life. To escape from himself he had gone out to Gambia; and his tiny daughter now lived, as her mother had lived before her, with her godfather, Henry Langham. But it was not of his daughter Barclay was thinking at that moment; other matters occupied his mind. He stood on the roof of a little stone fort, gazing at the landscape in a speculative manner. The building itself consisted of four rooms, set on a platform of rock some three feet from the ground. All the windows were small, and high up and barred. One room had no communication with the others: it was a sort of guardroom entered by a heavy wooden door. To the other three rooms one solid door gave entry, and from one of them a ladder and trap-door led up to the roof which had battlements around it. Below was a large compound, rudely stockaded, in which half a dozen native huts were built. In that part of Gambia Captain Barclay represented the British Government. He had to administer justice and keep the peace, and in this task he was aided by a white subaltern, twenty Hausa soldiers, and a couple of maxim guns. On three sides of the little British outpost an endless expanse of forest showed, with white mist curling like smoke about it. On the fourth was a wide shallow valley, with dwarf cliffs on either side, alive with dog-faced baboons. The valley was patched with swamps and lakes, and through it a river wended an erratic course, its banks heavily fringed with reeds and mimosa trees; a valley from which, with approaching evening, a stream of miasma rose. Barclay's gaze, however, never strayed in the direction of the shallow valley. He looked to the north. A week or so ago word had come through that a notorious raider was on the move; a man whom the French Government had been endeavouring to catch for the last five years or more. What he was doing so far south as Gambia, the district officer did not know. But he knew he was there. Only the previous day news had come that one of the villages within his, Barclay's, jurisdiction had been practically wiped out. A similar fate might easily fall to the lot of the British outpost, considering that the Arab chief's force outnumbered Barclay's ten to one. From the roof of his quarters the Englishman saw the sun set. It seemed to sink and drown in a lake of orange that lay like a blazing furnace on the horizon; a lake that spread and scattered when the sun disappeared, drifting off in islands of clouds, gold, rose, mauve and vivid red, sailing slowly across a tense blue sky, getting ever thinner and more ragged, until night came suddenly and swallowed up their tattered remains. A dense, purple darkness fell upon the land, soft and velvety, that reminded Barclay of his little daughter's eyes. And in a vault as darkly purple, a host of great stars flashed. Away in the forest an owl hooted. From the wide valley came the coughing roar of a leopard. Every now and again some night bird passed, a vague shadow in the darkness. In silver showers the fireflies danced in the thick, hot air. Down in the compound glow-worms showed, looking like a lot of smouldering cigarette ends cast carelessly aside. Upon the roof, with gaze fixed on the misty, baffling darkness that soughed and hissed around him, Barclay stayed, until the gong took him down to dinner. There his junior waited, a round-faced youngster of about nineteen. The meal was a poor repast of tinned soup, hashed tinned beef, yams and coffee, all badly cooked and indifferently served. During the course of the meal the youngster remarked: "What a joke if we nabbed the Sultan Casim Ammeh, or whatever he calls himself, and went one better than the French johnnies." "It would be more than a joke. It would be a jolly good riddance," Barclay responded. "It's queer nobody knowing where he really comes from." "You may be sure he doesn't play his tricks anywhere near his own headquarters. More likely than not, he and his cut-throat lot start out disguised as peaceful merchants, in separate bands, and join up when they reach the seat of operations. There are vast tracts of Senegal practically unexplored. They would give endless cover to one of his kidney." "If you had the luck to bag him, what should you do?" "Shoot him straight off, knowing the earth was well rid of a villain." "But what's his idea in coming as far south as this? He's never been heard of on this side of the Senegal River before." "Plunder. Guns, most likely. He's heard we're none too welcome, and hardly settled here, and thinks we shall prove an easy prey." However, the little English force was not to prove quite the easy prey the Sultan had imagined when he came south in quest of new weapons. The next night, without any warning, he attacked Barclay's headquarters. He struck at an hour when all was darkest; not with his usual swoop of wild horsemen, but stealthily. Unchallenged and unmolested, he and his following scaled the stockade and crept towards the tiny fort, vague shadows moving silently in the purple darkness. But each night Barclay had laid a trap for his expected foe. He knew the enemy force outnumbered his, and that his little handful could be starved out within a week, if the Arab chief wanted to make a siege of it. Barclay had no intention of letting this come to pass. He did a bold thing. Each night, after dark, the little British garrison divided into three units. A Hausa sergeant and fifteen men were left on the roof of the fort. Barclay, two soldiers and one maxim gun, his junior, with two more soldiers and the other gun, crept out from the place, and hid in the dense undergrowth, at different points outside of the stockade; first removing a plank here and there in the enclosure to enable them to work their guns through. Barclay's ruse succeeded. Whilst the Sultan and his followers were busy trying to scale the fort and get at the handful of men peppering at them from its roof, without any warning there came an unexpected fusillade from, the rear. He turned and attacked in that direction, only to find a further fusillade pouring in on him from another point. The Sultan sensed that he had fallen into a trap; that he was surrounded on all sides. Sore and furious he turned to go, more quickly than he had come. But before he had reached the stockade, the world slipped from him suddenly. CHAPTER V When the skirmish was over, Barclay and his junior, with half a dozen Hausas and a lantern or two, made a round of the compound, counting the dead and attending to the wounded. His own garrison was practically unscathed, but his guns had played grim havoc with the attacking party; fully fifty dead and wounded lay within the stockade. Barclay went about his task cautiously. He knew Arabs and their little ways. Giving no quarter themselves, they expected none, and would sham death and then stab those who came to succour them. Among the prisoners was a lean, lithe man of about forty, who appeared more stunned than hurt from a bullet that had grazed his forehead. Barclay came across the wounded man just when the latter was coming back to consciousness. Although in dress he differed in no way from the rest of his following, the knives in his belt were heavily jewelled, and gems flashed on his brown fingers. By the light of a lantern the Englishman scanned him, noting his array of jewels and his cruel, arrogant, commanding face, the face of a savage leader. "My son," he said to the subaltern, "I believe your joke has come to pass." "My joke!" the youngster repeated blankly. Then the light of understanding came to his face. "You don't mean to say this cruel-looking cuss is the Sultan Casim Ammeh!" "I'd be surprised to hear he wasn't," Barclay responded. Suspicious of his man, and knowing him to be no more than stunned, the captain had him handcuffed and locked up in one of the inner rooms of the fort. When the wounded had been attended to they were left in the guardroom, and the little garrison retired once more within the fort. The enemy had had such a thorough beating that Barclay did not expect another attack. For all that, he was taking no risks. Just before daybreak, when the world was a place of curling white mist and greyness, there came a stampede of horses. And, above the thunder of hoofs, the wild Mohammedan war-cry. "Deen! Deen Muhammed!" That wild swoop and yell was the Sultan's usual way of attacking. "It seems we didn't get our man last night," Barclay remarked, as the guns were trained in the direction of the sound. "According to report, this is his usual method of attack." Out of the greyness of approaching morning a mêlée of wild horsemen appeared. Their leader was hardly the man Barclay had pictured to himself as the blood-stained Arab chief, but a smooth-faced youth in white burnoose, mounted on a huge black stallion. More than this Barclay did not wait to see. He opened fire on the massed horsemen, his guns playing deadly havoc. Within a few minutes their ranks broke. In wild disorder they turned and stampeded back, soon to be lost in the screening mist. "I don't think they'll face another dose," the junior remarked. However, he was wrong. Presently from out of the fog came the same wild war-cry and the thunder of hoofs. There was another charge with sadly depleted numbers. For reckless courage Barclay had never seen anything to equal their youthful leader. Again and again he rallied his men and brought them on, until finally, with only about a dozen men, he swept through the deadly zone and on towards the fort. In the very teeth of the Maxims his black horse literally flew over the high stockade. But the youngster was the only one who faced the guns. His following broke up and turned back under the fierce fusillade. Although the leader got over the stockade alive, his horse did not. It crashed and fell dead beneath him. With a quick side spring--a marvellous piece of horsemanship--he avoided injury and, with drawn sword, rushed on towards the little fort. The Hausas would have shot down the reckless youngster, but Barclay stopped them. "We don't make war on children," he said in their dialect. A closer inspection showed the leader of the Arab horde to be hardly more than a child; a handsome boy of about fourteen who, suddenly, realising that his followers had deserted him, now stood gazing round in a fierce, thwarted fashion. On finding he was alone he did not retreat, although Barclay gave him every opportunity. Instead, he stood his ground and hurled a challenge in Arabic at the men clustered on the top of the fort. Since there was no reply to that, he shouted again, this time in French. "Who and what is the youngster?" Barclay asked. "He doesn't look any more Arabian than I do. And now he's yelling at us in pure Parisian French." However, nobody could find any reply. So Barclay descended alone to interview the one remaining member of the Sultan Casim's forces. He was hardly out in the compound before he wished he had not gone. He had just time to draw his sword when the boy fell upon him. Barclay was a skilled duellist, but in this wild youth from the desert he met his match. For all his finesse and superior height and weight, the Englishman had his cheek laid open and his arm ripped up in the course of a minute. Things would have gone badly with him, except that a shot from his junior put the boy's sword arm out of action. With a rattle his weapon fell to the ground, his arm useless at his side. But, even then, there was no plea for mercy. With a proud gesture he threw up his head, facing his enemy in arrogant fashion. "Kill me," he said in French, "but let my father live." "Who is your father?" Barclay asked, as with a handkerchief he tried to stop the blood gushing from his cheek. "The Sultan Casim Ammeh," the boy answered proudly. The reply told Barclay that the man he had under lock and key really was the marauding Arab chief. He scanned the boy closely. Except for his coal-black hair and eyes and fierce, arrogant expression, there was no resemblance between father and son. If he had not heard to the contrary, he would have said the boy was as French as the language he spoke. "I've no intention of killing _you_," Barclay remarked. "On the contrary, young man, I'm going to have your arm set and bound up before you bleed to death." The blood was dripping from the boy's fingers, making a pool on the ground. But he paid no heed to his own hurt. All his thoughts were for the Sultan Casim. "I'm not asking mercy for myself, but for my father," he said haughtily. "I'm afraid that's useless, considering two Governments have condemned him." "You will dare to kill him?" Barclay said nothing. But his very silence was ominous. A dazed, incredulous look crossed the boy's face. As the Englishman watched him it seemed that, blood-stained murderer as the Sultan was, at least this big, handsome son of his loved him. Like one stunned, the youngster submitted to being led into the fort, where his arm was set and his wounds bound up. When this was done he said to Barclay: "I'll give you wealth in jewels that will amount to three hundred thousand francs in French money if you will let my father go free and take my life instead." Barclay made no reply. "You will murder my father?" the boy went on, dreading the worst from Barclay's silence. The word made the Englishman wince. For it did seem like murder with this fierce, handsome boy pleading desperately for his father's life. Again he said nothing. To escape from the sight of the pain and anguish his silent verdict had aroused, Barclay went from the room, leaving the youngster in the charge of a couple of soldiers. About noon that day, at the hands of the British Government, the Sultan Casim Ammeh met a well-deserved end. He met it bravely, (refusing to be blindfolded), with a slight, cruel smile facing the guns levelled at him. It was evening before Barclay summoned up enough courage to meet his youthful prisoner. And when he did, it seemed he had never seen so much concentrated hatred on any face. "So, you shot my father?" the boy said in a slow, savage manner. Barclay had not come to discuss the dead malefactor. He wanted to learn more about the son--where he had learnt his excellent French; how he came to differ so in appearance from the Arab chief and his wild following. "Your father has paid the penalty of his crimes," he said quietly. "And you shall pay the penalty of yours!" the boy cried passionately; "for I shall kill you as you have killed my father. Your daughters I shall sell as slaves. Your sons shall toil in chains in my city. Your wives shall become the bondswomen of my servants. Remember, white man, for I do not speak lightly. I will be avenged. I, Casim Ammeh, whose father you have thought well to murder!" The savage threats of a wild, heart-broken boy did not trouble George Barclay much. But his mind did go to his tiny four-year-old daughter, and he was glad she was safe in England and not within reach of this savage lad. At that moment he was more worried about his youthful captive than the latter's wild threats. He did not want to make a criminal of the boy; for, obviously, whatever wrong he had done was done under the influence of his savage father. And there looked to be the makings of a fine man in him, if only he had good guidance. Barclay decided to put the case before the French Government, together with a suggestion of his own--that the youngster should be sent somewhere where he could be brought up to be of use to the country, not a constant thorn in its flesh, as his father had been. But Captain Barclay need not have troubled himself with making plans for the future of the youthful Sultan of El-Ammeh, for that night the boy escaped, and his future was left in his own hands. CHAPTER VI After some two years out in Gambia, George Barclay returned to England. He returned with a scar across his right cheek. That scar was the first thing his little daughter remarked upon when the excitement of reunion had died down. Perched on his knee, she touched it with gentle little fingers and kissed it with soft lips. "Who has hurt my nice new Daddy?" she asked distressfully. Then there followed the story of the youthful Sultan Casim Ammeh. "Oh, what a wicked boy!" she exclaimed. Then she glanced across at her godfather who was sitting near. "Isn't he a bad, naughty boy, Grand-godfather, to want to kill my Daddy and sell me as a slave?" Henry Langham had listened to the story with interest, and very heartily he agreed with her. "I shall tell Bobby," the little girl went on indignantly, "and he'll go and kill the Sultan Casim Ammeh." "Who's Bobby?" her father asked. "My sweetheart. Master Robert Cameron." "So in my absence I've been cut out, have I?" her father said teasingly. "I'm dreadfully jealous." But Pansy snuggled closer to him, and her arms went round his neck in a tight hug. "There'll never be anyone as nice as my Daddy," she whispered. George Barclay held the tiny girl closer, kissing the golden head. Often during his months in England, Pansy would scramble on his knee and say: "Daddy, tell me the story of Casim Ammeh. That naughty boy who hurt your poor face." To Pansy it was some new Arabian Nights, vastly interesting because her father was one of the principal characters. Although she had heard it quite fifty times, she was ready to hear it quite fifty times more. "But, my darling, you've heard it scores of times," Barclay said one day. For all that he told the story again. Quietly she listened until the end was reached. Then she said: "I don't like him. Not one little bit. Do you like him, Daddy?" "To tell you the truth, Pansy, I did like him. He was a very brave boy." "I shall never like him, because he hurt you," she said firmly, her little flower-like face set and determined. "Well, my girlie, you're never likely to meet him, so it won't make much difference to him whether you like him or not." But--in the Book of Fate it was written otherwise. CHAPTER VII Somewhere off the Boulevard St. Michel there is a cabaret. The big dancing hall has red walls painted with yellow shooting stars, and, overhead, electric lights blaze under red and yellow shades. There is a bar at one end, and several little tables for the patrons' use when they tire of dancing. In the evenings a band, in seedy, red uniforms with brass buttons, fills, with a crash of sound, an atmosphere ladened with patchouli and cigarette smoke, and waiters, in still more seedy dress-suits, attend to the tables. Never at any time is the gathering select, and generally there are quite a few foreigners of all colours present. One night, the most noticeable among the patrons was an Englishman, well-groomed and tailored, and a big youth of about eighteen in a flowing white burnoose. They were in no way connected with each other, but chance, in the shape of their female companions, had brought them to adjacent tables. The girl with the youngster was very pretty in a hard, metallic way, with the white face and vivid red lips of the Parisienne, and brown eyes, bright and polished-looking, that were about as expressionless as pebbles. She was attired in a cheap, black evening dress, cut very low, and about her plump throat was a coral necklace. Her hair was elaborately dressed, and her shoes, although well worn, were tidy. By day, Marie Hamon earned a meagre living for herself in a florist's shop. At night, she added to her earnings in the recognized way of quite a few of the working girls of Paris. And this particular cabaret was one of her hunting grounds. As Marie sat there "making eyes" at the youth in the white burnoose, the man at the next table remarked in French, in an audible and disgusted tone: "Look at that girl there making up to that young nigger. A beastly spectacle, I call it." Before his companion had time to reply the youth was up, his black eyes flashing, and he grasped the Englishman's shoulder in an angry, indignant fashion. "I am no nigger!" he cried. "I'm the Sultan Casim Ammeh." "I don't care a damn who you are so long as you keep your black paws off me!" The youth's hands were not black, but deeply bronzed like his face, which looked darker than it really was against the whiteness of his hood. "Take back that word," he said savagely, "or, by Allah, it shall be wiped out in blood!" He drew his knife. The girls screamed. Excited waiters rushed towards the table. The mixed company stopped dancing and pressed forward to watch what looked like the beginning of a royal row. Such incidents were by no means unusual in the cabaret. Only the Englishman remained calm. He grasped his opponent's wrist quickly. "No, you don't," he said. "You damned niggers seem to think you own the world nowadays." There was a brief scuffle. But the Englishman was big and heavy, and half a dozen waiters were hanging on to the enraged and insulted youth. His knife was wrested from his hand. He was hustled this way and that; and, finally, worsted and smouldering, he retired, to be led to another and more distant table by his female companion. The episode was over in a couple of minutes. Disappointed at the lack of bloodshed, the spectators returned to their dancing. Relieved, the waiters went back to their various spheres. The Englishman seated himself again as if nothing had happened. At a distant table the youth sat and glowered at him. "Who is that man?" he asked presently, pointing a lean forefinger at his late opponent. Marie shrugged her plump shoulders. "I've never seen him here before. He looks to me like an Englishman." With renewed interest the youth studied the distant figure, hate smouldering in his black eyes. So he was one of the nation who had murdered his father! This man who had insulted him. But, for all his hatred of the Englishman, reluctantly he admired his coolness and his clothes. The world had enlarged for Annette Le Breton's son since his first experience with the English. On escaping from Barclay, with the remaining handful of the defunct Sultan's following, he had returned to El-Ammeh, at the age of fourteen its recognised ruler. The boy was not lacking in sense. Defeat at the hands of both British and French made him decide to give up what had been the late Sultan's chief source of income--marauding. With a wisdom beyond his years, Casim Ammeh, as he was now always called, decided to go in for trading; and before many years had passed he saw it was a better paying game than marauding, despite its lack of excitement. Then he extended his operations. There were always caravans coming to his desert city, and a great demand for articles that came from the Europe his mother had told him of. With one or two of his principal merchants he went down to St. Louis, but he did not go as the Sultan Casim Ammeh; that name was too well known to the French Government. Instead, he went under the name his mother used to call him, Raoul Le Breton. And under that name he opened a store in St. Louis. There was a new generation in the town since his real father's day, and the name roused no comment. It was an ordinary French one. In St. Louis there were quite a few half-breed French-Arabs, as the youth supposed himself to be, living and trading under European names. His business ventures were so successful that he opened several more stores at various points between St. Louis and his own capital; but the whereabouts of his own city he did not divulge to strangers. At sixteen it had seemed to the boy that St. Louis was the hub of the universe; but at eighteen a craving that amounted to nostalgia drove him further afield--to Paris. And he went in Arabian garments, for he was intensely proud of his sultanship and the desert kingdom he ruled with undisputed sway. To his surprise, he felt wonderfully at home in his mother's city. It did not feel as strange as St. Louis had felt, but more as if he had once lived there and had forgotten about it. He had been a couple of days in Paris, wandering at will, when on the second evening his wanderings had brought him in contact with Marie Hamon. She was by no means the first of her sort to accost him, but she was the first he had condescended to take any notice of. She had smiled at him as, aloof and haughty, he had stalked along the Boulevard St. Michel, and had fallen into step beside him. He had looked at her in a peculiar manner that was half amusement, half contempt, but he had not shaken her off. She had suggested they should have dinner together, and he had fallen in with her suggestion; not exactly with alacrity, but as if he wanted to study the girl further. For all her plump prettiness and profession, there was a shrewd, sensible air about her. Afterwards, at her instigation, they had repaired to the cabaret. As the youth continued to scowl at the distant Englishman, with the idea of preventing further trouble, Marie tried to get his mind on other matters. "Casim, let's have a dance?" she suggested. "I can afford to pay for hired dancers, so why should I posture for the benefit of others?" he asked scornfully. She tittered. "Well, get me another drink instead, then." He beckoned a waiter and gave a curt order. However, he did not touch the cheap champagne himself. Instead, he kept strictly to coffee. "Have a drop of cognac in it to cheer you up a bit," Marie said. "You make me feel as if I were at a funeral." "I'm a Mohammedan, and strong drink is forbidden." "You are the limit! I shouldn't quarrel with the good things of this life even if I were a Mohammedan." "By my religion women have no souls," he replied in a voice that spoke volumes. But Marie was not easily abashed. "The lack of a soul doesn't trouble me in the least," she responded lightly. "A pretty body is of greater use to a woman any day. Do you think I'm pretty, Casim?" she finished coquettishly. "I shouldn't be with you unless you were," he replied, as if her question were an insult to his taste. For some minutes there was silence. As the girl sipped her champagne she watched her escort in a calculating manner. "You've got lots of money, haven't you?" she said presently. "Not as much as I intend to have," he replied. "But enough to buy me a new frock?" she questioned. "Fifty, if you want them." Marie threw her arms around his neck. "You nice boy!" she cried, kissing him soundly. He resented her attentions, removing her arms in a none too gentle manner. "I object to such displays of affection in public," he said, with an air of ruffled dignity. "Come home with me, then," she suggested. "Home" to Marie was an attic in a poor street. There Casim Ammeh went, not as a victim to her charms, as she imagined, but seeing in her a means to his own end. The next morning as he sat at breakfast with the girl--a meagre repast of black coffee and rolls--from somewhere out of his voluminous robes he produced a string of pearls and dangled it before his hostess. Marie looked at them, her mouth round with surprise, for they were real and worth at least ten thousand francs. "If I give you these, Marie, will you teach me to become a Frenchman?" he asked. "Won't I just!" she cried enthusiastically, and without hesitation continued: "First of all we must get an apartment. And, _mon Dieu!_ yes, you must cut your hair short." The youth wore his hair long, knotted under his hood in the Arab fashion. It was three months before Casim Ammeh left Paris. And he left it in a correctly cut English suit and with his smooth, black hair brushed back over his head. In the spick-and-span young man it would have been difficult to recognise the barbaric youth who had come there knowing nothing of civilised life except what his mother had told him and what he had seen in St. Louis; and, what was more, he felt at ease in his new garments, in spite of having worn burnoose and hood all his life. The day before he left, Marie sat with him in the _salon_ of the pretty flat they had occupied since the day they struck their bargain. And she looked very different, too. Her evening frock was no longer of shabby black. It was one of the several elaborate gowns she now possessed, thanks to the young man. And she no longer wore a string of coral beads about her pretty throat, but the pearl necklace. Although Marie had taken on the youth as a business speculation, within a few days she loved him passionately. She was loath to let her benefactor go, but all her wiles failed to keep him. "When you're back in Africa you won't quite forget your little Marie who taught you to be a man, will you?" she whispered tearfully. Her remarks made him laugh. "I've had women of my own for at least a year before I met you," he replied. It seemed to Marie she had never really known the youth who had come to her a savage and was leaving her looking a finished man of the world. He never talked to her of himself or his affairs. Although kind and generous, he demanded swift obedience, and he treated her always as something infinitely inferior to himself. "Say you love me," she pleaded. "That you'll think of me sometimes." "Love!" he said contemptuously. "I don't love women. I have them for my pleasure. I'm not one of your white men who spend their days whining at some one woman's feet pleading for favours. Women to me are only toys. Good to look upon, if beautiful, but not so good as horses." "Oh, you are cruel!" she said, weeping. "And I thought you loved me." "It is the woman's place to love. There are other things in a man's life." Marie realised she had never had any hold on her protégé. She had been of use to him, and he had paid her well for it, and there, as far as he was concerned, the matter ended. Being sensible, she sat up and dried her tears, gathering consolation from the fact that he had been a good speculation. There would be no immediate need to return to the florist's shop when he had gone. In fact, if she liked to sell the necklace, she could buy a business of her own. "Shall you come to Paris again, Casim?" she asked. "Oh yes, often. It's a good city, full of beautiful women who are easy to buy." But he made a reservation to himself. When he came again he would come under the name his mother used to call him--Raoul Le Breton, and he would come in European clothes. Then the English he hated would not be able to hurl that detestable word "nigger" at him. CHAPTER VIII In a select French boarding-school a girl sat reading a letter. She was about fifteen years old, a slender, lovely child, light and graceful, with a cascade of golden curls reaching to her waist, and wide, purple eyes. Her complexion was perfect. She had a vivid little red mouth, impulsive and generous, and a pink rose on each cheek. On reading the letter, sorrow clouded her face. For it ran:-- "My Dear Little Pansy, When you get this letter I shall be with your mother. I am leaving you the money she would not have. And it was worth having, you will agree, for it will bring you in about £60,000 a year. The only condition I make is that you take the name your mother refused, your own second name. And my one hope is that you will be more successful in love than I was. Your affectionate 'grand-godfather,' Henry Langham." For some minutes Pansy sat brooding on her godfather's end. The poor old boy had been awfully ill for a long time, and now he was dead. She blinked back a couple of tears. Then her thoughts went to the fortune she had inherited. Presently she crossed to the mirror and looked at herself. "No, old girl," she said to her reflection, "your head isn't turned." Then she slipped the letter into her pocket and made straight for her great friend and confidante. To the average eye there was nothing about Miss Grainger to attract a vivid, beautiful girl like Pansy Barclay--Pansy Langham as she would be now. Miss Grainger was middle-aged, grey-haired, thin and depressed-looking: the down-trodden English mistress, with no qualifications except good breeding. She was poor and friendless, and life had gone hard with her, but these facts were sufficient to fill Pansy's heart with a warmth of generous affection and sympathy. The girl's principal thought as she went along was not so much of the millions she had just inherited, but that she had always wanted to do something for Miss Grainger, and now she saw a way of doing it. She entered the room that served the English mistress as bedroom, study and sitting-room, disturbing the latter in the midst of correcting an accumulated pile of exercise books. "What is it, Pansy?" she asked, smiling at her favourite. "Miss Grainger, you'll be pleased to hear I'm a millionaire." The English mistress put down her pen carefully, and then sat staring at the child. "Really, my dear," she said in a bewildered tone, "you have a way of saying the most surprising things in the most matter-of-fact manner. But, since you're saying it, it must be true." "That's a character in itself," Pansy remarked, smiling, a smile that brought to view several bewitching dimples. She produced the letter and handed it to her friend. The English mistress read it through. "Sixty thousand pounds a year!" she exclaimed. "It makes my head reel." "Then yours can't be so firmly screwed on as mine. Mine isn't turned one little bit. I looked at myself in a glass to see." "But what are you going to do with it all?" the governess asked helplessly. "Spend it, of course. I take after my father and never shirk an unpleasant duty," she went on, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "To begin with, you, Miss Grainger, are going to be my companion, and we'll have a yacht and go all round the world together, and see and do everything that can be seen and done." "You'll get married, Pansy," the governess said, looking lovingly at the beautiful flower-like, little face. "Not much! You dear old antiquated thing. I'm not going to be tied by the leg in that fashion." "As the English mistress, I must remind you that 'tied by the leg' is slang." "When you're my companion you'll be talking slang yourself. I'm not so sure I won't make that one of the stipulations," the child went on teasingly. "It'll be such a change for you after thirty years of correcting stupid exercises." "It will be rather," Miss Grainger said wistfully. "And I shall come out at seventeen," Pansy went on. "I must start as early as possible if I'm to spend all that money. I shall write and ask my father if I may come out at seventeen. Do you think he'll refuse?" "No man will ever refuse you anything, Pansy. You're too sweet and good and beautiful." "And rich. Don't forget the rich. That'll be a tremendous draw." Miss Grainger smiled at her favourite. "I hope the man who marries you will pick you for your good heart and generous nature, not your looks and money," she remarked. "Still harping on that old string, Mrs. Noah. Women don't get married nowadays if they can afford to stay single." Then the school dinner-bell ringing sent Pansy from the room, but not before she had given an impetuous hug and kiss to her friend. CHAPTER IX Paris always has a welcome for millionaires. And it always had a specially warm welcome for Raoul Le Breton, the African merchant-prince. Not only was he fabulously rich, but he was young and remarkably good-looking. It was whispered that he had Arab blood in his veins, but he was wealthy enough for the majority to overlook this drawback. Like many modern Frenchmen, he dabbled in "le sport." He was a brilliant tennis player, a worthy opponent at billiards, and he kept a stud of race-horses. There was hardly an actress of any repute and with any pretence to youth and beauty who had not had his patronage at one time or the other. Match-making mothers with marriageable daughters laid snares about his feet. With surprising agility he avoided their traps. None of the daughters proved sufficiently tempting to turn him from the broad, smooth way of gay Parisian bachelorhood to the steep and jagged path of matrimony. Raoul Le Breton was about twenty-five when he paid his sixth visit to Paris. He came now for about three months every year. And he always came in style, with a whole retinue of Arab servants--silent, discreet men who never gossiped about their master. It was whispered also that out in Africa he had a whole harem of his own; moreover, that he was some big chief or the other. In fact, many things were whispered about him, for, on the whole, Paris knew very little except that he was wealthy and wild. His French acquaintances tried to learn more of his doings through the medium of his own private doctor, a stout Frenchman who accompanied the young millionaire to and fro. But Dr. Edouard refused to gossip about his friend and patron. In spite of his success, the young Sultan of El-Ammeh had not forgotten George Barclay. On getting more in touch with civilisation and its ways he had tried to find out the name of the man who was responsible for the death of his supposed father. It was not an easy task. George Barclay had left Gambia five years before Raoul Le Breton set about his investigations. There had been a succession of men since Barclay's time, and the shooting of a native malefactor was not a matter of great note in the annals of a Government. However, eventually Le Breton managed to establish the identity of the man he looked upon as his father's murderer. But to trace George Barclay in England proved an even more difficult task than tracing him in Africa. The Englishman had not stopped long in his country. In search of forgetfulness, he had gone from one place to another, holding posts in various parts of the Empire. The Sultan Casim Ammeh was twenty-five when he heard that Barclay was in the Malay Straits. The news came to him in Paris just when he was setting out for an evening's amusement in company with Dr. Edouard. The letter was brought to him as he stood in dress-suit, opera hat in hand, in his own private sitting-room at the palatial hotel he always patronised when in Paris. On perusing it he turned to his companion, and said, with an air of savage triumph: "Well, Edouard, I've managed to trace my man at last." The doctor knew who the man in question was, for he, Edouard, was the Sultan Casim's one confidant. Rather uneasily he glanced at his patron. He wished the young man would be content with money and the many joys and pleasures it could buy--for Casim Ammeh was no longer a strict Mohammedan--and would not be always hankering after vengeance, a vengeance that might embroil him with England and bring his wild and brilliant career to an abrupt close. "Where is George Barclay?" Edouard asked uneasily. "In the Straits Settlements." The doctor experienced a feeling of intense pleasure on hearing Barclay was in so remote a spot. "It'll be difficult for you to get hold of him there," he remarked, trying to keep out of his voice the relief he was feeling. "He won't stay there for ever. I've waited eleven years for my vengeance. I can go on waiting a little longer, until Fate thinks well to place him in a more accessible position." With a savage expression Le Breton turned to a desk. Sitting down, he wrote to his agents telling them to keep him informed of George Barclay's movements. PART II CHAPTER I The harem in the palace of El-Ammeh led into a large hall with carved doors and tiny arabesque windows, fretted and scrolled, with no one spot big enough to squeeze more than a hand through. Generally speaking, the women of the harem preferred the large hall, where they could gossip among themselves and with their attendant women, to the little rooms that were their own private quarters. But there was one special apartment that they all in turn had striven after and, in turn, had failed to attain. No one in the harem had seen the room except old Sara, and she had plenty of tales to tell about its magnificence. It was a big gilded chamber, with a ceiling like the sky on a desert night, and great golden, jewelled lamps. There was a wonderful bathroom, a fretted gallery that gave a wide view of the desert, a walled garden full of roses, and, above all, a door that led into the Sultan's private suite. The room had had no occupant since the days of the Sultan's mother, the Lady Annette, the first wife and favourite of his father. And Sara had been her special slave and attendant. It could be reached from the harem. At one point behind the silken curtains a narrow stairway led upwards, and ended in a scented, sandalwood door. But the door was always locked, and only the Sultan had the key. It was common harem gossip that in that room he would place the one among his slaves whom he deigned to make his first wife. Although the law allowed him four, and as many slaves as he fancied, so far he had no legal wife. It was strange, considering he was nearly thirty. But, in many ways, he differed from all the previous Sultans. According to old Sara, it was because his mother belonged to quite another race, and had come from a land as remote from El-Ammeh as Paradise, where the women were all white, a land that the Sultan now visited yearly. For that land he was starting to-morrow. He had just been to the harem to say farewell to the half-dozen girls there, departing with promises of new jewels and novelties to please and amuse these toys of his on his return. And now he lingered with his newest slave and favourite, Rayma, the Arab girl he had bought but six weeks ago. [Illustration: He had come to the harem to say farewell.....] Envious glances were cast towards the door behind which the Sultan Casim Ammeh and his new slave, Rayma, took farewell of one another. One girl more than the others watched the door with hurt, angry, jealous eyes. She was about twenty-three, with a full figure, a creamy skin, a profusion of long black curls, and great soft, languid eyes--a half-breed Spanish-Moorish girl of the true odalesque type. Her attire was scanty. A red silk slip draped her from shoulder to knee, held on by ribbon straps; and on her hands and wrists and neck a quantity of barbaric jewelery flashed. "I pray to Allah that on his travels our Sultan will find some woman he loves better than Rayma," she said, spite and jealousy in her soft voice. "No, I don't pray that, Leonora," one of her companions remarked. "For _you_ took him from _me_, and what am I now? Like you, a scent that has lost its savour; for it is but a shred of love that the Lord Casim has now for me. No; I pray may _he_ know what it is to love and be denied, for too easily do women's hearts go to him. And no man values what comes to him cheaply. Our day is done, mine and yours, Leonora, as Rayma's will be when another woman takes his fancy. No, pray as I do, that he may love a woman who has no desire for him, who spurns his love--a woman whose people will not sell her, who is no slave put up for auction, as we were. May his heart ache, as mine has ached. May passion keep him sleepless, with empty arms and craving desire. May love prove to him a mirage that he can see yet never grasp!" Unconscious of these wishes, the Sultan Casim Ammeh and the slave girl Rayma lingered together behind closed doors. The moon shone into the little apartment, showing a big man in a white burnoose, and at his side a girl lay, looking at him with tearful, love-laden eyes. She was about seventeen, with an amber skin and a cloud of straight black hair that reached to her heels. A cloud out from which looked a little oval face, with great black eyes and a small red mouth, a perfect type of Arab beauty. "My Lord Casim, beloved, my heart breaks at the thought of your going," she said tearfully. Smilingly he watched her, caressing her in an indulgent fashion. "But, my desert flower, I shall come back again." "But it is so far. And in that Paris there are so many women. I know, because Sara has told me. And all their arms will be stretched out to keep you there." "No arms have kept me there for longer than three months," he replied. "And mine! Mine are not strong enough to keep you here?" she sobbed. He drew the sobbing little beauty into his embrace, and kissed her tear-stained face. "Tell me, my jewel, what favour can I grant you before I go?" "I want nothing but just to rest upon your heart for ever." With a tender hand he stroked her long black hair, and tried to soothe away the tears; flattering tears, resulting from his coming departure. "Don't go to Paris, Casim, beloved," she whispered. "Stay in El-Ammeh. Paris is so far, and I am so ignorant of all outside of the desert. Ignorant of everything except love and you. Think, my lord, only six weeks have we been together, and now you would go! Only six weeks since my father brought me from the desert to sell me to the Sultan Casim Ammeh. How afraid I was until I saw you. And then I was afraid I might not find favour in your sight. For my heart was yours the moment our eyes met. Only six weeks ago! Casim, don't go," she implored. "Stay with me, for my heart is breaking." "Little one, there is business as well as love," he said gently. "I think of nothing but love." "Love is quite enough for any girl to think of." "And those women in Paris, do they think only of love?" "No; they think of money as well. That's why I prefer you." She slipped her slim arms about his neck, pressing, her slight form against him, kissing him passionately. "Let me live in the gilded chamber until you come back," she whispered, "and then I should feel the most honoured among your slaves." However, he avoided this suggestion. "We'll see about that when I return," he answered with an amused, indulgent air. Then he held the girl closer. "Now, before I go, Rayma, is there nothing you want? Nothing I can do for you?" "There is one thing, my Sultan. Sell Leonora. I hate her. She's a great fat toad, always plotting and planning to steal your heart from me." "I couldn't do that. I'm not quite like your desert men, remember. I can't sell a woman who has once pleased me. But, on my return, I'll find her a nice husband, if that will satisfy you." There was a note in his voice that brooked no argument; and the girl, reared for the harem, was quick to notice it. She gave a sharp glance at her owner. It seemed that a man she did not know stood behind her Sultan, indulgent master as he had proved. A man she had no hold over. CHAPTER II In one of the hotels in the Island of Grand Canary dinner had just been served. Around the door of the large dining-hall the manager, the head waiter and several underlings hovered, with an air of awaiting the arrival of some important personage. Presently two people appeared in the doorway. One was a middle-aged woman with grey hair and a prim expression. She was wearing a plain black silk evening dress, and she had the look of a retired governess. Her companion was of quite another type. She was a slender, graceful girl of medium height, with a mop of short, golden curls dancing round a small, frank face, that gave her the look of some lovely, delicate schoolboy. She wore a simple white silk frock, and her only mark of wealth was a large diamond hanging from a thin platinum chain about her slender neck; a gem in itself worth a fortune. Evidently she was the personage expected. As she appeared the manager went forward to meet her. She smiled at him in a friendly, affable manner. With him at her side, she and her companion went up the big room, towards a specially reserved table, the head-waiter and a little group of others following behind. As she came up the room, a man seated at one of the tables in the center of the room said to his neighbour: "Who is that girl? The whole hotel is falling over itself to wait on her." The speaker was a short, thick-set man, with a red face and fishy eyes. "That's Pansy Langham, the millionairess," his neighbour replied. "She came over in her yacht from Teneriffe this afternoon. Barclay her name was before she came into her money." "A millionaire, is she? That's the second one of the species in Grand Canary then. For there's a French millionaire staying in a villa at the back here. Le Breton, his name is. But what's brought the girl to these parts? There's not much here to attract a woman with money." "She's here for her health, I believe." "Not lungs, surely! She looks healthy enough." "No, she had an accident about a couple of months ago. Some half-mad horse mauled her horribly, all but killed her. I remember reading about the case in the papers. They say she's a very decent sort, in spite of her millions. Gives an awful lot away in charity." As the girl approached the table, the red-faced man screwed an eyeglass into one fishy eye and surveyed her from head to foot. "She's not bad looking," he said in a condescending manner, as if it were his prerogative to criticise every woman who crossed his horizon. "But she's not a patch on the red-haired woman in the villa at the back here. Now, she's what I call a beauty." He did not trouble to lower his voice, and his words reached Pansy. She glanced in his direction and wrinkled her pretty nose, as if she were smelling a bad smell. And with no more notice than that, she passed on to her own table. CHAPTER III Just off the main road between the Port and the city of Las Palmas, Grand Canary, a villa stood. It was situated on a hill; a white, flat-roofed building, set in a pleasant garden. Long windows opened on a lawn surrounded by trees. Out from one of the windows a flood of light streamed and mingled with the silver of the night. The apartment it came from was elaborately furnished, in an ornate French style, with gilded furniture, bevelled mirrors, and satin-covered chairs and lounges. On one of the latter a woman lolled back amongst an array of soft cushions. She was big and voluptuous-looking, with a dead-white skin, a mass of flaming red hair, and eyes green as the emerald necklace she wore. She had on an extremely low-cut, black satin dress, that suited her style and colouring. And she made a striking, if somewhat bizarre, picture. But attractive and unique as she looked, the man sitting with her appeared more interested in the view from the window than in his companion. From there, a glint of moonlit sea showed between the vaguely moving trees; a peaceful stretch that spread away to the purple, misty horizon. He was a big man of about thirty, well groomed and handsome, with smooth black hair, close-clipped moustache, and dark, smouldering eyes that had a latent searching look at the back of them. He was in evening attire, with black pearl studs in his pleated dress shirt. For some time the two had been sitting in silence; the man's gaze on the sea; the woman's on the man, in a hungry, anxious manner. "You've got one of your restless moods on to-night, Raoul," she said presently. "I get them frequently nowadays. Nothing ever satisfies me for long." She smiled at him, a soft, slow smile. "Yet I have satisfied you longer than most, for you are still here with me." "It's not you so much, Lucille, as business that keeps me here." "I believe you have no heart at all," she cried, a catch of pain in her voice. "You look upon all women as animals." "You are a most handsome animal, you must agree," he replied. "You talk as if you'd bought me." "I don't know that I ever put it quite so crudely as that." "Put it as crudely as you like," she cried in a sudden gust of temper. "You have taken all from me and given me nothing in return." He made no reply. In a slightly amused manner his glance rested on her emerald necklace. "You may look," she went on passionately. "But I want more than gifts. I want love, not just to be the creature of your passions." "Then you want too much. There's no such thing as love between men and women. There's only passion." "You are cruel," she moaned. "Cruel! Merely because I refuse to be enslaved by any one woman, eaten up in mind and body and soul, as some of the men I know are? I wasn't brought up to look upon women as superior beings, and I've never met one yet to make me want to change my sentiments. They are here for my convenience and pleasure, and nothing more." There was silence again. Lucille sighed. She knew she had no hold over him other than her sex, and never had had. Heroics, temper and entreaties had no effect on him whatsoever; he remained always unmoved and indifferent. With a shrug she picked out a chocolate from a large box at her side. Then she changed the conversation. "What's the business, Raoul? I'd no idea you had any here. I thought ours was a pleasure trip, purely--or impurely." "The business is strictly private," he replied, a savage note in his voice. A month before, on leaving Paris, when Le Breton had asked Lucille Lemesurier, the actress, to accompany him on his yacht and spend a week or so in Grand Canary, it had been for pleasure solely. But a few days ago a letter had reached him. A letter to the effect that his enemy, now Sir George Barclay, had been appointed governor of Gambia. The Sultan Casim Ammeh was waiting in Grand Canary until certain that his man was _en route_ for his new post. CHAPTER IV On the balcony of her bedroom Pansy Langham stood, slim and boyish-looking in a suit of silk pyjamas. Beneath, the hotel grounds spread, running down to the shore. Beyond, the sea stretched, a silver mirror, away to the sparkling, frosty mist of the horizon. In the milky sky the moon soared, a molten globe, touching the drooping palms and making their quivering fronds look like silver fountains. A little line of waves lapped murmurously on the shore, in a running ridge of white fire. The stone wall edging the garden was turned into marble. Here and there across the beach the taller trees threw thick, ebony shadows. On the whole expanse of silvered sea, only one mark showed like a black dot in the distance. Pansy had seen the mark when it had been much nearer the shore; a man's dark head. He had swum out and out, away into the mist and moonlight. It was long after midnight. In the whole white world there was no sign of life except that dark head and the girl on the balcony who was watching the swimmer. The black dot grew bigger, as, with powerful overhand strokes, the man made his way shorewards. When about two hundred yards away from the beach the strong ease of his limbs altered suddenly. They grew contorted. He threw up his arms, and a moment later vanished completely. Pansy gave a quick gasp of alarm. But the man appeared again, trying to float, as a level-headed swimmer does when cramps seize him, in order to get air between the spasms that send him writhing under water; a hopeless task usually, unless aid is quickly forthcoming. For just one second Pansy watched with horror and distress on her face. Then she turned sharply and vanished into her bedroom. A moment or so later she was out of the hotel and running swiftly through the silent garden towards the shore. To Le Breton out there with the water choking his powerful lungs, gasping and fighting for his life against a death that only his own nerve and wit kept at bay, that struggle seemed an eternity. All at once, he was caught and held from behind, just on the surface of the water; a slight support, but sufficient to keep him from going under when the spasms were on. Unlike the average swimmer in difficulties, he did not snatch at his unseen rescuer. For all his dire straits he had the presence of mind to let his preserver alone. For another ten minutes or more the attack lasted. Then his muscles unknotted and strength came back to his limbs. He turned himself over to see who had come to his aid. Out of the misty moonlit sea a young face looked at him from under a mop of short curls. "You didn't come a moment too soon, my boy," he said. There was a tired look about Pansy, but that did not prevent her dimpling in an effort not to smile. And to hide her mirth she dived suddenly and struck out towards the land. Le Breton struck out too. He reached the shore first. Pansy, however, did not go in his direction. She turned off and landed where the shadows were the thickest. From where the man stood, he saw what looked to be a slim, fragile boy of about fourteen, who staggered slightly with fatigue as he made towards the most shadowed pair of steps leading into the hotel grounds. Quickly Le Breton went towards his rescuer, with the idea of lending a hand, for it looked as if the boy were thoroughly worn out. By the time he reached her Pansy was leaning against the wall under cover of the thickest shadows. "I'm afraid you've over-exerted yourself on my account," he said in a solicitous way. "I don't usually get knocked out so quickly," she replied. "But I had a nasty accident some weeks ago, and I've not quite recovered yet." The answer was in French, as fluent and Parisian as his own. "You must let me help you back to the hotel," he said. "Oh no, it's not necessary. I shall be all right in a moment." "What you need, my boy, is a dose of brandy," he remarked. "That would soon put you right." Pansy put her hand to her mouth to hide her smiles. Her short hair, pyjamas, and the shadows had deceived him completely. "It wouldn't be a bad idea," she replied; "but I don't happen to have any." "Ring for some, then, when you get back to the hotel." "I wouldn't dream of disturbing people at this hour of the night," she said in an indignant tone of voice. "What else are the servants there for?" he asked in a surprised and peremptory way. "They're not there for me to root out of bed at two o'clock in the morning." He laughed in an amused manner. "I'm not so considerate of menials as you appear to be. But tell me the number of your room and I'll bring you some." There was a brief pause. Out from the shadows Pansy scanned the man. She could not see much, except that he was big and of splendid proportions. But he had a well-bred air, and his deep voice, if imperious, was pleasant and cultured. Then her eyes started to sparkle with mischief. "My room is number three on the first floor," she said. "Don't knock; come straight in. I'll leave the door ajar. I don't want to disturb my neighbours with my midnight prowls." "Very well. I'll be there in ten minutes or so," They parted company, Le Breton going along the shore, Pansy up the shadowed steps. On reaching her own room she switched on the light. Slipping off her sodden garments, she dried herself quickly and put on a low-necked, short-sleeved, silk nightgown embroidered with purple pansies. Giving a quick, vigorous rub to her curls, she opened the door an inch or so. Then she skipped into bed and sat there, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, delighted with the surprise she had prepared for the man. Unaware of what was in store for him, Le Breton returned to the hotel. Knowing the place well, he made his way noiselessly along the dim, deserted corridor towards a door that stood slightly ajar, letting out a sharp knife of light. He was in shirt and trousers, and in his hand he carried a small jewelled flask. Without any preamble he went into the room. The apartment he entered was a sumptuous one to average eyes, the best the hotel boasted. On the wide dressing-table was a litter of silver toilet appointments, each with a pansy in purple enamel on it. Le Breton did not give the room a glance. He had eyes for nothing but the figure sitting up in bed. A figure no longer in pyjamas--they lay in a wet heap in the middle of the floor--but in a pretty nightgown; and from beneath a flood of golden curls wide, purple eyes looked at him, sparkling with innocent mischief. It was no boy who had come to his assistance, but a girl! A lovely girl with a full, perfect mouth, vividly red, a milk-white skin and cheeks where roses bloomed. He backed slightly and locked the door, as if the situation were one he was quite accustomed to and equal to dealing with. "There's no need to lock the door," Pansy said. "It's on your account, not mine. A little incident of this sort won't damage my reputation." "I'd forgotten about my reputation," she said, a note of concern in her voice. "I only thought about giving you a surprise." "It is. A most delightful one, too. In fact, I don't think I've ever experienced anything quite so delightful and unexpected," he responded drily. He crossed to the bed, and stood looking at the girl with a critical, appreciative air. And Pansy looked at him with candid, friendly gaze, taking stock of him equally. He struck her as being remarkably good-looking, but his expression was too arrogant, his mouth too hard; it even had a suspicion of cruelty. He had an air, too, of having ridden rough-shod over people all his days. In spite of his well-groomed, well-bred appearance, there was a suggestion of the wild about him, as if he had never been properly broken in. There was a brief silence as the two surveyed one another. Le Breton was the first to speak, and his remark was of a critical nature. "Why do you wear your hair short? It would suit you far better long, as a woman's hair ought to be." "I like it short. It's less trouble." There was a note in her voice as if his or any man's opinion about her appearance did not worry her in the least; an air of thorough independence, out of keeping with her years, that he was quick to notice. "Do you always do as you like?" he asked. "Always. It's an excellent habit to cultivate, and one you've cultivated to the fullest by the look of you, since criticism is the order of the day," she replied. Le Breton thought of the desert kingdom he had ruled with undisputed sway for sixteen years. "I dare say I do as I like more than most people you've come across," he answered with emphasis. Pansy dimpled. There was an air about her visitor as if he expected and were accustomed to people standing in awe of him. However, he did not inspire her with this feeling, only with a desire to tease and plague him; he was so big and masterful looking, as if he thought himself "monarch of all he surveyed," even herself, at that moment. "Are you in the habit of asking strange men to your bedroom?" he asked suddenly. "If I remember rightly, you volunteered to come." "And now I'm here, what am I supposed to do?" "To be _most_ surprised. To give me a drink of brandy; and then go, nicely and quietly, like a good 'boy.'" An amused look crossed Le Breton's face. Innocent mischief had not come into his life before. "I am most surprised," he said. "I flattered myself I could tell a woman anywhere." "I'm not a woman, not until next year. So that must account for your deplorable mistake." "You look even younger than twenty. Are you English or American?" "Why can't I have a choice of being either French or Russian or Italian or Spanish or German?" "Only an English or an American girl would play this sort of a trick. Not that I've had any dealings with either. I'd like to hear you were American." "What's wrong with being English?" "I dislike and despise the English," he replied, a latent note of savagery in his deep voice. "Then you'll have to dislike and despise me, because I'm one of them." Pansy stretched out her hand. The action brought into view a network of disfiguring red ridges and scars on her upper arm, marring an otherwise perfect limb. "Please give me a drink," she finished. The excitement of the surprise she had prepared was dying down, leaving her looking what she really was--worn out with the exertion of saving him. Crossing to the wash-stand, Le Breton picked up a glass. Pouring a small dose of brandy into it, he added the requisite water and brought it back to the girl. Then he seated himself on the bedside, watching her as she drank it. "What a nasty scar you have on your arm," he remarked, is if any flaw on such perfection annoyed him. "I've worse scars here and here," she replied, touching her side and thigh; "and they don't look at all pretty. 'The Sultan' did them." He started slightly. "The Sultan! What Sultan?" "A brown Sultan. A very nice Sultan, but we understand one another now." Le Breton took the girl's arm into his grip with the light, firm, careful touch of a man who is used to handling women. "They're the marks of a horse's teeth," he remarked after a brief survey. With an air of relief, Pansy held the empty glass towards him. "Thank goodness that's finished. Now, with your permission, I'll go to sleep." He took the glass, placing it on a table near; but he did not move from his seat on the bedside. "You must tell me your name," he said. "You'll find out quite soon enough without my telling you. It's not at all necessary for me to advertise myself nowadays." "Won't you tell me?" he asked in a cajoling tone. Pansy shook her head. "Then I must find a name for you," he said. "A flower name would suit you admirably. Let me see, what do you call the flower in English?" He hesitated. "Pansy," he finished, after a moment's thought. "But why 'Pansy' specially?" she asked, smiling at him. "Why not Lily or Rose or May, since I'm to be given a stupid flower name?" "There are pansies in your eyes, on your nightgown, on the appointments of your dressing-table, on your handkerchief here." With a deeply bronzed hand he touched a scrap of embroidered muslin that peeped out from beneath her pillow and which had a pansy worked on it in one corner. Pansy laughed, amused at his perception. "Now, I'm too tired to entertain you any longer," she said. "Good night, and thank you for bringing the brandy." Le Breton was not accustomed to being dismissed when he was prepared to stay.' "Are you really anxious to get rid of me?" he asked. "Most anxious. I'm dying to go to sleep." In a reluctant manner he got to his feet. Stooping over the bed, he gave a caressing pat to the tired, small face. "Good night, Pansy, little flower," he said softly. "I'll go if you really want me to, but I'm not in the habit of going unless _I_ want to." "What an autocrat you sound! And please--don't forget my reputation. I can't afford to lose it so early in life." There was anxiety in the girl's voice, for all her light tone. "Your reputation will be quite safe with me," he said. He stood for a moment watching her, an amused expression lurking in his dark, fiery eyes. Then he turned and, switching off the light, went noiselessly from the room. It was not until he had gone that Pansy recollected that he had touched her twice and she had not minded or reproved him, and usually she very strongly resented being touched by men. And it was not until Le Breton reached his villa that he remembered the girl had not even troubled to ask his name. In fact, once the trick had been played, her only desire had been to get him out of the room. CHAPTER V In one of the private sitting-rooms of the hotel, Miss Grainger was lolling back in a comfortable wicker chair reading a newspaper. The door opening made her look round. A slim, boyish figure entered the room, clad in a well-cut white riding suit, the neatest of brown boots and leggings, and a white felt hat pulled well on to a mop of curls. "You're late starting this morning, Pansy." "I am. But--last night I saved a man's life." "Saved a man's life! Really, my dear, what a way you have of springing surprises on one." Teasingly Pansy glanced at her old governess. "Miss Grainger, I must remind you that 'springing surprises' is slang." Miss Grainger ignored the reprimand. "But what man did you save, and how did you save him?" she asked in a slightly bewildered manner. "I forgot to ask his name. I fished him out of the sea. He had cramps." "But he might have dragged you under!" her companion said in a horrified voice. "I should have thought that last experience of yours with that awful horse would have taught you not to go diving headlong into danger." "'The Sultan' isn't awful. You know it was all a mistake on his part. Besides, nothing will keep me from 'diving headlong into danger,' as you call it, when I see things being hurt. It's all part of my silly, impetuous nature." "Well, I hope the man was grateful." "He never even thanked me." Such gross ingratitude left Miss Grainger aghast. "My dear!" she exclaimed. "He thought I was a boy, and when he found I was a girl he was too astonished to remember his manners," Pansy explained. "But don't say anything about it to anybody. You know I hate a fuss." "What was he like?" "Big and dark and awfully good-looking, with an arrogant, high-handed manner. He badly needed taking down a peg or two." "Quite different from Captain Cameron," Miss Grainger suggested. "Oh, quite. Bob's a kid beside him." There was a brief pause. Miss Grainger glanced at the girl. "Do you know, Pansy, I'm sorry for Captain Cameron." "So am I," the girl replied, a touch of distress in her voice. "But my sorrow refuses to blossom into love." "He's a very good sort." "I know; but then I'm not given to falling in love." "Some day you'll find yourself in love before you know it." Pansy smiled at her old governess in a merry, whole-hearted fashion. "What a persistent bird of ill-omen you are!" she said. Then she glanced at the clock. "Now I'm off. I shan't be back for lunch. So-long," she finished. She went, leaving Miss Grainger with the feeling of a fresh, sweet breeze having been wafted through the room. CHAPTER VI In the large palm-decked patio of the hotel, Le Breton sat sipping coffee as he went through the newspapers solicitous waiters had placed on a table at his elbow. It was not often he came to the hotel, but when he did the whole staff was at his disposal, for he scattered largess with a liberal hand. He had lunched there, his gaze wandering over the crowded dining-room as if in search of someone; and afterwards he had stayed on. It was now about three in the afternoon, an hour when the patio was practically deserted. As he sat there reading, Pansy entered the big hall, still in breeches and leggings, just as she had returned from her ride. She would have passed through the patio without coming within his vision, except that something about the smooth black head was familiar. So she changed her route and went in Le Breton's direction instead. "Have you gotten over your disappointment?" she asked. In an unperturbed manner he looked round. Then he got to his feet leisurely, surveying the slim, boyish figure with disapproval. Pansy stood with her hands deep in her pockets, smiling at him, a smile that deepened under his lack of appreciation of her attire. "What disappointment?" he asked. "Of finding I was a girl you had to be polite to instead of a boy you could bully." "I'm inclined to go back to my first impression," he said. "Don't you like my get-up?" "Decidedly I do not. Why don't you wear something feminine? Not go about masquerading as a man." Adverse criticism rarely came Pansy's way. She laughed. "What a back number you are! All women ride in breeches nowadays. But, since you don't approve of me, come along and see if you like 'The Sultan' any better. You were most interested in his mark and seal." There was an air about her as if she never expected to be gainsaid if she felt like favouring a man, for she turned at once and led the way towards the main entrance. Picking up his hat, Le Breton followed. Once outside, he said: "I've not yet thanked you for saving my life." "I couldn't do less than lend a hand," she replied with a casual air. "It was a risky thing to do. I might have dragged you under." "Well, you didn't. And we're neither of us any the worse for the little adventure." "I hope we shall be all the better. That we shall be excellent friends," he replied. Then he drew a leather case from his pocket and held it towards her. "I've brought you a little memento," he finished. With inquisitive hands Pansy took the case and snapped it open. Inside was a string of pearls worth at least £500. He watched the girl as she opened the case, but none of the coos of delight and surprise at his generosity, that he expected and was accustomed to under such circumstances, were forthcoming. Instead, she closed the case and handed it back to him. "It's very pretty, and very kind of you to think of it," she said. "But I couldn't keep it." To have his gift thrust back on him was the last thing Le Breton was prepared for or desired. "Why not?" he asked abruptly. "I never take presents from men, but I appreciate your kindness all the same." He glanced at her, a peculiar look at the back of his eyes. To get off the topic Pansy hurried forward. From a building close at hand there came a gentle whinny. "That's 'The Sultan,'" she remarked. "He hears me coming." When the stables came into view, over the open door of a box a long brown head and neck were seen stretched towards the approaching girl. "I'm going to let him out," she said; "but you mustn't come too close. He hates strangers; and so should I if I'd been through the hell he's been through." Le Breton laughed, as if anyone, more especially the slim girl with him, telling him to be careful of anything in the shape of a horse had its intensely funny side. As Pansy opened the door his glance ran swiftly over the animal. It was a huge, gaunt beast, a chestnut, with wild, roving eyes; a great, vicious-looking creature, well on in years and undoubtedly an old race-horse, for speed was written all over it. And on it, too, were scars and weals that spoke of past ill-treatment. Pansy kissed its soft nose, and patted and stroked it and pulled its ears; and the great animal fawned on her. Then she led it out, keeping a tight grip on its mane. For it bared its teeth at Le Breton, and stood shivering and expectant, as if suspecting every man's hand to be against it. He, however, ignored its attentions and came closer. But it swung round and lashed at him with iron heels. "Oh, do be careful! Don't come so close," Pansy cried. In spite of its snarls and the iron hoofs, she kept her grip on its mane. But neither teeth nor hoofs, were in her direction. Ignoring her entreaties, Le Breton came closer, all the time talking to the horse gently in a strange language. The animal seemed to recognize a friend. It quietened down suddenly, and stretched a long neck in his direction. Still talking, he patted and stroked it. The horse submitted to his attentions, and before many moments had passed was rubbing its nose against him. All interest, Pansy watched the two make friends. "What are you saying to him?" she asked. "Usually he won't let a stranger near him." "I was talking to him in the language all race-horses understand--Arabic," he replied. "But how did you come by such a brute?" The animal was of the type only the most hardened of stable-men could handle; the very last horse for a girl to ride. "I dropped across him quite by accident." Le Breton thought of the scars he had seen on the girl's arm, and he had heard there were others and worse beyond his view. "I should say it was 'by accident,'" he remarked drily. "I'd like to hear the story." Pansy patted the big horse fondly. "We met in a London slum," she said. "I happened to be passing a stable yard when I heard a noise like a horse being hurt or frightened, and men laughing. So I opened the gate and went in. There was poor old Sultan tied up in one corner and half a dozen roughs baiting him, all the time taking good care not to get within his reach, for he was almost mad with terror and rage and ill-treatment. I told them what I thought, and in the telling I got too close to 'The Sultan,' and he grabbed me by the arm. In ten minutes he had made such a mess of me that it took a month to patch me up. And the men were such cowards that they never tried to rescue me. It was 'The Sultan' himself who seemed to realise he'd set on his best friend, for he stopped chewing me, and stood sniffing at me, and let me crawl away. And I didn't remember anything more until I found myself back home. Then I remembered the poor horse left to the mercy of those cruel wretches; and I sent someone along to buy him and take him away from his awful surroundings. It was so obvious he had known better days, although he had sunk right down to dragging some East End coal higgler's cart. The first time I was allowed out I went to his paddock and had a look at him. And I'm sure he knew me. He stretched his long neck over the gate and sniffed and snuffed at me and seemed quite conscience-stricken. At the end of a fortnight I was on his back, and now I take him everywhere I go, as he gets worried if he doesn't see me about. He can't believe his awful days are over unless I'm here to reassure him." As Pansy told the tale she leant against the big horse; and she told it as if her own hurts were nothing. "And you took him into your favour after he had treated you so abominably!" Le Breton said. "I couldn't be hard on him for what was the result of his awful surroundings." "You are very magnanimous." Pansy smiled. "You'll forgive me for not accepting that pretty necklace, won't you?" she asked. "Some day, when we know each other better, you'll honour me by accepting it," he said. He spoke to the girl now as if she were his equal, not just some pretty toy he happened to have fancied. "I never take anything from men--except perhaps a few flowers." There was a subtle contempt for his sex in her voice which Le Breton was quick to note. "So you despise men?" "Not that exactly, but I've had rather an overdose of them. Since I've been here, Sultan and I go off early every morning usually, and are miles away before there are any men about to bother us." With this Pansy turned and led the horse back to its box. "Now," she said, when this was done, "I mustn't keep you. Good-bye, and I'm glad you're none the worse for last night." Again Le Breton was dismissed when he would have lingered. And on this second meeting she still had not troubled to ask his name. There was a curious glint in his eyes as they rested on the slim, white, indifferent figure of the girl who was making her way back to the hotel without a further glance in his direction. CHAPTER VII At six o'clock in the morning the road that joins the port and the city of Las Palmas shows very little sign of the peaceful English invasion. It is given over to the Islanders. To peasant women with baskets of produce on their heads; to men driving donkeys laden with fruit and vegetables, and creaking bullock carts. The early morning was Pansy's favourite time; the world was a place of dew and brightness with the sun glinting gold on sandy hills and air that sparkled like champagne. She trotted along on her big horse towards the white city, its flat roofs, low houses and palms giving it an oriental aspect. Biding through the town, she crossed a wide bridge and went upwards through a grove of palms, past banana gardens, into a deserted world, with a blue sky overhead and an endless stretch of sea behind. As she mounted higher, the hill grew vine-clad, and great ragged eucalyptus trees stood in tatters by the roadside. Here and there was a stunted pine, the deep green of a walnut tree, a clump of bamboo, a palm and occasionally, a great patch of prickly cacti, whose flaming flowers stood out red against a dazzling day. She rode without spurs or whip, when necessary urging her horse with hand and voice only. A village was reached, where black-browed men in slouch hats and blanket cloaks lounged in groups, smoking and gossiping, and swarthy women with bright handkerchiefs around their heads stared at the girl astride the big horse. In the dust of the road a little group of half-clad, bare-footed children dragged a trio of unfortunate lizards along by strings around their necks, and screamed with delight at the writhings of the tortured reptiles. The sight brought a look of distress to Pansy's face. Reining in her horse, she slipped of and went towards the group. In indifferent Spanish she gave a brief lecture on cruelty. There was a sprinkling of small coins, and the lizards changed owners. Pansy stooped. Loosening the strings from their soft throats, she picked them out of the dust. They were pretty, harmless little things, each about eighteen inches long and bright green in colour, that hung limp in her gentle hands, and looked at her with tortured eyes. Holding them carefully, she went back to her horse, and with the reins over her arm, made her way through the village. Once well out of sight of the place, she seated herself on a bank at the side of the road, and laid the three limp little forms on a warm, flat, sunny rock. Then she tried to coax them back to life and their normal state of bright friskiness. As she sat rubbing, with a gentle forefinger, their soft, panting throats, crooning over them with pitying words, too intent on her task to notice what was going on around her, a deep voice said with an unexpectedness that made her jump: "They'll do exactly the same with the next lizards they catch." She looked round quickly. In the middle of the road, mounted on a huge black horse, was the man whose life she had saved. Pansy's gaze rested on him for a moment before she replied. He made such a picture on the black horse, with his strong, sunburnt face and well-cut khaki riding suit; the most perfect combination of horse and man she had ever seen. "I know they will," she said. "But still, I've done my best for these three." "Do you always try to do your best for everything that comes your way, Pansy?" he asked tenderly. "Only a few privileged people are allowed to call me 'Pansy,'" she said tartly. "What else can I call you, since you refuse to tell me your name?" "You mean to say you haven't found out yet?" she exclaimed. "I never gossip," he replied in a haughty tone. "I don't know yours," she answered, "so we're what is called in English 'quits.'" "What exactly does 'quits' mean? I don't know much English." As Pansy petted the lizards she explained the meaning of the word. During the explanation one of her protégés recovered, and darted off in a most thankless manner into a crevice in the rocks. "My name is Le Breton," he said when he had grasped her meaning. "Raoul Le Breton." Pansy stared at him. She had surprised him on the occasion of their first meeting, but he had turned the tables on her. During her stay in Teneriffe she had heard of Raoul Le Breton. He was a French millionaire, an African merchant prince, so rumour said. She had had a feeling that he had followed her that morning, and she was inclined to be angry about it. Now she saw that if he sought her out, it was not from mercenary motives, since he was quite as wealthy as she was. What was more he had no idea who she was. "I'm always interested in millionaires," she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "All women are," he responded grimly. "But you're not the only millionaire in the islands," she remarked. "So I've gathered. There is, or was, one here quite recently. An Englishwoman of the name of Langham. I detest women with money. They are invariably ugly and conceited." Pansy laughed--a ripple of sheer enjoyment. "Perhaps their independence annoys you," she suggested. "I believe you're what is known as the 'masterful' type." With that, her attention went back to the lizards. Dismounting, Le Breton came to her side. "You speak French remarkably well," he commented, as the moments passed and no notice was taken of him. "I was educated in Paris." She glanced at him, her eyes brimming with mischief, and, as she glanced, another of her protégés frisked thanklessly away. "Wouldn't you like to know my name?" she asked. "At present it's sufficient that you are 'Pansy.' 'Heart's Ease,' don't you say in English?" "I wish I could ease this one poor little beast," she said, touching the remaining lizard. "But I fear it's hurt beyond redemption." Stooping he picked up the little reptile and examined it. It hung limp in his grasp; a hopeless case. "The best thing to do with it is to kill it," he commented. "Oh, I couldn't," she said quickly. But it appeared he could. He went some distance away from the girl and placed the lizard on a flat rock. In a moment he had ground all tortured life out of it with his heel. "Thank you," she said gratefully. "I knew it was suffering, but I couldn't have done that to save my life. As a reward, will you come and have breakfast with me?" "There's nothing I should like better," he answered. Pansy got to her feet. He helped her to mount. Then he rode at her side up the hill. "I love the clear heights," she remarked presently. "I don't know much about them. The miry depths are more in my line," he replied. Critically she surveyed him. "You don't look so specially muddy." "No? What do I look like--to you?" he asked, a caressing note in his voice. "Very proud, very passionate, very strong, and as if you could be cruel." "Then I can't look very attractive," he said, smiling slightly. "Being proud is all right, so long as it makes you too proud to do mean things." "And what about the passionate?" he asked, "since you're making excuses for me. "I don't know anything about it." "Well, what about my being strong then?" "I don't like men unless they are." "And the cruelty?" "I hate it." "Life sometimes combines to make people cruel who otherwise might not be," he remarked, as if unaccustomed to finding excuses for himself. "You can't judge a person fairly until you know all that has gone to form their character." Pansy patted her gaunt steed. "I know that," she said, "that's why I stuck to 'The Sultan' when my friends tried to persuade me to have him shot. There's a lot in his life that I don't know. These marks tell me that." She pointed to the various old scars on the animal. "Now you shall see what 'The Sultan' can do," she went on. "I'll race you to the farm over there, where breakfast is waiting," she finished, pointing to a green patch away in the distance. A touch of her spurless heel sent the gaunt beast flying along the dusty, deserted road, in a long, loping gallop that grew more and more rapid, egged on by the sound of another horse persistently at his heels. Pansy had not expected that her escort would be able to keep up with her. No horse she had met could keep pace with her protégé. At the end of half a mile she had been prepared to rein up and wait for Le Breton. But at the end of a mile he was a length behind her. And at the end of two he was there just the same. Pansy tired before either the man or the horses. "Oh!" she panted, as Le Breton drew up beside her. "I wasn't trained as a jockey." "You didn't get away from me quite so easily as you expected," he remarked with curious emphasis. "I didn't know there was a horse in the Islands to touch 'The Sultan,' in spite of his years." "This horse I'm on has won several races in Paris. And you challenged me, Pansy, without pausing to consider what you might be let in for," he said, watching her in a fierce, fond manner. "I always leap before I look. It's my besetting sin," she replied. Then she pointed to a side track, leading to a low building, half white-washed mud, half timber. "That's the way to my farm," she said. "But I don't know that my breakfast will appeal to millionaires." "Don't thrust that down my throat just now," he answered. "I want to see life from your point of view." The farm they were approaching was a tiny place, with a spreading garden where orange and fig trees grew. In one corner a little summer-house stood, wreathed with red roses, that gave a wide view of the island and a glimpse of the sea. Evidently Pansy was expected. A coarse white cloth was spread on the table in the summer-house, and it was set with thick crockery and leaden-looking forks and spoons. Leaving Le Breton to attend to the horses, she made her way to the tiny homestead, to announce her presence and the fact of a guest. Then she passed on towards the summer-house. Tossing her hat on a seat, she sat with the light glinting on her golden curls, her elbows on the table, watching the scene dreamily, in a frame of red roses. This vision of her greeted Le Breton as he turned the corner, bringing a hungry glint to his eyes. Breakfast proved a simple repast. There was a thick jug full of coffee, another of milk, a large omelet, a dish of fruit, rolls, butter and honey. "Now," she said when it was set before them, "how do you like your coffee?" "As it should be according to the orientals--black as sin, hot as hell, sweet as--love," he finished, lingering over the word. She poured his out, and handed it to him, black as he desired. "I can get on very well without either the sin or the love," she remarked as she helped herself to a cup that was mostly milk, and with no sugar in it. "I thought all girls liked sweet things and lived for love," he said as he set about serving the omelet. "There's a lot more in life for women nowadays than love." "Being in love is a woman's normal condition," he said in a forcible, dogmatic manner. Pansy smiled. "I always thought you had come out of the Ark, and now I'm sure of it. You've got such antiquated, early Victorian ideas about women. They mustn't wear knickers. They must always be yearning after some mere male. Very flattering to him, I'm sure," she finished, wrinkling a disdainful nose. Le Breton's gaze rested on the vivid, beautiful little face, with the full, perfect, generous mouth, telling of an unselfish, disinterested nature that would love swiftly and deeply. "Some day you'll find yourself in love before you know it," he commented. "So other people have said. And it makes me horribly nervous at times. Like a blind man walking on the edge of a precipice." "So long as you fell in love with a man who could appreciate you, it would be all right,--a man sufficiently versed in women to know you have qualities beyond your beauty to recommend you." With some surprise Pansy glanced at him. A soft heart lay beneath her light manner. Quite half her income was spent for the benefit of others. She wondered how he knew about these "qualities," considering their brief acquaintance. And she wondered, too, why she was sitting there discussing love with him; a subject she never would let any man approach, if it could be avoided. She put it down to the fact that her identity was unknown to him, and she could talk to him freely, knowing her millions were no temptation. "One thing," she said mischievously, "money will never attract me. I've no expensive tastes. I like views and flowers and sunsets. Moons and stars and seas and sago pudding. Horses and chocolates and--my own way. All things that don't require a tremendous income." There was a brief silence. In a calculating manner Le Breton watched her. She was a new type to him; a girl who could not be approached in the way most women could be--by the easy route of costly presents. The air was heavy with the scent of roses. In the distance a guitar was playing; a throb of melody, faint and seductive, that fed the craving in the man's heart. Pansy glanced at him. "How quiet you are all at once. What are you thinking about?" "Ways and means," he replied, smiling slightly. "I thought only hard-up people were troubled in that way." "The trouble with me now is that I want something which I fear can't be bought with money." "What an unpleasant position for a millionaire to be in. Still, it makes you 'realise your limitations,' as an old governess of mine used to say." She paused for a moment, watching him with an air of subtle mockery. "And, Mr. Le Breton, it won't do you any harm to have to go without a few of the things you want. There's a look about you as if you always had things too much your own way." "I'm not so sure yet that I'm going to do without it. Fortunately I have two other courses left open to me--persuasion and power," he replied. "Power! I thought that was the prerogative of kings." Le Breton said nothing. He knew if this English girl had any idea who he was, she would not be sitting there talking to him so freely. Although he was the Sultan of El-Ammeh, in the eyes of her nation he was a "nigger." There was a further silence which Pansy broke. "What made you swim out all those miles the other night?" she asked. "I get moods when I want to lose the earth and find a heaven to my own liking." "What sort of heaven would that be?" "Where there would be only one houri, and she all-sufficing." "A houri? Why that's a sort of Mohammedan angel-woman." Evidently Le Breton was in a confessional mood, for he said: "Nowadays I often wonder what use my life is. There's no pleasure in it except, perhaps--women." "So long as it's 'women,' it's all right. The trouble starts when it comes to--'woman.'" These words from the innocent girl's lips made him laugh. "Who told you that?" he asked. "Captain Cameron. He likes to pose as an authority on such subjects." "And who is Captain Cameron?" There was a suspicion of jealousy in Le Breton's voice. "At present he's possessed with a demon of tennis. But when the devil has been cast out, he's my father's secretary." "And how can the devil be cast out?" "There's no really permanent cure, but it can be assuaged _pro tem_, if he meets someone who can beat him. In Teneriffe, he carried all before him. And he's coming over here to-morrow to beat all the local champions. He's one of the few people I really like. I've known him all my life." These remarks of hers had the effect of reducing Le Breton to silence again. CHAPTER VIII In the library of the villa, Le Breton sat alone. The hour was late, getting on to midnight. He was stretched in a deep chair smoking, his gaze fixed on a desk close by, on which was a wide, shallow, crystal bowl full of water where half a dozen purple pansies floated. As he sat there indulging in some dream of his own, a door opened and he looked round sharply, by no means pleased at being roused from his reverie. The room was his special sanctum; no one was supposed to enter without his permission. In the doorway Lucille stood, in a foamy white dressing-gown, her wealth of red hair in two thick ropes down her back. On seeing her, a look of suppressed annoyance crossed his face. "What is it?" he asked in a none too cordial tone. She crossed to his side, and stood looking down at him anxiously. "What has happened to you the last two days?" she asked. "Happened to me! What do you mean?" "You've been so very indifferent." "Was I ever particularly effusive?" She laid her hand on his sleeve with a lingering, caressing touch. "I see nothing of you now except at meals," she said. With an impatient gesture he drew his arm away. "I'm not always in the mood for women," he said coldly. "Perhaps it would be nearer the truth if you said some other woman has taken your fancy," she suggested. There was no reply. Le Breton got to his feet and crossed to the desk, standing there with his back to her as if he resented her presence. It was most obvious to Lucille that she was not welcome. "What is this new fancy of yours like?" she asked in a hurt, jealous tone. He made no answer, but his very back oozed annoyance. "What's her price, Raoul?" she asked in a wild manner. "Is it emeralds or pearls or diamonds? Or is she one whose price is above rubies?" He faced round suddenly, anger flashing in his eyes. "Be quiet, woman!" he said savagely. She laughed hysterically. "So she's something too good for me to talk about, is she? Does she know of all your gay doings in Paris?" "Oh, you women!" he ejaculated contemptuously. "Can you never learn the virtue of silence?" In an angry manner he went from the room, leaving Lucille in possession. She watched him until the door closed. Then she sank down into the chair he had vacated and stayed there with bowed head, weeping bitterly. CHAPTER IX At a spot about ten miles away from Las Palmas there are some well-known orange groves. Stretch upon stretch of scented trees, they made a lattice-work of smooth boughs and shiny leaves overhead, with a glint of blue sky here and there. The ground was strewn with white petals, and clusters of white blossoms made fragrant the gilded greenness. A glimpse of the sea could be had, and the waves filled the air with a constant, soft, distant murmur. At one spot in the scented grove preparations had been made for an elaborate picnic. Piles of soft silk cushions were set upon the ground. On a cloth of finest linen was spread an array of frail china and heavy silver, with here and there some golden dish holding dainties. Two impassive men with lean, brown faces, clad in flowing white robes, stood near. Beyond all view of the feast came a faint rattle of pots and pans, and a little wavering column of smoke rose from a fire where breakfast was being prepared. When Pansy had come down the hotel steps for her usual early morning ride she had not been very surprised to find Le Breton there waiting for her. She had had a wide experience of men and their ways, and she knew what she called "the symptoms." Generally "the symptoms" annoyed her; she felt they had more to do with her money than herself. But Le Breton's case was different. She knew who he was, but he had no idea of her identity. "I'm going to take you out for breakfast this time," he said on seeing her. "Where are we going?" she asked. "To the orange groves beyond Telde." They had ridden through the white city, and then on, skirting the coast, past banana plantations, cindery-looking cliffs and a lava bed where the poisonous euphorbia grew, ten to twelve feet high, stiff and straight, like gigantic candelabras. "I was thinking about you last night," Pansy remarked once, between their canters. "What you said about the miry depths. And I remember having read somewhere that water can always reach to the level it rises from. When people get into the depths they should remember that; it'll help them to scramble out." The miry depths of dissipation into which he occasionally plunged had never troubled Le Breton in the least. He was not actively aware that they did now, although he hoped that Pansy would not get to hear of them. But it was all part of the girl's nature to have ready the helpful hand. "So, Pansy," he said, "having saved my body, you're now after my soul." "Oh no, I'm not a missionary! But if you like people, there's no harm in giving them a word in season." He brought his horse closer, and bent towards the girl. "So you like me?" he said in a caressing tone. "I shouldn't be here if I didn't," she answered candidly. "And what if I say I like _you_?" he asked, laughing softly. "I should say it's very nice of you, considering you know nothing at all about me." "I can see you are beautiful. I know your heart is kind. Circumstances have shown me you are not mercenary. What more could I wish to know about you? Isn't the combination enough to attract any man?" "Considering you are French, you've missed the vital point," she said demurely. "You haven't said anything about a _dot_." "No man in his senses would want a _dot_ with you." "He wouldn't get much money out of my father, anyhow," she said. "He's a poor man who has to work hard for his living; and I love him better than anyone in the whole wide world." "I'd like to meet him," Le Breton remarked. "So you will, if you behave yourself. He's coming out here very soon." "What constitutes behaving myself?" he asked. "People have never complained of my behaviour so far." Pansy knew he was arrogant and overbearing. By his own telling, she guessed he was inclined to be wild. She suspected him of having little or no respect for women, although he had been unfailingly courteous to her. "I might complain if I had much to do with you, though," she said. "It would be refreshing, to say the least," he remarked, with a slight smile hovering on his lips. "And what would you complain of especially?" "You need a lot of reforming in quite a few ways." "Tell me, and I'll endeavour to mould myself according to your ideals," he said with laughter. "You know you're very well pleased with yourself as you are." "But I'm even better pleased with you, Pansy," he answered, watching her with glowing gaze. This Pansy knew quite well. To get off the topic, she touched her horse lightly and broke into a canter. For it seemed to her "the symptoms" were coming to a head even more rapidly than she had expected. When the edge of the orange grove was reached, a couple of white-robed men came forward to take their horses--dark men, with hawk-like faces, lean and sun-scorched, who bowed low before her escort with the utmost servility. "They look like Arabs," Pansy said. "They are Arabs; some of my servants from Africa. I generally have half a dozen with me." It seemed to Pansy the whole half-dozen were in the grove, ready to wait on her. No sooner was she settled among the cushions than one of the servants placed a little box before her, about six inches long and four wide: a costly trifle made of beaten gold, inlaid with flat emeralds and rubies. "Is it Pandora's box?" she asked, picking it up and examining it with curiosity. "It and the contents are for you," Le Breton replied. She turned the tiny golden key. Inside, three purple pansies reposed on a nest of green moss, smiling up at her with velvety eyes. "I'll have the contents," she said. "The box you can keep for another time." With slim white fingers she picked out the pansies and tucked them into her coat. "Still only a few flowers, Pansy?" he said, annoyed, yet pleased that her friendship was disinterested. "Suggest something else that you would accept." "Breakfast," she said promptly. "I'm dying of hunger." A sumptuous feast was spread for her benefit, served in gold and jewel-encrusted dishes; an array of the most expensive luxuries. If Le Breton's idea had been to impress her with his wealth and magnificence, he failed. It seemed to pass her by unnoticed; for Pansy was much more interested in his Arab servants, the grove, the distant view of the sea, than any of the regal extravagance immediately before her. When the meal was over she sat, wistful and dreamy-looking, listening to the sigh of the sea. For some moments Le Breton watched her. Just then her mood appeared very out of keeping with her boyish attire. "I'd like to see you dressed in something really feminine," he remarked presently. "What's your idea of something 'really feminine?'" she inquired. "Just one garment, a robe that would come from your shoulders to your knees, loose and clinging, soft and white, with a strap of pearls to hold it on." "It sounds draughty," she commented; "and it might show my horrid scars." "It would suit you admirably." "And, I suppose, it would suit you admirably, too, to be lying about on cushions with me so attired waiting on you," she said quickly. "Bringing you sherbet and hubble-bubbles, or whatever you call those big pipe things that men smoke in Eastern pictures and on cigar-box lids. And I shouldn't dare call my soul my own. I should tremble at your look. That one garment would place me at a terrible disadvantage." "I might not be a severe task-master. I might only ask you to do one thing." "And what would that be?" "In English, I could say it in two words; spell it in six letters." Pansy darted a quick look at him, and a little mocking smile came and hovered on her mouth. She was too accustomed to men and their ways not to guess what the two words that could be spelt in six letters were. She sat quiet for a moment or two, an impish look on her face. Then she rattled off a riddle in English:-- "My first is in apple, but not in pie, My second is in do, but not in die, My third is in veal, but not in ham, My fourth is in sheep, but not in lamb, My fifth is in morning, but not in night, My sixth is in darkness, but not in light, My whole is just a word or two, Which is known to me as well as to you." Le Breton knew more English than he pretended, but riddles did not often come his way. "Say it again slowly," he requested. Pansy repeated her composition. He stored it up in his mind, deciding to go into the matter later on when there was no lovely little face, dimpled with mischief, looking at him teasingly from beneath a halo of golden curls. Soon after this Pansy glanced at her wrist watch. "I mustn't stay any longer," she said, getting to her feet. "It's not nine o'clock yet," he remarked. "I didn't hurry away from you so quickly yesterday." This Pansy knew quite well. He had sat on, and on, with her in the summer-house with the red roses, and she had been pleased to let him stay. In fact, it had been afternoon before they had come down to earth again. "Captain Cameron is coming this morning," she said. "And I promised to be on the quay to meet him." So saying, she turned towards the spot where the horses were waiting, leaving him to follow or not as he liked. Pansy wanted to linger in the grove with Raoul Le Breton as she had been pleased to stay with him among the red roses on the previous day; but she decided the mood was not one to be encouraged, especially considering his desire for the two words, containing in all six letters, and her own desire for untrammelled liberty. CHAPTER X Under the trees that shadowed one corner of the tennis-courts of the hotel a couple stood. One was a young man of about twenty-four, in white flannel trousers and shirt-sleeves, who held a tennis racket in one hand and a couple of balls in the other. He was of medium height, fresh and fair and boyish looking. At his side Pansy stood, in short skirt and blouse and Panama hat. "Well, old pal, is there anything doing yet?" he was asking cheerfully. "There's nothing doing, Bob, much as I try." "Anyhow, it's a standing order," he said. "I know; and I'm doing my best," she said. "I try to go to bed every night with your name on my lips, but more frequently I go with a yawn. All for the sake of the 'dear dead days beyond recall.'" "Which ones especially?" Cameron inquired. "When I was five and you were nine, and we were all the world to one another." "In the days of my 'dim and distant' youth I learnt a rotten poem, from dire necessity, not choice, you bet. About some bore of a Scotch king and a spider, and the chorus or the moral, I've forgotten which, ran, 'If at first you don't succeed, try again.' Perseverance, Pansy. It's a wonderful thing. You'll find yourself there in the end." Pansy smiled a trifle wistfully at the boy she had known all her life, who always gave her nonsense for nonsense, and, incidentally, his heart. "Bob, I wish I could love you," she said, suddenly grave. Smiling at her, he started juggling with the two balls. "So the spirit is willing, etc.?" he responded. "Well, I shall go on hoping for a triumph of mind over matter." For some reason Pansy felt intensely sorry for her old playmate. She caught herself making comparisons, and something within her suddenly whispered that they would never be more than friends, something she did not quite realise--some change that had taken place within herself since they had parted in Teneriffe only a week before. CHAPTER XI Raoul Le Breton took Pansy's riddle home to solve. He went about it in his own private sanctum. Seating himself at the desk, he wrote out the verse, with a French-English dictionary, making sure his spelling was correct. Then he set out to find the solution. He was not long in doing so. Afterwards he sat on, gazing at the pansies in the crystal bowl on the desk, a tender look on his arrogant face. A daring little creature, that beautiful English girl, frank as the boy she looked in her riding suit, with attractions beyond those of her sex and beauty; a courage that roused his admiration; a kindness that moved his heart; a disinterestedness sweet as it was novel; an ability to touch parts of his being no woman had touched before, and with a subtle something about her that brought him an ease of spirit he rarely experienced. "Heart's Ease," truly! As he brooded on Pansy he forgot his vengeance--that he was only waiting in Grand Canary until quite certain Sir George Barclay was on his way to Gambia. He thought only of the velvety-eyed girl who had answered him so deftly and laughingly. The riddle had told him the one thing he would ask her to do; his two words, spelt with six letters: "Love me." The fact sent Le Breton to the hotel that evening for an interview with the verse-maker. The place was a blaze of light and a crash of music. In the big patio the usual bi-weekly dance was taking place, and a crowd of people disported themselves to the strains of a ragtime band. Le Breton made a striking figure in evening clothes, and more than one woman glanced at him with invitation. He took no notice of them. All he wanted was a slim girl with a mop of short, dancing, golden curls. The room was so crowded that he could get no glimpse of his quarry, although he altered his point of view several times. At the end of half an hour he decided to take a turn round the grounds. The garden was soft with moonlight, filled with a misty brightness, and the palms hung limp and sighing. From beyond the wall came the murmur of the sea. Syringa and roses filled the night with perfume. At one spot a fountain sang sweetly to itself. There Le Breton lingered with the moonlight and the ebony shadows, the tropical trees sighing languorously around him. As he waited there, deep in some reverie of his own, the sound of footsteps reached him. Then, from an adjacent path, voices talking in English--a man's thick, low, and protesting, then a girl's clear and indignant. "When did I encourage you?" she asked, her voice raised in righteous anger. "Once you brought me a cup of tea I didn't want. Twice you mixed my books and papers with somebody else's. I was three times your partner at Bridge, and that wasn't any fault of mine. I defy you to mention more encouragement than that. Go to your woman with red hair, and don't talk nonsense to me." The man's voice came again. Then there was a little cry of anger and the sound of a struggle. The girl's voice brought Le Breton out of his reverie. He knew it, although he could not follow a quarter of what was said. But the little cry and the subsequent scuffle sent him quickly in that direction. He saw Pansy struggling vainly to get away from a short, thick-set man with a red face and fishy eyes, who held her by one bare arm. Le Breton was not long in covering the distance that lay between himself and the couple. His coming made Pansy's persecutor let go quickly, and make off. The girl had been struggling with all her might to escape from his coarse, hot grip. And she was too intent on getting out of an undesirable situation even to notice that someone's approach was responsible for her sudden freedom. The force of her struggles sent her staggering backwards, right on Le Breton. His arm went round her. He held her pressed against him, his hand on her heart. It seemed to Pansy, she had gotten out of the frying-pan into the fire. Quivering with indignation she looked up. Then she laughed in a tremulous manner. "Oh, it's you, is it? I wondered who else was on my trail." "You ought not to be out at night alone," he said severely. "A beautiful girl is a temptation to any man." "I'm no temptation. It's my money. He likes women with red hair." Le Breton scanned Pansy more closely. He had noticed she was dressed in white, but with her unexpectedly in his arms he had not troubled to look further. She was wearing a dress of chiffon, light as air, vague as moonlight, that clung about her like a mist, caught up here and there with tiny diamond buckles which made the garment look as if studded with dewdrops. And on a thin platinum chain about her neck was hung one great sparkling drop of light. Le Breton knew real gems when he saw them, and that one diamond alone was worth a fortune. He bent his proud head, until his lips just touched the fluff of golden curls. "Who are you really, Pansy?" he asked softly. "You despise and dislike me already, so why should I get further into your black books?" "I, despise and dislike you?" "You said you disliked all the English." "I'm quite willing to make an exception in your favour." "When you learn the truth you'll 'detest' me." "Never!" he said emphatically. "Well then, I'm 'that woman of the name of Langham.'" "You!" he exclaimed. Then he laughed. "Pansy, you're a little creature of rare surprises." The surprise held him silent for some moments. Or else it was sufficient to have the girl there, unresisting against his heart. Up till now Pansy had avoided all male arms as far as it was possible for a girl who was beautiful, wealthy and light-hearted. Whenever caught she had wriggled out indignantly. From the arm that held her now she made no attempt to escape. A fearsome fascination lay within its embrace. It seemed that he would have but to close the hand that rested on her bosom, and her heart would be in his grip, snatched out of her keeping before she knew it. Suddenly it dawned on Pansy that if she stayed there much longer she would want to stay for ever. One by one she lifted the sinewy, brown fingers from her dress, holding them in one hand as she went about her task with the other. With a slight smile Le Breton watched her. But when the last of his fingers was removed, she was still a prisoner, held secure within his arm. Then Pansy descended to strategy. "Mr. Le Breton, will you lend me your handkerchief?" she asked in a mild tone. "Why do you want it?" the voice of the master demanded. "To dip it in the fountain there and wash my arm. It feels all horrid and nasty and clammy where that odious man touched it," she said meekly. The sentiment was one Le Breton approved of and sympathised with. Letting her go, he drew out his handkerchief. Taking it, Pansy turned towards the fountain. He followed and stood beside her, obviously waiting until her task was finished before carrying the situation further. As Pansy scrubbed away at her arm, she kept a rather nervous eye on him. When the task was completed, she screwed the handkerchief up into a loose, wet ball. But she did not throw it on the ground as Le Breton expected and was waiting for her to do, before taking her into his arms again. Instead, she threw it into his face. It took him by surprise; an indignity that had not come his way hitherto. People were not in the habit of throwing wet handkerchiefs with stinging force into the face of the Sultan Casim Ammeh. The force and wetness temporarily blinded him. He was perhaps ten seconds in recovering his sight and his dignity. Then he looked for the girl. She was running as fast as she could away from him, down a misty, moonlit path, in her chiffon and diamonds looking a shimmer of moonlight and sparkling dew herself. Pansy's only desire just then was to get out of the white, romantic moonlit world with its scents and sighs and seductive murmurs, back to one of electric light and ragtime, where there was no Raoul Le Breton looking at her gravely, with glowing eyes. He had suddenly become a startling menace to her cherished liberty, this big, dark man with his masterful air and high-handed ways. Whatever he said she would have to listen to. Perhaps even--agree with! CHAPTER XII Le Breton did not run after the girl. He watched her go, with a feeling that he could afford to bide his time. But at six o'clock the next morning he was round at the hotel waiting for Pansy to come for her usual ride. However, there was no sign of her either that morning or the following. In fact, it was not until the afternoon of the second day that he saw anything of her. A tennis tournament was taking place at the hotel. Le Breton went feeling sure Pansy would be there, and incidentally, to find out what Captain Cameron, the local tennis champion, was like. He saw a fresh-faced youngster, decidedly better-looking than the rest of the men there, but too much like the girl herself ever to be able to hold her. Then he looked for Pansy. She was seated with a group of acquaintances, awaiting her turn on the courts. On seeing Le Breton, she vouchsafed him a smile and a nod, but no further attention. After a three days' tournament, Cameron emerged victor, but Le Breton had managed to get no word with Pansy. Whenever he came within speaking distance she edged away, taking cover behind someone. To catch her was like setting a trap to catch a moonbeam. At the end of the tournament word went round that a rank outsider had challenged the victor. "Who is it, Bob?" Pansy asked when the news reached her. Cameron pointed with his racket across the court, to where Le Breton stood, in panama hat and grey flannels. "That big chap over there," he said. "He's got a nerve, hasn't he?" "And did you accept?" Pansy asked. "Of course I did. I couldn't let that sort of cheek pass." Other people had heard what was happening. An interested crowd collected around the court. For word had gone round that the man who had challenged the English champion was Raoul Le Breton, the French millionaire. Captain Cameron had not been long on the court before he discovered he had met his equal, if not his superior. With a long, lithe movement Le Breton was all over the ground, seemingly unhurried, but always there at the right moment, making his opponent's play look like a heated scramble. But Le Breton's serving was his great point; a lightning stroke that gave no hint as to where the ball would land; sometimes it was just over the net; sometimes just within the furthermost limits of the court. Cameron was beaten; a beating he took with a boyish smile, as he congratulated the winner. Others crowded round Le Breton, anxious to add their quota to the praise. When the crowd dispersed Pansy approached him, as he stood cool and dignified, despite the strenuous game. "You never told me you could play tennis," she remarked. "There are lots of things about myself I haven't told you," he replied drily. "What are they?" she asked. "You mustn't rouse my curiosity and then not satisfy it." "You needn't worry. I shall tell you some day," he answered. As Pansy talked to him she played battledore and shuttlecock with her racket and ball. "When will that day be?" she asked. "The sooner, the better. It's bad for my health to be kept in a state of inquisitive suspense." "The sooner the better will suit me admirably," he said. "For I shall tell you when we are--married." Pansy just stared at him. "Then I shall never hear," she said, when she had recovered her breath. "For I shall never get married. Never. At least, not before I'm forty." There was a brief pause. "Why are you avoiding me?" he asked presently. "What a stupid thing to say! Aren't I here talking to you now?" "With a whole crowd of people round, yes." She tapped the tennis ball from her racket to his chest, hitting it back and back again, as if he were a wall. For some minutes Le Breton watched her in an amused manner, as if she were something so favoured that she could do what she liked with him. Then he caught the ball and stopped the game. "I've a challenge for you, too, Pansy," he said. "Will you meet me to-night, after dinner, near the fountain?" "It wouldn't require a great amount of courage to do that." "Will you come then?" "You said I wasn't to wander about in the grounds alone at night." "I'll come for you then, since you're so anxious to comply with my desires." "'Comply with my desires,'" she repeated mockingly. "That's a nice useful phrase to hurl about." There was an air of unusual and unaccustomed patience about Le Breton, as he argued with his moonbeam. Curious glances were cast in the direction of the couple. Miss Langham had never been seen to favour a man as she was favouring the French millionaire. "Birds of a feather," someone remarked. With some surprise young Cameron watched her. Another watched her too. The red-faced, fishy-eyed man from whose undesired attentions Le Breton had rescued her a few nights before. "If you don't come I shall know what to think," Le Breton said. "That you dare not." A suspicion of a blush deepened the pink in the girl's cheeks. "And if I do come, what shall you think then?" she asked him with a nonchalant air. "It'll be quite time enough to tell you when that comes to pass," he answered. Pansy had no intention that it should come to pass. Raoul Le Breton might keep the tryst if he liked, but she would not be there. Not if she could help it--a little voice within her added. CHAPTER XIII When night came Pansy tried not to think of Le Breton, but the idea of him out there in the moonlight haunted her. She wondered how long he would wait; patience did not look to be one of his virtues. There was a dance at the hotel again that evening. As she whirled round and round, slim and light, looking in her chiffon and diamonds a creature of mist and dew, her thoughts were with none of her partners. They were out in the garden with the big, masterful man who was so different from all others of his sex who had come into her life. By midnight the gaieties were over. Pansy went up to her room. But she did not go to bed. Dismissing her maid, she went out on the balcony, and stood there watching the sea, as she had watched it barely a week before, when Le Breton had come into her life. The world was as white and peaceful as then; the sea a stretch of murmurous silver; the garden vaguely sighing; the little, moist, cool puffs of wind ladened with the scent of roses and the fragrance of foreign flowers. As she watched the scene, an overpowering desire to go and see if Le Breton were still there seized her; a desire that rapidly became an obsession. Of course he would not stay from nine o'clock until after midnight! For all that Pansy felt she must go. That she must linger for a moment in the spot where he had lingered. She turned quickly into her room; then out into the corridor; down the stairs and on towards a door that led out into the grounds. Once there, the moonlight drew her on towards the fountain. On reaching the trysting-place there was no sign of anybody there. With a feeling of intense disappointment Pansy turned towards the sea-wall, and stood there with the soft light shimmering on her, her face wistful as she watched the molten sea. Now that she had come, to find Le Breton gone hurt her. If he really liked her, he would have stayed all night on the chance of her coming. She would, if she were really fond of anybody. A tear came and sparkled on her long, dark lashes. He could not love her very much, or he would not have left. A slight movement in the shadows behind made her face round quickly, her heart giving a sudden bound. "Well, Pansy," the voice she knew so well said in a caressing tone. She laughed tremulously. "I thought you'd gone hours ago," she said. Le Breton came to her side, a mocking look in his dark, smouldering eyes as he watched her. "There are two things a man will always wait for if they cut deeply enough," he replied. "Love and revenge." "How dramatic you sound! Which has kept you on the prowl to-night?" she asked lightly, edging away from him. But his arm went round her quickly, and she was drawn back to his side. "No, my little girl, not this time," he whispered. She tried to free herself from his embrace. "I didn't mean to come. I really didn't," she said breathlessly. He laughed in a tender, masterful fashion. "Possibly not, but since you're here I intend that you shall stay." "No, no," she said quickly. "Let me go." Pansy struggled after a liberty that she saw rapidly vanishing. But he just held her, firmly, strongly, watching her with an amused air. "I shall spoil my dress if I have to wrestle with you like this," she panted presently. "Don't wrestle then," he said coolly. "Stay where you are, little moonbeam, and no harm will come to the dress." It was fatal to be in his arms again. She stopped struggling and stayed passive within his embrace. With easy strength Le Breton lifted her. Going to a bench, he sat down with her on his knee. "Why did you run away from me the other night?" he asked. A slim finger played rather nervously with a black pearl stud in the front of his dress shirt. "I don't know," she said, her eyes avoiding his. Then she laughed. "Oh, yes, I do," she went on. "Because I couldn't do as I liked if I stayed with you." "I could never be a hard taskmaster. Not with you," he said softly. "Are you with some people?" she asked. Le Breton thought of the desert kingdom he ruled alone, and he laughed. Then he kissed the little mouth so temptingly close to his own; a long, passionate caress that seemed to take all strength from the girl. Her head fell on his shoulder, and she lay limp within his arms, watching him in a vague, dreamy manner. For a time there was silence. Le Breton sat with her pressed against his heart, as if to have her there were all-sufficient. "I feel like Jonah," Pansy said presently. "All swallowed up. There seems to be nothing in the whole wide world now but you." With a loving hand he caressed her silky curls. "And I, Heart's Ease, want nothing but you, henceforth and forever." Pansy snuggled closer to him. "To think I'm sitting here on your knee," she whispered. "A week ago I didn't know there was any you. And now I only know your name and----" She broke off, a blush deepening the roses on her cheeks. "And what, my darling?" he asked tenderly. "Put your ear quite close. It's not a matter that can be shouted from the house-tops." He bent his proud head down, close to the girl's lips. "And that I love you," she whispered. Then she kissed the ear the confession had been made into. "And that you will marry me," he added. "Perhaps, some day, twenty years hence," she said airily. "When I've had my fling." Le Breton had never had to wait for any woman he fancied, and he had no intention of waiting now. "No, Pansy, you must marry me now, at once," he said firmly. "What a hustler you are, Raoul. You must have American blood in you." She said his name as if she loved it: on her lips it was a caress. With a touch of savagery his arms tightened round the girl. Even with her in his embrace he guessed that if she knew of the Sultan Casim Ammeh there would be no chance for him. His dark blood would be an efficient barrier; one she would never cross willingly. "Say you will marry me next week, my little English flower," he said in a fierce, insistent tone. "I couldn't dream of getting married for ages and ages." He held her closer, kissing the vivid lips that refused him. "Say next week, my darling," he whispered passionately. "I shall keep you here until you say next week." Pansy looked at him with love and teasing in her eyes. "It's midnight now, or perhaps it's one, or even two in the morning. Time flies so when I'm with you. But at six o'clock the gardeners will be here with rakes and brooms, and they'll scratch and sweep us out of our corner. Six hours at most you can keep me, but the gardeners won't let you keep me longer than that. Good-night, Raoul, I'll go to sleep in the meantime." In a pretence of slumber Pansy closed her eyes. With a tender smile he watched the little face that looked so peacefully asleep on his shoulder. "Wake up, my flower, and say things are to be as I wish," he said presently. One eye opened and looked at him full of love and mischief. "In ten years' time then, Raoul. That's a great concession." "In a fortnight. That would seem eternity enough," he replied. "Well, five years then," Pansy answered, suddenly wide awake. "I could see and do a lot in five years, if I worked hard at it. Especially with the thought of you looming ominously in the background." "In three weeks, little girl. I've been waiting for you all my life." Pansy stroked his face with a mocking, caressing hand. "Poor boy, you don't look like a waiter." He took the small, teasing hand into his own. "Never mind what I look like just now," he said. "Say in three weeks' time, my darling." "Two years. Give me two years to get used to the cramped idea of matrimony." "A month. Not a day longer, Heart's Ease, unless you want to drive me quite mad," he said, a note of desperate entreaty in his voice. Suddenly Pansy could not meet the eyes that watched her with such love and passion in their smouldering depths. This big, dark man who had come into her life so strangely, seemed to leave her nothing but a desire for himself. At that moment she could refuse him nothing. "In a month then, Raoul. But it's very weak-minded of me giving in to you this way." He laughed in a tender and triumphant manner. "My darling, I promise you'll never regret it," he said, a slight catch in his strong voice. Then he sat on, with Pansy pressed close against him. And the latent searching look had gone from his eyes, as if the girl lying on his heart had brought him ease and peace. And Pansy was content to stay. Just then it was sufficient to be with him; to feel the tender strength of his arms; to listen to the music of his deep, caressing voice; to have his long, passionate kisses. Nothing else mattered. Even liberty was forgotten. CHAPTER XIV The next morning the sun streaming into Pansy's bedroom roused her. She awoke with the feeling of having indulged in some delightful dream, which, like all dreams, must melt with the morning. She thought of the episode with Le Breton in the garden. A gentle look lingered on her face. He was a darling, the nicest man she had ever met; the only one she had ever liked enough to let kiss her; the only one in whose arms she had been content to stay. But about marrying? A frown came and rested on her white brow. Marrying was quite another matter. In a month's time, _impossible_. A thing not to be contemplated. Pansy sat up suddenly, hugging her knees as she gazed thoughtfully at the brilliant expanse of dancing, shimmering sea that sparkled at her through the open bedroom window. She, engaged to be married! She who had vowed never to fall in love until forty! It was love Pansy had wanted in the moonlit garden with Le Breton's arms about her. But it was liberty she wanted now, as she sat hugging her knees, amazed at herself and her own behaviour. She had bartered her liberty for a man's arms and a few kisses! Pansy could hardly believe herself capable of such folly. She had been swept off her feet--over her depth before she knew it. By daylight her freedom and independence were as sweet to her as Le Breton's love had been by the romantic light of the moon. In the sober light of morning she tried to struggle back to where she had been before the hot flood of love he had poured over her had made her promise more than she was now prepared to fulfill. "It's a woman's privilege to change her mind." Pansy grasped at the old adage; but to her a promise was a promise, not lightly given or lightly snatched away. So she did not derive much comfort from dwelling on the old saw. She was sitting up in bed, hugging her knees and frowning in dire perplexity when her maid came in with the early morning tea. And the frown was there when the woman came to say her bath was ready. A thoughtful mood enveloped her during her dressing. And out of her musing this note was born:-- "My Dearest Raoul, I can call you that because you are dearer to me than any one on this earth, dearest beyond all things except my liberty. Do not be horrid and cross when I say I cannot marry you, in spite of all I promised last night. Not for ten years at least. And even then I cannot bind myself in any way, for I might be still hankering after freedom. I do love you really, more than anything in the whole wide world except my independence. You must not be too hard on me, Raoul. I am not quite the same as other women. It is not every girl of twenty who is her own mistress, with £60,000 a year to do what she likes with. It has made life seem so vast, matrimony such a cramped, everyday affair. And I do not want to handicap myself in any way. This letter sounds awfully selfish, I know. I am not selfish really. Only I love my liberty. It is the one thing that is dearer to me than you. Always your loving PANSY." When the letter was written, Pansy suddenly remembered she did not know his address. Once satisfied that he was disinterested, she had bothered about nothing else. And after that one day spent among the red roses he had become something quite apart from the rest of the world, not to be gossiped about to mere people. However, she knew that twenty pesetas given to the hall-porter would ensure the note reaching its destination. The hotel staff would know where he was staying, even if she did not. Because the note was to Le Breton, Pansy took it down herself and gave it to the hall-porter. When this was done she wandered as far as the spot where she had made her fleeting vows, to see how it looked by daylight. She lingered there for some minutes, and then returned to her suite. In the interval a message had come from Le Breton. It stood on one of the little tables of her sitting-room--a huge gilded wicker basket full of half-blown, red roses. In the midst of the flowers a packet reposed, tied with red ribbon. Pansy opened the package. Inside was the gold casket she had once refused. It was filled with purple pansies, still wet with dew. On them a ring reposed, with one huge sapphire, deeply blue as her own eyes. There was a note in with the flowers, written in a strong masculine hand. With a flutter about her heart, Pansy picked it out and read it:-- "Heart's Ease, My Own Dear Little Girl, This little gift comes to you with all my love, my heart, my soul, my very life indeed, given forever into your keeping. A week ago, if anyone had told me I should write such words to a woman, I should have laughed at them. Until meeting you I did not know what love was. I had no idea one woman could be so satisfying. In you I have found the heaven I have been searching for all my life. My one houri, and she all-sufficing--my little English flower, so sweet and winsome, so kind and wayward, so teasing and yet so tender, who has brought a new fragrance into my life, a peace my soul has never known till now, a love and gratitude into my heart that will keep me hers for ever. Your devoted lover now and through all eternity. RAOUL LE BRETON." As Pansy read the note her lips trembled. She wished she had never tasted of the sweets of liberty and independence; that the grand-godfather had not left her his millions. She wished she was Pansy Barclay again, a mere girl, not one with enormous riches luring her towards all sorts of goals where love was not. Just Pansy Barclay, who could have met his love with kisses and not a cruel counter note. CHAPTER XV Considering it was nearly two in the morning before Le Breton would let Pansy out of his arms, he did not expect her to be out and about at six o'clock for her usual ride. Nevertheless, he looked in at the hotel at that hour and then rode on, indulging in blissful daydreams. He knew Pansy had no idea who he really was. He was prepared to marry her according to her creed, for her sake to put aside the fierce profligate religion the late Sultan Casim Ammeh had instilled into him. And he was prepared to do very much more than this. In spite of his colossal pride in his sultanship and his desert kingdom, he knew that if Pansy got an inkling of that side of his life his case would be hopeless. His one idea was to keep all knowledge of the supposed Arab strain in him from her. The sultanship could go, his kingdom be but a source of income. He would buy a house in Paris. They would settle down there, and he would become wholly the European she imagined him to be. Full of a future that held nothing but the English girl to whom; he was betrothed, and a desire to keep from her all knowledge of his dark, savage heritage, at least until it would be too late for her to draw back, Le Breton rode on, rejoicing in the early morning freshness that reminded him of the girl he loved. On returning to the villa he interviewed the head gardener. Then he went to the library to write a note and tie up the package he was sending to Pansy; and from there down to breakfast, a solitary meal with no companion save a few purple pansies smiling at him from a crystal vase. As he sat at his light repast one of his Arab servants entered with a note on a beaten-gold salver. Le Breton took it. On the envelope was just his name, written in a pretty, girlish hand. Although he had never seen Pansy's writing before, he guessed it was hers. A tender smile hovered about his hard mouth as he opened it. What had she to say to him, this slim, winsome girl, who held his fierce heart in her small white hands? Some fond reply, no doubt, in return for his gifts and flowers. Thanks and words of love that she could not keep until he went round to see her. There were many things Le Breton expected of Pansy, but certainly not the news the note contained. He read it through, unable to believe what he saw written before him. And as he read his face lost all its tender, caressing look and took on, instead, a savage, incredulous expression. Women had always come to him easily, as easily as Pansy herself had come. But they had not withdrawn themselves again: he had done the withdrawing. For some moments he just stared at the note. He, flouted and scorned and played with by a girl! He, to whom all women were but toys! He, the Sultan of El-Ammeh! Le Breton was like one plunged suddenly into an icy cold bath. The unexpectedness of it all left him numb. Then a surge of hot rage went through him, finally leaving him cold, collected, and furious. She had dared to scorn him, this English girl! Dared to hurl his love and protestations back into his teeth. Protestations such as he had made to no other woman. It was the greatest shock and surprise Le Breton had had during the course of his wild life of unquestioned power and limitless money. He was in no mood to see the love her note breathed. He saw only one fact--that he had been cast aside. A woman had dared to act towards him as he had often acted towards women. As he brooded on the note, trying to grasp the almost incredible truth, the cruel look about his mouth deepened. Putting the note into his pocket, he poured himself another cup of coffee. Then he sat on, staring at the purple pansies, no longer lost in dreams of love and delight, where his one aim was to be all the girl imagined him to be; but in a savage reverie that had love in it, perhaps, but of quite another quality than that which he had already offered. Full of anger and injured pride as Le Breton was, it did not prevent him going over to the hotel and inquiring for Miss Langham. He learnt that she was out, on board her yacht. And it seemed to him that she had fled from his wrath. But he was wrong. Pansy had gone there knowing he would be sure to come and inquire into the meaning of her note. On board her yacht there was more privacy; a privacy she wanted for Le Breton's sake, not her own. Considering his fiery Latin temperament, he might not take his _congé_ in the manner of her more stolid nation. There might be a scene. She never imagined he would take her decree calmly. There was an air about him as if he had never been thwarted in any way. She was prepared for some unpleasant minutes--minutes, nevertheless, that she had no intention of shirking, which she knew she had brought upon herself by her impetuous promises. She was sitting alone in her own special sanctum on the yacht. It was a large saloon--boudoir, music-room, and study combined; white and gold and purple, like herself, with a grand piano in one corner, deep chairs upholstered in yellow with purple cushions, a yellow carpet and white walls and ceiling. In the midst of it she sat cool and collected, in a simple white yachting suit. As Le Breton entered she rose, scanning him quickly. She had never seen him so proud and aloof-looking, his face so set and hard. But there was a look of suppressed suffering in his eyes that cut her to the quick. Neither said a word until the door closed behind the steward. Then Le Breton crossed to the girl's side. "What nonsense is this?" he asked in a cold, angry voice, holding her note towards her. "You promised to marry me, and you must carry out your promise. I'm not going to be put lightly to one side in this manner." "I haven't put you lightly to one side," she answered. "I think I explained exactly how things were in my note." "Explanations! I'm not here for explanations," he said, with cold impatience; "but to insist that you fulfill your promise." "I couldn't do that," she replied quietly. With the air of still moving in the midst of some incredible truth, he stared at her. "You've been flirting with me," he said presently, a note of savagery and scorn in his voice. "You are a true English _demievierge_. You rouse a man without the least intention of satisfying him." Pansy flushed under his contempt. She hated being called "a flirt"; she was not one. She did not know why she had acted as she had done the previous night. But once in his arms, she had wanted to stay. And once he had started talking of love, she wanted to listen. With him she had forgotten all about her own scheme of life and her cherished liberty. She knew she had not played the game with Le Breton. From the bottom of her heart she was sorry. She did not blame him, but herself. "I'm not a flirt," she said quietly. "I've never let any man kiss me before. I'm very sorry for all that happened last night." He laughed in a harsh, grating manner. "Good God, Pansy! there are a hundred women and more plotting and scheming to try and make me feel for them what I feel for you. And you say you're sorry!" He broke off, his proud face twisted with pain and chagrin. Pansy knew his was no idle boast. An army of women must lie in wait for a man of his wealth combined with good looks and such powers of fascination. "I'm only sorry you picked on me," she said, a note of distress in her voice. "More sorry than I can say. You know I hate giving pain." Like one dazed, the Sultan Casim Ammeh listened to a woman saying she was sorry he had favoured her as he had no other of her sex--To an extent he had never imagined he would favour any woman, so that he was ready to change his religion, his whole mode of life, for her sake. "But I couldn't give up my liberty," her voice was saying. "I couldn't get married. And I've a perfect right to change my mind." "It's not a privilege I intend to allow you," he said in a strangled voice. "Well, it's one I intend to assert," she answered, suddenly goaded by his imperious attitude. "You've deliberately fooled me," he said savagely. "No, I haven't really," she replied, patient again under the pain in the fierce, restless eyes watching her. "I like you immensely, but not enough to marry you." "I suppose I ought to feel flattered," he said cuttingly. Pansy laid a hand on his sleeve with a little soothing, conciliatory gesture. "Don't be so horrid, Raoul. Do try and see things as I see them. I didn't mean to say 'yes' last night; but when you held me in your arms and kissed me there was nothing else I could do." His name on her lips, her touch on his arm, broke through his seethe of cold anger. "And if I held and kissed you again, what then?" he asked, suddenly melting. "Here in the 'garish light of day' it wouldn't alter my intention in the least," she said. "There are so many things that call me in the daytime. But last night, Raoul, there was only you." He bent over her, dark and handsome, looking the king the Sultan Casim Ammeh had made him. "Give me the nights, Pansy," he whispered, "and the days I'll leave to you." "Oh no, I couldn't. Before so long you'd have swallowed up my days too. For there's an air about you as if you wouldn't be satisfied until you had the whole of me. But I shall often think of last night," she went on, a touch of longing in her voice. "In days to come, when we're thousands of miles apart, in the midst of my schemes, when the lights are brightest and the bands their loudest and the fun at its highest, I shall stop all at once with a little pain in my heart and wonder where the nice man is who kissed me under the palms in the Grand Canary. And I shall say to myself, 'Now, if I'd been a marrying sort, I'd have married him.' And twenty years hence, when pleasure palls, I shall wish I had married him; because there'll never be any man I shall like half as much as I like you." As she talked Le Breton watched her, wild schemes budding and blossoming in his head. "And I? What shall I be thinking?" he asked. "You! Oh, you'll have forgotten all about me by next year--Perhaps next month, even," she replied, smiling at him rather sadly. "One girl is much the same to you as the next, provided she's equally pretty. And you'll be thinking, 'What an idiotic fuss I made over that girl I met in Grand Canary. Let me see, what _was_ her name? Violet or Daisy, or some stupid flower name. Who said yes in the moonlight, and no in the cool, calm light of day. Good Lord! but for her sense I should be married now. Married! Phew, what an escape! For if she'd roped me in there'd have been no gallivanting with other women'!" Le Breton laughed. "Now I'm forgiven," she said quickly. "Forgiven, Heart's Ease, yes. But whilst there's life in me you'll never be forgotten." He paused, looking at her speculatively. "So far as I see, there's nothing between us except that you're too fond of your own way to get married," he remarked presently. "Yes. I suppose that's it really." "'If I were a king in Babylon and you were a Christian slave,'" he quoted, "or, to get down to more modern times, if I were a barbaric Sultan somewhere in Africa and you a girl I'd fancied and caught and carried off, I'd just take you into my harem and nothing more would be said." "I should fight like a wildcat. You'd get horribly scratched and bitten." "Possibly, but--I should win in the end." Pansy's face went suddenly crimson under the glowing eyes that watched her with such love and desire in their dark depths. "I think we're talking a lot of nonsense," she remarked. "What is it you English say? 'There's many a true word spoken in jest,'" he replied with curious emphasis. It was not jest to him. Even as he stood talking to Pansy he was cogitating on how he could best get her into his power, should persuasion fail to bring her back to his arms within a week or two. His yacht was in the harbour. She was in the habit of wandering about alone. He had half a dozen Arab servants with him, men who would do without question anything their Sultan told them. To abduct her would be an easy matter. Once she was in his power, he would take her to El-Ammeh and keep her there. As his wife, if she would marry him; as his slave, if she would not. Le Breton had no desire to do any such thing except as a last resource, but he had no intention of letting Pansy go. Her voice broke into his broodings. "Since you've been so nice about everything, I'm going to keep you and take you for a cruise round the island. I want to have just one day alone with you, so that in years to come I shall know exactly how much I've missed." He smiled in a slightly savage manner. It amused him to hear the girl talking as if he were but a pleasant incident in her life, when he intended to be the biggest fact that had ever been there. "In your way of doing things, Pansy, you remind me rather of myself," he remarked. "You're carrying me off, willy nilly, as I might be tempted to carry you." "It must be because we're both millionaires," she replied. "Little facts of the sort are apt to make one a trifle high-handed." She touched a bell. When a steward appeared she put Le Breton into his care. Leaving the saloon, she went herself to interview the captain about her plans. She was leaning against the yacht's rail, slim and white, with the breeze blowing her curls when Le Breton joined her. And she smiled at him in a frank, boyish fashion, as if their little difference of opinion had never been. "What can I do to amuse you?" she asked. "I don't need any amusing when I'm with you," he said. "You're all-sufficing." "You mustn't say things like that, Raoul," she replied; "they're apt to make one's decisions wobble." For Pansy the morning sped quickly. For Le Breton it was part of the dream he had dreamt before her note had come and upset his calculations, making him rearrange his plans in a manner that, although it would give him a certain amount of satisfaction, might not be so pleasing to the girl. The vessel skirted the rounded island, bringing glimpses of quiet bays where white houses nestled, rocky cliffs, stony barrancos cut deep into the hill-side, and pine-clad heights. There was a lunch _à deux_, with attentive stewards hovering in the background. Afterwards they had coffee and liqueurs and cigarettes on deck. An hour or so was dawdled away there, then Pansy took her guest back to her own special sanctum. He went over to the piano, touching a note here and there. "Play me something," she said, for he touched the instrument with the hand of a music lover. "I was brought up in the backwoods," he replied, "and I never saw a piano until I was nearly nineteen. After that I was too busy making money and doing what I thought was enjoying myself to have time to go in for anything of the sort. But I'd like to listen to you," he finished. Willingly Pansy seated herself at the piano. Le Breton likewise sat himself in a deep chair close by, and gave himself up to the delight of her playing. She wandered from one song to another, quick to see she had an appreciative audience. In the end she paused and glanced at him as he sat quiet, all his restless look gone, as if at peace with himself and the world. "Does music 'soothe your savage breast'?" she asked. "It could never be savage where you're concerned, Pansy," "You talk as if I were quite different from other people." "So you are. The only woman I've ever loved." "When you talk like that, the wobbling comes on," she remarked. To avoid his reply, she started playing again. Getting to his feet, Le Breton went to the piano. Standing behind her, his arms encircling her, he lifted the small, music-making hands from the keys, and holding them, drew her back until her head rested against him. "Pansy, suppose I consent to a six months' engagement? The waiting would be purgatory; but I could do it with paradise beyond." "I'm not taking on any engagements. Not for the next ten years, at least." He laughed softly and put the slim hands back on the piano with a lingering, careful touch, letting them pursue their way. Whether she liked it or not, this lovely, wayward girl would be his before many weeks had passed. Then he returned to his chair and sat there deep in some reverie, this time not planning the sort of home he would make for her in Paris, but how he would have certain rooms in his palace at El-Ammeh furnished for her reception. A steward announcing tea brought him out of his meditations. Tea was served on deck, with the sun glinting on the blue water and running in golden cascades down the hill-side. Together they watched the sun set and saw night barely shadow the world when the moon rose, filling the scene with silver glory. Its white light led them back into harbour, and in its flood the two walked to the hotel together. In the garden Le Breton paused to take leave of his hostess. "Just one kiss, Heart's Ease, for the sake of last night," he whispered. Willingly Pansy lifted her flower-like face to his. "Just one then, Raoul, you darling, since you've been so nice about everything." As Le Breton stooped to kiss her it seemed to him that he would not have to resort to force in order to get the girl. Only a little patience and persuasion were needed, and he would win her in her own, white, English way. CHAPTER XVI Along the deserted corridor of the big hotel Pansy was hurrying. Her outing with Le Breton had made her late. By the time she was dressed and ready dinner was well started. She went along quickly, still thinking over the events of the day. Everything had turned out exactly as she had hoped. She wanted to keep Le Breton's love, and yet not be tied in any way--to have him in the background to marry if, or when, she felt so disposed. In the full glare of the electric light, going down the wide stairs, she entered the large patio, looking a picture. She was wearing a dress of some yellow, gauzy material that matched her hair, a garment that clung around her like a sunbeam, bright and shimmering. There were gold shoes on her feet, and around her neck a long chain of yellow amber beads. As she crossed the big, empty hall, making towards the dining-room, a man rose from his chair--the short, red-faced man from whom Le Breton had rescued her a few nights before. There was an air about him as if he had been waiting there to waylay her. Pansy saw him and she swerved slightly, but beyond that she gave him no attention. However, he was not so easily avoided. He took up his stand immediately before her, leering at her in a malicious, disagreeable fashion. "You're fond of chucking red-haired women in my teeth," he said. "Go and chuck 'em at the fellow you were spooning with outside just now." Annoyed that the man should have witnessed her parting with Le Breton, Pansy would have passed without a word; but he dodged, and was in front of her again. "At least, she isn't my fancy woman," he went on. "I don't run a villa for her, even if I do admire her looks." The weight of insinuation in his voice brought the girl to a halt. "What is it? What do you want to say?" she asked coldly. "You mean to tell me you don't know Le Breton runs that French actress, Lucille Lemesurier?" Pansy did not know. Nor did she believe a word the man said. "How dare you say such things about Mr. Le Breton?" she flashed. "Hoity-toity! How dare I indeed!" He laughed coarsely. "It isn't only me that's talking about it. Everybody knows," he went on. Everybody did _not_ know. Pansy among the number. "I don't believe a word you say," she said in an angry manner. "Don't you? All right. Trot along then, and ask the manager. Ask anybody. They're all talking about it. You would be, too, except that you're so conceited that you never come and gossip with the crowd. Ask who is running that villa for Lucille Lemesurier, and they'll tell you it's that high and mighty French millionaire chap, Le Breton, the same as I do." For a moment Pansy just stared at him, horror and disbelief on her face; then she turned quickly away. She did not go towards the dining-room, but towards the main entrance of the hotel. She had never troubled to make any inquiries about Le Breton. She had liked him, and that was enough. Pansy could not believe what the man said. For all that, she was going to the fountain-head--to Le Breton--to hear what he had to say on the subject. CHAPTER XVII A flood of light poured out from Le Breton's villa, from wide-open French windows on to a moonlit lawn. Around the house, palms drooped and bamboos whispered. The night was laden with the scent of roses and syringa, and about the fragrant shrubs fireflies glinted like showers of silver sparks. In one of the apartments opening on the lawn Le Breton sat at dinner with Lucille, over a little round table, sparkling with crystal and gold, where pink-shaded electric lights glowed among banks of flowers. It was a large room, lavishly furnished, with priceless rugs, and furniture that might have come out of some Paris museum. There were three Arab servants in attendance, deft-handed, silent men, well trained, and observant, who waited upon their master as if their lives held nothing but his wishes and desires. Opposite to him Lucille sat, in a white satin gown that left none of her charms to the imagination, with the emerald necklace flashing against her dead-white skin. She was talking in a soft, languid voice, sometimes witty, often suggestive, but never at a loss for a subject, as women do talk who are paid well to interest and amuse their masters. Le Breton did not look either particularly interested or amused. In fact, he looked bored and indifferent, answering her in monosyllables, as if her perpetual chatter interrupted some pleasant reverie of his own. As he sat, intent on his own thoughts, one of the servants came to his side. Stooping, he said in a deferential voice in Arabic: "There is the English lady your Highness deigned to breakfast with in the orange groves of Telde." Le Breton started. He glanced round, his gaze following the Arab's to one of the wide French windows opening on the lawn. Standing there, light and slight, a graceful, golden reed, was the girl who was now all the world to him. But Pansy was not looking in his direction, but at Lucille, as if she could not believe what she saw before her. The sight brought Le Breton quickly to his feet. "Pansy!" he exclaimed. His voice and action made Lucille glance towards the window. She looked at the girl standing there; then she smiled lazily, a trifle maliciously. Lucille saw before her the rival she had suspected, who had changed Le Breton's lukewarm liking into cutting indifference. With the perception of her kind she realised that Pansy was something quite different from herself and the women Le Breton usually amused himself with. That slim girl with her wide, purple eyes and vivid, flower-like face was no courtesan, no toy; but a woman with a spirit and a soul that could hold and draw a man, apart from her physical attractions; the sort of woman, in fact, that a man like Raoul Le Breton might be tempted to marry. At sound of his voice Pansy came into the room, her eyes blazing, her breast heaving, her two hands clutching the long amber chain in an effort to keep herself calm and collected. So it was true! He was living here with that red-haired creature, this man who had come to her vowing she was the only woman he had ever loved! This man whom she had kissed and whom she had allowed to kiss and fondle her! Pansy looked at Lucille in her white satin and emeralds--Lucille, big and voluptuous, her profession written on her face. "Who is that woman?" she demanded. Lucille did not wait for Le Breton to answer. One glance at him told her everything. On his face were concern, love, and annoyance; the look that comes to a man's face when the girl he would make his wife and the woman who is his mistress by some unfortunate circumstance chance to meet. Her star, never particularly bright, had waned and set within a week, all thanks to this slim girl in the yellow dress. Any day she, Lucille, might be shipped back to France, with only the emerald necklace to soothe her sore heart. As things were she could lose nothing, and she might have the pleasure of parting Le Breton from the woman he really loved. The girl looked one who would countenance no backslidings. Before he could say anything she said in a languid voice: "My name is Lucille Lemesurier. I'm an actress. At Mr. Le Breton's invitation I came here with him from Paris, to stay until he tires of me or I of him. _Comme vous voulez_," she finished, with a shrug. For a moment Pansy just stared at the truth confronting her: the truth, lazy, languid, and smiling, in white satin and emeralds. There was a little noise, hard and sharp, like a shower of frozen tears rattling down on the table. The hands clinging to the string of amber beads clung just a thought too hard, for the necklace snapped suddenly. The beads poured down like tears--the tears Pansy herself was past shedding. The knowledge of Le Breton's treachery and deceit had turned her into ice. She cast one look at him of utter contempt and scorn. Then, silently as she had come, she turned and went from the room. She did not get far, however, before Le Breton was at her side. Ignoring him, she hurried across the moonlit lawn, her only desire to escape from his presence. "Pansy----" he began. Like a whirlwind she turned on him. With a hand that shook with rage, she pointed to the open dining-room window. "Go! Go back to that red-haired creature," she said in a voice that trembled with anger. "I never want to see or speak to you again. Never!" At her words Le Breton's hands clenched and his swarthy face went white. "Do you think I'm going to be dismissed in this manner?" he asked in a strangled voice. Without a further word Pansy would have hurried on; but, before she knew what was happening, he had taken her into his arms. "How dare you touch me! How dare you touch me!" she gasped, struggling furiously after freedom, amazed at his audacity. But he laughed and, crushing her against him, kissed her fiercely. Le Breton knew his case was hopeless. No amount of persuasion would bring the girl back to his arms. He was no longer a polished man of the world, but the Sultan of El-Ammeh, a barbaric ruler who knew no law save his own desire. Pansy was too furious to be afraid. With all her might she struggled to get away from his arms and the deluge of hot, passionate kisses, not because of the danger oozing from the man, but because she knew he had held and kissed that other woman. But all her struggles were in vain. She was helpless against his strength; crushed within his arms; almost breathless under the force and passion of the kisses she could not escape from. "If you go on behaving in this brutal manner I shall scream," she panted presently. Her words sobered him. The road lay not twenty yards away, and her screams might bring a dozen people to her rescue. He remembered that he was in Grand Canary, where even _he_ had to conform with rules, not in El-Ammeh, where none would dare question his doings. He let Pansy out of his arms. "Look what a state you've put me in!" she flashed the moment she was free, as she endeavoured to tidy her torn and crumpled dress with hands that shook with anger. "You're a brute. A savage. I hate you!" she finished. But Le Breton just stood and laughed. To-night she might go; but to-morrow----! To-morrow she would be on his yacht, where she might scream to her heart's content without a soul coming to her rescue. His laughter, fierce and fond, followed Pansy from the garden. CHAPTER XVIII The hotel patio was full of people just out from dinner. In the midst of a crowd of acquaintances Captain Cameron stood, laughing and talking with those around him. All at once a voice at his elbow said tensely: "Bob, I want to speak to you alone for a moment." He turned quickly. Then he stood surveying the speaker with surprise, for the girl beside him looked very different from the Pansy he knew. There was an almost tortured air about her. Her face was set and white; there were deep, dark rings under eyes that were limpid pools of pain. "Hello, old pal, what has happened?" he asked, with concern. Pansy did not stop to answer him. With impatient hands she led him away from the crowd of listening, staring people into a quiet corner. "I'm going back to England at once. To-night! Help me to get off, please," she said. With blank amazement Cameron stared at her. "What's got hold of you now?" he managed to ask. "I'm going home," she said, "at once." "But I thought you were staying here until Sir George came out?" "Well, I've changed my mind," she snapped. "And I'm going back, even if you aren't." All Pansy wanted now was to get to the one other man she loved, her father. To get to him as quickly as possible with her bruised and wounded heart. "Of course I'll come with you, old girl," Cameron said, a trifle helplessly. "I wouldn't dream of leaving you in the lurch. But you have a way of springing surprises on people. I'll send along and tell the captain to get steam up." "Yes, do, Bob, please," she said gratefully. "And ask Miss Grainger to see about the packing. And find out where Jenkins is, and send him along to the stables. I--I'm past doing anything." Cameron scanned the girl quickly, suddenly aware that something more than a whim was at the bottom of her hurried departure. "What is it, Pansy?" he asked. "Nothing," she answered bravely. "But I get moods when I just feel I must see my old dad." She turned away quickly to avoid any further questions, leaving Cameron staring at her receding back. CHAPTER XIX The next morning Le Breton set about his scheme for trapping Pansy. The task appeared easy. He would get one of his men to note when she left the hotel and mark which route she took. There were not many roads in the place, and it would not be difficult to guess where she was going. He and his men would follow, and waylay and capture her at some lonely spot. They would take her across the island to a little port on the far side, where his yacht would be waiting. Once he had her safely on board, he would start for Africa. As he sat at breakfast, savage and brooding, craving for the girl who had flouted him, one of his servants entered. "Well?" he asked, glaring at the man. The Arab made a deep obeisance. "Your Highness, the English lady has gone." "Gone!" the Sultan repeated in an incredulous tone. "Gone! Where?" "She left the island last night, in her yacht, about two hours after she was here." Like one thunderstruck, Le Breton stared at the Arab. This unexpected move of Pansy's had upset his calculations altogether. Without a word he rose from the table. There and then he went over to the hotel to see the manager, his only idea to find out where the girl had gone. He could not believe that she had escaped him; yet the mere thought that she might have done so filled him with a seething passion. By the time he reached the hotel he had recovered himself in some degree, sufficiently to inquire in a normal tone for the manager. He was taken to the latter's office. "You had an English lady staying here, a Miss Langham," Le Breton said the moment he was ushered in. "I wanted to see her rather particularly, but I hear she has left. Can you tell me where she's gone?" On seeing who the visitor was, the manager was anxious to give all possible assistance, but he knew little more about Pansy than Le Breton did. "She left rather hurriedly," he said; "and, as far as I could gather, she was going back to England." "Do you know her address there?" Le Breton asked. "No, I don't," the manager said regretfully. "Miss Langham did not talk much about herself." This was all Le Breton was able to learn. But he knew one thing--that the girl his fierce heart hungered for had escaped him. That morning his black horse had a hard time, for Le Breton rode like a madman in a vain endeavour to get away from the whirl of wild love and thwarted hopes that raged within him--the Sultan Casim Ammeh for the first time deprived of the woman he wanted; wanted as he had never wanted any other. He went to the rose-wreathed summer-house where Pansy had been pleased to linger with him; to the orange groves at Telde where they had breakfasted together. Night found him in the hotel gardens, near the fountain where they had met and plighted their troth. His hands clenched at the thought of all she had promised there. Phantom-like, she haunted him. Her ghost was in his arms, kissing and teasing him, a recollection that was torture. The one real love of his life had proved but Dead Sea fruit. He would have given his kingdom, all his riches, to have Pansy back in his arms as he had had her that night, unresisting, watching him with eyes full of love, wanting him as much as he had wanted her. The one woman who had ever scorned him! CHAPTER XX In his study Sir George Barclay sat alone. Sixteen years had passed since, in far-away Gambia, he had had to condemn to death the marauding Arab chief. In a few weeks' time he would be returning to the country, not in any minor capacity, but as its Governor. Although his thoughts just then were in Gambia, the incident of the shooting of the Sultan Casim Ammeh had long since gone from his mind. And he never gave a thought nowadays to the boy who, unavailingly, had come to the Arab chief's rescue. But he still carried the mark of the youngster's sword upon his cheek. The passing years had changed Barclay very little. His hair was grey, his face thinner, and a studious look now lurked in the grey eyes where tragedy had once been. For, in his profession, Barclay had found some of the forgetfulness he had set out in search of. As he sat at his desk the door opened suddenly. The manner of opening told him that the daughter he imagined to be a thousand or more miles away was home again. For no one, save this cherished legacy from his lost love, would enter his study with such lack of ceremony. He looked round quickly, as a slim girl in ermine and purple velvet entered. "Why, Pansy, my darling, I thought you were in Grand Canary," he said, rising quickly to greet her. "So I was, father, five days ago. And then ... and then----!" She paused, and laughing in a rather forced manner, kissed him affectionately. "Father, will you take me out to Gambia with you?" she finished. There was very little George Barclay ever refused his daughter. On this occasion, he did make some sort of stand. "Gambia is no place for you, my darling. There's nothing there to amuse and interest a young girl." "Perhaps not," Pansy said as she took off her hat and gloves, watching him with a rather set smile. "But I don't care where I go so long as I can be with you and get away from myself." Her words made Barclay look at her sharply. To want to get away from one's self was a feeling he could understand and sympathise with, only too well. But to hear such a sentiment on his daughter's lips surprised and hurt him. "My little girl, what has happened?" he asked gently. Pansy laughed again, but there was a sharp catch of pain in her mirth. "I think my heart is broken, that's all," she said with a would-be casual air. Barclay did not wait to hear any more at that moment. He drew her down on to a couch and sat there with his arm about her. "My poor little girl," he whispered. "Tell me all about it." Pansy laid her head on his shoulder, and smiled at him with lips that trembled woefully. "It's nobody's fault but my own, Daddy," she said. "I brought it on myself with my silly, impetuous ways. And it serves me right for hankering after strange men, and not being content with my old father." For all her light talk Barclay knew something serious had happened. To him his daughter was but a new edition of a well-read book; the girl was her mother over again. There was a brief pause as Sir George sat watching his child, stroking her curls with a thin, affectionate hand, wondering what tragedy had come into this bright, young life. "Hearts are silly things, aren't they?" Pansy said suddenly. "Soft, flabby, squashy sort of things that get hurt easily if you don't keep a sharp eye on them. And I'd so many things to keep an eye on that I forgot all about mine. Hearts ought not to be left without protection. They should have iron rails put round them to keep all trespassers off, like the rails we put round the trees in the park to keep the cattle from hurting them." There was a further pause, and a little sniff. Then Pansy said: "Father, lend me your handkerchief, I know it's a nice big one. I believe I'm going to cry. For the first time since it happened. It must be seeing you again. And I shall cry a lot on your coat, and perhaps spoil it. But, since it's me, I know you won't mind." Sir George drew out a handkerchief. "I was walking along in heaven with my head up and my nose in the air," the sweet, hurt voice explained, "blissfully happy because he was there. There was a hole in the floor of heaven and I never saw it. And I fell right through, crash, bang, right down to earth again. A rotten old earth with all the fun gone out of it. And I'm awfully sore and bruised, and the shock has injured my heart. It has never been the same since and will never be the same again, because ... because, I did love him, awfully." As she talked Sir George watched her with affection and concern, his heart aching for this slim, beautiful daughter of his, to whom love had come as a tragedy. "Oh, Daddy," she said, tears choking her voice, "why is life so hard?" Then the storm broke. Sir George listened to her sobs, as with a gentle hand he stroked the golden curls. All the time he wondered who was responsible for her tears, who had broken the heart of his cherished daughter. He went over the multitude of men she knew. But he never gave one thought to the savage boy who, sixteen years before, had scarred his face--the Sultan Casim Ammeh. CHAPTER XXI In a fashionable London hotel a little party of three sat at dinner. The dining-room was a large place, full of well-dressed people. It was bright with electric light, and under a cover of greenery a band played not too loudly. Among the crowd of diners none seemed better known than the girl with the short, golden curls who sat with the thin, studious-looking man and the fresh-faced, fair-haired boy. Very often lorgnettes were turned in her direction; for, when in town, no girl was more sought after than Pansy Langham. As Pansy sat with her father and Captain Cameron a man who had been sitting at the far end of the room came to their table, greeting all three with the air of an old acquaintance. Afterwards he turned to Cameron. "Well, and how's tennis? Are you still champion in your own little way?" he asked. "To tell you the truth, Dennis," Cameron answered, "in Grand Canary one man gave me a thorough licking. And he was a rank outsider too!" "How pleased you must have felt. Who was your executioner?" "A man of the name of Le Breton. A French millionaire." Dennis laughed in a disparaging manner. "French he calls himself, does he? That's like his cheek. I met him once in Paris, a haughty sort of customer who thinks the whole world is run for him. He's a half-breed really, for all his money and his high-handed ways." The conversation had taken a turn that held a fearsome interest for Pansy. But to hear Raoul Le Breton described as a half-breed was a shock and surprise to her. "Mr. Le Breton a half-caste!" she exclaimed. Dennis glanced at her. "Where did you drop across him?" he asked sharply. "In Grand Canary also." "Well, the less you have to do with 'sich' the better," he said in a brotherly way. "He's a hot lot. The very devil. No sort of a pal for a girl like you." "I thought he was French," Pansy said in a strained voice. "He poses as such, but he isn't. He's a nigger cross, French-Arab. And what's more he's a Mohammedan." "You're a trifle sweeping, Dennis," Sir George interposed. "If you'd dealt with coloured people as much as I have, you'd know there was a great difference between a nigger and an Arab. An Arab in his own way is a gentleman. And his religion has a great resemblance to our own. He is not a naked devil-worshipper like the negro." Pansy welcomed her father's intervention. At that moment her world was crashing into even greater ruins around her. Raoul Le Breton a half-caste! The man she loved "a nigger"! Pansy did not hide from herself the fact that she still loved Le Breton, but this last piece of news about him put him quite beyond the pale. Also it put a new light on the affair of Lucille Lemesurier. He was of a different race, a different religion, a different colour, with a wholly different outlook. After the first gust of temper was over, Pansy had wanted to find some excuse for Le Breton over the affair of the French actress. It is easy to find excuses for a person when one is anxious to find them. And now it seemed she had one. He was a Mohammedan. His religion allowed him four wives, and as many other women as he pleased. No wonder he had been angry at the fuss she had made over Lucille Lemesurier! According to his code he had done no wrong. Now Pansy wanted to apologise for her rudeness in invading his villa; for her temper, and the scene that followed. The fault was all hers. She ought to have found out more about him before letting things go so far. She had liked him, and she had troubled about nothing else. She ought never to have encouraged him. For when they had breakfasted together that morning among the red roses, she knew he was in love with her. "There are lots of things about myself I haven't told you." Le Breton's remark came back to her mind. No wonder he had wanted to marry her at once! Before she found out anything about him. Pansy tried to feel angry with her erstwhile lover. But, phantom-like, the strength of his arms was around her, his handsome, sunburnt face was close to her own, his voice was whispering words of love and longing, his lips on hers in those passionate kisses that made her forget everything but himself. Her eyes went round the room, a brave, tortured look in them. Were there other women there, suffering as she was suffering? Suffering, and who yet had to go on smiling? The world demanded her smiles, and it should have them, although her heart was bleeding at the tragedy of her own making. Not only her heart, but Raoul's. Because she had encouraged him. She must not blame him. For the odds were all against him. She must try and see things from his point of view--the point of view of a polygamist. That night when Pansy got back home, she wrote the following note:-- "Dear Mr. Le Breton, I owe you an apology. Only to-night I have learnt that you are of another race, another religion than mine. It makes things look quite different. You see things from the point of view of your race, I, of mine. I am sorry I did not know all this sooner; I should have acted very differently. I should not have come to your villa that night and made a stupid fuss, for one thing. About such matters men of your race and religion are quite different from men of my own. I am sorry for all that occurred. For my own bad temper and the annoyance I must have caused you. But I did not know anything about you then. Yours regretfully, Pansy Langham. P.S.--I shall be calling at Grand Canary in about ten days' time with my father, Sir George Barclay. I am going out to Africa with him. If you care to come on board during the evening I should like to see you and say how sorry I am. P. L." CHAPTER XXII One day when Le Breton returned from one of the mad rides he frequently indulged in, in a vain effort to assuage the pain and chagrin that raged within him, he found among a pile of letters put aside for his inspection, one with an English stamp. Letters from that country rarely came his way. But it was not the novelty that attracted him, making him pick it out from the others, but the writing. He had seen it once before, on a note that had turned his heaven into hell, when for the first time he had learnt what it was to be rejected by a woman. He tore the envelope open, eager for the contents. What had the girl to say to him? Why had she written? With a wild throb of hope, he drew out the message. Once he had called Pansy a little creature of rare surprises. But none equalled the surprise in store for him now. It was not the apologies in the note he saw; nor a girl's desire to try and see things from his point of view; nor the fact that, despite everything, she was unable to break away from him. He saw only one thing. She was Sir George Barclay's daughter! The girl he loved to distraction was the child of his father's murderer! Astounded he stared at the note. He could not believe it. Yet it was there, written in Pansy's own hand. "With my father, Sir George Barclay." Pansy, the child of the man he hated! That brave, kind, slim, teasing girl, who for one brief week had filled him with a happiness and love and contentment such as he had once deemed impossible. As he brooded on the note a variety of emotions raged within him. A vengeance that had rankled for sixteen years fought with a love that had grown up in a week. Then he pulled himself together, as if amazed at his own indecision. He took the note, with its pathos and pleading; a girl's endeavour to meet the view of the man she loved, whose outlook was quite beyond her. Deliberately he tore it across and across, into shreds, slowly and with a cruel look on his face, as if it were something alive that he was torturing, and that gave him pleasure to torture. For Le Breton had decided what his course was to be. The vengeance he had promised long years ago should be carried out, with slight alterations. He had a way now of torturing Sir George Barclay that would be punishment beyond any death. And Pansy was the tool he intended to use. What was more, she was to pay the penalty of her father's crime. For he would mete out to her the measure he had promised sixteen years ago. However, this decision did not prevent Le Breton from going to Pansy's yacht the evening of its arrival in Grand Canary. After dinner he made his way along the quay towards the white vessel with its flare of light that stood out against the dark night. Evidently he was expected. On inquiring for Miss Langham, he was shown into the cabin where he had had his previous interview with her; and with the feeling that things would go his way, if he had but a little patience: a virtue he had never been called upon to exercise where a woman was concerned. Le Breton's feelings as he stayed on in the pretty cabin would be difficult to describe. Everything was redolent of the girl, touching his heart with fairy fingers; a heart he had hardened against her. But, as he waited there, he despised himself for even having momentarily contemplated letting a woman come between him and his cherished vengeance. Once in Africa Sir George Barclay would prove an easy and unsuspecting prey. According to custom, the Governor should tour his province. That tour would bring him within six hundred miles of Le Breton's desert kingdom. The latter intended to keep himself well posted in his enemy's movements. And he knew exactly the spot where he would wait for the Governor and his suite--the spot where sixteen years before the Sultan Casim Ammeh had been shot. He, Le Breton, would wait near there with a troop of his Arab soldiers. Unsuspecting, the Governor would walk into the trap. The whole party would be captured with a completeness and unexpectedness that would leave no trace of what had happened. With his prisoners he would sweep back to the desert. Once in El-Ammeh, the daughter should be sold as a slave in the public market, to become the property of any Arab or negro chief who fancied her. And her father should see her sold. But he should not be killed afterwards. He should live on to brood over his child's fate--a torture worse than any death. "Put your ear quite close. It's not a matter that can be shouted from the house-tops." Like a sign from the sea, the echo of Pansy's voice whispered in his ear, a breath from his one night in heaven. But he would not listen. Vengeance had stifled love--vengeance he had waited sixteen years for. He glanced round with set, cold face. It seemed to him no other woman could look so lovely and desirable as the girl entering. Pansy was wearing a flounced dress of some soft pink silky material that spread around her like the petals of a flower. The one great diamond sparkled on her breast--a dewdrop in the heart of a half-blown rose. On seeing her Le Breton caught his breath sharply. This girl the daughter of his father's murderer! This lovely half-blown English rose! What a trick Fate had played him! Then, ashamed of his momentary craving, he faced her, a cruel smile on his lips. There was a brief silence. Pansy looked at him, thinking she had never seen him so handsome, so proud, so aloof, so hard as now. He stood watching her coldly with no word of welcome, no greeting on his lips. He was the first to speak. And he said none of the things Pansy was expecting and was prepared for. "Why did you tell me your name was Langham?" he asked in a peremptory manner. "It is Langham," she answered, with some surprise. "How is it, then, that you say Sir George Barclay is your father?" "He is my father. Langham was my godfather's name, my own second name. I had to take it when I inherited his money. That was his one stipulation." Another pause ensued. There was a hurt look in Pansy's soft eyes as she watched Le Breton. As he looked back at her a hungry gleam came to his hard ones. "What have you learnt about me?" he demanded presently. "That you're half Arab." He had almost expected her to say she had discovered he was the Sultan Casim Ammeh, her own and her father's sworn enemy. "Is that all?" he asked, with a savage laugh. "It's quite enough to account for everything," Pansy replied. "Even for your coming into my arms and letting me kiss and caress you," he said, with biting sarcasm. Pansy flushed. "I didn't know anything about you then. And you know I didn't," she said with indignation. "Or you wouldn't have listened to a word of love from me." Much as he tried to hate the girl, now that he was with her he could not keep the word "love" off his lips. Pansy felt she was not shining. She wanted to apologise, but he seemed determined to be disagreeable. What was more, she had a feeling she was dealing with quite a different man from the Raoul Le Breton who had won and broken her heart within a week. She put it down to her own treatment of him and it made her all the more anxious for an understanding. She could not bear to see him looking at her in that hard, cruel way, as if she were his mortal enemy--someone who had injured him past all forgiveness. "It's not that I want to talk about at all," she said desperately. "What do you want to talk about, then?" he asked, his cruel smile deepening. "I want to say how sorry I am that I was angry with you that night. But I ... I didn't know you were ... are----" Pansy stopped before she got deeper into the mire. She was going to say "a coloured man," but with him standing before her, her lips refused to form the words. However, Le Breton finished the sentence for her. "'A nigger.' Don't spare my feelings. I've had it cast up at me before by you English." "You know I wouldn't say anything so cruel and untrue." Again there was silence. Le Breton watched her, torturing himself with the thought of what might have been. "If you'd kept your word, you'd be my wife now. The wife of 'a nigger,'" he said presently. "Don't be so cruel. I never thought you'd be like this," she cried, her voice full of pain. "And I never thought you would break your word." "In any case, I couldn't have married you, considering you're a Mohammedan," she said, goaded out of all patience by his unfriendly attitude. "Religion is nothing to me nowadays. I was quite prepared to change to yours." "You couldn't have done that. There would be your ... your wives to consider." "I have no wife by my religion or yours." "But that woman at your villa, wasn't she----" Pansy began. "I've half a dozen women in one of my--houses; but none of them are my wives. You're the only woman I've ever asked for in marriage. You!" He laughed in a cruel, hard way, as if at some devil's joke. Pansy's hand went to her head--a weary, hopeless gesture. He was beyond her comprehension, this man who calmly confessed to having a half a dozen women in one of his houses, to a woman he would have made his wife. "I'm sorry," she said in a dreary tone, "but I can't understand you. I'd no idea there were men who seemed just like other men and yet behaved in this ... this extraordinary fashion." "I'm not aware that my behaviour is extraordinary. Every man in my country has a harem if he can afford it." Deliberately he put these facts before the girl in his desire to hurt and hate her as he hated her father. But the look of suffering on her face hurt him as much as he was hurting her. And he hated himself more than he hated her, because uprooting the love he had for her out of his heart was proving such a difficult task. "It's a harem, is it?" Pansy said distastefully. "Now I'm beginning to understand. But I don't want to hear anything more about it. I see now it was a mistake my asking you here. But I wanted you to know--to know----" She floundered and stopped and started again, anxious to be fair with him in spite of everything. "I wanted you to understand that the fact of your religion and race made your behaviour seem quite different from what it would have been were you a ... a European. I want you to see that I know you have your point of view, that I can't in all fairness blame you for doing what is not wrong according to your standpoint, even if it is according to mine." With his cold, cruel smile deepening, he watched her floundering after excuses for him, endeavouring to see his point of view, to be just and fair. "You're very magnanimous," he said, with biting scorn. "And you are very unkind," she flashed, suddenly out of patience. "You're making everything as hard for me as you possibly can. You're doing it deliberately; and you look as if you enjoyed hurting me. I never thought you'd be like this, Raoul. I would have liked to part as friends since ... since anything else is impossible." His name on her lips made a spasm cross Le Breton's face. As he stood there fighting against himself he knew he was still madly in love with the girl he was determined to hate, and he despised himself for his own weakness. Pansy watched him, a look of suppressed suffering shadowing her eyes. She would have given all she possessed--her cherished freedom, her vast riches, her life--to have had him as she once thought him, a man of her own colour, not with this dreadful black barrier between them; a tragedy so ghastly that the fact of Lucille Lemesurier now seemed a laughing matter. He was lost to her for ever. No amount of love or understanding could pull down that barrier. "Good-bye," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm sorry we ever dropped across one another." Le Breton made no reply. Cold and unsmiling, he watched her. There was a brief silence. Outside, the sea sobbed and splashed like tears against the vessel's side. But all the tears in the world could not wash the black stain from him. As they stood looking at one another, a verse came and sang like a dirge in Pansy's head: What are we waiting for? Oh, my heart, Kiss me straight on the brow and part: Again! Again, my heart, my heart What are we waiting for, you and I? A pleading look--a stifled cry-- Good-bye for ever. Good-bye, good-bye. "Good-bye," she said again. Then he smiled his cold, cruel smile. "No, Pansy. I say--au revoir." Ignoring her outstretched hand, he bowed. Then, after one long look at her, he turned and was gone. As the door closed behind him Pansy blinked back two tears. It had hurt her horribly to see him so set and cold, with that cruel look in his eyes where love once had been. She wished that "The Sultan" had killed her that day in the East End of London; or that Raoul Le Breton had been drowned that night in the sea. Anything rather than that they should have met to make each other suffer. PART III CHAPTER I Over El-Ammeh great stars flashed, like silver lamps in the purple dome above the desert city. Their light gave a faint, misty white tinge to the scented blueness of the harem garden. There, trees sighed softly, moving vague and shadow-like as a warm breeze stirred them. The walled pleasance was filled with the scent of flowers, of roses, magnolia, heliotrope, mimosa and a hundred other blossoms, for night lay heavy upon the garden. In sunken ponds the stars were mirrored, rocking gently on the surface of the ruffled water. Close by one of the silvered pools, a man's figure showed, big and white, in flowing garments. Against him a slender girl leant. Rayma's eyes rivalled the stars as she gazed up at her sultan and owner. Yet in their dark depths a touch of anxiety lurked. A fortnight ago, the Sultan had returned to El-Ammeh. The first week had been one of blissful happiness for the Arab girl. For her master had returned more her lover than ever. But, as the days went on, doubts crept into her heart, vague and haunting. At times it seemed to her he was not quite the same man who left her for Paris. For he had a habit now that he had not had before he went away--a disconcerting habit of looking at her with unseeing eyes, as if his thoughts were elsewhere. This mood was on him now. Although the night called for nothing but love and caresses, none had fallen to her lot. Although she rested against him, she might not have been there for all the notice he took. He appeared to have forgotten her, as he gazed in a brooding, longing manner at the soft, velvety depths of the purple sky--sky as deeply, softly purple as pansies. Rayma pressed closer to her lord and sultan, looking at him with love-laden, anxious eyes. "Beloved," she whispered softly, "are your thoughts with some woman in Paris?" With a start, his attention came back to her. In the starlight he scanned her little face in a fierce, hungry, disappointed manner. For the slight golden girl who now rested upon his heart brought him none of the contentment he had known when Pansy had been there. "No, little one," he said gently. "I prefer you to all the women I met in Paris." Her slim arms went round his neck in a clinging passionate embrace. "Oh, my lord," she whispered, "such words are my life. At times I think you do not love me as you once did. You seem not quite the same. For, often, although your arms are around me, you forget that I am there!" A bitter expression crossed his face. He did not forget that she was there. Although he had come back to the desert girl he had once loved, it was not her he wanted, but the girl who had scorned and flouted him, his enemy's daughter. And he tried to forget her in the slim, golden arms that held him, with such desire and passion. "No, Rayma, I'm not quite the same," he said, stroking the little face that watched him with such love and longing. "For sixteen years and more I have waited to avenge my father's death. And now----" He broke off, and laughed savagely. "And now--my father's murderer is almost within my grip. Next week I start out with my men to capture him." Revenge was a sentiment the Arab girl could understand. "Oh, my lord," she whispered, "little wonder that your mind wanders from me, even though I am within your arms. I wept when you went to Paris. But I would speed you on this quest for vengeance." The Sultan made no reply. Deep down in his own heart he knew his excuse was a false one. It was not vengeance that came between him and Rayma--but Pansy. And now he hated the English girl, for she had robbed all other women of their sweetness. CHAPTER II Over the old fort near the river the British flag drooped limply. Many years had passed since it had last hung there. Nowadays, the place was not used. The country was too peaceful to need forts, and the district officer lived in a corrugated iron bungalow just beyond the remains of the stockade. It was getting on towards evening. The mist still rose from forest and shadow valley, as it had risen sixteen years before when Barclay first came to these parts. And in the stunted cliffs another generation of baboons swarmed. On the roof of the old fort Pansy stood with her father, watching as she had often watched during her months in Africa, the sunset that each night painted the world with glory. A golden mist draped the horizon, its edge gilded sharply and clearly. Across the golden curtain swept great fan-like rays of rose and green and glowing carmine, all radiating from a blurred mass of orange hung on the world's edge where the sun sank slowly behind the veil of gold. The mist rolled up from the wide shallow valley, in banks and tattered ribbons, rainbow tinted. And the lakes that, in the dry season, marked the course of the shrunken river, gleamed like jewels in the flood of light poured out from the heavens. The constant change and variety of the last few months had eased Pansy's pain a little. With her father she had toured the colony. She had slept under canvas, in native huts, and iron bungalows. And there were half-a-dozen officers on the governor's staff, all anxious to entertain his daughter. But for the nights, Pansy would have enjoyed herself immensely. "Give me the nights, Pansy, and the days I'll leave to you." Very often Raoul Le Breton's words came back to her, as she lay sleepless. It seemed that he had her nights now, that man she loved yet could not marry. Often her heart ached with a violence that kept her awake until the morning. Pansy tried to make her nights as short as possible. She was always the last to bed and the first to rise, often up and dressed before Alice--her plump, pretty, mulatto maid, a Mission girl Pansy had engaged for her stay in Africa--appeared with the early morning tea. And whenever it was possible, she was out and away on her old racehorse, with some member of her father's staff. And the day that followed was generally full of novelty and interest. There were new people to see; a wild country to travel through; some negro chief to interview; a native village to visit. As the journey continued, the Europeans grew fewer. Until that day, it was nearly a week since Pansy had seen a white face, except those of her father's suite. Only that afternoon the furthermost point of the tour had been reached. A mile or so beyond was French territory. With her father Pansy often went over the maps of the district and the country that lay around it. She knew that beyond the British possessions lay a sparsely populated and but little known district; vast areas, scarcely explored, of scrub and poor grass, that led on to the Back of Beyond, the limitless expanse of the burning Sahara. But, interested as Pansy always was in all connected with her father's province, and all that lay about it, she was not thinking of any of these things as she stood on the roof with him, but of her old playmate, Captain Cameron. The Governor, his staff, and the district officer were going the next day to visit some rather important negro chief. Pansy was to have been one of the party, but on reaching their journey's end, Cameron had suddenly developed a bad attack of malaria. "I don't think I'll go to-morrow, father," she was saying. "I don't like leaving Bob. I know his orderly can look after him all right. But he says he feels better when I'm about, so I promised to stay and hold his hand." "Just as you like," Sir George answered. "In any case the pow-pow will be very similar to a dozen others you've seen. And Bob needs keeping cheerful." "He takes it very philosophically," Pansy answered. "It's the only way to take life," her father answered, a trifle sadly. Pansy rubbed a soft cheek against his in silent sympathy. She loved and understood her quiet, indulgent father more than ever. But the dead girl he still grieved for was only a misty memory to his child. "Yes, Daddy, I've learnt that too," she said. "It's no use grousing about things. It's far better to laugh in the teeth of Fate." George Barclay's arm went round his daughter. She had followed out her own precepts, this brave, bright girl of his. As she went about his camp, no one would have guessed her life was a tragedy. And even he knew no more than she had told him on her unexpected return from Grand Canary. She was fighting her battle alone, as he in past years had fought his, in her own unselfish way, refusing to let her shadows fall on those about her. CHAPTER III About five miles away from the old fort, deep in the forest, there was a large grassy glade, an unfrequented spot. Within it now were encamped what looked to be a large party of Arab merchants. There were about a hundred of them, and they had come early that morning, with horses, and camels, and mules, and bales of merchandise. And they outnumbered Barclay's party by nearly three to one. His following were not more than forty, including thirty Hausa soldiers. Immediately on arriving in the glade, two of the Arabs, with curios, had been dispatched to the English camp, outwardly to sell their goods, but, in reality, as spies. They had hardly gone, before the rest of the party put aside its peaceful air. Out of their bales weapons were produced; guns of the latest pattern and vicious-looking knives. In his tent the Sultan Casim Ammeh sat, in white burnoose, awaiting the return of his spies. With him was Edouard, his French doctor, who was watching his royal master with an air of concern. "I shall be glad when this thing is through and done with," he remarked presently, his voice heavy with anxiety. "And all I hope is that the English don't get hold of you. There'll be short shrift for you, if you're caught meddling with their officials." "They'd shoot me, as Barclay shot my father," the Sultan replied grimly. "But I'm willing to risk that in order to get hold of him." "I wish we were safely back in El-Ammeh," the doctor said. "You've never experienced either a deep love or a deep hate, Edouard. The surface of things has always satisfied you. You're to be envied." "Well I hope that love will never run you into the dangers that this revenge of yours is likely to," Edouard replied, getting up. He went from the tent, leaving the Sultan alone, awaiting the return of his spies. It was nearly midday when they got back to the glade. At once they were taken into the royal presence. "What have you learnt?" the Sultan demanded. The Arabs bowed low before their ruler. "Your Highness, the English party has broken up," one replied. "The chief and his officers, with half the soldiers, have gone to a village that lies about half way between here and the fort. And the white lady, his daughter, is left behind, with but fifteen men to guard her." As Le Breton listened, the task he had set himself appeared even easier than he had imagined. At the head of his men he would waylay and capture the governor and his party on their return from the village. When this was accomplished he would send off a contingent to seize Pansy. With this idea in view, he summoned a couple of native officers into his presence. When they appeared, he gave them various instructions about the matter on hand, and, finally, his plans concerning Pansy. "No shot must be fired in the presence of the English lady," he finished. "At all costs she must be captured without injury." With deference the Arab officers listened to his instructions, then they bowed and left the royal presence. Not long afterwards the glade was practically empty save for the tents and camels and mules. At the head of his men the Sultan Casim Ammeh had gone in quest of the vengeance he had waited quite sixteen years for. CHAPTER IV In the guard-house of the old fort where George Barclay had once housed his wounded Arab prisoners, Captain Cameron sat propped up with pillows in a camp bed. It was a cool, dim, white-washed room with thick stone walls, tiny windows high up near the ceiling, and a strong wooden door, that was barred from the inside. Beside him Pansy sat, pouring out the tea that his orderly had just brought in, and trying to coax an appetite that malaria had left capricious. Cameron's fever had burnt itself out in twenty-four hours as such fevers will, but it had left the young man very weak and washed out, scarcely able to stand on his legs. As Pansy sat talking and coaxing, trying to make a sick man forget his sickness, into the stillness of the drowsy afternoon there came a sound that neither of them expected. The thunder of horses' hoofs, like a regiment sweeping towards them. As far as Cameron knew there were no horses in the district except their own, and they numbered only about half a dozen, not enough to produce anything like that amount of sound. "What on earth can that be?" he asked, suddenly alert. Almost as he spoke there was a further sound. A sound of firing. Not a single shot, but a volley. It was followed immediately by cries and screams, and a hubbub of native voices. Cameron had seen active service. That sound made him forget all about his fever. He knew it for a surprise attack. But who had attacked them, and why, he could not imagine; for the district was peaceful. Barefooted and in pyjamas, he scrambled out of bed. Swaying, he fumbled under his pillow, and producing a revolver, slipped it into his pocket. Then he staggered across to the door, Pansy at his heels. When they looked out, it appeared that the stockade was filled with white-robed figures on horseback, lean, brown, hawk-faced men whom Pansy immediately recognised for Arabs. The surprised Hausa soldiers had been driven into one corner of the compound, and back to back were fighting valiantly against overwhelming odds. Cameron did not wait to see any more. Already a score or more of the wild horsemen were sweeping on towards the old fort where the two stood. Quick as thought he shut the guardroom door. With hands that shook with fever, he stooped and picked up one of the two iron bars that held it in position. "Lend me a hand, Pansy," he said sharply. But Pansy did not need any telling. Already she had seized the other end of the heavy bar. It was in position just as the horde outside reached the guard-house. There was a rattle of arms, the sound of horses being brought sharply to a halt. Then orders shouted in a wild, barbaric language. There followed a shower of heavy blows upon the door. When the second iron bar was in position, the boy and the girl stood for a moment and looked at one another. Pansy was the first to speak. "What has happened?" she asked. "It looks like a desert tribe out on some marauding expedition," he replied in as cool a voice as he could muster. "But I'm sure I don't know what they're doing down as far as here." "My father?" Pansy said quickly. Cameron made no reply. He hoped the Governor's party had not fallen foul of the marauders. But the fate of Sir George and his staff was not the one that troubled him now. All his thoughts were for the girl he loved, to keep her from falling into the hands of that barbaric horde. And fall she must, dead or alive, before so very long. Strong as the door was, it would not be able to withstand the assaults the Arabs could put upon it. With a casual air Cameron examined his revolver, to make sure that the five cartridges were complete. Then he glanced at the girl. She caught his eye, and smiled bravely. She had grasped the situation also. "We all have to die sooner or later," she remarked. "I hope it'll be sooner in my case." Cameron's young face grew even whiter and more drawn; this time with something more than fever--the thought of the task before him. "Four shots for them, Pansy, and the fifth for you," he answered hoarsely. "Yes, Bob, whatever you do, don't forget the fifth." As they talked, thundering blows were falling on the door, filling the room with constantly recurring echoes. But the wood and iron withstood the assault. The noise stopped suddenly. From outside, voices could be heard, evidently discussing what had better be done next. Pansy and Cameron crossed to the far side of the room, and stood there side by side, their backs against the wall, waiting. When the blows came again they were different; one heavy, ponderous thud that made the door creak and groan, with a pause between each blow. "They've got a battering-ram to work now, a tree trunk or something," Cameron remarked. "That good old door won't be able to stand the strain much longer." Then he glanced at the girl, longing in his eyes. "Let me give you one kiss, Pansy. A good-bye kiss," he whispered. "It's years since I've kissed you. You're such a one for keeping a fellow at arm's length nowadays." With death knocking at the door Pansy could not refuse him; this nice boy she had always liked, yet never loved. She thought of the man who had feasted so freely on her lips that night in the moonlit garden in Grand Canary. She wanted no man's kisses but his, no man's love but his, and his race and colour barred him out from her for ever. "Kiss me if you like, Bob, for old time's sake. But----" She broke off, listening to the noises from outside, the heavy, regular thud on the iron-bound door, that had now set the stone walls trembling. "Now, I shall die a young maid instead of an old one, that's all," she said suddenly. Cameron watched her, pain on his face; this girl who could face death with a courage that equalled his own. Then he kissed her tenderly. "Good-bye, Pansy, little pal," he said hoarsely. Afterwards there was silence in the room. Between the heavy blows flies droned. Droned as if all were well with the world. As if nothing untoward were happening. Pansy listened to them, a strained look on her face. So they would go on droning after she was dead. How painful the thought would once have been. But the world had grown so tragic since she had met and parted with Raoul Le Breton. Life had become so dreary. There was a constant gnawing pain at her heart now, a pain that Pansy hoped would not follow her from this world into another. There was a crash of falling timber. The door gave way suddenly, letting in a flood of wild, white-clad men. If Cameron thought of anything beyond getting his four shots home among the swarming crowd, it was to wonder why they did not fire, instead of rushing towards him and the girl. But he did not give much time to the problem. Within four seconds, four shots had been fired at the onrushing Arabs. And with ruthless joy Cameron noted that four of them fell. Then he turned his weapon on the girl beside him. Now that her turn had come, Pansy smiled at him bravely with white lips. But, as Cameron turned, a shot grazed his hand, fired by the leader of the Arabs, who appeared to have grasped what the Englishman was about to do. The bullet did not reach Pansy's brain as Cameron intended. For the pain of his wound sent his hand slightly downwards just as he pulled the trigger. His bullet found a resting-place in her heart, it seemed. With a faint gasp she fell as if dead at his feet, a red stain on the front of her white dress. This contretemps left the onrushing horde aghast. They halted abruptly. In silence they stood staring at the limp form of the prostrate girl, the fear of death upon their swarthy faces. CHAPTER V In his tent the Sultan Casim Ammeh was waiting for the return of the party sent on to the old fort to capture Pansy. So far there had been no hitch in his schemes. Sir George and his staff had proved an easy prey. Already one portion of his Arab following, with Barclay's officers, had set out on the long journey back to El-Ammeh. Sir George and Pansy, the Sultan had arranged to take up himself, as soon as the girl was in his hands. For he had no desire to linger in British territory. But it was not the punishment England would dole out to him if he were caught that filled Le Breton's mind as he sat cross-legged among the cushions, with the cruel lines about his mouth very much in evidence. His thoughts were all with Sir George Barclay's daughter. What desert harem would be her future home? What wild chief would call that golden-haired girl his chattel? Casim Ammeh had determined to carry out his vengeance to the letter, where Pansy was concerned. To sell her in the slave-market of his capital; and keep her father alive, tortured by the knowledge of his daughter's fate. What would the girl say when she saw him? When she recognised him for the Sultan of El-Ammeh, the man her father had wronged past all forgiveness. Would that sweet, brave face go white at the knowledge of the fate before her? Would she try to plead with him or herself and her father? Would----! Le Breton pulled his straying thoughts up sharply, lest they should go wandering down forbidden ways--ways that led to where love was. He had determined to hate Pansy; a hatred he had to keep continually before him, lest he should forget it. The afternoon wore on, bringing long shadows creeping into the glade. And the Sultan sat waiting for the full fruit of his vengeance. There might be peace in his heart once the wrong done to his father was righted. Peace in the restless heart that throbbed within him, that seemed always searching for a life other than the one he lived; a peace he had known just once or twice when a girl's slight form had rested upon it. His enemy's daughter! The sound of approaching hoofs broke into his thoughts. He knew what they were. Those of the party sent on to capture Pansy. When the cavalcade halted, his eyes went to the open flap of the big tent, a savage expression in them. He could not see the returned party from there; only the guards posted outside of the royal quarters. Presently a couple of men in flowing white robes came into view; the two officers who had headed the expedition. They were challenged by the sentries, then they passed on towards the tent where their Sultan was waiting. There was concern upon their faces, that deepened to resignation and despair when the royal gaze rested upon them. "Where is the English lady?" their Sultan demanded coldly. "Your Highness, there was a man of her colour with her, and----" one of the officers began. Le Breton made an impatient gesture. "Bring me the girl," he commanded. The officers glanced at one another. Then one knelt before the Sultan. "The instructions were carried out," he said. "But the English lady is dead." There was a moment of tense silence. A feeling of someone fighting against an incredible truth. Pansy dead! Impossible! The Sultan sat as if turned into stone. The contretemps was one he had never anticipated. "Dead," the echoes whispered at him mockingly through the silk-draped tent. "Dead," they sighed unto themselves as if in dire pain. And that one tragic word stripped love of its garment of hate, and set it before him, alive and vital. The tent suddenly became charged with suffering, and the feeling of a fierce, proud heart breaking. "Dead!" the Sultan repeated in a hoarse, incredulous voice. "Then Allah have pity on the man who killed her, for I shall have none." "Your Highness, there was a white man with her. He shot her," the kneeling officer explained. Le Breton hardly heard him. For the first time in his wild, arrogant life he felt regret; regret for a deed of his own doing. The regret that is the forerunner of conscience, as conscience precedes the birth of a soul--the soul he had once laughingly accused Pansy of trying to save. His schemes had brought her to her death. Morally his was the hand that had killed her. His hand! The thought staggered him. He got to his feet suddenly, reeling slightly, as if in dire agony. The officer kneeling before him bowed his head submissively. He expected the fate of all who bring bad news to a Sultan--the Sultan's sword upon his neck. But Le Breton hardly noticed the man. He only saw his own deed before him. Love had leapt out of its scabbard of hate. The one fact he had tried to keep hidden from himself was shouting, loud-voiced, at him. In spite of who and what Pansy was, he still loved her, madly, ragingly, hopelessly. But it had taken her death to bring the truth home to him. "Where is the girl?" he asked, in a stiff, harsh voice. "We brought her so that your Highness could see we spoke the truth," the officer replied. "Let her be brought in to me then, and laid there," the Sultan said, indicating a wide couch full of cushions. Glad to escape with their lives the officers hurried out to do the royal bidding. There were no cruel lines about the Sultan's mouth as he waited their return, but deep gashes of pain instead. A silent cavalcade entered the tent some minutes later: as silent as the Sultan who stood awaiting them; as silent as the girl with the red stain on her breast and the red blood on her lips. A look from the Sultan dismissed the men. When they had gone, he crossed to Pansy's side, and stood gazing down at her. She lay limp and white, a broken lily before him, His enemy's daughter! This still, white, lovely girl. This pearl among women, whom he had tried to hate. And now----! Pain twisted his face. He thought of Pansy as he had last seen her, that night on her yacht. She had wanted to bring about an understanding between them. She had tried to see things from his point of view. She was prepared to make allowances, to find excuses for him. And he had treated her with harshness; wilfully set her at a disadvantage; purposely had misunderstood her; deliberately had said all he could to wound her. He had done his best to hate her. He had put vengeance before love. Now he had his reward. His wild lust for revenge had stilled that kind heart that had lived to do its best for all. A stifled groan came to his lips. What a trick Fate had played upon him! Leaning over the couch he took one of her limp, white hands into his strong brown one. The little hand whose touch could always soothe his restless spirit, that had once teased and caressed him, opening out visions of a Paradise that his own deeds had now shut out from him for ever. The Fruit of the Tree of Vengeance is bitter. And this Le Breton realized to the fullest as he gazed at the silent girl. "Pansy, don't mock me from beyond the Styx," he whispered. "For you know now that my heart is broken. There's nothing but grief for me here and hereafter." Then it seemed to the tortured man that a miracle happened. The girl's eyes opened. For a brief second she gazed at him in a dazed, bewildered manner. Then her lids dropped weakly, as if even that slight effort were too much for her. CHAPTER VI Blue-black night surrounded the Arab encampment. Here and there a red watch-fire punctuated the darkness. Although well past midnight, a light burnt in the Sultan's tent. It came from a heavy silver lamp slung from the bar joining the two main supporting poles. The light flickered on the couch where Pansy still lay, limp and white among the silken cushions, her curls making a halo about her pain-drawn face. She was no longer clad in her muslin frock, but in a silk nightgown with her namesakes embroidered upon it. A light silk rug covered her up to her waist; on it her hands lay, weak and helpless. On discovering there was a spark of life left in his prisoner, the Sultan had sent post-haste to an adjacent tent for Edouard. When the doctor arrived, Le Breton stood silent whilst the patient was examined, in an agony of tortured love awaiting the verdict. "There's no hope unless I can get the bullet out," the doctor had remarked at the end of the examination. "It escaped her heart by about half an inch; but it means constant haemorrhage if it's left in the lungs." "And if it's removed?" the Sultan asked hoarsely. Edouard shrugged his shoulders in a non-committal manner. "It'll be touch and go, even then. But she might pull through with care and attention. She's young and healthy. But if she survives, she'll feel the effects of that bullet for some time to come." With that Edouard left to fetch his instruments, leaving the Sultan gazing down at the result of his own mad desire for vengeance--a red, oozing wound on a girl's white breast. When the doctor returned, whilst he probed after the bullet Le Breton held Pansy with firm, careful strength, lest, in pain, she should move and send the instrument into the heart Cameron's shot had just missed. But she was unconscious through it all. Although the probing brought a further gush of blood, Edouard managed to locate the bullet and extract it. After the wound was dressed, and Pansy bound and bandaged up, the doctor left. With his departure the Sultan sent for Pansy's belongings, which his soldiers had brought up as plunder from the raid. There was no woman among his following, so he sent one of the guards to inquire if there was one among the captives. Presently Pansy's mulatto maid was brought to him. Alice was a pretty brown girl of about seventeen, clad in a blue cotton slip, and she wore a yellow silk handkerchief tied around her black curls. With awe she gazed about the sumptuous tent; with admiration at her handsome, kingly captor. He, however, had nothing to say to her, beyond giving her instructions to serve her mistress and warning her to use the utmost care. When Alice set about her task he went from the tent to interview Edouard. Pansy's condition had upset his plans. Even if the girl recovered, she could not be moved for a week at least, no matter how carefully her litter was carried. And a force as large as his could not stay a week in the neighbourhood without the fact becoming known. When Le Breton returned he dismissed Alice, and he seated himself by the couch and stayed there watching the unconscious girl. Evening shadows crept into the tent, bringing a deft-handed, silent servant, who lighted the heavy silver lamp and withdrew as silently as he had come. Dinner appeared; a sumptuous meal that the Sultan waved aside impatiently. Then Edouard came again, to see how the patient was faring; to give an injection and go, after a curious glance at the big, impassive figure of his patron sitting silent and brooding at his captive's side. Gradually the noises of the camp died down, until outside there was only the sough of the forest, the whisper of the wind in the tree-tops, the occasional stamp of a horse's hoof, the hoot of an owl in the glade, and, every now and again in the distance, the mocking laugh of hyenas. Mocking at him, it seemed to Le Breton; at a man whose own doings had brought his beloved to death's door. Within the tent there was no longer silence. Faint little moans whispered through it occasionally, mingling with the rustle of silken curtains and the sparking of the lamp. And every now and again there were weak bouts of coughing; coughs that brought an ominous red stain to Pansy's lips; stains the Sultan dabbed off carefully with a handkerchief, his strong hand shaking slightly, his arrogant face working strangely, for he knew he was responsible for the life-blood upon her lips. Every hour Edouard came to give the injection which held the soul back from the grim, bony hands of death that groped after it. Once or twice Pansy's eyes opened, but they closed almost instantly, as if she had not strength enough to hold them open. But before daybreak her coughs had ceased. An hour passed, then two, without that ominous red stain coming to her lips. Edouard nodded to himself in a satisfied way as he left the tent. A little of the strained look left the Sultan's face. The haemorrhage had stopped; youth and health were winning the battle. Just as the first pink streak of dawn entered the tent Pansy's eyes opened again and stayed open, purple wells of pain that rested on the Sultan's with a puzzled expression. Into the misty world of suffering and weakness in which she moved it seemed to her that Raoul Le Breton had come, looking at her as he had once looked, with love and tenderness in his glowing eyes. She could not make out where she was or how he came to be there. She had no recollection of the horde who had broken into the guardroom where she and Cameron had been. She was too full of suffering to give any thought to the problem. Raoul Le Breton was with her, that was enough. A wan smile of recognition trembled for a moment on her lips. "Raoul," she said faintly. It was more a sigh than a word. But his name whispered so feebly brought him kneeling beside her couch, bending over her eagerly. "My darling, forgive me," he whispered passionately. He bent his head still lower, with infinite tenderness kissing the white lips that had breathed his name so faintly. Pansy's eyes closed again. A look of contentment came to mingle with the suffering on her face. Outside the hyenas still laughed mockingly: derisive echoes from a distance. But Le Breton did not hear them. Despite his treatment of her, Pansy had smiled upon him. For the first time in his wild life he felt humility and gratitude, both new sensations. When Edouard came again he pronounced the girl sleeping, not unconscious. "With care and attention she'll pull through," he said. "Thank God!" his patron exclaimed, with unfeigned relief and joy. Edouard glanced at his master speculatively. He had heard nothing about Pansy's existence until he had been hurriedly summoned to attend her, and he wondered why his friend and patron had made no mention of the girl. "You never told me Barclay had a daughter," he commented. "I did not know myself until quite recently," the Sultan replied. "Is she to share her father's fate?" the doctor asked drily. Tenderly the Sultan gazed at the small white face on the cushions. "She's not my enemy," he said in a caressing tone. With a feeling of relief, Edouard left the tent. It was most evident that the Sultan had fallen in love with his beautiful captive. If the girl played her cards well, she would be able to save her father, and prevent his patron doling out death to a British official, thus embroiling himself still further with the English Government. After the doctor had left, Le Breton sat on Pansy's couch. Yet he had not learnt his lesson. Although he loved the daughter, he hated the father as intensely as ever. Now he was making other plans; plans that would enable him to keep both love and vengeance. Plans, too, that might make the girl forget his colour and give him the love he now craved for so wildly. CHAPTER VII In one of the tents in the glade Sir George Barclay sat, an Arab guard on either side of him. There was an almost stupefied air about him; of a man whose world has suddenly got beyond his control. The previous afternoon, without any warning, his party had been set upon and captured; but by whom, and why, he did not know. There was no rebellious chief in the district; no discontent. Yet he was a prisoner in the hands of some wild tribe; captured so suddenly that not one of his men had escaped to take word to the next British outpost and bring up a force to his assistance. There was but one streak of consolation in his broodings--the knowledge that his daughter had not fallen alive into the hands of the barbaric soldiery. Some little time after he had been brought a prisoner to the glade he had seen Cameron come in, white and shaking with fever. On seeing his chief, the young man had shouted across the space: "Thank God! the niggers haven't got Pansy alive." They were given no time for further conversation, for one was hustled this way and one that. As Barclay sat brooding on the fate that had overtaken his party and trying to find a reason for it, someone entered the tent. In the newcomer he recognised the leader of the force that had waylaid and captured him and his party. "So, George Barclay, we meet for a second time," a deep voice said savagely in French. Barclay scanned the big man in the white burnoose who stood looking at him with hatred in his dark, fiery eyes. To his knowledge he had never seen him before. "Where did we first meet?" he asked quietly. "Sixteen years ago, when you murdered my father, the Sultan Casim Ammeh." Sir George started violently and scanned the man anew. He had a reason now for the untoward happenings. "Do you remember all I promised for you and yours that day you refused to listen to my pleadings?" the savage voice asked. Barclay remembered only too well. And as he looked at the ruthless face before him he was more than ever thankful for one thing. "Thank God; my daughter is dead!" he said. The Sultan smiled, coldly, cruelly. "Your daughter is not dead," he replied. "She is alive; just alive. And you may rest assured that she'll have every care and attention." The news left Barclay staring in a stricken manner at his captor. "My doctor assures me that she will live," the Sultan went on. "And you will live, too, to see her sold as a slave in the public market of my city." Sir George said nothing. The thought of Pansy's ghastly fate placed him beyond speech. At that moment he could only pray that she might die. CHAPTER VIII Three days elapsed before Pansy returned to full consciousness, and even then the world was a very hazy place. One morning she woke up, almost too weak to move, with a feeling that she must have had a bad attack of fever. She tried to sit up, but Alice, her mulatto maid, bent over her quickly, pressing her back gently on the pillows. "No, Missy Pansy," that familiar, crooning voice said with an air of authority. "De doctor say you stay dere and no move." Pansy was not at all anxious to move after that one attempt. The effort had brought knife-like pains cutting through her chest, and she had had to bite her lip to keep herself from crying out in agony. All day she lay in silence, sleeping most of the time, when awake, thankful just to lie still, for even to talk hurt her; grateful when Alice fed her, because she would rather have gone hungry than have faced the pain that sitting up entailed. Sometimes, from outside, came the rattle of harness, the stamp of a hoof, men's voices talking in a strange language. But Pansy was used to such sounds now, and thought nothing of them; they had been around her all the time she had been on tour with her father. The next day the mist had cleared considerably. Pansy realised she was in a big tent, not an affair of plain green canvas, such as she had lived in quite a lot during her expedition into the wilds, but a place of barbaric splendour. Silk hangings draped the canvas walls; rich curtains heavily embroidered with gold. The very poles that held the structure up were of silver, and a heavy silver lamp was suspended from the central bar. Priceless rugs covered the ground, and here and there were piles of soft, silk cushions. There were one or two little ebony tables and stools inlaid with silver and ivory. Her bed was a low couch of soft silk and down cushions. And on the floor beside her was a beaten gold tray where jewelled cups reposed, and dishes with coloured sherbets and other tempting dainties. Pansy's gaze stayed on Alice in a puzzling manner. Alice looked much the same, as plump and pretty as ever, but with an even more "pleased with herself" expression than usual upon her round smiling face. From her maid Pansy glanced towards the entrance of the tent. The flap was fastened back, letting in a flood of fresh, gold-tinged morning air. Just outside, two dark-faced, white-robed men were stationed, and, beyond, were others, and a glimpse of trees. Pansy's eyes stayed on the Arabs guarding her quarters. In a vague way they were familiar. With a rush came back the happenings of the afternoon when she had been having tea with Cameron in the old guardroom. Men such as those outside had burst in upon them when the brave old door had given way. A wave of sickly fear swept over the girl. Was she a prisoner in the hands of that wild horde? But, if so, what was she doing in the midst of all this splendour, this riot of luxury, with the softest of cushions to lie on, the choicest of silk rugs to cover her, and Alice sitting contentedly at her side? Perhaps Bob could give her the key to the situation. "Alice," she said weakly, "run and tell Captain Cameron I want to speak to him." "He no be here, Miss Pansy," the girl replied. "He go to de Sultan Casim Ammeh's city." Alice pronounced the Sultan's name with gusto. The desert ruler with his barbaric splendour and troop of wild horsemen had impressed her far more than the English governor and his retinue. She did not at all mind being his prisoner. Moreover she was a privileged person, told off specially by the Sultan to nurse her mistress. For some moments Pansy pondered on what her maid had said. "The Sultan Casim Ammeh," Pansy repeated presently, with an air of bewilderment. "Dat be him," Alice assured her. "A great big, fine man, awful good-looking. I see him. An' my heart go all soft. He so rich and proud and grand. But he no look at me, only at you, Miss Pansy," she finished, sighing. Pansy hardly heard this rhapsody over her captor. His name was familiar but half forgotten, like the fairy tales of her childhood. Then she suddenly remembered who and what he was. The youthful Sultan who, long years ago, had sworn to kill her father and sell her as a slave! The man Alice mentioned must be the boy grown up! It must have been his hordes who had swept down on her and Bob that afternoon. But it was not of herself that Pansy thought when the truth dawned on her with vivid, sickening force. In anxiety for her father she forgot the fate promised for herself. "My father! What has happened to him?" she asked in quick alarm. "De Sultan, he catch Sir George too," Alice answered coolly. Pansy's heart stood still. "Is he still alive?" she asked breathlessly, horror clutching at her. "Sir George he go also to the city of El-Ammeh, de Sultan's city." A feeling of overwhelming relief swept over Pansy on hearing her father was still alive. For some minutes she lay brooding on the horrible situation and how she could best cope with it, all the time feeling as if she were in some wild nightmare. Then she remembered her own vast riches. All these Arab chiefs knew the value of money. She might be able to ransom her father, herself, the whole party. "Where is the Sultan? Tell him I want to see him," she said suddenly in a weak, excited way. "He no be here. He go back to El-Ammeh. You go, too, Miss Pansy, an' I go wid you, when Doctor Edouard say you be fit to move." Pansy clutched at the name of Edouard. After that of the Sultan Casim Ammeh it had a welcome European sound. "Where is Doctor Edouard? Can I speak to him?" she asked quickly. She hardly noticed the pain within herself now, torn as she was with anxiety for her father and friends. Alice rose, ready to oblige. "I go fetch him," she said. Leaving the tent, she interviewed one of the guards. Then she passed on beyond Pansy's view. She reappeared some few moments later accompanied by a short, stoutish man with a pointed, black beard, unmistakably of French nationality, who was dressed in a neat white drill suit and a sun helmet. Anxiously Pansy watched him approach, with no room in her mind to think how he came to be there, a person as European as herself, in this savage Sultan's following. "Do tell me what has happened!" she said, without any preliminaries, the moment he halted at her bedside. However, Edouard did not tell Pansy much more than she had already culled for herself. But she learnt that the whole of her father's party were prisoners in the hands of this desert chief and were now on their way back to his capital. "But can't you do something?" she asked in despair. "I'm virtually a prisoner, like yourself," Edouard replied in a non-committal tone. He was not a prisoner, but he was paid a good price for his services and his silence; and he had no intention of playing an excellent friend and patron false. "But is there nothing I can do?" Pansy asked, aghast at her own utter helplessness. Edouard smiled, remembering the Sultan's concern for the beautiful captive girl. "Yes; there's one thing," he replied in a soothing tone. "Don't worry about the matter just at present. But when you get to El-Ammeh use all your personal influence with the Sultan. In the meantime you can rest assured that no harm will happen to Sir George and his staff. Afterwards I rather fancy everything depends on you." With this Pansy had to be content. CHAPTER IX In Bathhurst, the deputy Governor awaited news of Sir George Barclay. More than a month had passed since he had left the town, and during most of the time letters had come through regularly to official headquarters. The deputy knew that the furthermost point of the tour must now be about reached; but nearly a week had passed without any communication, official or otherwise, coming from the party. The fact was not alarming; the part Sir George must now be in was the wildest in the colony, and a week might easily pass without any message coming through. But when another day or so passed without bringing any news, the deputy began to wonder what had happened. "The letters must have gone astray," one of the officers remarked. "Or some leopard has gobbled up the postman," another suggested. For a couple of days longer the deputy and military officers waited, hourly expecting some message from the Governor's party, but none came. There was no reason to think that harm had befallen them, for the colony was in perfect order. Then they sent up for news to the next town of any importance, only to hear that nothing had been heard there either. The answer astounded them. An expedition was sent off post-haste to find out what had happened to the party. They were nearly a fortnight in reaching the old fort, the last spot where any message had come from. And there they found the British flag still flying over the official headquarters, but both the bungalow and the fortress were deserted. In the old guardroom and the compound were a few gnawed human bones; but there was no other trace of the missing expedition, although there was every sign that disaster had overtaken it. The officials were aghast. Sir George and his staff had completely disappeared. That there had been fighting was evident. The bones in the guardroom and compound told them that much, but all trace of their identity had been gnawed off by prowling hyenas. The country around was scoured, but it brought no clue. The French Government was communicated with, but it could throw no light on the affair. When the news reached England it caused a sensation, for Society culled that Sir George Barclay's daughter, the lovely twenty-year-old heiress, Pansy Langham, was among those missing--dead now, or perhaps worse; the chattel of one of the wild marauders who had fallen so swiftly and silently upon her father's party. And in a pleasant English country house Miss Grainger wept for the bright, brave girl who had always been such a generous friend and considerate mistress. CHAPTER X By the time the news of the disappearance of Sir George Barclay's party reached England, Pansy was well on her way to El-Ammeh. She arrived there one night after dark, a darkness out from which high walls loomed and over them strange sounds came; the thin wail of stringed instruments; a tom-tom throbbing through the blue night; the plaintive song of some itinerant musician, and the shuffle of crowded human life. She was not given much time to dwell upon those things. Her escort skirted the high walls. A big horse-shoe arch loomed up, with heavy iron gates; gates that clanged back as they approached. And the flare of torches showed a long passage leading into darkness. Into the passage her litter was carried with a swaying, somnolent movement. Then the gates closed with a clang behind her, leaving the escort outside; and she and Alice were alone with the flaming torches, the black, engulfing passage, and half a dozen huge negroes in gorgeous raiment. With a sickly feeling, Pansy slipped from her litter. Her journey's end! The journey had lasted over six weeks. Under other circumstances Pansy would have enjoyed it. It could not have been more comfortable. She had travelled in the cool of the morning and in the cool of the evening. Always for the long midday halt the same sumptuous tent was up, awaiting her reception, taken down again after she had departed, and up again before she arrived at the next halting place. The country she travelled through was an interesting one, park-like and grassy at first, as the weeks passed becoming ever more sandy and arid, with occasional patches that were wonderfully fertile. Until, finally, like a glowing, yellow sea before her, she had her first glimpse of the Sahara on its southern side--billow upon billow of flaming sand, stretching away to a tensely blue sky, with here and there a stunted bush, a twist of coarse grass, or a clump of distorted cacti with red flowers blazing against the heated, shimmering air--a vast solitude where nothing moved. For a week they had journeyed through the desert. Late one evening a lake came into view, with fruitful gardens growing around it, where date palms, olives, and clustering vines flourished. On the far side a walled city showed. It lay golden in the misty glow of evening, its minarets standing out against a shadowed sky. Even as she approached it had been swallowed by darkness. Softly the lake lapped as they skirted it, and the world was filled with a constant hissing sigh, the sound of shifting sand when the wind roamed over it--the voice of the desert. Much as Pansy dreaded her journey's end, she welcomed it. She lived for nothing now but to see the Sultan; to plead with him for her father, her friends, herself. And she buoyed herself up with the hope that her own riches would enable her to ransom them all. But if she failed! She grew sick at the thought. And the thought was with her as she stood in the stone passage, her strained eyes on the gigantic negro guards who had come to escort her to her new quarters. They were attired from head to foot in rich, brightly coloured silks, and they literally blazed with jewels. The man who was their master might have so much money that he would prefer revenge. This thought was in Pansy's mind some minutes later when she sat alone with her maid in one of the many apartments in the palace of El-Ammeh. It was a big room with walls and floor of gold mosaic, and a domed ceiling of sapphire-blue where cut rock-crystals flashed like stars. Five golden lamps hung from it, suspended by golden chains; lamps set with flat emeralds and rubies and sapphires. It was furnished very much as her tent had been, except that there were wide ottomans against the gilded walls, and the tables and stools were of sandalwood. In one corner stood a large bureau of the same sweet-scented wood, beautifully carved. Three heavy, pointed doors of sandalwood led into the apartment. The place was heavy with its sensuous odour. In a little alcove draped with curtains of gold tissue the negroes deposited Pansy's belongings. Then they withdrew, leaving the girl and her maid alone; Pansy with the depressing feeling that money might not have much influence with the Sultan Casim Ammeh. Two of the doors of her gilded prison were locked, Pansy quickly discovered. Outside of the one she had entered by a couple of negro guards were stationed, who refused to let her pass. On learning this, she went out into the fretted gallery. Below a garden lay. She stood at the head of the steps leading into it, anxious to get away from the dim scented silence of the great room, in touch with the trees and stars and the cool, rose-scented breath of night that she understood. She tried to argue that all the splendour and luxury placed at her disposal boded well for the future, that her captor might not be going to carry out his threats. Her gaze turned towards the room, with its wealth and luxury--a fit setting for a Sultan's favourite. Pansy shivered. What price might she not have to pay for her father's life? Then she thought of Raoul Le Breton. The dark blood in him seemed nothing now, compared with the thought of having to become the chattel of this wild, desert chief. Slight sounds in the big room roused her from her reverie. She started violently, expecting to see the Sultan coming to make his bargain. But only a couple of white-robed servants were there. The biggest of the inlaid tables was set for dinner; a dinner for one, set in a European way. And the meal that followed was the work of a skilled French _chef_. But the sumptuous repast had no charm for a girl worried to death at the thought of her own fate and her father's. To please Alice she made some pretence of eating. Leaving her maid to revel in the neglected dainties, Pansy went back to her vigil in the arches. In course of time, the lamps burning low, Alice's prodigious yawns drove her to lie wakeful among the soft cushions of one of the ottomans. From fitful slumbers Alice's voice roused her the next morning. Alice with the usual early morning tea, a tray of choice fruit, and a basket full of rare and beautiful flowers. Distastefully Pansy looked at the choice blossoms. She felt they were from the Sultan to his unwilling visitor; a silent message of admiration; of homage, perhaps. "Take them away, Alice," she said quickly. "And put them where I can't see them." With a curious glance at her mistress, the girl obeyed. Pansy drank her tea, all the time pondering on her future. If she had to go under, she would go under fighting. If this wild chief were prepared to give her her father's life in exchange for herself, she would see that he got as little pleasure as possible out of his bargain. If he were infatuated with her as Alice and Dr. Edouard seemed to think, so much the better. All the more keenly he would feel the lashes her tongue would be able to give. Pansy knew he spoke French, for this fact had come into the story her father had told her in years gone by. In thinking of the cutting things she would be able to lay to her captor, Pansy tried to keep at bay the dread she felt. Since he was not there to hit at in person, she hit at him with sneers at his race to Alice. "I don't suppose there's anywhere I can have a bath," she remarked when her tea was finished. "Cleanliness isn't one of the virtues of these Arabs." "Dere be one," Alice assured her. "De most beautifullest one you eber saw." Pansy agreed with her maid some minutes later when she was splashing about in its cool waters. Alice had pointed out the place to her. In dressing-gown and slippers, Pansy had passed through the wide gallery, a lacy prison of stone it seemed to the girl, for although it gave a wide view of the desert, there was not one spot in its carved side that she could have put her hand through. Immediately beneath lay a garden, surrounded by a high wall. Pansy had seen many gardens, but none to equal the one before her in peace and beauty. It was a dream of roses. In the middle was a sunken pond where water-lilies floated and carp swam and gaped at her with greedy mouths when her shadow fell across them, as if expecting to be fed. Vivid green velvety turf surrounded the pond, a rarity in that arid country. There was nothing else in the garden but roses, of every shade and colour. They streamed in cascades over the high walls. They grew in banks by the pond, in trellised alleys and single bushes. The garden was a gem of cool greenness, scent and silence, and over it brooded the shadows of gigantic cypresses. The bath-room lay beneath the stone gallery, with fretted and columned arches where more roses clung and climbed, opening directly on the scented quiet of the garden. It was a huge basin of white marble, about thirty feet across and deep enough to swim in, with a carved edge, delicate as lace. Pansy was in no mood to appreciate her fairy-like surroundings. And the beauty of her prison in no way softened her heart towards her captor. As she splashed about in the bath, over the high walls came the sound of bells, like church chimes wrangling in the distance on an English Sunday. Wistfully Pansy stopped and listened to them. She was travelled enough to recognize them as camel bells; some train coming to this barbaric city. When she returned to the dim, gilded room, breakfast was awaiting her; an ordinary Continental breakfast. She pecked at it, too sick at heart to eat. Then she sat on, awaiting Edouard's appearance. He had parted with her the previous night, promising to come and see her when she was installed in the Sultan's palace. It was evening before he came. Pansy greeted him eagerly. All day she had dreaded that her captor might appear. But she wanted to see him, to satisfy herself about her father. Edouard's visits to her were purely professional, and brief. Always his idea was to get away, for his conscience pricked him where Pansy was concerned. He was used to his patron's wild ways, and he knew the girl's position was not of her own choosing. "Will you tell the Sultan I want to see him?" she said when he rose to go. "Hasn't he paid you a visit yet?" the doctor asked with surprise. "No, and I'm so worried about my father." Edouard left, promising to deliver her message. But he came the next day, saying the Sultan had refused to grant her an interview. "I wonder why he won't see me," she said drearily. Edouard wondered also. That evening he dined with his friend and patron, not in a gorgeous Eastern apartment like Pansy's, but in one that was decidedly Western in its fittings and appointments. And the Sultan was attired as Pansy had seen him several times in Grand Canary, in black dress-suit, white pleated shirt and the black pearl studs. Dinner was over before Edouard approached the subject of the girl-prisoner. "If I were you I'd see Miss Barclay," he said. "This suspense won't do her any good. She frets all day about her father." "It's not in my plans to see her just yet," the Sultan replied. Edouard glanced at him. Then he did what for him was a bold thing, fat and comfortable and fond of his easy berth as he was. He challenged his royal master concerning his intentions towards the captive girl. "What are your plans with regard to Miss Barclay?" he ventured. "She's not one of the sort who can be bought with a string of pearls or a diamond bracelet." "I'm going to marry her," the Sultan said easily. Edouard experienced a feeling of relief, on his own account as much as Pansy's. The doctor studied her with renewed interest the next day when he paid her his usual visit. "If I sent a note to the Sultan, do you think it would be any use?" Pansy asked him anxiously, the moment he had done with professional matters. "It would do no harm at any rate," he replied. Pansy got to her feet quickly. She knew Edouard was in touch with her captor--a prisoner like herself she imagined, but free to come and go because of his calling. She did not know he was a man so faithful to his master that the latter's smallest wish was carried out to the letter. Going into the alcove where her belongings were, Pansy seated herself on the edge of a couch, with a writing-pad on her knee. For some minutes she stayed frowning at a blank piece of paper. It was so difficult to know what to say to this savage chief who held the lives of her father and friends in his hands. After some minutes thinking she wrote: "To the Sultan Casim Ammeh. Perhaps you do not know that I am very rich. Any price you may ask I am prepared to give for my father's life and freedom, for the lives and freedom of my English friends who are also your prisoners, and for my own. The ransom will be paid to you in gold. All you will have to do will be to mention the sum you want, and allow me to send a message through to my bank in England. Pansy Langham Barclay." The note was put into an envelope, sealed, addressed and taken out to Edouard. On handing it over, however, Pansy suddenly recollected that the Sultan, for all his wealth and power, might be ignorant of the arts of reading and writing. "Can he read French?" she asked. An amused look came to the doctor's face. "If he can't make it out, I'll read it to him," he replied. It was evening before Le Breton got the note. Le Breton again as Pansy knew him, in khaki riding-suit, just as he had returned from a ride on her old race-horse, that had been brought to his camp the day of her capture, and was now in the palace stables. The note was lying on his desk, with the name that Pansy now hated--the Sultan Casim Ammeh--written on the envelope in her pretty hand. A tender look hovered about his mouth as he picked up the letter and read it. Again the girl was "doing her best" for some helpless creatures--his prisoners. Although the fact filled him with an even greater admiration for Pansy, it did not lessen his hatred for her father. He sat down and dashed off a brief reply in an assumed hand. "All the gold in Africa will not buy my vengeance from me. Casim Ammeh." His answer reached Pansy with her dinner, reducing her to despair. It seemed that nothing she could do would have any influence with this savage ruler. Hopeless days followed; days that brought her nothing but a series of elaborate meals. Yet she knew that life went on around her; a life quite different from any she had been accustomed to. Morning and night she heard faint voices wailing from unseen minarets. Over the high walls of her garden came the hum of a crowded city. From her screened gallery she saw camel trains loom out of the haze of distance to El-Ammeh, with a wrangle of sweet bells; camels that came from some vast unknown. And there was another sound that Pansy heard; a sound that hailed from somewhere within the Palace; that always came about bedtime, and always set her shivering; the sound of a girl screaming. Each morning with her early tea there was a basket of rare flowers, flowers she did not trouble to tell Alice to move now; she put them down to some palace custom, nothing that had any bearing on the Sultan. She never thought of Le Breton's words: "Still only a few flowers, Pansy?" And each evening she sat in the dim, scented room and waited for those muffled screams. She knew where they came from now; from somewhere behind one of the locked doors leading into her room. Limp and listless, she dragged through the hot, monotonous days, brooding on her own fate and her father's, envying the ragged black crows that flew, free, like bits of burnt paper, high in the scorching sky. Pansy had been about a fortnight in El-Ammeh, when something happened. One morning, as she stood by the sunken pond, feeding the greedy carp with rolls she was too miserable to eat, Alice came to her round-eyed and startled-looking. "Oh, Miss Pansy, dey hab come for you," she gasped "Who?" Pansy asked quickly. "De Sultan's soldiers." "Are they going to take me to him?" she asked, feeling the interview she desired and dreaded was now at hand. "Dey take you to de slave market. To be sold. Oh, oh!" the girl wailed. Alice's hysterical sobs followed Pansy down the dim passage some minutes later, when, with strained face and tortured eyes, she went with a guard of eight Arab soldiers to meet the fate the Sultan Casim Ammeh had promised for her more than sixteen years before. CHAPTER XI Sir George Barclay and most of his staff had a knowledge of Eastern prisons from the outside. They knew them to be abodes of misery; dark, insanitary dens, alive with vermin, squalid and filthy, filled with a gaunt, ragged crowd who, all day long, held piteous hands through iron bars, begging for food from the passers-by, the only food they were given. The Governor's staff did not look forward to a sojourn in El-Ammeh. As for Sir George himself, he had other matters than his own personal comfort to dwell on. His thoughts were always with Pansy, and always in his heart was the prayer that she would succumb to the effects of Cameron's bullet, and not have to meet the fate his enemy had in store for her. After the one interview the Sultan had ignored Barclay. But during the long journey, Sir George often saw his enemy, and if he thought of anything outside of his daughter's fate, it was to wonder why Casim Ammeh looked so different from the wild hordes he ruled. Exactly like a man of the well-bred, darker, Latin type, certainly not the son of the savage marauder whom he, Barclay, had had to condemn to death. On reaching El-Ammeh, the Europeans found the quarters awaiting them very different from what experience had led them to expect. They were ushered into a large courtyard dotted with trees and surrounded by high walls. Into it a dozen little cells opened. Within the enclosure they were free to wander as they pleased; a glance around the place showed them why. The walls were twenty feet high, and as smooth as glass, and there were always a dozen Arabs stationed by the gate, watching all they did. At night they were each locked in separate cells. It was impossible to bribe the guards, as Cameron and his fellow officers discovered before a week had passed. For the imprisoned Englishmen the time passed slowly. Often they speculated on their own ultimate fate. Whether death would be their portion, or whether they would be left there to stew for years, after the manner of more than one European who had had the misfortune to fall into the clutches of some desert chief. They all knew the reason of their capture--merely because they happened to be on the Governor's staff. He had told them the story of Casim Ammeh, and the promised revenge. They never thought of blaming Barclay. What the present Sultan of El-Ammeh called "murder" was the sort of thing any one of them might be called upon to do. A day came when it seemed to Barclay that the fate that wild youth had promised him long years ago was at hand. One morning an escort came for him. In their company he was led out of prison, to his execution, he expected. His staff thought so too; for they took a brief, unemotional farewell of him. They expected the same fate themselves at any moment. However, Barclay was not led to his death. The escort took him through a twist of narrow streets, into a house and up a flight of dark stairs. He was left alone in an upper room, with a heavily barred window, through which came a hum of wild voices, with an occasional loud, guttural, excited call. He crossed to the window, and stood there, riveted. There was a big square beneath, seething with dark-faced, white-robed men, all gazing in one direction--in the direction of a raised platform where a girl stood. A slim, white girl. It would have been much easier for Sir George to have faced death than the sight before him. Pansy was on the platform. His daughter! Standing there in full view of the wild crowd. Being sold as a slave in the market of this desert city. To become the property of one of those savages. Barclay's hand went across his anguished face, to try and shut out the horrible sight. It could not be true! It must be some hideous nightmare. Yet there she was, with white face and strained eyes, meeting her fate bravely, as his daughter would. Pansy, as he had often seen her, in a simple white muslin dress, and a wide white, drooping hat with a long, blue, floating veil. Garbed as she had gone about his camp during his fatal tour. Even as Sir George looked, Pansy's tortured eyes met his, and she tried to smile. The sight broke him utterly, bringing a groan to his lips. At the sound a voice said in French, with a note of savage triumph: "Now perhaps _you_ understand what _I_ suffered when you shot my father?" Standing behind him was a big man in a khaki riding-suit, a European, he looked. For the moment Barclay did not know him for his enemy, the Sultan Casim Ammeh. When he recognised him he did for Pansy what he would never have done for himself--he begged for mercy. "For God's sake, for the sake of the civilisation you know, don't condemn my child to such a fate!" he entreated in a voice hoarse with agony. "You showed my father no mercy. Why should I show you any now?" the Sultan asked coldly. "At least have pity on the girl. Do what you like with me, but spare my daughter." "Did you show me any pity when I begged for my father's life? 'As ye sow, so shall ye reap.' Isn't that what you Christians say? There is your harvest. A pleasing sight for me, when I think of my father." The Sultan's gaze went to the window, but there was more tenderness than anything else in his eyes as they rested on the slim girl who faced the crowd with such white courage. Now one figure stood out from the surge, that of a big, lean man in turban and loin-cloth, with long matted hair and beard, the latter foam-flecked. He stood at the foot of the platform, and his eyes never left the girl as he bid up and up against the other competitors; cursing everyone who bid against him, yet always going higher. "Look at that wild man from the desert," the Sultan said. "I know him. He is a feather merchant. A miser. His home is a squalid tent, yet he has more money than any man who comes to El-Ammeh. Love has unlocked his heart. He will give all his hoarded wealth to possess that pretty slave on the platform there. He will be a fitting mate for your daughter. Think of her in his arms, and remember the man you murdered--my father, the Sultan Casim Ammeh, whom I have now avenged." At the taunts, despite the difference in their years and physique, George Barclay turned on his tormentor. "You brute! You devil!" he cried, springing at him. With easy strength the Sultan caught and held him. "You misjudge me," he said; "it's justice--merely 'An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.'" Then he pushed the older man from him and, turning on his heel, went from the room. CHAPTER XII The market of El-Ammeh was situated in the centre of the city. It was surrounded by a huddle of whitewashed houses, of varying heights and shapes, leaning one against the other, with here and there, over some high wall, a glimpse of greenery--the feathery head of a palm, the shiny leaves of a camphor tree, a pomegranate, an orange or a fig tree. On the side overlooking the square the houses were practically without windows, and the few there were were small and iron-barred. Under most of the buildings were dim, cave-like shops hung with rare silks and ostrich feathers, or littered with articles in beaten silver, copper, and iron. There was quaint leatherwork and coarse pottery and a good sprinkling of European goods. Several narrow, passage-like streets led into the square, entering it, in some cases, under dark archways. Sometimes these ways were barred to the mere public--the poorer people who daily sold produce in the square--and only those with special permits were allowed to enter: men of wealth and substance. Every month a sale of slaves was held in the market, generally of Arab and negro girls; but occasionally something very different figured there--perhaps some black-haired, black-eyed, creamy beauty brought right across the Sahara from the Barbary States, a thousand miles away; or some half-caste girl from the Soudan, even further afield. When this happened there were always plenty of buyers. Men of wealth flocked in from hundreds of miles around, for any skin lighter than brown was a rarity. Within the last few weeks word had gone round the district, blown hither and thither in the desert, that a girl even more beautiful than those creamy beauties from the Barbary States was to be on sale at the next auction--a girl hailing from, Allah alone knew, what far land--Paradise, if her description were a true one. A girl with a skin white as milk, hair golden as the sunshine, and eyes of a blue deep as desert night; a maid, moreover, not another man's discarded fancy. For days before the sale, as flies are drawn towards a honey-pot, the caravans of wealthy merchants came trickling in from the desert. When the day itself arrived they hurried with their retinues to the square; some to buy, if possible; others, less wealthy, to see if the maid were as beautiful as report said. On one side of the market square was a raised platform. From the house behind a room opened on it, a big, shadowy room, whitewashed and stone-flagged, with a barred window high up near the ceiling. Into that room Pansy was taken by her escort in a curtained litter. During the journey to the market she had had the sensation of moving in some ghastly nightmare from which she could not wake herself, much as she tried. It could not be possible that she, Pansy Langham, the fêted and much-courted heiress, was to be sold as one might sell a horse or a cow. She had the horrible feeling of having lost her own identity and taken on someone else's, yet all the time remembering what had happened when she was Pansy Langham. She felt she must have slipped back hundreds of years to some previous existence, when girls were sold as slaves; for surely this appalling fate could not be happening to her in the twentieth century? A riot of thought ran through the girl's head during the journey from the palace to the market; a riot of numb, sickly terror, the outstanding feature of which was an inability to credit the fate before her. When Pansy reached the room she gave up all hope. She knew she was awake--painfully, horribly wide awake, with a future before her that made her shudder to contemplate. There were a dozen or more girls in the room, but they were railed off from Pansy by a thick wooden trellis, like sheep in a pen; brown and black girls, the majority attired in nothing more than a cloth reaching from waist to knee. They had been chattering shrilly among themselves at her entry, apparently in no way appalled at the fate before them; but they broke off when she came in, and crowded to the lattice to get a closer view, gazing at the newcomer and giving vent to little exclamations of awe and envy and admiration. Pansy's arrival brought a stout, bearded man in white burnoose in from the house behind. His glance ran over the English girl, but he made no attempt to touch her. Then he looked at her escort, who had stationed themselves on either side of her. "By Allah!" he exclaimed. "This is a houri straight from Paradise you have brought me. Never have I sold such loveliness. There will be high bidding in the market of El-Ammeh this morning." "I, for one, can't understand why the Sultan has not kept this pearl for himself," the leader of the escort said. The auctioneer smiled in a peculiar, knowing fashion. "Our Sultan has been in lands where there are many such," he replied. "Now he gives his subjects a chance to revel in delights that have been his." Other men appeared from behind, negroes. At a word from their master they opened the door leading out on the platform. Then they stood on either side whilst he passed through. Through the open door came a blaze of sunshine, the buzz of a multitude, and presently a long declamation in Arabic as the auctioneer enlarged upon the quality of his wares. The girls behind the trellis craned their necks to see what was going on, chattering shrilly among themselves. From where Pansy stood she could see nothing. She did not want to see anything. The horror would be upon her quite soon enough. One of the negro assistants opened a gate in the trellis and motioned to a girl. As she appeared on the platform, from outside there came a sigh of disappointment, then guttural voices bidding. Another and another of the girls passed out, all apparently indifferent to the ordeal before them. Then the auctioneer appeared on the threshold. On seeing him Pansy felt her turn had come, and the world started reeling around her. She knew she passed from shadow into sunshine, that dead silence greeted her appearance on the dais--a silence that was followed by a din of wild, excited shouting. It seemed to her that the world was nothing but eyes: the eyes of a surging crowd of dark-faced men, watching her with desire and admiration. To Pansy, high-bred and fastidious, it was a vision of hell, this swarm of wild men looking at her with covetous desire. The Pit gaped at her feet, peopled with demons, any one of which might spring upon her. Then the din died down to a subdued hum as men whispered one to another, their eyes still on the golden-haired girl on the dais. There was a horrible sort of despair on the faces of some as they thought of their more wealthy neighbours; lustful triumph on the faces of others as they thought of their own hoarded gold. [Illustration: For sale as a common slave at the Taureg auction block.....] Then out from the crowd a voice made an offer. The sum staggered the auctioneer. It equalled nearly five hundred pounds of English money. No girl, even the creamy Barbary beauties, had ever fetched that amount. Wild commotion followed. But the price went up and up, doubling itself in ten minutes. To escape for a moment from the sea of covetous eyes, Pansy raised her own. There was someone watching her from a window, someone who looked as tortured as herself--another soul condemned to hell. It was a moment before she recognised that drawn, haggard face as her fathers; it looked an old man's. He was there, the father she loved, condemned by his enemy to see her sold. She tried to smile. It was a woeful effort. And when the blur of tears that seeing him brought to her eyes had passed he was gone. It seemed to Pansy that for an eternity she stood on the edge of the Pit, waiting until one of the devils, more powerful than the rest, should drag her in. The din died down as the sale proceeded, lost in tense excitement. Of the twenty or more who had started bidding for her, only three were left now. One of them, mad with lust and excitement, had forced his way up to the edge of the dais and was clinging to it with grimy hands--a lean man in turban and loin-cloth only, with long matted hair and beard, who, foaming at the mouth, was cursing his competitors, yet always bidding higher as he stared at Pansy with the glare of a maddened beast. Pansy tried not to see him, but he was always there, horrible beyond comprehension, the worst of the demons in the hell surrounding her. Presently, over the murmur of the crowd, came the thunder of a horse's hoofs; of someone riding at breakneck speed through one of the resounding arches leading into the market. Pansy did not notice this. She realised nothing now but the half-naked, foaming horror at her feet. Suddenly another cry rang through the market-place. Fortunately for Le Breton's plans Pansy knew no Arabic or she would have recognised that cry as: "The Sultan! The Sultan!" For Casim Ammeh had had his vengeance, and now had come in pursuit of love. The cry grew to such a roar of sound that it penetrated the world of dumb terror in which Pansy moved, and made her raise her eyes. The crowd in the square had opened up, giving way to a khaki-clad man on a huge, prancing black stallion. Across the market-place tortured blue eyes met fiery black ones. Then it seemed to Pansy that she must be dreaming--a vision of heaven beyond this hell. For Raoul Le Breton was there, a god among these demons. Some figment of her own creating that must vanish as she gazed. But he did not vanish. He came closer, straight towards her, the crowd receding like a wave before him. Raoul Le Breton, looking more handsome, more arrogant, more of a king than ever; sitting his black horse like a centaur. Pansy's hands went to her heart, and the world started spinning around her. Like a knight of old, he had come to her rescue. How he could have got there she was in no condition to consider. It was enough that he was there, in time to save her from the Pit of Hell gaping at her feet. He rode ride up to the dais, reining in at her side. With outstretched arms, he went towards her. "Come, Heart's Ease, my own brave little girl, there's nothing to fear now," he said. Swaying slightly, Pansy looked at him again as if he were some vision. Then, for the first time in her life, she fainted. With a little laugh of tender triumph, he caught her and lifted her on his horse. As he turned to go, grimy, covetous hands clutched Pansy's skirts--the hands of the miser feather merchant. With a savage oath, the Sultan raised his heavy riding whip and felled the defiler. Then he rode off with Pansy. But before this happened Sir George Barclay had been taken from the room overlooking the slave market. He did not see the Sultan Casim Ammeh come in person to save the girl. He did not know that, in Pansy's case, at any rate, the auction had been but a pretence. CHAPTER XIII When Pansy returned to consciousness she felt she had awakened from some nightmare and was back in her own world, a civilized world; her capture by the Sultan Casim Ammeh and all the subsequent happenings some wild dream, terrifying in its reality as dreams can be. She was lying on a big bed in a shady room, among sheets and pillows of finest linen; a solid brass bedstead such as might have come from any good shop in London, not among silken cushions and rugs on an ottoman. And there was a bedroom suite of some choice grey wood with a litter of gold toilet appointments on the wide dressing-table. An elderly woman, brown skinned and black eyed, dressed in a swathing of white muslin, was seated by the bedside, fanning herself with a gentle, regular movement, and the air was fresh with the scent of eau-de-Cologne. Beyond the woman--all down one side of the room--ran a series of arches, over which were drawn blinds of split bamboo. With the feeling of fragments of her nightmare still clinging about her, Pansy sat up. Then, with a rush, came back the scene in the slave market. "Where is Mr. Le Breton?" she asked in a dazed manner. She expected the woman to disclaim all knowledge of any such person. However, she rose immediately. "I'll fetch him," she said in French. She made towards a curtained doorway. Pansy watched her go. And her gaze stayed anxiously on the spot where the woman had disappeared. A few moments passed and the curtains were drawn aside again. The woman entered. In her wake was a big man in white drill, with sleek, black hair and a close-clipped, black moustache. On seeing him Pansy gave a little hysterical cry. "Oh, Raoul, I was so afraid you were just a dream!" "No, I'm not a dream, but a solid fact," he replied, going towards her. "Come quite close. I want to touch you to make sure." Nothing loath, he seated himself on the bed. Pansy took one of his hands, holding it in a tight, nervous grip. "Yes, it is really you," she said. "In the whole wide world there's no one who feels quite the same as you." She had forgotten his coldness and harshness on the occasion of their last meeting in Grand Canary--his colour, his religion, everything except that he was there and she was safe. He laughed tenderly and put the loose curls back from her face with a lingering, caressing touch. It was Pansy as he had never known her, frightened and clinging to him. Pansy as he would have her, looking at him with eyes full of love. "So, little girl, you're quite pleased to see me?" "Did you buy me?" she asked in a bewildered voice. "How else could I get you?" he asked, smiling slightly. His voice and touch calmed her a little. "But _you_! How did _you_ get here?" she asked. "You know I'm an African merchant, don't you?" he said easily. "This is my special province. I do most of the trading in this part. And El-Ammeh is my headquarters." "But how did you know _I_ was here?" she asked in a dazed tone. "You told me you were coming out to Africa. I heard the Governor of the adjacent English colony was on tour, his ultimate point a spot some six hundred miles or so from here. Some weeks ago the Sultan went out on a foray, returning with some English prisoners, a girl among them. There are not many blue-eyed, golden-haired girls in these parts, Pansy, so I guessed who she was." It all sounded very feasible. And Pansy was in no mood to dispute with miracles. "He hates my father; that's why he did it," she began in a weak, wild way. "Never mind about that just now," he replied. "Fortunately I was there to save you." She clung tighter to the strong, sinewy hand that had snatched her back from the brink of hell. "Oh, Raoul, what would have happened if you hadn't come?" she whispered. "Well, I did come, so there's nothing more for you to worry about," he said tenderly. "There's my father. The Sultan has threatened to kill him," she began hysterically. "You mustn't worry about your father, either. Leave things to me. You may be sure I'll do my best for him, too." Under the tension of the last few weeks and the final reaction Pansy broke down completely. In a weak, wild manner she started sobbing, almost as if her brain had snapped under the strain and relief. Evidently Le Breton had expected something of the sort. Going to a table, he poured some water into a glass and dropped a couple of cachets into it. When they had melted he came back to the distraught girl. Seating himself on the edge of the bed, he slipped an arm around her. "Come, drink this up," he said authoritatively; "then, when you've had a good sleep, you can tell me all your adventures." "I daren't go to sleep," she sobbed, "for fear I should wake up in hell!" He drew the golden head on his shoulder with a soothing, protective touch. "I'll stay with you and see that doesn't happen," he said tenderly. At the promise, Pansy drank the proffered draught. Then she lay back among the pillows. He held the empty glass towards the Arab woman. She took it, and would have gone from the room, as she was accustomed to going when the Sultan pleased to linger with any one of his slave girls; but his voice stopped her. "There's no need to go, Sara," he said. Then he stayed, smiling down at the worn little face on the pillows, until the wild blue eyes closed in drugged slumber. Afterwards he sat watching Pansy in a calculating manner. Just then it seemed to Le Breton that his plans had succeeded; that he was going to have all he wanted. Revenge he had had; love now seemed within his grip. A sense of gratitude for her supposed rescue, in conjunction with the love Pansy still had for him, would be a strong enough combination to make her forget his colour and bring her into his arms in the way he wanted--of her own free will. Yet he was not wholly satisfied, for the method he had used to attain his ends was not one a civilised person would approve of. A huddled heap against one of the fluted columns, old Sara sat and watched him. From time to time she muttered to herself and cracked her knuckles for luck and to keep off the "evil eye." She had seen another Sultan bewitched by one of these lovely white girls; and she hoped that this girl would prove kinder to the son than the Lady Annette had been to the father. CHAPTER XIV Great stars flashed in a desert sky, a sky deep and soft, like purple velvet. They looked down on a sea of sand over which the wind roamed; and always and ever in its train there followed a sighing hiss, sometimes loud, sometimes soft, but always there, a constant, stealthy menace in the night. In the dark depths, one great curling billow of sand showed, the coarse grass that fringed its crest looking like spray lashing through the night. Beneath, a little yellow fire glowed. In the glimmer a few ragged tents stood, patched and squalid dwellings. Among them mangy camels lay and groaned and gurgled and snored, with their long necks stretched along the sand, looking like prehistoric beasts. Here and there half-naked men and boys slept and gaunt dogs prowled--slinking, furtive shadows through the encampment, nosing about for scraps of the evening meal. There had been no meal for the owner of the caravan that night. A hunger that could not be assuaged with food, and a thirst that no drink could quench, raged within him. Now a burning lust kept sleep at bay and sent him prowling like some wild beast into the desert, hoping that there relief might be found. But for him none was to be had there. The blue of the sky was like the eyes of the girl he had lost. Her skin had rivalled the stars in its purity. The very fire that burnt outside of his squalid home mocked him. It was golden as her hair. But for the Sultan that girl would be his. Now! This night. His, to hold within his arms--that milk-white maid! He flung his arms out to the night, then strained them across his chest. But for the Sultan all that maddening beauty would lie within his grip. His to crush and caress. His! The thought was torture. "Curse him! Curse him! Curse him!" he cried aloud to the mocking night. Then he stretched grimy paws towards a voiceless heaven. "Allah, give him into my hands, the Sultan Casim Ammeh, who has robbed me of the flower of my desire. That milk-white maid--a houri of thy sending. Guide my step to those who are his enemies. To those who would break him, as he has broken me. Surely a man so mighty has others as mighty who hate him. There are always kings ready to make war on other kings. Allah, most high, let me find them. Allah, most merciful, grant my prayer. Like the wind in the desert I will roam--to the east, the west, the north, the south--until I find them.--His enemies. Then I will deliver him unto their hands." The mad prayer of a wandering feather merchant against his Sultan; the prayer of a man whom, in his wealth and power and arrogance, Casim Ammeh had not considered. But one which was to bear fruit. CHAPTER XV Giving no thought to the grimy wretch out there in the desert, the Sultan was seated in one of the deep, open galleries of his palace. Some ten feet below a garden sighed, and the soft wind that wandered in and out of the fretted arches was ladened with the scent of a thousand flowers. Close at hand a fountain whispered, and from the distance came the gentle lap of the lake. However, he noticed none of these things. There was something of far greater interest close beside him. Among the cushions of a wicker lounge Pansy lay, her head pillowed on silk and down, a worn look still on her face. Night had fallen before she awoke from her drugged slumber. She had found Le Breton still beside her, and the room full of the soft glow of shaded lamps. Once she was fully awake he had left, promising to come again after dinner. She had dined in the gallery. The roofed terrace was lighted by the glow coming from the two rooms behind. One was her bedroom; the other a gorgeously appointed _salon_. But at the end of these two rooms an iron grille went across the gallery, stopping all further investigations. When Le Breton came he found Pansy on the terrace. Once he was seated, she told him what had happened to her father's party. Then she went back to the beginning, sixteen years before, with the story of the youthful Sultan; but she did not mention that she had been wounded and ill, for fear of having to meet a host of anxious enquiries. Without comment he listened. When she finished, all he said was: "Well, I suppose the Sultan has his point of view, since it appears your father was responsible for the death of his." "But it was my father's duty to condemn him. He would hate doing it, for he can't bear to hurt people. It was not 'murder,' as the present Sultan seems to think." To this Le Breton had nothing to say. "You must let the French Government know my father is a prisoner here," she went on. "Then they'll send an expedition and rescue him and his officers." "I couldn't do that, Pansy. You forget I'm half Arab. I can't go back on my father's people." Pansy had forgotten this fact about him; and it seemed her father's freedom was not quite so close at hand as she had imagined. "Could I send my father a note?" she asked anxiously. "That cruel Sultan sent him to see me sold. It must have been torture for him; for I'm all he's got, and he's awfully fond of me. I want to say I'm safe here with you. I can't bear to think of him in torment." "Write a note if you like, and I'll see what I can do," he replied. At once she got up and went into the _salon_ where she had noticed a writing-table. The place was more like a hall than a room; a spreading columned apartment, with walls and floor and ceiling of white marble, where fountains played into fern-grown basins and palms stood in huge, gilded tubs. There were deep, soft, silk-covered chairs and lounges, a sprinkling of gilded tables, and a large grand piano. Some minutes later Pansy returned to her host with a letter in her hand. He took it, and then rose to go. "You mustn't sit up too late," he said, looking down at her with an air of possession; "you've had a trying day, and don't worry any more about anything or anybody." So saying, he left her. Full of gratitude, Pansy watched him go. And her conscience smote her. On the whole she had treated him rather badly. She had promised to marry him, and then had gone back on her word. She did not deserve his kindness and consideration. He had been so cold and harsh that night on her yacht in Grand Canary. He was none of these things now. He was just as he had been during their one brief week of friendship, but even nicer. Pansy sighed, and her face grew wistful. Why wasn't he just like other men? Why had Fate been so unkind? Giving her love, but in such a form that pride revolted from taking it. Then Pansy went to bed, to lie awake for some time, brooding on the miracle the day had brought forth and the black barrier that stood between her and her lover. She was about early the next morning and wandering in the garden. It was a long stretch of shady walks and sunken ponds and splashing fountains, full of tropical trees, scented shrubs, and rare blossoms--a tangle of delights. In one spot she found a tennis court, walled with pink roses. The grounds went on, ending in a wide, flagged terrace, with stone seats and shallow steps leading down to the blue waters of the lake. High walls ran down either side of the spreading garden. Behind, a huge building rose in domes and turrets and terraces--the palace of El-Ammeh had Pansy but known it, of which her new quarters were but a further portion. Blissfully ignorant of this fact, she turned her steps from the rippling lake and wandered along a flower-decked path that twisted under shady trees and creeper-grown arches, coming presently to a locked iron gate let into the massive walls. It gave a view of a scorched paddock where a dozen or more horses were browsing. Pansy paused and scanned the animals. One was strangely familiar. That gaunt chestnut browsing there could only be "The Sultan"! Amazed at her discovery, she called the horse by name. At once the brown head was up, and the beast came galloping in her direction. Even in the days of her illness and during her imprisonment in the palace, Pansy had spared a thought for her protégé. She imagined he had become the property of one of the Arab raiders, and she hoped his new master would be kind to him and understand him as she did. Through the iron bars Pansy caressed her pet. "I never expected to see you again, Sultan, old boy," she said. "Raoul must have bought you, too." She was standing there talking to and petting the animal when Le Breton's step roused her. "Are you pleased to see him again?" he asked, after greeting her. "Pleased isn't the word for it. But how did you manage to get hold of him?" "He was really the cause of my getting hold of you," he replied without hesitation. "I saw him in the possession of one of the soldiers who had come back from that foray. That made me doubly certain who the white girl was whom the Sultan was going to put up for sale." "Raoul, you must let me give you back all you had to pay for me," she said. "Why should you?" he asked, a slight smile hovering about his lips. "You saved my life. Now we're 'quits.' Isn't that what you called it?" Pansy did not argue the point. Nevertheless, she determined to repay him once she and her father were back in civilisation. "How long will it take to get my father free?" she asked. "It all depends on the sort of mood I catch the Sultan in. With the best of luck, it'll be some weeks." "Has he got my note yet, do you think?" she asked anxiously. "He'll go grey with worrying over me. I can't bear to think of the look on his face when he saw me in that ... that awful slave market." Le Breton had destroyed her message the moment he had reached his own rooms. Now he could not meet the beautiful eyes that looked at him with such perfect trust. "I expect the message will get through before the day is out," he answered. "It's merely a matter of 'baksheesh.'" At his words the world became quite a nice place again for Pansy, the only shadow in it now the dark blood in her lover. CHAPTER XVI Night filled the harem with shadows and scent. The silver lamps cast a soft glow through the huge hall, glinting on wide ottomans and piles of cushions, on little tables set with coffee and sherbet, sweets and fruit and cigarettes. There were perhaps thirty women in the great room, but the majority of them were the attendants of the half-dozen girls lolling on couches and cushions around the splashing fountain. Full length on a wide ottoman Leonora was stretched, her dark eyes fixed spitefully on an adjacent lounge where the Arab girl lay, her face hidden in the cushions, her golden form almost buried in her wealth of black hair. "See, Rayma, it's night again," Leonora said, malice in her soft, drawling voice. "Night! And still our lord Casim has not come to visit you." There was a sob from the other girl, but no reply. "How you jeered at me, Rayma, when you stole his heart from me," Leonora went on. "But now it seems another has stolen his heart from you, since he no longer comes to see you. Another whom I shall welcome as a sister." At the taunt Rayma sat up suddenly, with a wild gesture pushing the mass of black hair back from her face. "For weeks and weeks he has not been here," she wailed. "Oh, my heart it breaks for love of him." Leonora laughed, but an elderly woman sitting near laid a soothing hand on the distraught girl. "Hush, Rayma, my pearl," she said. "Haven't I often told you our Sultan has had thoughts for nothing but vengeance of late?" "Would vengeance keep him away from me all these weeks? It's more than vengeance. It's love. Love for some other girl." Rayma clutched at the woman with slim, jewelled hands. "Tell me, Sara, you come and go at will through the palace. Is there one?" "My pearl, if there was one, wouldn't she be here in the harem?" Sara answered diplomatically. "Yes, and so she would," Rayma replied more quietly. "And I could measure my beauty against hers." Then she started rocking herself to and fro, in an agony of grief. "Did he but come, my love, my Lord Casim, his heart would be mine again," she sobbed. Then she stopped wailing suddenly, and faced the old woman anxiously. "Sara, tell me quickly, have these weeks of weeping made me less beautiful?" However, she did not wait for any reply. Her gaze went to the arches, where night looked in at her mockingly. "Look. It is night," she cried. "And my heart is hungry for love. For the love of my Lord Casim. For his arms. His kisses. Again it is night. And he has not come." Then through the vaulted room piercing shriek after piercing shriek rang--the shrieks of a lovesick girl in the throes of hysteria. As Sara sat patting Rayma's hands and trying to soothe her, she thought of the milk-white maid with the wide blue eyes and the golden curls, whom the Sultan himself had brought unconscious to his palace, and who was lodged--as no other slave girl had ever been--in his own private suite. And who treated her master--as no other slave had ever treated him--as if she were his equal, even his superior, making him wait on her. A task the Sultan seemed to find pleasure in! CHAPTER XVII On the terrace of her quarters, Pansy sat at dinner with her host. Three days had passed since her rescue from the slave-market; three delightful days for the girl, assured of her own safety, her father's coming freedom and the welfare of her friends. During the time, Le Breton had been with her almost constantly. From breakfast time until after dinner always at her disposal, ready to fall in with her wishes so long as they did not entail too much exertion on her part. She was anxious to be on "The Sultan," and off for a long gallop, but this he vetoed firmly. "It would cause too much of a sensation," he had said. "In this country women don't ride about on horseback. We should have the whole city at our heels." Pansy had no desire for this to happen, lest the Sultan Casim should learn she had fallen into the hands of a friend, and snatch her away from her rescuer, so she did not urge further. But it was on account of her health, and not the idea of a crowd of his own subjects, that made Le Breton refuse this indulgence; for fear she should not be strong enough to stand the shaking. He was quite willing to take her rowing on the lake, to play croquet with her, or a game of billiards; but most of all willing to sit at her side in the peaceful, scented garden, or in the cool gallery, or the _salon_, watching her; an occupation that Pansy, with an extensive knowledge of men and their ways, knew the ultimate end of. An end she was doing her best to keep at bay. But, in spite of everything, she had the feeling of being a prisoner. The iron grilles at either end of the long gallery were never unlocked; nor was the gate into the paddock. There was never a boat at the foot of the steps leading to the lake except when Le Breton was with her. She had explored her quarters further. Beyond the _salon_ there was a combined billiard-room and library, and its one exit led into a sort of big alcove dressing-room. Beyond that was her host's bedroom, as to her dismay she had discovered on opening the door. For she had found him there in shirt sleeves and trousers with a dark-faced valet, who, on seeing her, had melted away discreetly. Pansy would have melted away also, but it was too late. In a perfectly unperturbed manner, Le Breton had crossed to her side. "So, Pansy, you've come to pay me a visit?" he said teasingly. "That's hardly the sort of thing I'd expected of you." "I'd no idea----" she began in a confused manner. "There's no need to make excuses. You'll find all the roads here lead to Mecca. And I'm always pleased to see you," he broke in, in the same teasing strain. "If you'd kept your promise, we should be quite a staid married couple by now. And you'd be free to come and go in my apartments. Think of it, Pansy." Pansy thought of it, and her face went crimson. Her blushes made him laugh. To the sound of his laughter, soft and mocking, she retreated, and she did not explore in that direction again. She explored by way of her own bedroom instead, only to find that led into his study. And after that she did no more exploring. For it seemed that all roads did lead to Mecca. Whichever way she turned, Raoul Le Breton was there, coming between her and the man she feared and hated--the Sultan Casim Ammeh. "I feel like a prisoner," she remarked on one occasion. They were sitting by the lake, under the shade of fragrant trees, with the blue water lapping the marble steps and the sun setting over the desert. A gilded world, where a golden sunset edged the golden sand, one flaming yellow sea above another. "You're a novelty here," he replied. "A pearl of great price. If I didn't keep you well guarded, there would be a hundred ready to steal you. And I flatter myself that, on the whole, you'd rather be with me." He paused, watching her with dark, smouldering eyes. "Am I right, Heart's Ease?" he finished tenderly. Pansy coloured slightly under the ardour of his gaze. Had he been as other men were, she would not have hesitated in her reply. She would have said in her own impulsive, truthful way: "I'd rather be with you than anyone in the whole wide world." But now his colour and religion were constantly before her. And pride kept any such confession from her lips. So instead she said: "No one could have been kinder than you, Raoul. I can never be grateful enough." His kindness had been before her that night when she dressed for dinner. Pansy had no clothes except the ones in which he had brought her. But, within three days, there was an elaborate wardrobe at her disposal; the frocks fashioned like those she had worn in Grand Canary. In one of these dresses she now sat at dinner with him; a misty robe of chiffon, but there were no diamonds sparkling like dew upon it. All her jewels had been left behind in the dim, gilded room in the palace of El-Ammeh. When dinner was over, as they sat together in the _salon_, Le Breton remarked on the fact. "They've stolen all your pretty jewels, Pansy," he said. "You must let me give you some others." "You've done quite enough for me already," she replied promptly. "I can manage without jewels until I get back to England." At her words his eyes narrowed. "Couldn't you be content to stay here?" he asked in a rather abrupt manner. "For a few weeks, perhaps, then I should be craving change and variety. 'The Light of the Harem' act isn't one that would satisfy me for long." Then Pansy was sorry she had spoken. She remembered that he had admitted to having a harem, probably somewhere in this very house. But she had spoken with the idea of letting him see his case was hopeless; of saving him the pain of refusal. "Considering how ill you've been, the 'Light of the Harem act,' as you call it, would be the best sort of life for you for some time to come." "How do you know I've been ill?" she asked quickly. Le Breton saw he had made a slip, but he covered it up smartly. "Gossip told me," he said coolly. There was silence for a time, during which he sat with his gaze on her. "Why don't you smoke?" Pansy asked suddenly, anxious to get something between herself and him. "When you're about I don't need any soothing syrups," he replied. He was approaching dangerous ground again. To ward him off Pansy rose and went to the piano. Seating herself there, she wandered from one item to another, with scarcely a pause between. But the feeling of his eyes never off her made her stop all at once and laugh hysterically. A crisis had to be faced sooner or later. Things might as well come to a head now as to-morrow or next week. At that moment Pansy remembered the man who had held her with such fierce strength and passion in the moon-lit garden of the villa. And she wondered, not without a touch of alarm, how he would take her refusal. She got up and went to his side. "I must give you something else to do than just watching me. It makes me nervous," she said. From a box on a table near she took a cigarette and placed it between his lips. Then she struck a match and held it towards him. In a lazy, contented manner, he let her do it. But when the cigarette was lighted, he did not give her time to draw her hand away. He caught her wrist, and drawing her hand a little closer, blew out the match. When this was done, he did not let her hand go. Instead, he took one or two puffs at the cigarette, all the time watching her closely. "I didn't give you my hand 'for keeps,'" she said. "I want it back again, please." It was hint enough for any man, but Le Breton did not take it. In a deliberate manner, and with her still a prisoner, he got to his feet, and put the cigarette on the table. Pansy did not try to free herself. The situation had to be faced. When the cigarette was laid down, he took the other delicate wrist into his keeping. Then he drew the girl right up to him, until her hands were resting on his chest. "Pansy, suppose I ask you to redeem your promise?" he said. "Oh no, I couldn't," she answered, a trifle breathlessly. "Why not? I'm exactly the same man now that I was when you promised to marry me. A much better man, if you only knew it. Thanks to meeting you." "I didn't know anything about you then." "But you knew you loved me." "I do now, Raoul," she said. "Does the fact of my Arab blood make marriage between us impossible?" There was no reply. In her silence Le Breton read his answer. His hands tightened on her wrists, and a baulked look crossed his face. So the black barrier was one that neither love nor gratitude would make her cross willingly. There were some bitter moments for him, as he realised this. For all his wealth and power, for all his scheming, despite the fact that Pansy confessed to loving him, she refused to be his wife. It seemed that nothing he could do would bring her into his arms in the willing way he wanted. Pansy was the first to speak. In that crushing grip on her wrists, she read an agony of pain and disappointment, that her one desire now was to soothe. "It's not you, Raoul. It's the idea," she said in a low voice. "So the idea of marrying me is repugnant. And yet you love me?" She nodded. Loosing her wrists he turned to the table, and took another cigarette. This, however, he lighted for himself. Pansy watched him, marvelling at the cool way he had taken her refusal. Considering the fire and temper in the man and his air of never having been thwarted in any way, it was hardly what she had expected. She put it down to the fact that she was completely at his mercy, alone and helpless in this barbaric city. Her heart ached at the thought that through no fault of his own she could only give him pain in return for all his kindness. Going to his side, she laid a slim hand on his sleeve. "Raoul, I hope you know you're awful nice about things," she said. He glanced at her. At the beautiful eyes raised to his with infinite gentleness in their velvety depths. And he laughed. "Am I?" he said. Then he laughed again. And his mirth was a mingling of bitterness and savagery. CHAPTER XVIII Pansy saw nothing of her host until the following afternoon. Almost immediately after his declaration Le Breton left her. Most of his time had been spent in contemplating the truth now before him. His scheming had failed. A sense of gratitude had not made the girl forget his colour. After a sleepless night, he was up and away, riding madly along one of the sandy tracks that served his kingdom as roads, in a vain endeavour to escape from his chagrin and disappointment, and trying to decide on his next move. He was surprised at his own hesitation. Having failed to attain his object, he was astonished that he should pause before doing what was obviously the only course left open to him. Just take the girl, whether she liked it or not. But he knew why he hesitated. Pansy loved him in her own way, as she might love a man of her own nationality. If he took her in his high-handed fashion, that love might be swept from him. And the idea was one that he could not bear to contemplate. He returned from his wild ride still undecided on the next move. In this frame of mind he came upon Pansy, in the midst of a solitary afternoon tea, set in a shady corner of the tennis court. She greeted him as if the episode of the previous afternoon had never been. "What have you been doing with yourself all day?" she asked, as she handed him a cup of tea. "I've been trying to ride off my disappointment," he replied. Pansy, too, had been fighting a battle of her own. Most of her night had been spent in arguing with temptation. She was rich and independent. Why shouldn't she marry the man she loved, even if it were going against all the canons of her society? She was wealthy enough to defy society. She owed more than her life to him. Gratitude as well as love urged her towards him. Why should she make him suffer through no fault of his own? Why should she suffer herself? Why should she shut herself up from the man she loved because he happened to be a--a---- "A nigger." The echo of Dennis's voice shouted the word at her, as it had seemed to shout that night in the London hotel, when Le Breton's name had been mentioned. Pansy looked at her host as he lolled beside her; a picture of strength and handsomeness. She wished his dark blood were more in evidence. That he did not look exactly like some of the big French, Spanish, and Italian men she had seen occasionally in various places on the continent. So absolutely European was he that it was impossible to think he was half-Arab. "I wish you weren't so nice and handsome, Raoul," she said impulsively. He cast a quick, speculative glance at her. Perhaps, after all, a little more patience was all that was needed--patience combined with his own presence. When tea was over, Pansy got up in a restless way. "I feel I must do something active, or else go mad," she remarked. The feeling was one he could sympathise with. "We'll have a game of tennis then, if you promise to go easy." Pansy remembered the way he had played that afternoon in Grand Canary. "You'll simply mop the floor with me," she said. "I'll play you left-handed." Only too anxious to get away from her own thoughts and the temptation they brought, Pansy turned towards the court. When the game started he handled his opponent carefully, putting the balls where she could get them without any effort. At the end of the first set Pansy objected to his methods. "You're not really trying, you're only playing with me," she said. "It wouldn't be fair for me to pit all my strength against yours, would it now?" he asked. "Well, do make a game of it. If you go on like this, I could sit down comfortably in the middle of the court and win. You needn't put the balls on my racket. I can stretch an inch or so around without fatal results." The next game was more strenuous. But, as it went on, Pansy, getting excited, forgot caution. A long stretch and an upward spring to intercept one of her opponent's balls, brought cutting, knife-like pains tearing at her chest. The racket dropped from her grip. She stood, white and swaying, her hand on her heart. In a moment he had vaulted the net, and was at her side, his arm about her, concern on his face. "It's nothing," she gasped. "It's that accursed bullet," he said, conscience-stricken. "When Edouard extracted it, he warned me you'd feel the effects for some time." He spoke without thinking, the sight of her suffering making him forget his double rôle. At the moment Pansy was too full of pain to grasp what he had said. Half leading, half carrying her, he took her to the nearest chair, settling her there with a cushion at her head. With white lips she smiled at him; her only desire to allay his concern. "There's nothing to worry about," she said faintly. "I'm a long way from being dead." "It's all my fault," he said hoarsely. "Oh no, you always said I mustn't be too strenuous," she contradicted. Le Breton let it stay at that, aware that he had said more than he intended to say, and hoping the girl had not grasped all that lay within his comment. For some minutes Pansy sat quiet, and, as her pain receded, her companion's sentence came more to the fore. "It's that accursed bullet. When Edouard extracted it he warned me you'd feel the effects for some time." From Alice, Pansy had learnt that the bullet had been extracted on the day she was brought into her enemy's camp. Then Raoul must have been there! With the Sultan's forces! But why hadn't he told her? Why had he pretended that he only had _guessed_ she was the girl captured? Why had he never mentioned Dr. Edouard before? Why had Dr. Edouard never mentioned him? It looked as if he had not wanted her to know. But why hadn't he wanted her to know? As Pansy pondered on the problem, mingled with the sweetness of the roses came another scent she knew--one that had greeted her every morning during her stay in the palace. Above the screening trellis of roses, a tree grew, covered with great bunches of pink flowers, like apple blossom but more vivid, filling the air with fragrance. Pansy had seen the flower before; among the blossoms that used to come to her every morning in the dim, gilded chamber. "Still only a few flowers, Pansy?" Le Breton's remark in the orange groves at Telde suddenly flashed across her mind. She remembered also his array of Arab servants, how obsequious they had been to their master on that occasion; and his wealth and magnificence; a splendour that was almost regal. Close to where she sat, the tea-table stood. Among the assortment of cakes were one or two of a kind she had seen previous to her rescue. Tiny, diamond-shaped dainties, made from layers of sponge cake and marzipan with chocolate icing on the top. Often, in those long, hopeless days in the gilded prison, a similar morsel was all she had been able to eat for her tea. Sixteen years ago a boy of about fourteen had sworn to kill her father. He would be thirty now. The same age as----! And the Sultan spoke French too! They were little things, but they all pointed in one and the same direction. And, as Pansy brooded on them, an incredulous expression came to her eyes, and, with it, a look as if she were fighting to keep some horrible, impossible truth at bay. Her gaze went to Le Breton. "A great, big, fine man, awful good-looking." Alice's description of the Sultan Casim Ammeh came back to her. Words that fitted her host exactly. As she looked at him, from the paddock came the stamp of a horse's hoof. She was here. Her favourite horse was here. Raoul Le Breton was here. All of them in this desert city hundreds of miles from civilisation. Such a combination could not be unless---- "If I were a king in Babylon and you were a Christian slave. Or to get down to more modern times. If I were a barbaric Sultan somewhere in Africa and you a girl I'd fancied and caught and carried off..." His own words came echoing through her head; condemning words. Then she recollected with what unpleasant emphasis he had said "au revoir," on parting with her that night on her yacht. All at once Pansy's miracle exploded. She wondered how she could have been such a fool as not to have guessed sooner. This was the Sultan Casim Ammeh! This man standing before her! He caught her gaze and smiled; it seemed to the girl, mockingly. "Well, Heart's Ease, are you feeling better?" he asked. "After this you'll agree with me that 'The Light of the Harem' act is the most suitable life for you just at present." It seemed to Pansy that he was gibing her.--At her trust, her belief, her incredulous folly. What a blind fool she had been! It was all as plain as daylight now. Raoul Le Breton was the Sultan Casim Ammeh. It was her father's enemy she had confessed to loving; had wept in front of, clung to, trusted, displaying a weakness that had fallen to no man's lot, save her father's. At the thought Pansy's soul writhed within her. How could she have been such a fool! How he must have laughed at her! Raoul Le Breton had condemned her to the unspeakable ordeal of the slave market in order to torture her father. He had done it! Raoul Le Breton! The man she loved. Pansy did not love him now. She hated him. For a moment she was too stunned by her discovery to say or do anything. Then she said in a voice that wild anger stifled somewhat: "So _you_ are the Sultan Casim Ammeh." As Pansy spoke she got to her feet, her eyes blazing. There was no mistaking what was on her face. She had guessed the truth. On realising this, he made no attempt at further deception. "_I_ am the Sultan Casim Ammeh," he said, smiling. "And, my little slave, _you_ are my most cherished possession. More to me than my kingdom." His cool confession staggered her. As he stood there, unabashed and unrepentant, she looked round quickly, in search of something to strike him with. For the knowledge of his deceit and duplicity had made her beside herself with rage. Since there was no weapon at hand, she set off rapidly across the lawn, heedless of where she went, her only desire to get away from him. She had not gone very far, however, before he was at her side. "Where are you going, Pansy?" he asked with a masterful air. That he should dare to follow her; dare to call her by her name enraged her beyond all bounds. And his words added to her fury. They made her realise there was nowhere she could go to escape him. Like a whirlwind she turned upon him. "I wish ... I wish I could kill you," she gasped. There was a tennis racket lying at her feet. As if to carry out this design, she stooped and picked it up; her only desire now to send it crashing into the mocking, masterful face. But he guessed her intention. In a moment he had grasped the racket and wrested it away. "No, Pansy," he said. "No one has ever struck me, and you're not going to. For I don't quite know what the consequences might be." There was a brief, tense silence. As he looked at the girl, it seemed that Fate had decided the next move for him. "We may as well come to an understanding," he went on. "I hate your father, but I love you. And you've got to have me, whether you like it or not. I'd prefer to marry you in your English way. But if you won't consent to that, then--I shall take you, in mine. The choice is with you." There was only one part of his ultimatum that Pansy thoroughly grasped. And there seemed no limit to his audacity. "I'd rather die than marry you," she flamed. "For I hate you. Do you hear? I hate you more than anything on this earth." He heard right enough, and his face blanched at her words. Then, before he had recovered from this blow, Pansy struck him across the mouth, with all her strength, bringing blood to the lips that dared to talk of love to _her_. CHAPTER XIX There was a new slave in the Sultan's harem, a dazed girl who looked as if she moved in dreams. She was not reclining on a lounge or cushions, as the other girls around the fountain were. She half sat, half knelt upon her cushions, her slim bare legs beneath her, her hands lying listlessly on her knee, staring straight ahead as if in a trance. Since that episode on the tennis court, Pansy felt as if she were living in the midst of some wild story, in which Raoul Le Breton and the Sultan Casim Ammeh had got mixed. The Sultan wanted to marry her. And she had refused. Then----! Then, infuriated with the sense of her own helplessness and his complete power, she had struck him. She could see him now, with the blood oozing on his lips, his face white with rage, his eyes flaming, looking as if he could kill her. And she had wished he would. Then there would have been an end of it all. She would have done with him, herself, her own folly, and the hatred that raged like a fire within her. But he had not touched her. White with passion he had just stood and looked at her. And she had looked back, waiting for the end that had not come. Instead, three women had come. And she had been taken out of his presence. Through the big _salon_ and along dim passages, past silk-clad, jewelled guards, and into a little room, with an ottoman and cushions and a tiny window, all fretted like lace, impossible to get out of. Then the women had undressed her. They were three to one. It was useless to struggle: dignity seemed all that was left to her. There was not much of that even when the women had done with her. They put her into a white silk slip that reached only to her knees, and with nothing more than a strap of pearls on either shoulder. They would have heaped more pearls upon her, string upon string about her neck. But she would not have that. She tore them off, so angrily that the slender threads snapped and they fell like frozen tears upon the marble floor, as her amber beads had fallen that night in his villa! What a minor thing Lucille Lemesurier was now! Forgivable when she had learnt his race and religion. Not like this gigantic deception. A deception that had forced her into saying she loved the Sultan Casim Ammeh--the man who had tortured her father. Leaving the women grovelling after the scattered pearls Pansy had rushed from the room, her only desire to seek some way of escape. She had gone in her short slip and short curls, looking like some lovely, rebellious child. Her steps had taken her into a big room like a hall, where a crowd of women were gathered; half a dozen of them, girls dressed in a similar style to herself. Then Pansy's strength went from her suddenly. She realized where she was. In the Sultan's harem! And she knew there would be no escape. Sara had come to her, and had led her towards a pile of cushions set by a fountain where the other girls were. And the woman had said sharp words to the assembly, who had risen as if to crowd around her--words that had kept them at bay. When she was seated they had stayed looking at her, most of them with curiosity and friendliness. But there was one face that Pansy, for all her numbness, saw was hostile; the face of a beautiful, golden-skinned girl. There was one girl, too, who was more than specially friendly, who said to her in a soft, cooing voice: "Where do you come from, sister, for your skin is whiter than mine?" Pansy did not answer Leonora's question. She was wondering herself where she came from. From another world, it seemed. It was incredible that she, Pansy Langham, could be a slave in a Sultan's harem, garbed as these other slave girls were. Incredible that only that afternoon she had been playing tennis with Raoul Le Breton, as she might have played with any man in her own place in England. What ages ago it was! Yet perhaps it was only an hour. Like a beautiful dream that had vanished. There was no Raoul Le Breton. No big, masterful man whom she had had to love, in spite of everything. There was only this barbaric Sultan who hated her father. Who, because she refused to marry him, had sent her to this strange room. His harem! And she was his slave! She Pansy Langham, who had never obeyed any will except her own. Her hands clenched. How she hated him! He was so supremely master. Any moment he might come to pick whichever of his slaves he fancied. And--he might pick her. The ignominy of it! Just to be a man's chattel. And, hitherto, all men had been _her_ abject and willing slaves. Heedless alike of Leonora's cooing advances, and Rayma's dark scowls, Pansy sat down. The shadows gathered. The lamps were lit. Then dinner time came. A conglomeration of sweets and fruit and dainties set out on silver trays, with only a spoon to eat with. Again Leonora's voice broke into Pansy's broodings. "Come, won't you eat, my sister?" she coaxed, pushing one of the trays closer. But Pansy felt as if she could never eat a bite again. Rayma ate nothing either. With angry eyes, she studied the newcomer. Pansy was very beautiful in her way, but no more beautiful than Rayma was in hers. And what was more, she was not perfect. There was an ugly red scar on one of her milk-white arms. And the Lord Casim hated flaw or blemish on a woman. Would this new slave's presence bring him to the harem? If he came----! Rayma clenched her little white teeth. Then there would be a battle royal between this white girl and herself for his favors. But she would not let his heart go lightly. Stretched full length on her couch, her elbows on the soft cushions, her pointed chin in the cup of her hands, the Arab girl lay watching her rival and waiting. The evening wore on. The lamps burnt low, and started to flare and crackle, without any sign of the Sultan coming. Presently, shriek after shriek, echoing through the vaulted hall, roused Pansy from her broodings, making her look round in a quick, startled manner. The shrieks were familiar. Muffled they had reached her every evening in that dim, gilded chamber. "It's only Rayma," Leonora said indifferently. "She has hysterics every night because the Sultan does not come. He has not been to the harem now for three months or longer. Not since he left the city on some foray. She fears some other girl has stolen his heart from her." Leonora paused, her great eyes on the new-comer. "Is it you, my sister?" she finished inquisitively. "For, if so, I shall love you." But Pansy had nothing to say. At that moment she was wondering why Rayma shrieked because the Sultan had not come. There seemed to her more reason to shriek if he did come. CHAPTER XX On one of the terraces of his palace the Sultan sat and brooded, his face hard and savage, as he glowered at the scene ahead of him; a harmless scene where night shadows settled on a scented garden with the glint of a lake beyond. Never in his life had such an indignity been put upon him. Never had anyone dared dispute his right to do what he pleased. Never! Until this English girl had come into his life. And she had struck him. The Sultan! As if he were some erring menial whose ways had annoyed her. Under the recollection the man's untamed soul writhed. She had done as she liked all her life. All that money of hers had given her ideas no woman ought to have. Now she had to learn that he was her master. She was in the harem now. And there she could stay. A spell there would cool her temper and make her more amenable to his wishes. The trees in the garden sighed faintly. The soft wind brought the scent of roses and the splash of a fountain. His mind went back to another garden, in far-away Grand Canary. The echoes of a girl's voice whispered: "Put your ear quite close. It's not a matter that can be shouted from the house-tops." She had shouted loud enough that she hated him. She had not whispered that fact. A spasm of pain crossed his face. Why did she fight against him? This slender, lovely, helpless girl, whom he could break with one hand. She fought bravely, with all the odds against her. And she had dared to do what no one else in the place dared do. What no one had ever done in the whole of his wild, unbridled life. She had dared to strike him, fair and square, with all her strength, across the mouth. Then suddenly his anger melted. A smile came and played about his scarred lips. Surely no man could be angry for long with a girl so brave and helpless. He deserved it for his deception. Just as he had deserved her scorn and contempt over Lucille. She was always giving him what he deserved, this little English flower of his. More than he deserved, a struggling conscience breathed. For he had never deserved those three words she had once whispered in his ear: "I love you." CHAPTER XXI All the following day Rayma waited for the Sultan's coming. Pansy waited, also. By now she realised more fully what she had done: struck and infuriated the man who held her father's life in his hand. However, nothing was seen of the Sultan either that day or the next. For Pansy the days were the longest she had ever spent in her life. She could not doze away her time as the other girls did, with coffee and sherbet and cigarettes; their greatest exertion a bath, or making sweetmeats over a charcoal brazier, or doing intricate embroidery. She kept out of their way as much as possible, in her own room, or wandering aimlessly in the garden, looking at walls impossible for her to scale, wondering what had happened to her father and her friends, and what would happen to herself. But even the garden was barred to her except in the very early morning, and the brief space after sunset. If she tried to go at other times there were twenty women to stop her. The order was the Sultan's, she was told, lest to escape him she should wander in the tropic heat and make herself ill. All her meals had to be taken in the harem, and for bathing there was only the harem bathroom. That was a vast underground tank, approached by marble steps, cool and still and dim, its silence only broken by the dip of water. There the girls disported themselves several times a day. But Pansy was not used to company when she bathed. And to avoid them, she rose very early, when she was sure of having the great marble tank to herself. During the afternoon of the third day the Sultan came. Pansy was not in the harem at the time, but lying on the lounge in her own room. Sara's entrance roused her. "My pearl, the Sultan is here," she said cajolingly. "And he desires to see you." "I prefer to stay where I am," was the cold response. The woman looked at her, speculating on the relations between this girl and the Sultan. They had once been so fond of one another, always together. And now the girl had been sent to the harem, and for three days the Sultan had not come near her. "It's useless to resist, my pearl," Sara explained. "If you don't come when the Sultan commands, servants will be sent to fetch you." Pansy had no wish to be dragged into her captor's presence. Since she had to go, she might as well go with dignity. However, she did not go very far. Only just beyond the door of her own quarters. Once there she sank down quickly on a pile of cushions, in her usual position, half sitting, half kneeling; a position that made the scantiness of her garment not quite so obvious. At once she knew who the man in the white burnoose was, although she had never seen him in anything but civilised attire before. He was sitting on an ottoman near the fountain, with the girls clustered around him, fawning on him like dogs round a loved master. Pansy turned a slender, disdainful shoulder on the scene. But if she did not look in the direction of the group, there was one at least who kept a sharp suspicious eye on her. By the Sultan's side Rayma sat, with her pointed chin resting upon his knee. "Why haven't you come sooner to see that new slave of yours, Casim beloved?" she asked, pointing a slim finger at the distant girl. "I've had other things than women to think about," he replied evasively. A bitter reminiscent smile curved his lips as he spoke. Some words of Pansy's were in his mind. "So long as it's 'women,' it's all right. The trouble starts when it comes to 'woman.'" Certainly for him the trouble had started when it came to "woman"; when this slender, wayward, golden-haired girl came into his life. For she had robbed all other women of their sweetness. With longing his gaze rested on Pansy. What a fool he was not to take her.--To let her whim come between himself and his desires. But there was something more than a girl's whim had he but realised it; a feeble new self that Pansy was responsible for: the man he might have been but for his profligate training. Rayma saw where his gaze was. To get his eyes away from Pansy, she took one of his hands and pressed it on her bosom. "When first I came here, my lord," she whispered, "there was nothing else you could think of." His attention came back to her. "You were very pretty, Rayma," he said a trifle absently. "And am I not beautiful still?" she asked quickly. "You're always a picture," he answered. He talked as if to a spoilt child who bored him. Rayma hitched herself closer, until her soft breast pressed against his knee. But he remained silent, without look or caress, his gaze still on the distant girl. He was wondering whether he would take Pansy out of her present surroundings, or if a spell in the harem might not make her realise to the fullest her own helplessness and his complete supremacy. Leonora watched her master, her dark eyes full of joy and malice. "There are some people who never know when they're not wanted," she remarked _sotto voce_, and to no one in particular. Rayma cast a venomous look at her. But Leonora only smiled at her dagger-like glances. "Can she dance, this new slave of yours?" the Arab girl asked suddenly. "She dances very nicely," he answered in an indifferent manner. "As well as I do?" she asked jealously. He thought of the snake-like writhing Rayma called "dancing." "She dances quite differently from you." "Let us both dance before you then, so that you may judge which is the better of us," she said quickly. [Illustration: "Let us both dance for you, so that you may judge between us" .....] However, he vetoed this neat arrangement. "The girl has been wounded. And she's still not strong enough for much exertion." Rayma brooded on this fact, and the more she thought about it, the less she liked it. "Did you capture her on that foray?" she asked presently. "She was part of my booty," he said, a lingering tenderness in his voice. Again Rayma was silent. Very quickly she put two and two together. The Sultan had not been near the harem since his return from that quest for vengeance. And this new slave had been captured during that foray. So this was the girl who had stolen the Sultan's heart! Who had kept him away from the harem all these dreary weeks. The girl sitting there by the distant doorway. The girl who would not come near him; whom he watched, yet did not go to. Rayma scowled at Pansy's back. Then she turned to one of the women attendants sitting near. "Fetch that girl to me," she said, pointing to Pansy. The woman rose, ready and anxious to do a favourite's bidding. But the Sultan motioned her down again. "She comes at no one's bidding, except mine," he said firmly. Pouting, Rayma wriggled closer to him. "May _I_ not even call her?" she asked softly. "The rule applies to all here," he replied. Somewhat impatiently he pushed Rayma aside. Then he got to his feet, and went towards Pansy. His step behind her made the girl's heart start beating violently. He was coming to issue some further ultimatum. Perhaps not an ultimatum even, but an order. Pansy had wanted to see her captor, to plead for her father. Now that he was there, the words refused to pass her lips. To have asked any favour of him would have choked her. "Well, Pansy, are you going to marry me?" he asked. He might not have been there, for all the notice she took of him. "Come," he went on, in an authoritative manner, "you must realise that I'm supreme, and that you must obey me." Pansy realised this to the fullest, and the sense of her own helplessness only infuriated her. Since she had no weapon she could turn on him except her tongue, she hit at him with that. And she hit her very hardest on the spot she knew would hurt the most. "English women don't marry niggers," she said contemptuously. The word cut deep into his proud spirit; all the deeper for coming from her lips. Although he whitened under the insult, the knowledge of his own complete supremacy held his fiery temper in check. "The marrying is just as you like," he replied. "Forms and ceremonies are nothing to me, but I'd an idea you preferred them." There was a brief silence. With her face turned away Pansy sat ignoring him entirely, leaving him only a slender white neck, a small ear and part of a rose-tinted cheek to study. And the Sultan studied them, amused that anything so helpless should dare to defy him. "You've not only yourself to consider when you set me at defiance in this manner," he remarked presently. "There's your father, and your English friends." His words brought Pansy's eyes to him, fear in their velvety depths. At her look he laughed. "Your kind heart has given me some hostages, Pansy," he said. "But nothing will happen to them for another week. I'll give you that much time to make up your mind. Not longer. For my patience is wearing very thin. And I've had a lot where you're concerned. More than I ever dreamt I was capable of. In the meantime, my little girl, try and remember I'm not quite the hopeless villain you think me, or you wouldn't have liked me, even for a day." But just then it seemed to Pansy there was no greater villain on earth than the Sultan Casim Ammeh. CHAPTER XXII Early the next morning when Pansy was splashing about in the great underground tank, a voice made her look up in a startled fashion. So far no one had intruded on her ablutions. It was a soft, purring, malicious little voice that said in lisping French: "Now I see why you always come here early. Why you don't bathe with me and the other girls." On the broad marble steps Rayma stood, looking down at her rival spitefully. "I come early because I'm not used to bathing before people," Pansy replied, hoping the other would take the hint and go. But Rayma did not go. She seated herself on the steps and stayed there, her black eyes fixed on the graceful girl in the water. "Has the Sultan seen those scars?" she asked, pointing a slim disparaging finger at the network of red marks and ridges on Pansy's thigh and side. Pansy flushed at the question. "Of course not," she cried indignantly. "When he bought me I stood before him with only my hair for a covering. And I stood gladly, for I knew I was perfect." Rayma finished, as if the fact gave her pleasure. Pansy had no desire to discuss the Sultan's likes and dislikes. To avoid further conversation, she swam out to the far end of the great bath and stayed there until Rayma had gone. All that day, whenever the Arab girl's eyes met hers, there was a look of malicious triumph in them. And when the two girls came within speaking distance that purring, little voice whispered spitefully: "Only wait until the Sultan comes. I shall find a way of taking his love from you." Despondently Pansy wished this would come to pass. She was between the upper and nether millstones, her father on one side, her captor on the other. Several days passed without anything being seen of the Sultan. Then, one night, he came, when the girls were gathered in the harem, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes after dinner. Pansy, was in the group, and the sight of his big, white-clad figure brought her to her feet sharply, with a feeling of choking alarm. Then she stayed where she was, fully aware that escape was impossible. He seated himself at her side. She would have edged away, but his voice stopped her. "No, Pansy, stay where you are," he said quickly. "And since I don't smoke 'bubble bubbles' like the men in 'Eastern pictures and on cigar-box lids' you once mentioned, you can give me a cigarette, and light it, if you like," he added, with a touch of teasing. Pansy did not like. She stood slim and straight and defiant, ignoring his request, conscious that all eyes were upon them, all ears listening to what was said. Since she refused to do the Sultan's bidding, and since he made no attempt to force obedience, there were half a dozen pairs of hands ready and eager to do the task Pansy scorned. Rayma's gaze rested jealously on the English girl, "Is it always what she likes, Casim, my Lord, and never what you wish?" "She has been ill, and I humour her," he replied shortly. "Ill or not she should be only too pleased to do your bidding. Are you not her Sultan and her master? _I_ have no will except your wishes. _I_ have no secrets hidden from you." There was a world of insinuation in Rayma's voice. And it made the Sultan glance at Pansy in a quick, suspicious manner. The only thing he suspected her of doing was trying to escape. He failed to see how she could get out of her present quarters, but the mere idea of losing her sent a chill through him. "What are you hiding from me, Pansy?" he asked presently. His close scrutiny brought a flush to her face, not through any sense of guilt, but because of her unaccustomed and scanty attire. He saw the flush and his suspicions deepened. She was capable of doing herself some injury in order to get away from him. "What do you mean, Rayma?" he asked, as Pansy refused to answer. The Arab girl sidled up to Pansy, malice and triumph in her eyes. "Do you really want to know, my Lord?" she asked, smiling at him softly. He nodded. Before Pansy realised what was happening, there was a feeling of cold steel at her breast. Totally unprepared, it seemed that Rayma was going to stab her. She moved back quickly. As she moved there was the sharp snip of scissors, a rending sound, a quick jerk, and her one garment was dragged from her. The Arab girl retreated quickly, holding the silk slip behind her, leaving Pansy nothing but her curls to cover her; a covering that reached no further than the nape of her neck. With a heart-broken cry she sank on the floor, and crouched there, her face hidden in her hands, flushed with shame from head to foot. Laughing triumphantly Rayma pointed a scornful finger at her rival. "Look, Casim, look, beloved," she cried, "that is the secret she would hide from you. Those ugly scars. And she bathes early in the morning when none of us are there, so that we shall not see them and tell you. For she knows that you would not love a woman so flawed." The other women looked at Pansy in an unconcerned manner. Clothing was of no great consequence to them. Moreover, it was just as well not to interfere when Rayma chose to play her tricks and amuse their master. But he did not look at all amused. What was more, his gaze did not go to the slim bare girl crouched on the floor. He looked instead at Rayma. "Give the girl back her garment," he said in an ominously quiet tone. "Look, Casim. Look, my Lord. A girl so blemished is not worthy of _you_. Often you have said no woman has a form as perfect as mine. But look and compare. Then say which of us is more deserving of your favour." She snatched off her own light garment, and stood before him, slim and perfect, a golden statue, a model for an artist. The Sultan's eyes were fixed on her still. But there was no appreciation in them, only anger. "Give the girl back her garment," he said again. "When you have looked at her, and not before," Rayma cried, defiant in the surety of her own perfections. "Give it back when I tell you," he said in a savage voice. A tense silence followed. The girls and women glanced at one another, and waited for what they had seen happen from time to time--the fall of a favourite. Rayma's "coup" had fallen surprisingly, ominously flat. The Sultan refused to look at the girl whose blemishes had been unveiled for his inspection. Rayma knew it too. And as she gazed at the cold, angry face of her master, she saw her star had set. She threw the silk slip at Pansy who still crouched on the floor, paralysed with shame. Beside herself with jealous rage the Arab girl then stooped and picking up a heavy silver goblet hurled it at her rival. Fortunately it missed its aim and went skimming and crashing along the marble floor. This attempted assault was the last straw. A savage, merciless expression came to her master's face. At this look Rayma fell prostrate at his feet. "Casim, love me a little, and I ask for nothing else," she wailed. A gong stood at his side. Ignoring her, he struck it angrily. Its musical notes echoed through the room. A moment later a couple of negroes appeared in the doorway of the harem. The Sultan gave a sharp order in Arabic. What it was Pansy did not know. She was now the centre of a group of women who, with brooch and jewelled pin, were adjusting her silk slip. They were all anxious to gain her good graces, since there was no doubt now who was the Sultan's favourite. In her ear Leonora was whispering: "There's no need to be ashamed, my sister. Our Lord Casim never once glanced at you. His eyes and his anger were all for Rayma. Thanks to you, she now feels what I once felt. And her heart is breaking." But if Pansy did not know what the Sultan said, the crowd around her did. They whispered affrightedly among themselves, and edged further away from their master. For the Sultan in a temper was a person to be avoided. And Rayma knew what was going to happen. She started up with dilated eyes and screaming, then clung piteously to his feet. "Casim, my Lord, beloved, not that," she cried, her little face frantic. "Not that, I entreat you, for the sake of the nights that have been." There was no pity on his face, only savagery. All mercy had been swept out of him by her attempt to shame and injure Pansy. The guards returned, bringing whips. On seeing them Rayma's screams broke out afresh. Piteous little pleas for mercy, wild promises never to offend again, that he ignored completely. Then she fell a sobbing, golden statue at the Sultan's feet. Rayma's cries, terror-stricken and helpless, reached Pansy in the midst of her own dazed shame, making her glance in the direction of the man she hoped never to have to face again. She saw the huge negroes with their whips, awaiting the Sultan's order. The sobbing, helpless girl at his feet, and on his face a look she had never seen before--the look of an angered and pitiless despot. For a moment she stood aghast, not able to credit the scene before her. As she looked the Sultan nodded. The guards raised their whips. And they fell with cruel, stinging force. But they did not fall on Rayma. There was one in the harem who dared come between the Sultan and his wrath. The whips fell on white shoulders, not golden ones, bringing the blood oozing to satin-smooth skin. The weight and pain brought Pansy to her knees before her captor. "Raoul," she gasped, "I can't let you do this dreadful thing." The whips fell from the negroes' hands. Aghast, they stared at the girl before them. It was not their fault the lashes had fallen on the new favourite and not on the culprit. But they would be held responsible, and doubtless beaten nevertheless. The women and girls started to scream and wail. Their master might turn on them for letting the new slave get within reach of the whips. But who was to know she would dare come between the Sultan and a girl he thought well to punish. He paid no heed to the frightened stares of the guards, the wails of the scared women, to Rayma still sobbing, with fright, not pain. He had thoughts and eyes for nothing but the girl on her knees before him, with the red weals on her shoulders, horror and entreaty in her eyes--Pansy calling him once again by name. With a fierce, possessive movement, he stooped and gathered her into his arms, crushing her against him, until she was almost lost in his voluminous robes. "My little English flower, you can't quite hate me," he whispered passionately. "Or you wouldn't try to keep me what you once thought me. You wouldn't try to come between me and the man I am." With the girl in his arms, he rose. Scared eyes watched him as he crossed the big hall, and disappeared behind the silken curtains. Then the girls started to whisper among themselves. For the Sultan had taken this new slave to the gilded chamber of their desires. CHAPTER XXIII Through the open arches of the gilded chamber the moonlight dripped, making silver ponds on the golden floor, filling the place with a vague shimmering glow. One bar of moonlight fell on a couch where Pansy lay, her face buried in the cushions. By her side the Sultan knelt, one arm across her, watching her with glowing, passionate eyes. The last few minutes had been a haze to the girl; a blur of great negroes with whips; of Rayma, sobbing and helpless; of Raoul Le Breton, cruel, as she had always felt he might be. He had come back into her life suddenly, that lover with the strong arms and the deep, caressing voice, the big, half-tamed, arrogant man, whom from the first she had liked and had never been afraid of. "What dare I hope? What dare I think?" his voice was saying. "Dare I think that you don't quite hate me? Look at me, my little slave, and let me see what is in your eyes." But Pansy did not look at him. She was too full of shame and confusion, despite Leonora's assurance; a shame and confusion that the Sultan guessed at, for he stayed caressing her golden curls with a soothing touch. For a time there was silence. Through the room the wind strayed, its soft, rose-ladened breath mingling with the subtle scent of sandalwood. Somewhere in the garden an owl hooted. A peevish wail in the night, came the cry of jackals prowling around the city walls. Under that firm, strong, soothing hand, Pansy's shame subsided a little. For the girl there was always magic in his touch, except when anger raged within her. There was no anger now, only a sense of her own helplessness, and the knowledge of the lives he held in his power. Under the silence and his soothing hand, a question trembled to her lips, born of her own helplessness and the dire straits of her father and friends. "If ... if I marry you, will you send my father and friends safely back to Gambia?" she asked, in a low voice. He laughed tenderly. "If I were as big a villain as you think me, I'd say 'yes,' and then break faith with you, Pansy--as you broke faith with me. If I sent them back, my little flower, do you know what would happen? Your English friends would complain to the French Government. An expedition would be sent up here, and they would dole out to me the fate your father doled out to mine." His words made Pansy realise for the first time that his summary abduction of his father's party had brought him foul of two Governments. Horrified, she gazed at him; her father and friends all forgotten at the thought of the fate awaiting her captor. They would shoot him, this big, fierce man. All fire would die out of those flashing eyes. That handsome face would be stiff and stark in death. Never again would that hard mouth curve into lines of tenderness when he smiled at her. There would be no strength left in his arms. No deep, passionate, caressing voice. No untamed, masterful man, using all his power to bend her to his will. It was one thing for Pansy to want to kill him herself, but quite another for other people to set about it. At that moment she realised that, in spite of everything, she did not hate the Sultan Casim Ammeh. And what was more he knew it too. For he bent over her, laughing softly. "So, Heart's Ease, you don't quite hate me," he said. "That fact will keep me patient for quite a little time. And you will be whispering 'yes' in my ear, as I would have you whisper it--of your own free will, as you whispered 'I love you,' on that sweet night six months ago." He bent still lower, and kissed the little face that watched him with such strained anxiety. "Good night, my darling," he said fondly. Long after he had gone Pansy lay trying to crush the truth back into its hiding-place in her heart. And his voice, tender and triumphant, seemed to echo back mockingly from the jewelled ceiling. For surely she could not love a man so cruel, so barbaric, so profligate as the Sultan Casim Ammeh. CHAPTER XXIV The next morning Pansy awoke to find herself back in her gilded prison, and Alice beside her with the customary morning tea, a dish of fruit and a basket of flowers, all as if the last ten days had never been. She knew now the flowers were from the Sultan. But she did not tell Alice to take them away. Instead, as she drank her tea and ate some fruit, she looked at them in a meditating manner. And Alice looked at her mistress in an inquisitive way, wondering what had happened to her during the last few days. "De Sultan, he no sell you den, Miss Pansy?" "No," Pansy replied in an absent manner. "Since you go I lib wid de oder servants in anoder part ob de palace. Dere be hundreds ob dem," the girl continued, her eyes round with awe at her captor's wealth and power. She spoke, too, as if anxious for an exchange of confidences. However, Pansy said nothing. She stayed with her gaze on the flowers, despising herself for having been so upset at the thought of the Sultan's demise. That morning Alice dressed her in her usual civilised attire. In spite of this, Pansy found she was still a prisoner, still within the precincts of the harem. The rose garden was hers to wander in at will. But the guards were still stationed outside one of the sandalwood doors, as they had been on the day of her arrival at the palace. However, one of the two other doors was unlocked. Pansy opened it, hoping some way of escape might lay beyond. A dim flight of stairs led downwards. She descended, only to find herself in the harem. The girls and women greeted her with an awed and servile air. To them now she was the Sultan's first wife; the most envied and most honoured woman in the province of El-Ammeh. Curious glances were cast at her attire. Leonora appeared most at her ease. For she fingered Pansy's garments with soft, slow, indolent hands. "It's quite ten years since I've seen a woman dressed as you are," she remarked. "Not since I lived in Tangier, before my uncle sold me to an Arab merchant." Pansy knew Leonora's history. It did not sound a pretty one to civilised ears. Sold at the age of fourteen, she had been handed from one desert chief to another, until finally she had appeared in the slave market of El-Ammeh and had taken the Sultan's fancy. "What an awful life you've had," Pansy said, pity in her voice. Leonora's languid eyes opened with surprise. "Me! Oh, no. I'm beautiful, and most of my masters have been kind. But none so kind and generous as the Sultan Casim. Besides, now my travels are at an end. When the Sultan tires of a slave, he does not sell her. She is given in marriage to one of his officers, with a good dowry. And she is then a woman with an established position. He is always generous to a woman who has pleased him. How lucky for you to be picked for his first wife! You'll find him almost always kind. I've been here more than a year and I know. He is never harsh without a reason. He is never hard and unjust like some of the masters I've known." As Pansy listened to this eulogy on her captor, she was surprised and ashamed of herself for having a scrap of liking left for him. All her instincts revolted at his doings, but much as she tried she could not make them revolt at the man himself. "He was hard enough last night," she remarked. "But he had a reason. Rayma would have shamed and injured you. She could not see what I saw--that the Sultan has eyes and thoughts and heart for no one but you now. She is a stupid girl, that Rayma. Because he loved her for a month or two, she thought he would love her for ever. He was her first master. He bought her but a few weeks before he last went to Paris. And he is so angry now that he will sell her again, not give her in marriage to one of his officers, making her a woman of importance." Leonora's remarks made Pansy glance sharply round the big hall, suddenly aware that Rayma was not present. Already she saw the Arab girl having to face that dreadful sea of eyes, as she, herself, had faced it. "Where is Rayma?" she asked quickly. "The guards took her away last night," Leonora answered indifferently. "She'll trouble you no more." Hastily Pansy got to her feet, and went to the big door leading out of the harem. She knew what lay beyond; a large vestibule where, day and night, half a dozen eunuchs lounged. Seeing Pansy on the threshold, brought them to their feet, barring her exit. "I must see the Sultan," she said. Although she made the request, she hardly expected to have it granted, for the Sultan came when he felt disposed. "Lady, I'll inform the Sultan of your desires," one of the guards replied. With that he left the vestibule. Pansy waited, conscious of the servility and overwhelming desire to please that oozed from these menials. Before long the messenger returned. It appeared that the girl's wish was to be granted. With a negro on either side of her Pansy was taken through an intricate maze of corridors, past closed doors, open arches and Arabesque windows, to a further door that her escort opened. Pansy found herself in a room that looked more like a sumptuous office than anything else, with a balcony that jutted over the lake. At a large desk a man was seated in a white drill suit with a black cummerbund, who rose at her entry and smiled at her, as if the last week had never been; as if he were still Raoul Le Breton and there had been no unveiling. "Well, Pansy, it's flattering to think you want to see me," he remarked. Pansy did not waste any time before stating the reason of her visit. "Is it true you're going to sell Rayma?" she asked in a horror-stricken tone. The mere mention of her name made a savage expression flit across his face. "What I'm going to do with her is my own concern." "How can you be such a brute, such a savage, so abominably cruel?" she cried, distress in her voice. "Do you know, my little slave, that you're the only person in the place who dare take me to task about my doings?" he remarked. Pansy did not know, or care; her only desire was to save him from himself. "I shall stay here until you premise not to sell her," she said tensely. "If you stay until Doomsday, it won't worry me," he replied. "You must find some other threat." Pansy could have shaken him for daring to poke fun at her, when her only desire was to keep him from slave-dealing. "How can you even contemplate such a ghastly thing," she gasped. "As what?" he asked in an unconcerned manner. "Don't you know that slave-dealing is an abomination?" "It may be in your country, but it isn't in mine." "I can't bear to think of you doing anything so dreadful," she said in a strained voice. He glanced at her, a soft, mocking light in his eyes. "Should you like me any better if I didn't sell Rayma?" "I should hate you if you did." "I couldn't run such a risk a second time," he replied. "I'll send her back to the harem, and keep her there until I can find a suitable husband, if that'll please you better." Pansy experienced a feeling of relief. The victory was easier than she had expected. There was a brief pause. Then he said: "So you're still returning good for evil, Pansy. Your power of forgiveness is astonishing. Rayma deserved punishment for her treatment of you." "If anyone deserves punishment it's you," Pansy retorted. "How do you make that out?" "For trifling with her." For a moment he was too astonished to speak. "If you call that trifling, then I must have trifled with at least a hundred women in my day," he remarked at length. "How can you stand there and say such dreadful things?" she gasped. "There's nothing dreadful about it from my point of view." Pansy said nothing. She just stared at him, as if at some fascinating horror. Under her gaze he began to find excuses and explanations for himself and his behaviour. "Don't you remember telling me in that letter of yours that you were not quite the same as other girls, putting that forward as a sufficient reason for breaking faith with me? Well, Pansy, I'm not quite the same as the other men you've known. To begin with, my religion is different. In my own small way I'm a king. I rule absolutely within a radius of more than a hundred miles round here. Then, I'm a millionaire, and my trading extends far beyond my kingdom, as far as St. Louis, in fact. And millionaires, more especially if they're men and unmarried, are fêted and welcomed everywhere. And, like kings, millionaires can do no wrong. Then I'm half-Arab, half-French, which you must agree is a wild combination. Such a mixture doesn't tend to make a man exactly virtuous. I've done exactly what I liked, practically ever since I was born. Everybody, except my mother, did their best to spoil me. She was the only one who ever tried to keep me in order in any way, but she died when I was ten years old. At fourteen I was Sultan here in my own right. And no one ever dared, or troubled, to criticise my doings until you came along. And now you're expecting me to be a better man than ever Fate or nature intended me to be." Pansy said nothing; she still looked at him, trying now to see his point of view. "_I_ call 'trifling' what you've done with me. Promising to marry me and then drawing back. I've never trifled with you. And if you can believe such a thing, and if you'll try and see it in my light, I've been faithful to you. I never had a thought for another woman since the night you came into my life, until I learnt you were Barclay's daughter. Then I tried to hate you, and went back to my old life. But when you were brought to me, dead, as I thought, I knew I didn't hate you. And since that day, Pansy, there's been no other woman but you. And you'll satisfy me for the rest of my life." Pansy listened to him, trying to see things as he saw them, knowing she ought to be disgusted with him. Instead, she was intensely sorry because there had never been anyone at hand to check or train him, except a mother who had died twenty years ago. But his speech brought her father's plight before her again. It seemed hardly feasible that the Sultan would have sent her letter to the man he desired to punish. "Did you give that note of mine to my father?" she asked. A trifle askance, he glanced at her. "No, I didn't," he confessed. Pansy was past being angry with him; she was just sorely wounded in soul and mind at his doings. This must have showed on her face, for he went on quickly: "You can send another and I promise it'll be delivered. Not only that, but that your father and friends will be well treated. Among other things, Pansy, you've taken the edge off my vengeance." He paused, leaning over her he said: "I'm granting you all these favours, but what are you going to do for me?" Pansy wanted nothing now but to get away from him, right away, beyond his reach, but not because she hated him. "Just for a moment, my little English flower, will you rest upon my heart?" he asked in a soft, caressing voice. "There's no savagery left in me when you're there of your own accord." He held out his arms, waiting to complete the bargain. But she moved away quickly. "Oh, no," she said, alarm in her voice. He laughed. "You've never been afraid of me before, why are you now, Pansy? Are you afraid you might love me?" "How could I love anyone so depraved?" she asked. But her voice was quavering, not scornful as she intended it to be. "Depraved! So that's what I am now, is it? Well, it's all point of view, I suppose. And it's one degree better than saying you hate me." He turned towards the desk, and drew out paper and envelopes. "Write your letter, my little girl," he finished. Pansy sat down. As she wrote to her father, in her heart was a wish that she had been left undisturbed in her fool's paradise, that she had married Raoul Le Breton at the end of a month, knowing nothing about him except that she loved him. Once he was her husband, if she had learnt the truth, she would not have had to fight against herself and him. There would have been only one course left open to her--to do her utmost to make a better man of him. And circumstances had shown her that in her hands the task would have been an easy one. CHAPTER XXV When Sir George Barclay returned to prison, he was a broken man. His officers were surprised to see him back alive, and anxious to hear what had occurred. But a day or two passed before he was able to talk about what had happened. And always before him was the bestial figure of the miser feather merchant, into whose hands he imagined his daughter had fallen. When he told the story of her sale a strained silence fell on his officers. A silence that Cameron broke. "The damned brute," he said in a wild, heart-broken way, "and he knew her in Grand Canary." The fact of Pansy's acquaintance with the Sultan Casim Ammeh, Barclay had learnt from Cameron in the early days of their capture. The younger man immediately had recognised the Sultan as the Raoul Le Breton, who when out of Africa posed as a French millionaire. "He's worse than a savage," one of the other officers put in, "since he knows better." Sir George had nothing to say, once the story was told. Pansy's fate was always before him; an agony that chased him into dreams, compared with which his own death would have been as nothing. One morning about ten days after the sale of slaves, one of the Arab guards brought him a letter. To his amazement, he saw his daughter's writing on the envelope. With trembling fingers he opened it, wondering how she had managed to get a message through to him, with a prayer in his heart that by some miracle she might have escaped her horrible fate. "No one knows better than I how you must have suffered on my account. I tried to get a letter through to you before, but I have just heard it never reached you, so I am sending another. I was not sold that day in the slave-market. The Sultan never intended to sell me. He only sent me there and made a pretence of selling me in order to hurt you. I am in the palace here, and no one could be better treated than I am. I asked the Sultan to let you all go back to Gambia, but he will not consent to that. But he has promised that you all will be well treated. You must not worry because of me. It is not as if the Sultan and I were strangers. I met him in Grand Canary, but I did not know who he really was then--he was passing under a French name. It is very difficult to know what to say to cheer you up. I know you will worry whatever I say. I am quite safe here, and no harm will happen to me. I cannot bear to think of you worrying, and you must try not to do so for my sake. Your loving daughter, PANSY." As George Barclay read through the letter, it seemed to him that he knew what had happened. The girl had bartered herself in exchange for his life and the lives of her friends. He tried to gather what cold comfort he could by keeping the picture of the Sultan before him as he had last seen him, big and handsome, in his khaki riding suit, looking thoroughly European. At least the man who had his daughter was a king, if a barbaric one, and civilised to a certain extent. She had not fallen into the clutches of that grimy, naked, foaming wretch, as he had imagined. And the knowledge eased his tortured spirit considerably. CHAPTER XXVI After that interview with her captor Pansy's life rapidly developed into one long struggle between inclination and upbringing. She knew she loved the Sultan, but all her standards revolted against marrying him. She could not bear to think about the wild past that was his, but she equally could not bear to think that he might fall into sin again when hers was the power to prevent him. What was more, she knew he had guessed her love for him, and was doing his best to make her succumb to his attractions. After that one interview she was not allowed out of the sensual, scented precincts of the harem. She had no occupation, no amusements, no books even. Nothing to do all day except just think about her lover and fight her battle. And he made the battle all the harder. Never a day passed but what he was there, big and handsome and fascinating. He would come upon her in the little walled garden, and linger with her among the roses. By the hour he would sit with her in the wide gallery overlooking the desert. Very often he dined with her in the gilded chamber, and stayed on afterwards in the dim light of the shaded lamps, watching her with soft, mocking eyes. And very often he would say: "Well, Pansy, have you made up your mind whether you are going to marry me or not?" It seemed to the girl that the whole world was combining to drive her into the arms of a man she ought to turn from with contempt and disgust. At the end of a fortnight he said: "Pansy, you're the first woman who has ever fought against her love for me. It's an amusing sight, but I'm beginning to wish you weren't such a determined fighter." At the end of a month some of the mockery had gone out of his eyes, giving place to a hungry gleam. For the girl had not succumbed to his fascinations, although her face was growing white and weary with close confinement and the ceaseless battle that went on within herself. And the man who acknowledged no law except his own appetites, and who, up till now, had lived for nothing else, loved the girl all the more deeply because she did not succumb to his attractions, because she had a soul above her senses, and tried to live up to her own ideals, refusing to come down to his level. At times he felt he must try and grope his way up to the heights, and unconsciously he was rising from the depths. "Water can always reach the level it rises from," Pansy had once said. Although a wild craving for his girl-prisoner often kept him wakeful, although there was none to stop him, and only a short length of passage and a locked door, to which he alone had the key, lay between him and his desire, the passage was never crossed, the door never unlocked. To escape his presence as much as possible, Pansy spent a lot of her time in the big hall of the harem with the other girls. But one by one they disappeared, to become the wives of various men of importance in the place, until only Rayma was left. A quiet, subdued Rayma who watched Pansy and the Sultan with longing, envious gaze. "How happy you must be now you are his wife, and you know that he can't thrust you from him should another woman take his fancy," the Arab girl sighed one day to her rival. Pansy was not his wife, and she had no intention of being. In her desire to escape from temptation she grew absolutely reckless. "I should be much happier if I could get right away from him," she said in response to Rayma's remark. "Don't you love him?" Rayma exclaimed. "I hate him," Pansy said, lying to her heart. "I never want to see him again," she went on in a hysterical way. "I only want to escape from him and this place, once and for ever." Astonished, Rayma gazed at her supplanter. Then a look of hope darted into her dark eyes. If only this strange girl were out of the way, the Sultan's heart might return to her. CHAPTER XXVII Outside a little French military settlement several ragged tents had been pitched. In the largest of them the miser feather merchant was sitting, cross-legged, on a pile of dirty cushions. As chance would have it, his caravan had gone to the south-west, and that night he had halted within three hundred miles of St. Louis. With him was an Arab friend, a nomad like himself, who chanced also to be encamped outside the little settlement. A year had passed since their last meeting. After the first exchange of compliments, as the two sat smoking together, the new-comer remarked to the miser: "In your hunger for gold you grow ever thinner and more haggard." A wild look came into the feather merchant's eyes. "It is not hunger for gold that has robbed my bones of their flesh," he replied. "But another hunger, far more raging." His friend puffed away in silence, and as he puffed, he had in mind an Arab proverb wherein it is said that a man can fall madly in love with the shadow of a woman's heel. "Then it's the shadow of some woman's heel," he remarked. "More than her shadow," the miser replied in a parched voice. "I saw her before me, as plainly as I see you. A houri from Paradise." His friend made no reply. Considering a woman was under discussion it was bad manners to ask questions. He waited, knowing that silence on his part would be the most likely way of hearing the story. The miser's bony hands clenched, and his tongue went round his bearded lips. "There was a girl I desired," he began presently. "A milk-white maid, more beautiful than the morning, with hair golden as the sun, and eyes deep blue as desert night. She was a slave, and with my wealth I would have bought her. She was more to me than my gold. But there was another more rich and powerful. And he took her--may his soul perish in hell." As the miser talked, an amazed look crossed his friend's face. "And where did you see her, this milk-white maid, with the hair of gold, and deep blue eyes?" he asked quickly. "In a desert city, a month's journey or more from here." "And how did she come to be there?" "She was captured by the Sultan who rules there. Allah curse him!" "So!" his friend ejaculated. Then he stayed for some moments ruminating on the matter. "Such a maid was stolen three months or more ago, from a mighty white nation whose territory lies far beyond the Senegal," he began presently. "And that white nation has made great stir and commotion with our rulers, the French. For the maid is one of great wealth and importance in her own country, possessed of undreamt-of riches, a fortune in gold pieces more numerous than the grains of sand in the Sahara. A month ago I was in the town of St. Louis, and the people there talked of nothing else. The white officers here search for her in all directions. And great will be the reward of the man who can lead them to her abductor. And great also will be the punishment of that desert ruler--even death." Tensely the feather merchant listened. Then he started up with a wild cry. "Allah be praised!" he shouted. "For my prayer has been granted. I have found those who are the enemies of the Sultan Casim Ammeh. The nation most mighty of all on this earth. And they will break him, as he has broken me." Then he darted from the tent, running like a madman in the direction of the French military quarters. CHAPTER XXVIII One day when Pansy was in the large hall of the harem, Rayma came to her, a look of feverish excitement in her eyes. "Do you still wish to escape?" she asked, watching her supplanter as if she could not believe such a desire could lie in the heart of any woman the Sultan pleased to favour. For Pansy her struggle became daily more difficult. It was an obsession now, her wish to escape from her captor. "How can I? Whichever way I turn someone is there to stop me." "There is one who will not stop you. Not if he is paid well enough," Rayma said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Who is that?" Pansy asked quickly. "One of the eunuchs who guards your room at night. He loves jewels beyond all things on earth. And surely the Sultan has given you plenty, although you never wear them." The Sultan had given Pansy none, because he knew she would not accept them. But she had jewels of her own; one that would be bribe enough for anybody--the great diamond that had aroused her lover's comments one night in the moonlit garden of Grand Canary. Pansy clutched at the mere idea of escape. Where she would escape to, she did not pause to consider. To escape she forgot his colour, his religion, his wild life, his treatment of her father, everything, except her own love for him. "How do you know he'll let himself be bribed?" she asked. "One of the women told me. He is her brother. I've spent days in trying to help you get away." "Oh, Rayma, I can never thank you enough," Pansy said, hysterically grateful. The Arab girl cast a spiteful glance at her, wondering why the other could not guess that it was her, Rayma's, one desire to get rid of her rival. "Each night after dark you must open your door," the Arab girl went on. "There will come a night when only one of the guards will be here. Then, if you bribe him enough, he will let you pass." Rayma did not imagine that Pansy would escape. She expected and hoped that she would be caught in the attempt. Judging by her desert standards, death would be the portion of any slave-girl who dared attempt to fly from her owner. After that, every night when she was alone, Pansy opened the sandalwood door leading into the long, dark passage by which she had first entered the palace. Then, one evening, she found only one of the jewelled guards there. On seeing this, she closed the door again, and going to her jewel case got out the one big diamond. From the gallery of her sumptuous prison she had gathered that beyond the rose garden lay the grounds of the Sultan's own quarters, where she had spent those three days prior to his unveiling. During that brief time she had noticed that, at night and during the heat of the day, the horses that browsed in the sun-scorched paddock were stabled in a long, low building at the far end of the scanty field. And she knew, too, that the iron gates by which she had entered the palace could not lie so very far away from the paddock. With trembling hands and almost sick with anxiety and excitement, Pansy opened the door of her prison. She said nothing to the guard there. She merely held the gem towards him. On seeing it, his eyes glittered covetously. Without a word he took the diamond. Pansy passed down the dim passage. She hardly knew how her feet took her along its ill-lit length. Every moment she expected to meet someone, or that one of the several doors leading into it would open, and her flight be brought to an abrupt end. However, unchallenged she reached the iron gates. A lamp flickering in a niche close by, showed her that one of the doors was slightly ajar. With shaking hands she pulled it further open and slipped out. Outside all was silence and whiteness. Like a sea, the desert stretched away to a milky horizon. In a luminous vault the moon hung, a great round molten mass, that filled the world with a shimmer of silver. Finding herself really beyond the palace precincts, took all strength from the girl. Hardly daring to breathe, she crept a few steps further, and leant against the city wall, to recover a little and get her bearings. Then, furtive as a shadow, she made her way towards a long, low building that showed up like a huge ebony block in the whiteness. There were others as furtive as Pansy prowling round the city walls; jackals searching for offal, snarled at her as she passed along, slinking away and showing teeth that gleamed like ivory in the moonlight. The first sound of them made her start violently, for she felt the Sultan's hand upon her, drawing her back to himself and captivity. But when she saw the prowlers were four-footed, she passed on, heedless of them, until the paddock fence was reached. To climb over was a simple task. Then she ran swiftly across the grassy space; suddenly deadly afraid, not of the loneliness, but that the stable doors might be locked and she would not be able to carry out her project. However, in El-Ammeh there were no thieves daring enough to steal the Sultan's horses, so the doors were never locked. They creaked ominously when Pansy opened them, filling the still night with harsh sounds--sounds that she felt must reach her captor's ears. Inside, the stables were vaguely light with the rays of the moon that dripped in from high little windows. Fortunately for Pansy's plan it was the hour for the palace servants' evening meal, or there might have been half a dozen men in the building. As it was, there was only a long row of horses, each in separate stalls. Pansy knew that if her protégé were there, he would answer to her call. "Sultan," she said softly. There was a whinny from a stall some twenty yards away. Guided by the sound she went in that direction. It was the work of a few moments to unfasten the animal. But to Pansy it seemed an age. Her hands trembled as she fumbled at the halter, for she heard pursuit in every sound. Then she led the animal out of the building, into the moonlight, and closed the door behind her. She was an expert bare-back rider. Leading the horse to the fence, she mounted. Then she trotted him back to the middle of the enclosure, and with voice and hand urged him towards the fence again. In his old steeplechasing days, a hurdle the height of the rails had presented no difficulties to "The Sultan." And, even now, he took the fence at an easy bound. Once over, it seemed to Pansy that the last obstacle between herself and freedom had been circumvented. She leant forward, patting her horse encouragingly. "Oh, Sultan," she said hysterically. "I don't mind where you take me, so long as I can get away from here." Left to itself, after the manner of horses, the animal picked the route it knew the best; the sandy track along which the Sultan Casim generally took it for exercise. For the first mile or so Pansy was conscious of nothing except that she had escaped--escaped from a love she could not conquer, a man she could not hate. White and billowy the world lay around her, an undulating sea of sand with only one dark patch upon it, the city of El-Ammeh. The track the horse followed wound through tufted hillocks, mounds of silver in the moonlight. Here and there a stunted shrub cast black lines on the all-prevailing whiteness. At the end of an hour Pansy discovered she was not the rider she once was. Her months of confinement had left her sadly "out of form." She was worn out with the exertion and the excitement of escape. It took all her skill to keep her seat on the horse. And the animal knew, for it slackened speed as a good horse will when conscious of a tired rider. Others, also, seemed aware that something weak and helpless was abroad, and with the strange magnetism of the wild they were drawn towards the girl. Here and there in the melting, misty distance, a dark form appeared, lopping along at a safe range, keeping pace with the old horse and its rider, every now and again glancing at the two with glaring green eyes, and calling one to another with shrieks of maniacal laughter. Pansy hardly heard the hyenas. She was too intent on keeping her seat. But the horse heard them and he snorted with rage and fear. As the miles sped by, the girl was aware of nothing except a desire to get further and further away from her lover, and to keep her seat on the horse. Then she became aware of something else. For the horse halted and she fell off, flat on the soft sand. Shaken, but not hurt, she sat up and gazed around. A little oasis had been reached, where date palms stood black against the all-prevailing silver, and a tiny spring bubbled with cheerful whisper. When the Sultan took his namesake out for exercise, this was the extreme limit of their ride--the horse had been there once already that day--and in the shade of the date palms the man and the horse would rest awhile before returning to the city. But Pansy knew none of these things. She only knew that valuable time was being lost sitting there on the ground. But it was such an effort to get up. Green eyes had seen her fall as if dead. The hyenas crept stealthily forward to feast upon what lay helpless in the sand. But when she sat up they retreated, to squat on their haunches at a safe distance, and fill the night with demoniacal laughter. The sound brought Pansy to her feet, swaying with fatigue. She had heard it before, around her father's camp in Gambia. But it was one thing to hear the hyenas when there were thirty or more people between herself and them, and another now that she was quite alone in the desert, with no one to come to her aid. The chorus of mad, mocking mirth brought fear clutching at her, a fear that the horse's wild snorts increased. She looked round sharply to find there were at least a dozen of the brutes on her trail. It was not Pansy's nature to show fear, even though she felt it. Going to the spring, she picked up several large stones, and threw them at the hyenas. A note of fear crept into their hideous voices. They beat a swift retreat, melting away into distance. There was too much life left in the girl and horse for them to attack as yet. Gathering her tired self together Pansy looked round for a rock high enough to enable her to mount by. As it happened there was none handy. Taking her horse by the mane, she led him from the oasis. Somewhat protestingly he went. Pansy had to stagger on for nearly a mile on foot, in the deep, fatiguing sand, before she could find a tussock high enough to mount by. Once on, she left the route to her horse. To the uninitiated, one portion of the desert looks very similar to another. And the girl had no idea that the horse was retracing his steps, making his way slowly and laboriously back to El-Ammeh. She had not the strength left even to look around her. The hot night, the long ride, the sickly excitement attached to escaping, the thirst that now raged within her, and the final tiring walk, after months of inactivity, had told upon her. Utterly worn out, she just managed to keep her seat, in a world that had become a place of aching weariness, through which there rang occasional wild shrieks of laughter. Then it became impossible to cling on any longer. All at once, she fell off and stayed in the sand, half stunned by her fall, conscious of nothing except that she had escaped from the Sultan Casim Ammeh. When she fell the horse stopped. He stretched a long neck and sniffed and sniffed at her. But since she did not get up, he did not leave her. He waited until she was ready to start off again, quite glad of the rest himself. However, there was not to be much rest for him. A shriek of diabolical laughter rang out at his very heels. With a snort of fear and rage, he lashed out. The laughter turned into a howl of pain, and one of the hyenas retreated on three legs, with a broken shoulder. But there were twenty or more of them now, against one old horse and a girl too utterly exhausted to know even that her life was in danger. And each of the hyenas had a strength of jaw that could break the thigh of an ox, and a cowardice of heart equalled only by their strength. For sometime they circled round, watching their prey with ravenous, glaring green eyes, and every now and again one or the other made a forward rush, only to find those iron heels between it and its meal. The horse understood being baited in this manner, by foes just beyond his reach. It had been part of the hell the girl he guarded had rescued him from. As time went on, the hyenas grew bolder. Once they rushed in a body. But they retreated. One with a broken jaw, one with a mouthful of live flesh torn from "The Sultan's" flank, and one did not retreat at all. It lay with its skull smashed in, its brains bespattering the horse's hoofs--hoofs over which now a red stream oozed, filling the hot night air with the smell of live blood. A desperate battle raged in the lonely desert under the white light of the moon. A battle that filled the night with the mad mirth of hyenas, and the wild shrieks of a frightened, hurt, infuriated horse--"The Sultan"--fighting as he had fought that day in the East End of London when Pansy had first come across him. But fighting for her life as well as his own, against the cowards that beset him. CHAPTER XXIX The sound of that desperate conflict rang through the stillness of the night, reaching the ears of a man who was riding at break-neck speed along the sandy track leading in the direction of the oasis. Those diabolical shrieks of laughter filled him with a torture of mind almost past bearing. In them he heard the voices of hyenas mangling the girl he loved. Le Breton had always known Pansy would run away if an opportunity occurred. But he had imagined that he had made escape impossible. After dinner, he went to the gilded room, to pay an evening visit to his prisoner, since business affairs had kept him from dining with her. However, she was not there. Experience had taught him that it would be no use looking for her in the moonlit, rose-scented garden. She never went there after sunset, for fear he should come across her, and the beauty and romance of it all, combined with his presence, should force the surrender he was waiting for. Not finding Pansy in her own private quarters, he went into the big hall of the harem, only to be told she had not been there since well before dinner. On learning this he set the women searching in every corner of the harem. But Pansy was nowhere to be found. Beyond a doubt, she had managed to escape. For a moment the news dazed him. He did not waste time in trying to discover how she had escaped, or who was responsible for her getting away. She had gone. That one fact glared at him. No one knew better than the Sultan himself the dangers awaiting the girl once she strayed beyond his care. Within a few minutes all his servants and soldiers were out looking for the fugitive, scouring the city, with threats of the dire fate awaiting anyone who dared either hide or injure the Sultan's wife. A hasty search brought no trace of the girl, but one of the search parties learnt that a horse was missing from the royal stables. On hearing this the Sultan went at once to the stables, looking for a clue there. The missing horse was Pansy's. The discovery sent a sudden glow of hope coursing through him. It argued that somehow or other she had managed to reach the stables and had set out into the desert. The Sultan understood horses, even better, it seemed to him now, than he understood women. Left to its own devices the old horse would go the way it knew the best; the way he generally took it. And left to itself it was almost certain to be, since its rider had no knowledge of any of the sandy tracks that lay around the city. Within a few moments he was on the swiftest of his own horses, riding with all speed towards the oasis; but not before leaving orders with his officers to scour the desert in every direction. He had ridden perhaps five miles when into the stealthy hiss of the sand another sound came. At first so far away that it was but a distant moan in the night. As he tore on rapidly it grew louder, developing into a chorus of hideous laughter, the cry of hyenas howling round their prey. Desert reared, instinctively he knew there must be at least twenty of them. When, above the mêlée he heard the terrorized screams of a horse, a deadly fear clutched him. Where the horse was, the girl was. And the sound told him the two had been attacked. Around Pansy the ghastly conflict was raging. Around her mangled corpse, perhaps. He suffered all the tortures of the damned, as with spur and crop he urged the great stallion onwards, until the animal was a lather of sweat and foam. The hyenas heard the throb of those approaching hoofs, and fear gripped their cowardly hearts. The disconcerting noise grew speedily louder. On the whiteness of the lonely desert a dark patch appeared; a patch that rapidly became bigger and headed straight towards them. It was one thing to attack a tired old horse and a half-stunned girl, but another to face a huge black stallion and the big man in the white burnoose who rode it. The hyenas did not face the combination. With a weird howl of disappointment, they turned tail suddenly and scuttled away into the desert, leaving the old horse shivering with relief and pain and exhaustion. The feeling of someone touching her made Pansy open her eyes. Into her hazy world her captor's face intruded. He was half-kneeling on the sand beside her, examining her limbs, feeling her heart, to see if she were injured in any way. For a moment Pansy could not believe her eyes. Then she put out a weak hand to push him away. But a push did not remove him. He was still there, in white cloak and hood; a desert chief who wanted to marry her. Big and solid he knelt beside her, a fact not to be escaped from. And his hand was on her bosom as if to steal the heart she would not give him. Satisfied Pansy was not hurt in any way, the Sultan got to his feet, and turned towards the horse. It needed more attention than the girl. He petted and patted the worn-out shivering animal, talking to it in a deep, caressing voice, as he bound up its gaping wounds with lengths torn from his own white garments. Then he lifted the girl on his own horse, and, mounting himself, set out on a slow walk towards his city. Pansy made a feeble struggle when she found herself in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder, held in a tight, possessive grip. "So, little flower, you would still try to escape from me," he said in a fierce, fond manner. "But I don't let love go so lightly." He ignored her struggles as he talked to and encouraged the old horse that hobbled along by their side, with stiff, painful steps. As the slow journey went on, Pansy fell asleep against the strength that held her. The Sultan was quick to note this, and he smiled at the small tired face on his shoulder. He knew the nature of the girl he held. It would be impossible for her to go to sleep in any man's arms except those of the man she loved. She was very foolish to fight against him, but fight she would until he used his strength and ended the battle. An uneven contest the last round would be, with no doubt as to who would be the victor. CHAPTER XXX On a wide ottoman in her room Pansy lay. The golden lamps were burning low, casting black shadows on the gilded walls of her cage. Through the open arches the moonlight streamed, pouring in from a misty, mystic world where trees sighed vaguely in a silvered air. Early that morning the Sultan had brought Pansy back to the palace. Since then she had seen nothing of him. She brooded on her attempt to escape, which had only ended in her being more of a prisoner than ever. The guards about the entrance of her quarters had been doubled. The door leading into the harem was locked. Alice had been removed, her place taken by an Arab woman who would not or could not understand a word Pansy said to her. Sleepless she lay among the silken cushions, brooding on the life that had once been hers; a life so remote from her present one that it might never have been. It was impossible to believe that far beyond this desert city there lay a place called London, where she had been free as air, where she could come and go as she pleased, where she had dined and danced and lunched and visited. A world of dreams, remote, unreal, lost to her for ever, where she had been Pansy Langham, fêted and courted, with society at her feet. Now she was a sultan's slave, a chattel, her very life dependent on a barbaric ruler's whim. On what punishment would be doled out to her for her attempt to get away, she next brooded. There had been such a set, determined expression on her captor's face when he brought her back to her prison. The sound of someone coming towards her apartment broke in on her dreary reverie. It was close on midnight. She had never been disturbed at that hour before. She looked up quickly. The third door of her room was opening; one that had never opened before; a door the harem girls had told her led to the Sultan's private suite. And the Sultan, himself, was entering. The Sultan attired as she had never seen him before--in silk pyjamas. Pansy started to her feet. She stood slight and white and silken-clad against the golden walls; her heart beating with a sickly force that almost choked her; her eyes wide with fear. The end had come with a suddenness she was not prepared for. He crossed to her side; tenderness and determination on his face; love and passion in his eyes. For a moment there was silence. "So, Pansy," he said at length. "You've tried to solve the problem your way. Now I'm going to solve it mine. You've fought against love quite long enough, against yourself and against me. I'm going to end the fight between us. To-night, my little slave, you sleep within my arms and learn all that love means." At his words a flood of crimson swept over her strained face. She had but a vague idea of what was before her, but instinct told her it was something she must fight against. Her gaze went to the arches, as if in search of some way of escape there. There was none. Only the white stars looked in coldly, and night breathed on her, soft and sensuous. He knew where her thoughts were, and he laughed softly. "There's no escape this time, Pansy," he said. The fear in her eyes deepened. Wildly she searched round in her head for a way of getting rid of him for the time being. And only one course presented itself. "I ... I'll marry you," she stammered. "We'll be married by all means, if you wish, as soon as I can find a man to do the job. But you've been just a little too long in making up your mind. My patience is worn out." In her determination to live up to her own standards--standards that had no value in this desert city:--Pansy saw she had tried this half-tamed man too far. He came closer, and held out his arms. "Come, my little flower," he whispered passionately. Quickly she moved further away from the arms that would have held her. "Won't you come willingly?" he asked, in soft, caressing tones. "Do you still refuse me the love I want, and which I know is mine?" "I don't want you or your love," she cried wildly, frantic at the knowledge of her own helplessness. He laughed with a touch of fierceness. "What cruel words to throw at your lover! But since you won't come, my little slave, then--I must take you." He would have taken her there and then, but with a swift movement she avoided him. Then Pansy ran, as she had run from him once before, like a white wraith in the moonlight. But this time he followed. There were no electric lights and ragtime band to run to now. Only a moonlit garden full of the scent of roses. There was no crowd of people to give her shelter, only the deep shadows of the cypresses. In the darkness she paused, out of breath, hoping he would not see her. A vain hope. His eyes had learnt to pierce the gloom. She was in his arms almost before she knew it. There was a brief, uneven struggle, as Pansy fought against a man who knew no law except his own desires. Weak and weeping she collapsed against him, on a heart that leapt to meet her. There was a stone seat near. On it the Sultan seated himself, the girl in his arms. And in the scented, sighing silence he tried to soothe the tears his methods had roused. And trembling she lay against the passion and power that held her, refusing to be comforted. "There's nothing to weep about, my darling," he whispered. "Sooner or later you have to learn that I'm your master. Just as you've taught me that all women are not ripe fruit, willing and anxious to fall into my hands. And I must have some closer tie between us since love alone won't keep you from running away from me." Pansy's tears fell all the faster. For now it seemed her own doings were responsible for this crisis. He sat on, waiting until the storm was over. The tremors of the slight form that lay against his heart, so helpless yet so anxious not to do wrong, struck through the fire and passion in the man, to what lay beneath--true love and protection. Presently he kissed the strained, tear-stained face pillowed against his shoulder. "It's like old times to be sitting in the moonlight and among the roses, with you in my arms," he said, all at once. "Do you remember, Pansy, that sweet night in Grand Canary? But you were not weeping then. Why are you now, my little slave? Because a Sultan loves you more than his life? More than anything that has been in his life. You're not very flattering. But then, you never were." He paused for a moment, watching her tenderly. "Yet you paid me the greatest compliment I ever had in my life. When you said you loved me. There could be no sweeter music that those words. And the choicest gift life has ever given me was a kiss from your lips, given willingly." He bent his head. "Won't you give me another, Pansy?" But the girl's strained face was turned away from the proud, passionate one so close to her own. "No, my little flower? Will you make a thief of your Sultan? Will you give him nothing willingly now? I know I don't deserve it. But still--I want it. And my wants have been my only law so far." Again he paused, stroking her curls with a loving hand. "Just now, as man and woman together, Pansy, I know I don't deserve you. I know I'm not worthy of you. But I want my soul, although I've only a blackened body to offer it. And the soul will have to do the best it can with the grimy accommodation. For I must have you, my darling. You've taken everything out of my life, but a desire for you." From a tangle of trees in an adjacent garden a nightingale burst into song, filling the night with liquid melody. At the sound the Sultan's arms tightened around the slender figure he held. "No man appreciates virtue so much as the one who has had his fill of vice," he continued presently. "And I was born into it, steeped and sodden in it from my earliest recollection, until I didn't realise it was vice until I met you. And then it seemed to me I had run off the lines, and pretty badly." As he sat talking and caressing her, Pansy's sobs died down. There was always magic in his touch, happiness within his arms. With throbbing heart she lay against him, watching him anxiously. He smiled into the tired, purple eyes. "No, perhaps, I won't be a thief," he said. "Perhaps I shall climb up and up with many a stumble to the clear heights where you are, my darling. What would you say if you saw me there? 'Here is a poor wretch who has climbed painfully upwards to touch the feet of his ideal,' you would say to yourself. And to me you would say, 'As a reward, will you come and have breakfast with me?' And I should come, like a shot. And I should want lunch and tea and dinner and--you. Just you, my soul, always and for ever." After this outburst, he was quiet. Passive within his arms Pansy waited for the last hopeless struggle for right against wrong. He sat on, as if at peace with himself and the world. The restless look that always lurked in his eyes had gone; in its place was one of happiness and contentment. Pansy's shivers roused him from his reverie. Not shivers of fear, but of chilliness. A heavy dew had started falling, bringing a sudden coolness into the night. "Why, Heart's Ease," he said, full of concern. "I'm keeping you out here when you ought to be indoors. But with you in my arms, I forget everything but you." Getting to his feet, he took her back to the gilded room. The lamps had burnt out. It was a place of deep shadows, and here and there the silver of the moon patched its golden richness. Once within its dimness Pansy started struggling again. He took the slim white hands into one of his own, and kissed them. "There's no need for you to fight against me with weak little hands," he whispered. "There's another fighting for you, far stronger than you are. A new Raoul Le Breton of your making, Pansy. A man strong enough to wait until we're really married." Laying his burden on a couch, he bent his head until his ear almost touched the girl's lips. "Say 'Yes,' Pansy, and I'll go, 'nicely and quietly like a good boy,' still remembering 'your reputation,'" he said in a teasing tone. Into his ear "Yes" trembled. He kissed the lips that at last had consented to his wishes. "Good night, my little girl, and if you go on at this rate you'll make a white man of me yet." Long after he had gone Pansy stayed brooding on his words. The battle between them was over at last. CHAPTER XXXI On one of the terraces of his palace the Sultan sat at breakfast. As he lingered in the sweet cool air of early morning, he pondered on the happenings of the night before. At last he had wrung a reluctant consent from his cherished prisoner. There was a flaw in his victory that he tried not to see. That "Yes" would not have come except that the girl had been absolutely cornered. The word had not come from her lips spontaneously as those three words, "I love you," had. He tried to forget this fact, as he thought out the best means of bringing about a speedy wedding. There was no minister of her faith in El-Ammeh. The nearest Christian Mission lay at least two hundred miles distant. It would be risky work bringing a white missionary to his city. The safest course would be to take her down to a mission station and marry her there. No one would know then where they had come from. And the journey back would make a delightful honeymoon. On the delights of that honeymoon he pondered. From his reverie he was rudely aroused by a sound which made marriage seem very remote, and death much more likely to be his portion. There was a sudden shriek high above the city, followed by a deafening roar, as a shell exploded over El-Ammeh--a command for its surrender. The Sultan started to his feet, his face reckless and savage. The cup was at his lips only to be dashed away. He knew what had happened. Somehow or other the French Government must have heard that he was responsible for the capture of the English Governor; and an expedition had been sent up to punish him for his marauding ways. That same death-dealing sound startled Pansy as she stood by the sunken pond in the rose garden, feeding the carp. Wondering what had happened, she looked up at the smoke that lay like a little cloud between the city and the sky. She did not wonder for very long. Present another shell came shrieking out of the distance. Then she guessed what had occurred, and her face blanched. Swiftly she went to her room; her only idea to reach the Sultan and save him from his enemies. But all the doors of her prison were locked, and neither knocks nor shouts produced any answer. She went back to the fretted gallery, to see what could be seen from there. A mile or so away, like a dark snake on the desert, she saw the relief party. As she watched, a white-robed force left El-Ammeh; an array of Arab soldiers. On recognising their leader, her soul went sick within her. He was there. Her lover. The man she ought to hate. Going out to fight the men who had come to her rescue. If the French officers heading the expeditionary force imagined the Sultan of El-Ammeh had come out to surrender, they quickly discovered their mistake. He had come out to fight; and what was more, fight well and recklessly against a force that, if inferior in numbers, was vastly superior in arms. Presently the shells no longer shrieked above El-Ammeh. They were aimed at it. From her gallery Pansy saw the two forces meet. Then she could look no longer. Men fell in the sand and rose no more. And any one of them might be her lover. She went back to her room and crouched there in terror; her father and friends all forgotten at the thought of the man who might be lying dead in the sand. As the morning wore on, the din of battle grew nearer. Every now and again a shell got home. There were screams of terrified people; the heavy fall of masonry; the moans and cries of the injured. Once Pansy thought her end had come. A shell struck the palace. The place rocked to its foundations. There was the thunder of falling masonry as if the four walls of her room were crashing down upon her. She closed her eyes and waited. A few moments later she opened them, and was surprised to find her gilded prison very little damaged. It was badly cracked, and several blocks of stone had crashed down from the ceiling, one on the sandalwood bureau near where she crouched, smashing it to splinters and scattering the contents about her feet. More than once Pansy had rummaged in its scented recesses, until she knew its contents by heart. She had found nothing but a few quills, sheets of paper yellow with age, and quaint, cut-crystal bottles in which the coloured inks had dried. She knew the desk had belonged to the Sultan's mother. Just as she knew the gilded room had been the French girl's prison. As she gazed at the debris at her feet, it seemed she could not have searched thoroughly. Among the splinters was something she had not seen before. A few sheets of paper folded flat and tied with a strand of silk, that must have been hidden behind one of the many drawers. More to get her thoughts away from the battle raging round her than anything else, Pansy picked up the tiny packet. Untying the silk, she opened the faded, scented sheets and glanced at them. After the first glance, she stayed riveted. And as she read on, she forgot everything except what the letter said. It was in French, in a woman's hand, and the date was now more than twenty years old; a statement written by Annette Le Breton before she died, proclaiming her son's real identity, and left by her in the bureau. Some servant rummaging in the desk for trinkets, after her mistress's death, must have let it slip behind one of the numerous drawers. Pansy read of Colonel Raoul Le Breton's ill-fated expedition to the north-east; how he and his little force had been murdered by the Sultan Casim Ammeh. She learnt of Annette Le Breton's fate at the hands of her savage captor. Of the son who had come nearly nine months after her husband's death--the son the Sultan Casim Ammeh imagined to be his. "Raoul is not the son of the Sultan Casim Ammeh," the faint handwriting declared. "He is the son of my murdered husband, Colonel Raoul Le Breton. I know, for every day he grows more like his dear, dead father. Yet he imagines the Sultan to be his father. And I dare not tell him the truth. For if the Sultan learnt the boy was not his, he would kill him. For Raoul's sake I must let the deception go on. For the sake of my son who is all I have to live for. And my heart breaks, for daily my boy grows more and more to love that savage chief who murdered his real father." Pansy read of Annette's dreary years in the harem of her captor. "Years that have no light in them, save my son. Years that I should not have endured except for my child, my boy, the son of my brave Raoul." It was a heart-breaking story of love and sacrifice, of a mother tortured to save her child from the fate that had befallen his father. "The Sultan will make my boy like himself," the letter went on. "For there is no one at hand to stop him. Daily my influence grows less, and his stronger. The boy admires and copies the man he deems his father. He is too young to know the Sultan for what he really is. He sees only a man, bold and picturesque. And the Sultan spoils him utterly, he encourages him to be cruel and arrogant, he fosters all that is bad in the boy. It is useless for me to try and check him, for my own son laughs at me now." The writing grew more feeble as the letter went on; the wild entreaty of a mother who had no life outside of her son, and who saw him being ruined by his own father's murderer. "Whoever finds this be kind to my boy, my Raoul, for the sake of a woman who has suffered much, for the sake of his martyred father, Colonel Raoul Le Breton. Do not judge my son by what he is, but by what he might have been. In the Sultan Casim he has a bad example, a savage teacher, a wild, profligate, cruel man, who would make the boy as barbarous as he is himself." The writing grew even more feeble, a faint scrawl on the yellow paper. "I am dying, and my son is far away. I shall not live until my boy returns. And he will be left with no influence but the Sultan's. O Fate, deal kindly with my boy, my Raoul, left alone with savages in this barbaric city. I have only endured these dreadful years for the sake of my son. In the name of pity be kind to him. He will have no chance in the hands of his present teacher. Have mercy for the sake of his tortured mother, and his father, that brave soldier who gave his life for France. ANNETTE LE BRETON." Pansy read the sheets through without once raising her eyes. She was ravenous for the contents. At that moment it seemed as if the dim, gilded room were full of tears and sorrows; the faint, sweet fragrance of the girl who had lived there long years ago, suffering and enduring for the sake of her boy. It was not in Pansy's kind heart to refuse that tragic mother pleading for her son. Then she remembered that Colonel Le Breton's son was out there fighting against his own people. If, indeed, he were still left alive to fight. Her lips moved in silent prayer. She kissed the faded, scented sheets and tucked them against her heart. She was not going to fail Annette. All she wanted now was to be at the side of the dead girl's son, to help him to build up a new character according to the best white codes and standards. Then she sat on, listening to the battle that raged around the desert city. If Raoul Le Breton were spared, there was another battle before her--a battle with two governments for his life. But she had not many qualms about the result, with Annette's letter, her own wealth, and her father on her side; as he would be, once she had explained the situation. Morning dragged on into afternoon, and the sound of the conflict died down somewhat. All at once, as if muffled by distance, she heard her lover's voice calling hoarsely: "Pansy." She started to her feet. Before she could answer, there was a sound of fighting just beyond her quarters. Then she heard her father's voice, strained and anxious: "Pansy, are you in there?" "Oh, father," she called back frantically. "Don't let them kill the Sultan." There came more muffled voices. Then the sound of masonry being shifted, as the men outside her prison started clearing away the debris that blocked the door. CHAPTER XXXII Evening shadows were settling over El-Ammeh; deep, grey shadows that, for all their gloomy darkness, were not as dark and gloomy as the thoughts of a man who was a prisoner in one of the rooms of his own palace. Against a fluted column the Sultan stood watching night settle on the lake; a night that would soon settle on him for ever. The day had gone against him. Outmatched, he had been driven back to his city walls. Even then he could have escaped with a handful of his following, and have started life afresh as a desert marauder, but there was one treasure in his palace--the greatest treasure of his life--that he wanted to take with him. In a vain effort to secure Pansy before he fled, he had been captured. With his enemies close at his heels, he had made a dash for the palace, to fetch the girl. On arriving outside of her prison, he found a fall of masonry had blocked the doorway. Before he could retrace his steps and try another entrance, his pursuers were upon him. The French were already in possession of that part of the city where the Englishmen had been imprisoned. Immediately they were released, Sir George Barclay and his officers, supplemented by a few Senegalese soldiers, had gone hot-foot to the palace, to Pansy's rescue. There they had found the Sultan. A brief struggle against overpowering odds ensued, and once more the so-called Casim Ammeh was a prisoner in the hands of George Barclay. With the shadows gathering round him, the Sultan stood, in white burnoose, a bitter expression on his arrogant face. He had nothing now, neither wealth, nor power, nor his kingdom, nor the girl he had risked all for in a vain attempt to win. To-morrow he would have even less. There was short shrift for such as he. To-morrow his life would have been taken from him. A life that had become empty as he had grown older and pleasures palled, until Pansy had come into it, filling it with freshness and innocence. The battle between them was over at last. Death would end it. His death. A European entered. A man he knew. George Barclay. The man he hated more than ever; the man responsible for his capture. Barclay ordered one of the soldiers to light the lamp. Then he dismissed his escort. There were half a dozen Senegalese soldiers mounting guard over the Sultan. The Englishman dismissed them also, leaving himself alone with the prisoner. "You're doing a bold thing, Barclay, leaving the two of us together like this," the Sultan remarked. "It will give me great pleasure to wring your neck, before I'm sent the way of my father." As if to carry out this design, he took a step towards the Governor. From his pocket, Barclay drew out a few sheets of faded, scented paper. "Read this," he said quietly, handing them to the prisoner. With some surprise, the Sultan took them. On opening the letter, he started, for he recognised his mother's writing. As he read on, his bronzed face whitened, and a dazed look came to his eyes, like a man reeling under a tremendous blow. In a critical, but not unfriendly manner, Barclay studied his companion. He knew now why the Sultan of El-Ammeh differed so in appearance from the wild people he ruled. On reaching Pansy, he had had Annette Le Breton's letter thrust into his hands. His daughter had had no greeting for him, only wild entreaties for him to save the Sultan. When Barclay read the tragic confession he was quite ready to do his best. Then Pansy had told him more. How Raoul Le Breton was the man she loved. But she did not say that Lucille Lemesurier was responsible for their parting. She led her father to believe that the discovery of the supposed black blood in her lover had been her "hole in the floor of heaven." Barclay did not trouble his daughter with many questions. It was enough that she was safe. What was more, he knew she would marry the man of her choice, no matter what obstacles were put in her way, as the first Pansy had married him--with the world against her. All he wanted now was to save the man his daughter had set her heart on; that death should not blight her life as it had blighted his. When the conflict was over, and the French and English officers met again, Barclay had shown the letter to the commander of the expeditionary force--the man who held the Sultan's life in his hand. The officer had read Annette Le Breton's statement through in silence. Considering the contents, it did not need Pansy's lovely, anxious face or her father's pleadings to make him promise them life and liberty for Colonel Le Breton's son. More he could not promise. The two governments would want an indemnity that would swallow up most of the kingdom of El-Ammeh. But his life was all Pansy wanted. His life, and to be at his side when the blow fell. For a blow it was bound to be, to a man as proud and fierce as her lover. A shock and then a relief. As Raoul Le Breton read the letter, his old world crashed in ruins about him. Now he understood his dead mother's hatred of the Sultan Casim. Her endeavours to mould him on European lines. Her pleadings and entreaties for him not to forget the white side. That poor, frail, tortured little mother who had suffered so much for his sake! His hand went across his anguished face. He had not forgotten the white side. He had done worse. He had just ignored it. Knowing good, he had preferred evil. He had gone his way as barbaric and licentious as the savage who had murdered his father. With tortured eyes he glanced at Barclay. This man whom he had hated so bitterly for sixteen years and more was his best friend, not his enemy. For Barclay had shot the savage chief who had murdered his father and outraged his mother. Like a whisper through the chaos surrounding him, Le Breton heard Barclay talking, telling him Pansy had found the letter. On account of its contents the French commander was not going to push the case against him. He would be given his life and freedom, but an indemnity would have to be paid, and the price would leave him only a shadow of his wealth. Le Breton knew that again Pansy had saved his worthless life. For worthless it seemed, judging from his new standpoint. "I owe you thanks, not hatred," he said to Barclay, his voice hoarse with suffering. "And I owe you thanks too," the governor replied. "My daughter tells me you treated her with every kindness and consideration." It seemed to Le Breton that he had been anything but kind and considerate; that no woman could forgive such dealings as his had been with her. He had taken a girl used to a free and active life and had shut her up in a scented, sensual prison, trying to make her fall a victim to himself and her own senses; until she had grown morbid and hysterical, seeking death in preference to himself and the sort of life he had forced her to lead. "I don't know that I should call myself exactly kind or considerate to your daughter," he remarked. "Not after reading this letter. Or to you either," he finished. "I wouldn't worry too much about the past, if I were you," Barclay replied. "You've plenty of time ahead of you to 'make good' in." Le Breton said nothing. He stayed brooding on the ruins around him, hating himself and the savage chief who had been his teacher. All his old world had been swept away from him. Lost and alone, he would have to start afresh, according to new lights and new ideals, and without a hand to guide him. He had nothing, neither wealth nor kingdom. Not his pride even. Unknowingly he had been a renegade, fighting against his own nation. He was utterly broken. But he did not look it--only unutterably dreary. As he pondered on his past life, he realised to the fullest what he must look like to Pansy. No wonder she had fought against her love for him! Any decent woman would. He did not hear Barclay go, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the deepening shadows. He was aware of nothing except his own wild career, and how he had run foul of all white ideals. The door opened, but he did not hear that either. He was too full of suffering and repentance. Then another whisper penetrated the whirl in which he moved. "Raoul," a girl's voice said gently. He looked at Pansy as a man dying of thirst in a desert would look at a mirage of lakes and fountains--a vision of torturing desire that he knew was not for him. No apologies could condone for his behaviour. Love he dared not mention; not with a past like his; not to this innocent, high-principled girl. Pansy came to his side. "Stoop down a bit, Raoul," she said. "I want to say something." He bent his dark head. Into his ear "I love you" was whispered shyly, as it had been that night months ago in a moonlit garden in Grand Canary. At her whispered words his face started working strangely. "I don't deserve such love, such forgiveness," he said in a broken voice. She laughed--the laughter that kept tears at bay--and slipping her arms about his neck, tip-toed, and kissed the lips that dared not touch her now. "And I want to marry you at once. I want to be with you always." At her words his arms went round her in their old possessive manner. Then he remembered that all his wealth had been swept from him; that now he had the girl, he had nothing left to give her. "I've nothing to offer you," he said, his voice bitter, "except a love that's not worth having." With soft, gentle hands Pansy stroked the lines of bitterness from the proud face that watched her with such love and longing. "You can have all that's mine. I don't want anything but you." He kissed the lips that were held up to his so willingly. "My darling, help me to grope back to your white ways," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "You won't have to grope. You got there last night when you 'remembered my reputation' and 'went nicely and quietly like a good boy.'" He laughed, but there was a slight catch in his laughter, and pressed the girl closer to the heart she could always ease. There were no shadows now, no ruins. For the greatest treasure of his life was left to him. THE END. Another tremendous success by the author of "DESERT LOVE" THE HAWK OF EGYPT Joan Conquest's exotic story of the love-madness with which mysterious Egypt drugs the souls of men and women. _Its realism will thrill you_ You will see: Cairo, the native quarter, the bazaars, the flaming desert, the love tryst in the temple of Ammon, Zulannah, the dancing girl--the jewelled siren of the Nile, Damaris, the beautiful English heroine, Kelham, the lion hunter and Hugh Carden Ali, the man who sold his life for One Hour of Love _Here are two pages selected at random, from_ THE HAWK OF EGYPT _a love story without asterisks_ Damaris bowed her head so that the curls danced and glistened in the light, as the torrent of his words, in the Egyptian tongue, swept about her like a flood. "Hast thou come to me in love, thou dove from the nest? Nay, what knowest thou of love? I ask it not of thee--yet--but the seed I shall plant within thee shall grow in the passing of the days and the nights and the months and the years, until it is as a grove of perfumed flowers which shall change to golden fruit ready to the plucking of my hand." He pressed her little hands back against her breast so that the light fell full upon her face, and he held her thuswise, watching the colour rise and fade. "Allah!" he whispered. "Allah! God of all, what have I done to deserve such signs of Thy great goodness? Wilt thou love me?" He laughed gently. "Canst thou look into mine eyes and shake thy golden head which shall be pillowed upon my heart--my wife--the mother of my children? Look at me! Look at me! Ah! thine eyes, which were as the pools of Lebanon at night, are as a sun-kissed sea of love. Thou know'st it not, but love is within thee--for me, thy master." And was there not truth in what he said? May there not have been love in the heart of the girl? Not, maybe, the love which stands sweet and sturdy like the stocky hyacinth, to bloom afresh, no matter how often the flowers be struck, or the leaves be bruised, from the humdrum bulb deep in the soil of quiet content. But the God-given, iridescent love of youth for youth, with its passion so swift, so sweet; a love like the rose-bud which hangs half-closed over the door in the dawn; which is wide-flung to the sun at noon; which scatters its petals at dusk. The rose! She has filled your days with the memory of her fragrance; her leaves still scent the night from out the sealed crystal vase which is your heart. But an' you would attain the priceless boon of peace, see to it that a humdrum bulb be planted in the brown flower-pot which is your home. And because of this God-given love of youth which was causing her heart to thud and the blood to race through her veins, she did not withdraw her hands when he held and kissed them and pressed his forehead upon them. "Lotus-flower," he whispered so that she could scarcely hear. "Bud of innocence! ivory tower of womanhood! temple of love! Beloved, beloved, I am at thy feet." And he knelt and kissed the little feet in the heelless little slippers; then, rising, took both her hands and led her to the door; and his eyes were filled with a great sadness, in spite of the joy which sang in his heart as he took her into the shelter of his arms. "I love thee too well," he said, as he bent and kissed the riotous curls so near his mouth. "Yes, I love thee too well to snatch thee even as a hungry dog snatches his food, though, verily, I be more near to starving than any hungry dog. What dost thou know of love, of life, in the strange countries of the East? For thy life will _They Were Alone...._ The magic of the desert night had closed about them. Cairo, friends,--civilization as she knew it--were left far behind. She, an unbeliever, was in the heart of the trackless wastes with a man whose word was more than law. And yet, he was her slave! "I shall ask nothing of you until you shall love me," he promised. "You shall draw your curtains, and until you call, you shall go undisturbed." And she believed him! Do you want to see luxury beyond your imagination to conjure,--feel the softness of silks finer than the gossamer web of the spider--hear the night voices of the throbbing desert, or sway to the jolting of the clanking caravan? Egypt, Arabia pass before your eyes. The impatient cursing of the camel men comes to your ears. Your nostrils quiver in the acrid smoke of the little fires of dung that flare in the darkness when the caravan halts. The night has shut off prying eyes. Yashmaks are lowered. White flesh gleams against burnished bands of gold. The children of Allah are at home. 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THE NIGHT OF TEMPTATION The self-sacrifice of woman in love. Regina, the heroine, gives herself to a man for his own sake. The world, however, exacts a severe price for her unconventional conduct. SIX CHAPTERS OF A MAN'S LIFE A bold, brilliant, defiant presentation of the relations of men and women who find themselves in situations never before conceived. TO-MORROW A daring innovation of great strength and almost photographic intensity, that appeals to the lovers of sensational fiction; wise, witty, yet touchingly pathetic. DAUGHTERS OF HEAVEN As life cannot be described, but must be lived, so this book cannot be revealed--it must be read. Its daring situations and tense moments will thrill you. OVER LIFE'S EDGE No one but Victoria Cross could have written this thrilling tale of a girl who left the gayeties of London to dwell in a lonely cavern until the man, who loved her with the passion of impetuous youth, found her. THE LIFE SENTENCE A beautifully written story, full of life, nature, passion and pathos. The weaknesses of a proud, cultured woman lead to a strange climax. THE MACAULAY COMPANY 15-17 West 38th Street, New York Send for Free Illustrated Catalog 
21488	----	Saved from the Sea, The Loss of the Viper, and her Crew's Saharan Adventures, by W.H.G. Kingston. ________________________________________________________________________ The books starts off with a young Grammar-School boy being introduced to the local tailor, who is also a bit of a linguist. Our hero, and his friend Halliday, learn Arabic with the tailor. This turns out later on to have been very fortunate. Our hero and his friend are taken on as midshipmen on a frigate, where they are well trained. They spend three years at sea, and have the chance of visiting various ports in the Eastern Mediterranean, and also of getting to Cairo. However their next appointment is to the "Viper", a brig which is barely stable. They almost upset on one occasion, and then really do sink when off the coast of Africa. Our friends and a couple of other seamen are lucky enough to have got off on a simple raft, though all the rest of the crew perish. Hungry and thirsty they find themselves on a sandbank at a considerable distance from the mainland. And it is at this point that their adventures really begin. The book is copiously illustrated with engravings, some of which are very nice when viewed with the pdf version of the book, but which are not always so good in the html version. Although the name of the illustrator is not given on the title page, the word "Riou" appears on most of the engravings, along with a second, longer, name, which most probably is that of the engraver. This book makes a good audiobook, though indeed not a long one. ________________________________________________________________________ SAVED FROM THE SEA, THE LOSS OF THE VIPER, AND HER CREW'S SAHARAN ADVENTURES, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON. CHAPTER ONE. THE WONDERFUL LINGUIST--I STUDY ARABIC--MY FIRST VOYAGE TO SEA--WE SAIL FOR THE COAST OF AFRICA--THE BRIG CAPSIZED--SAVED ON A RAFT. "Never throw away a piece of string, a screw, or a nail, or neglect an opportunity, when it offers, of gaining knowledge or learning how to do a thing," my father used to say; and as I respected him, I followed his advice,--and have, through life, on many occasions had reason to be thankful that I did so. In the town near which we resided lived a tailor, Andrew Spurling by name. He was a remarkable man, though a mere botcher at his trade; for he could never manage to make his customers' clothes fit their bodies. For fat men he invariably made tight coats, and for thin people loose ones. Few, therefore, except those who were indifferent on that point, went a second time to him for new ones. He repaired clothes, however, to perfection, and never refused to attempt renovating the most threadbare or tattered of garments. He had evidently mistaken his vocation; or rather, his friends had committed a great error when they made him a tailor. Yet perhaps he succeeded as well in it as he would have done at any handicraft. He possessed, in fact, a mind which might have raised him to a respectable, if not a high position, in the walks of literature or science. As it was, however, it was concentrated on one object--the acquisition of languages. Andrew had been sent to the grammar-school in our town, where he gained the rudiments of education, and a certain amount of Latin and Greek; and where he might, possibly, have become well-educated, had he not--his father dying insolvent--been taken from school, and, much to his grief, apprenticed to the trade he was now following. Instead of perfecting himself in the languages of which he already knew a little, and without a friend to guide him,--having saved up money enough to buy a grammar and dictionary,--he commenced the study of another; after mastering the chief difficulties of which he began still another; and so he had gone on through life, with the most determined perseverance, gaining even more than a smattering of the tongues not only of Europe but of the Eastern world, though he could make no practical use of his acquisitions. Apparently slight circumstances produce important results. Coming out of school one day, and while playing, as usual, in our somewhat rough fashion, my class-mate, Richard Halliday, tore my jacket from the collar downwards. "That is too bad," I exclaimed. "A pretty figure I will make, going through the streets in this state." "Never mind, Charlie," he answered. "Come into old Spurling's shop; he will sew it up in a trice. He always mends our things; and I will pay for it." I at once accepted my school-fellow's offer; and we made our way to the narrow lane in which Andrew's small shop was situated. I had never before been there, though I had occasionally seen his tall, gaunt figure as he wended his way to church on Sunday; for on no other day in the week did he appear out of doors. "Here's Charlie Blore, who wants to have his jacket mended, Mr Spurling," said Dick, introducing me. "A grammar-school boy?" asked the tailor, looking at me. "Yes; and in my class," answered Dick. "Oh! then you are reading Xenophon and Horace," observed the tailor; and he quoted a passage from each author, both of which I was able to translate, greatly to his satisfaction. "You will soon be turning to other languages, I hope," he observed, not having as yet touched my jacket, which I had taken off and handed to him. "I should like to know a good many," I answered: "French, German, and Italian." "Very well in their way," observed Andrew; "but there are many I prefer which open up new worlds to our view: for every language we learn, we obtain further power of obtaining information and communicating our thoughts to others. Hebrew, for instance: where can we go without finding some of the ancient people? or Arabic, current over the whole Eastern world, from the Atlantic shores of Africa to the banks of the Indus? Have you ever read the `Arabian Nights'?" asked Andrew. "Yes, part of it," I answered. "Then think how delightful it would be to read it in the language in which it is written, and still more to visit the scenes therein described. I began six years ago--and I wish that some great man would invite me to accompany him to Syria, or Morocco, or Egypt, or other Eastern lands; though that is not likely." And Andrew sighed. "However, my young friends, as you may have a chance of visiting those regions, take my advice: Study Arabic; you will find it of more use than Greek or Latin, which no one speaks nowadays--more's the pity. I will instruct you. Come here whenever you can. I will lend you my books, or tell you where you may purchase others. I won't say how soon you will master the language; that depends on capacity,"--and Andrew gave a self-satisfied smile; "but the sooner you begin, the better." "But, Mr Spurling, I should like much to have my jacket mended," I observed. "So you shall; I will do it while you take your first lesson in Arabic." And Andrew, without rising from his seat, shuffled along in a curious fashion to a bookcase hanging against the wall, from which he drew forth a well-thumbed volume. "It's as precious as gold," he observed. "Don't be daunted by the strange characters," he added, as he gave the book into my hands. "Now, you and Master Halliday stand there; while I stitch, you shall learn the first principles of the language." Then taking my jacket on his knee, and needle and thread in hand, he commenced a lecture, from which, as Dick and I listened attentively, we really gained a considerable amount of information. It was, I afterwards discovered, in the first pages of the book, which he knew by heart; so he had not to draw his eyes from his work. I grew so interested, that I was quite sorry when my jacket was mended. From that day onward, Dick and I became constant visitors at Andrew's shop after school-hours, and really made considerable progress in Arabic. I believe, indeed, that we should before long have advanced almost as far as our master had done,--for he had three or four languages in hand at the same time, to which he added a new one every year or so. My school-days, however, came suddenly to an end. I had always had a hankering for the navy, though I did not talk much about it. An old friend of my father, who had just been appointed to the command of a frigate destined for the Mediterranean, called before starting for Portsmouth. "I will take one of your boys, Blore, as an offering to Neptune." My father looked at me. "Charlie is rather too old, I fear, to enter the navy," he observed. "Oh no! Lord Dundonald was much older," I exclaimed. "Let me go." "He will do; I will take him," said the captain. "He must work hard and make up for lost time. He had better accompany me, and see the ship fitted out." My father was an old soldier; and my mother being a strong-minded, active woman, directly my future captain left us all hands in the house were set to work, down to the nursery-maid, to prepare my kit; while I ran into the town to get my measure taken by Andrew Spurling, who promised to have a "nautical cut" suit ready for me by the next day. I had, in an impulse of gratitude, begged that he might make my clothes. It was fatal to my appearance as a trim midshipman; and I had to discard some, and get others altered, before I was fit to present myself on the quarter-deck. As I was leaving his shop, Andrew took down a volume from his bookcase. "Receive this as a parting gift from one who wishes you well, and who, although his body is chained to his counter, will accompany you in spirit to those far-off Eastern lands it may be your happy destiny to visit," he said, as he handed the book to me, with a kind look which showed the sincerity of his feelings. It was a grammar and vocabulary, with a portion of the "Arabian Nights" in Arabic. I promised to keep up the study of the language in which he had initiated me, and to add others as I might find opportunity. The next night I set off with the captain to Portsmouth. As he had promised to make me a sailor, and I wished to become one, I soon picked up a fair amount of nautical knowledge; and by the time the ship was ready for sea, I could not only knot and splice, but had acquainted myself with every portion of her from "truck to keelson." We had gone out to Spithead, and were expecting to sail in a few days, when who should come up the side but my old school-fellow, Dick Halliday. "When I found that you had actually gone, I could not bear the thought of remaining behind; and I so worked upon my guardians to let me go to sea, by telling them that I should be miserable if I didn't, and fit for nothing else, that I succeeded. Moreover, at my urgent request, they, as you see, got me appointed to your frigate," he exclaimed in a tone of triumph. "I have my chest in the boat; what am I to do with it?" he asked, after I had expressed my pleasure at seeing him. "We will soon hoist it on board," I answered. The first lieutenant cast an angry glance at the chest, for it was unusually large; and before many hours were over, its owner, to his great dismay, saw it cut down into much smaller proportions. We were at length at sea, running down Channel with a strong north-easterly breeze. I had the start of Halliday, and felt myself already a sailor, while he knew nothing about a ship; but I found that I had still a good deal to learn. I managed to keep well ahead of him while the ship remained in commission. Our captain, one of the best officers in the service, wished his midshipmen to see as much as possible of the places the ship visited, so as to gain all the information they could; and we, accordingly, had opportunities offered us of going on shore and making excursions into the interior. We visited Jerusalem, Cairo, Algiers, Athens, and many other places of interest. Halliday and I found our acquirements as linguists of very considerable value. I cannot stop, however, to describe our adventures. Three years passed rapidly away, and we returned home nearly full-grown men, with a greatly increased stock of nautical and general knowledge. We went, during our brief stay on shore, to visit Andrew Spurling; who listened eagerly to our accounts of what we had seen, and was delighted when I presented him with several really valuable volumes which I had picked up at Cairo. "You have amply repaid me, Mr Blore," he exclaimed, fondly clutching the books. "I knew you would find an immense advantage from your knowledge of the chief language of the East, and let me now advise you to study Spanish; it is spoken over a large portion of the globe, and you are sure to find a use for it." I so far followed his advice as to send for a Spanish grammar and dictionary, which I intended to use as soon as I had leisure. My stay on shore, however, was short; for in a couple of weeks I was appointed to the _Viper_, a ten-gun brig destined for the coast of Africa. Her commander knew my family, and had offered to take me. And I found Halliday on board, he having been appointed to her by the Admiralty. She was a very different craft from the fine frigate to which I had before belonged. She was of narrow beam, and carried taunt masts and square yards; indeed, we all saw that she would require careful handling to avoid being capsized. But she was a new, tidy, fast little craft, and no one on board allowed forebodings of evil to trouble his mind. The commander did not express his opinion till we were clear of the Channel, when he addressed the crew. "You will have to be smart in shortening sail, my lads," he said, after making some other observations. "The last man off the lower deck when the hands are turned up must look out for the consequences." They all knew what that meant,--a "black listing," "six water grog," or walking the deck with a shot in each hand during a watch. Still, though they did not like it, they knew it was for the good of all. And besides, we were continually exercised in shortening and making sail, to get the crew into proper discipline. One day--the commander being on deck--a sudden squall struck the brig and heeled her over till the water rushed through her lee-scuppers. "All hands save ship!" he shouted. The men came springing up from below, some through the fore-hatchway, but a greater number through the main. The commander himself was standing near the companion-hatch-- intended only for his own and the gun-room officers' use. Our tall, thin commander had just turned round to take his spy-glass from the beckets in which it hung, when a petty officer,--a knowing fellow, who had slipped through the gun-room passage in order to take advantage of the other men,--springing on deck, butted right into the pit of his stomach. The blow, doubling him up, sent him sprawling over on his back, with his legs in the air. But, without waiting to apologise, the seaman sprang up the rigging like lightning, and was laying out among the others on the main-topsail-yard before the commander could open his eyes to ascertain who had capsized him. He was, naturally, excessively angry, but probably did not like to shout out, "You fellow, who knocked me over, come down from aloft." And just then, indeed, all hands were really required for shortening sail. Few of the officers had seen the man upset the commander, and those who had could not say positively who he was. I had my suspicions; having caught sight of an old shipmate-- Ben Blewett--running up the main rigging over the heads of several others in a way which showed he had some reason for so doing. All the efforts of the officers to discover the culprit, however, were unavailing; and I thought it wisest to say nothing about the matter. The commander could not justly have punished the man for knocking him down, as it was done unintentionally, though he might have done so for coming up the officers' passage. And so we enjoyed a hearty laugh in the berth at the whole affair. I should have said that the caterer for our mess was a steady old mate, Reuben Boxall; a most excellent fellow, for whom I entertained a great regard. He followed the principle my father had advised me to adopt, and never threw away a piece of string--that is to say, when an opportunity occurred of acquiring knowledge he never neglected it. His chief fancy, however, was for doctoring--that is to say, the kindness of his heart made him wish to be able to relieve the sufferings of his fellow-creatures; and he could bleed, and bind up broken limbs, and dress wounds, as well as the surgeon himself, while he had a good knowledge of the use of all the drugs in the medicine-chest. Boxall had indeed a good head on his shoulders, and was respected by all. Many of us were still laughing at the commander's capsize, some declaring that it served him right for being in such a hurry. "Let me tell you youngsters that we must be in a hurry on board this craft," observed Boxall. "Do you know the name given to ten-gun brigs such as ours? I will tell you: `Sea-Coffins.' And the _Viper_ will prove _our_ coffin, if we do not keep very wide-awake, let me warn you." Most of the mess thought that old Boxall was trying to frighten them; but I cannot say that I was comfortable, as we had already discovered that the brig, to say the best of her, was excessively crank. The two lieutenants and the master had served chiefly on board line-of-battle ships and frigates before they got their promotion, and were inclined to sneer at the commander's caution, and I know that during their watch they carried on much longer than he would have approved of. We were somewhere in the latitude of Madeira, when we encountered a heavy gale which severely tried the brig. Though we saved our spars by shortening sail in time, two of our boats were lost and the rest damaged, our weather-bulwarks were stove in, and we were in other respects handled very roughly. We had got somewhat to rights, and were running down the African coast, keeping closer in-shore than usual. It was night, and the second lieutenant's watch. Boxall and I--who had the first watch--having been relieved, went into the berth to take a glass of "swizzel" and some biscuit and cheese, after which we sat talking for some minutes before turning in. The rest of the watch were below fast asleep. We were standing by our hammocks, about to undress, when we felt the brig heel over on her beam-ends. "I advised him to shorten sail before he let the watch go below," exclaimed Boxall. "It's too late now. Stick by me, Charlie, whatever happens." "Turn out there, and save ship!" he shouted, as we sprang on deck; and together we made our way up to the starboard hammock-nettings, on which we found several people clinging, but in the darkness could not make out who they were. The water was rushing in fast through the hatches, and the brig was evidently sinking. Shrieks and cries for help came from the lee side, to which most of those on deck had been thrown; but the greater number of the watch had, I judged, been aloft at that moment, about to shorten sail, and were already struggling in the water. "Now, my lads, the brig is going down, and we must find something to cling to if we don't want to go down with her," sung out Boxall. "Who is there will try and make a struggle for life?" "I will," cried a voice, which I recognised as Halliday's. "And I," said Ben Blewett, who worked his way up to us with an axe in his hand. The boats which had escaped the previous gale were under repair; so we could not trust to one of them. Making our way to the booms, Blewett cut several away; and, providentially, some planks had been left by the carpenters, which we got hold of, together with a few fathoms of rope. The planks and spars, under Boxall's directions, we rapidly lashed together, and Halliday and I each got hold of a small piece of board. Launching our roughly-constructed raft abaft the mainmast, we threw ourselves on it and paddled away from the wreck for our lives. The officer of the watch must have been thrown to leeward when the brig went over; neither the commander nor any of the other officers had time to make their escape from their cabins. We heard several men, however, who were forward, crying out for help; but it was impossible for us to go to their assistance, and we could only hope that they were attempting to save their lives by constructing a raft, as we had done. Scarcely had we got clear of the brig when her masts rose as she righted, and down she went, dragging with her all those on board, as well as the men clinging to the rigging. The dark clouds passed away, and the moon shone forth brightly on the sparkling waters, revealing to us a few floating planks and spars--all that remained of our brig. Not a human being was to be seen; every one of our shipmates had been engulfed by the hungry sea. We paddled back, and getting hold of such spars and planks as we could find, placed them crosswise under our raft to prevent it from upsetting, though it was even thus a ticklish affair. Ben had taken his seat forward, I sat astride at the other end, Boxall and Halliday occupied the middle. How far we were off the coast of Africa we could not exactly tell, but we judged that we should have fifteen or twenty leagues to paddle before we could reach it. This would take us two or three days at least; and, without food or water, how could we expect to hold out? Our prospects were indeed miserable in the extreme; still, we had reason to be thankful that we had escaped the fate which had overtaken our shipmates. On and on we paddled, till our arms began to ache. "We are making no way, I've a notion; and as for reaching the shore, that is more than we can do," exclaimed Ben at length, as he placed under him the piece of board with which he had been paddling. "Our best chance is to be picked up by some passing vessel; and I hope one will heave in sight when a breeze gets up." "I fear there is but little chance of that," said Halliday in a desponding tone; "a vessel may pass close by and not see us, seated as we are scarcely above the surface." "Trust in God," exclaimed Boxall, pointing upwards. "See! the morning is breaking--the clouds overhead are already tinged with the sun's rays; a breeze, too, has sprung up: let us hope that before long one of our own cruisers or some African trader may sight us and take us on board." Fortunately Boxall and I had had supper, and could hold out longer than our companions. Halliday said that he was not hungry; but I knew that he would be before long, when he would be singing out for food. "When you are, sir, say so," said Ben. "I shoved a biscuit into my pocket at tea-time last night; and I have got three or four quids in my baccy-box, so that I shall not want it." "Thank you, but I cannot take it from you," answered Halliday. "Do you think, sir, that I could munch it up and see you starving," answered Ben. "Come, that would be a good joke. I shan't get hungry, for you must know that I have more than once been three days without putting a morsel of food between my teeth--and wasn't much the worse for it, either. I shouldn't mind a drop of grog, I will allow; but what we can't get we must do without--and, as Mr Boxall says, `Trust in God.'" I was thankful that we had so right-minded a man as the old mate with us; still, I could not help thinking about the fearful probability there was that we should perish. We were already in the latitude in which sharks abound; and should those foes of the seaman find us out, they would certainly attack us,--tempted, as they would be, by our feet hanging in the water. I said nothing, however, as I did not wish to impart my uncomfortable feelings to my companions--especially to Halliday, who was already downcast. At length the sun rose, and we eagerly looked out for a sail; but not a speck could be seen above the horizon. Eastward was a haze, which Ben asserted indicated land; and Boxall, who had before been on the coast, agreed with him, though he said it was a long way off. No remark was made about the non-appearance of a vessel; we could not trust ourselves to speak on the subject. Slowly the sun got higher in the sky, and the outline of the land, as his rays dissipated the mist, became more distinct. This encouraged us once more to attempt gaining it. Boxall and Halliday took their turn at the paddles; but as we could not venture to shift places, they were unable to make so much use of the pieces of wood as Ben and I were, who were seated at either end. As we were paddling on we caught sight of some spars floating at a little distance on one side. We made towards them, and found an oar and boat-hook. "These may serve us as a mast and yard; we must manage to make a sail with our handkerchiefs and shirts, and then, when the sea-breeze sets in, we shall make more progress," said Boxall. Having secured the boat-hook and oar, we soon fastened our handkerchiefs and shirts together; and the breeze setting in shortly afterwards, we went skimming along at a much greater rate than at first. It again fell calm, however, and we were left as before, scarcely moving unless we used our paddles. The heat, as may be supposed, was very great; and what would we not have given for a few pints of water! We should have infinitely preferred that precious fluid to the choicest of wines. CHAPTER TWO. CAST ON A SAND-BANK--OUR SUFFERINGS FROM THIRST--A HAPPY DISCOVERY. Boxall did his uttermost, by his cheerful conversation, to keep up our spirits; but we were little inclined to talk, and sometimes we sat for an hour together without speaking, when his remarks would arouse us. Boxall was one of those quiet, unpretending men who can dare and do great things without making a boast of it, and at the same time endure trial and suffering without complaining. He did not tell us his thoughts, but we might have supposed that he felt certain of being preserved, so calm and even cheerful did he appear. Halliday was an excellent fellow, who had never, that I know of, done an unworthy action; but he was apt to take things as he found them, and not to look far beyond the present. When with merry companions, he was as merry and happy as any of them; but if in sedate society, he was quiet and sedate. Ben was, like many other British seamen, indifferent to danger, of a cheerful disposition, and generous and self-sacrificing; always ready to take a glass with an old messmate whenever an opportunity offered,-- though he seldom if ever got intoxicated, even on shore, and never on duty. I may be excused if I say but little about myself. I felt our position, and could not hide from myself the fearful danger we were in, although I did not altogether despair of escaping. We had been silent for some time, when Halliday exclaimed,--"I could stand the hunger, but this thirst is terrible. I must take a gulp of the water alongside." "On no account, my dear fellow, as you value your life," cried Boxall; "it will only increase your thirst, and very probably bring on delirium. Numbers have died in consequence of doing as you propose. Bear it manfully. Providence may save us when we least expect it." "You had better take a bite of my biscuit, sir," said Ben, turning round; "it will give your mouth something to do. Chew it well, though. I and four companions were once in the Pacific in a whale-boat for three days, under the line, without a drop of water to cool our tongues; and all we had to eat were some flying-fish which came aboard of their own accord--or rather, it's my belief that Heaven sent them. Three of us who stuck to the fish were taken aboard by our own ship on the fourth day; and two who would drink the salt water sprang overboard raving mad just before she hove in sight. It has been a lesson to me ever since." "Thank you, Ben; we will profit by it," said Boxall. We were paddling along as at first, all this time,--though, as we made but slow progress towards the shore, Boxall began to suspect that the current was carrying us to the southward. Still, we hoped that a breeze would again spring up and send us along faster; at all events, should a vessel appear in sight, our mast and sail, such as they were, would afford us a better chance of being seen than would otherwise have been the case. But hour after hour passed away, and still no sail hove in sight; indeed, while the calm lasted we could not expect to see one. "What sort of people are we likely to meet with on yonder shore, should we ever get there?" asked Halliday. "Charlie, do you know?" "Moors or Arabs; I don't suppose any black fellows are to be found so far north," I answered. "I would rather land among blacks than Moors, from what I have heard of the latter," said Boxall. "However, we may, I hope, be picked up by some European vessel." It was the first time Boxall had made any remark calculated to increase our anxiety, and his words had apparently slipped out unintentionally. I remembered having read an account of the barbarous way in which the wild Arabs of the African Desert had treated some European sailors wrecked on the coast; and I could not help reflecting that the most abject slavery might be our lot, should we fall into their hands. A discussion as to the character of the natives we were likely to meet with, should we reach the shore, occupied us for some time. Again Halliday complained of fearful thirst, when Ben succeeded at length in persuading him to munch a piece of his biscuit; but he declared that without a drop of moisture he could not get a morsel down. Just then Ben sang out that he saw some round things floating in the water a short way ahead. "It may be sea-weed--though I have a notion it is something else," he added, as we paddled eagerly forward. "They are oranges!" he soon shouted out; "and whether they have come from our vessel or some other, there they are." We strained every nerve to urge on the raft, as if they would sink before we could reach the spot. How eagerly we picked them up! There were two dozen altogether. Directly Ben got hold of one he handed it to Halliday, who began sucking away at it with the greatest eagerness. They were all perfectly ripe; and even had they been green, they would have been most welcome. "Providence has sent this fruit for our relief," said Boxall. "Let us be thankful to the Giver." There were six apiece. We stowed them away in our pockets, for we had nowhere else to put them. They might be, we thought--as indeed they were--the means of preserving our lives. By Boxall's advice we ate only one each, reserving the others till hunger and thirst might press us more than at present. I suspect that otherwise Halliday would have consumed all of his share--as perhaps might the rest of us. All day we were on the look-out for a sail; but the calm continuing, no vessel could approach us. We had reason, however, to be thankful that a strong wind and heavy sea did not get up, as our frail raft, on which we could with difficulty balance ourselves, would speedily have been overwhelmed. On we paddled; but, as before, we made but little progress. A light breeze springing up towards evening, we hoisted our sail; and steering as well as we could with our paddles, or rather the pieces of board which served as such, we glided on towards the still far-distant shore. Had we known more about the coast and the dangers which fringed it, we should probably have endeavoured to gain the offing, where we might possibly be seen by a vessel passing either to the north or south--which none was likely to do closer in with the shore. Still, we all agreed that if we remained at sea and no vessel should come near us for a couple of days, we must, without food and water, inevitably perish. We were all greatly overpowered with a desire to sleep, which even the fear of falling off into the water could scarcely conquer. I know that, though I was steering, I frequently saw the stars dancing before my eyes and shining in a confused manner on the mirrorlike surface of the water, while I scarcely recollected where I was or what had happened. At last I could stand it no longer, and was compelled to tell Boxall how I felt. Though there was great risk in changing our position, he insisted on taking my place; and as he was next to me, he told me to stoop down while he crept over my head. The centre part of the raft was more secure. Halliday, who had, I found, been sleeping for some time, was being held on by Boxall, who undertook to help me in the same way. In a moment after I had got into my new position I was fast asleep; and though the wind had been increasing, and the sea was consequently rougher than before, even the tossing of the raft did not awake me. We had been running on for some time, when suddenly I was aroused by a violent shock. "What has happened?" I exclaimed, opening my eyes. "We have run on a reef!" exclaimed Ben; "and it will be a job for us to get over it." The mast had been unshipped, and fell over Ben; but being only an oar, it did not hurt him. We found ourselves on the top of a level rock, with the water quite shoal all round us. "What is to be done now?" asked Halliday. "We will take our sail to pieces, and resume our shirts and handkerchiefs," said Boxall calmly. "If the tide is at present at its height, the rock will be dry shortly, and we can remain and stretch our legs till we ascertain how far we are off the coast." "But had we not better drag the raft over to the other side, into deeper water?" asked Ben; "we may then be able to continue our voyage." "We must first ascertain where the deep water is," answered Boxall. "I will soon learn that," said Ben, taking the boat-hook in his hand to feel his way. He went forward carefully for some distance. At last he shouted out,--"The reef is higher here than where we struck it, and I am pretty sure I see a sand-bank at no great distance. I will go ahead and let you know." Halliday was so stiff and worn out that he was unable to move, and neither Boxall nor I liked to leave him. As Ben was strong, and a good swimmer, we felt sure that he could manage by himself. We now refreshed ourselves with another orange; and I felt that I had still some strength left for any further exertions we might have to make. After waiting for some time, we thought we heard Ben shouting to us. "Yes, I am sure that is Ben's voice," said Boxall. "Come, Halliday, are you able to move?" "I will do my best," was the answer; and getting up, we made our way over the rocks in the direction from which Ben's voice proceeded. After passing over a dry ledge we found the water again deepening; but I took Halliday's hand, and together we waded on, followed by Boxall--who was ready to give either of us assistance, should we require it. The water was growing deeper and deeper, till it almost reached our chests. "We shall have to swim for it," I said; "but I don't think it will be far." Just then we again heard Ben's voice. "He would not call to us if there was any danger to be encountered," I observed. The next instant we all had to strike out; but we had not gone twenty fathoms when we found our feet touching the bottom, and once more we waded on. "I see him," I cried out, as my eye caught sight of a figure standing, apparently on dry land. "It may be the coast itself which we have reached--sooner than we expected." We had still some distance to go, but the water gradually became shallower. Halliday, overcome with fatigue, cried out that he could go no further; but Boxall, overtaking us, made him rest on his shoulder. The water being now no higher than our knees, we advanced more easily; and we soon caught sight of Ben, who had gone some distance over the sand, running to meet us. When at length we reached the dry land, we all three sank down exhausted. "But have we really reached the coast of Africa?" eagerly asked Boxall of Ben. "I am sorry to say we have not, sir; we are on a sand-bank ever so far from it, for not a glimpse have I been able to get of the coast--though we may perhaps see whereabouts it is when the sun rises." This was disappointing intelligence. "Still, we ought to be thankful that we have a spot of dry land on which to put our feet," said Boxall. "As we have been preserved hitherto, we ought not to despair, or fear that we shall be allowed to perish. At daylight, when we shall ascertain our position better than we can do now, we may be able to judge what we ought to do." Of course, we all agreed with him, and at once made our way up to the highest part of the bank, which was covered with grass and such plants as usually grow on saline ground seldom or never covered by the sea. Exposed as it was, it afforded us space on which to rest our weary limbs. Led by Boxall, we returned thanks to Heaven for our preservation, and offered up a prayer for protection in the future; and then we stretched ourselves out on the ground. Having no fear of being attacked by savage beasts or equally savage men, in a few minutes we were all fast asleep. The sun had risen when we awoke. We all felt ravenously hungry, and were burning with thirst. Our thirst we slightly quenched with another orange apiece; but as we gazed around the barren sand-bank, we had no hopes of satisfying our hunger. Unless we could quickly reach the land, we felt we must perish. Standing up, we looked eagerly towards the east; a mist, however, which the sun had not yet dispelled, hung over that part of the horizon. The sand-bank, we judged, was a mile or more long, but very much narrower. It had apparently been thrown up by a current which swept round it inside the reef; while the reef itself appeared to extend further than our eyes could reach to the southward, and we supposed that we were somewhere near its northern end. Halliday and I sat down again, not feeling inclined to walk about. We asked Boxall what he proposed doing. "We must return to our raft, and try and get her round the reef," he answered. "The weather promises still to be moderate, and I think we shall have no difficulty in doing so." "But how are we to get on without food?" asked Halliday. "If Ben would give me another piece of biscuit I might pick up a little; but I never could stand hunger." We looked round for Ben, but we found he had walked away, and was, as it seemed, sauntering idly along the beach. The tide had by this time gone out, and a considerable space of rocky ground was uncovered. We none of us felt inclined to move, but at the same time we knew that we must exert ourselves or perish; we wanted water more than anything else. "We have no chance of finding it on this barren sand-bank," I observed with a sigh. "I am not so certain of that," said Boxall. "I have heard that in the driest sand, provided the sea does not wash over it, drinkable water may be procured by digging deep down. Let us try, at all events." Agreeing to do as he proposed, we got up and walked along till we saw some tufts of grass; they were thin, and burned brown by the sun. "Let us try here," said Boxall. "This grass would not grow without some moisture; and possibly, by digging down, we shall find it at the roots." We set to work with our knives, but soon found that we could throw out the sand more rapidly with our hands than with these. We worked away, eagerly scraping out the sand. The roots ran very deep. "This is a most encouraging sign," said Boxall. "Observe how much cooler the sand is here than at the top." It continued, however, to roll down almost as fast as we threw it up, and we had to enlarge the circumference of the hole. Still no appearance of water; but the roots extended even further down than we had yet gone, and we persevered. We had got down nearly three feet, when we saw that some of the particles of sand glistened more than those at the top, and were of a brighter hue. "See--see! they are wet!" exclaimed Halliday, digging away frantically. We now got down into the hole, and threw the sand up behind us. Halliday at length brought up a handful which was moist, and pressed it to his lips. "It is free from salt!" he cried out; and again we all plunged down, till we came to a patch of wet sand. By keeping our hands in it, a little water at length began to trickle into them, which we eagerly drank. But this process appeared a very slow one. Had we possessed a cup of any sort to sink in the sand, we might have filled it; as it was, we were compelled to wait till we could get a few drops at a time in the hollow of our hands. Slow as was the proceeding, however, we at length somewhat overcame the burning thirst from which we had been suffering. "Why should we not try to fill our shoes?" I exclaimed, as the thought struck me. "We might try it; but it will take a long time to fill _one_ of them," said Boxall; "and I am afraid that the water will leak out as fast as it runs in." "I am ready to devote mine to the purpose, at all events," I said, taking them off and working them down into the sand--though it was evident that a long time must elapse before water could flow into them. "But what has become of Ben?" I asked; "we must let him know, as probably he is as thirsty as we were." We looked round, and at last caught sight of him stooping down, as if picking up something at the edge of the water. We shouted to him, but he was so busily engaged that he did not hear us. "He has found some mussels or other shell-fish," exclaimed Halliday, setting off to run; "I am desperately hungry." "Depend on it, Ben will give us a due share of whatever he has found," said Boxall, as we followed our companion. "Have you found any mussels?" Halliday was asking as we drew near. "Better than mussels--oysters," answered Ben. "It's a very hard job, however, to get them off the rock. I intended to surprise you, thinking you were all still asleep, and so I waited till I could get enough for all of us." He showed us his ample pockets already full; and, hungry as he was, I am certain that the honest fellow had not touched one of them. We retired to the dry sand, and sitting down, eagerly opened the oysters with our knives. How delicious they were! meat and drink in one, as Ben observed--for we could scarcely have swallowed any dry food just then. We found our strength greatly restored after our meal. Having told Ben of the means we had taken to find water, we advised him to come back with us and get a drink. "No, no, gentlemen," he said; "it will be wiser first to collect as many oysters as we can secure before the tide comes back, for we shall not then be able to get them." So we all set to work to collect oysters, filling our pockets and then carrying them on shore, and there piling them up beyond high-water mark. We knew that we should require a large number: indeed, Boxall reminded us that we could not expect to live long upon them and keep up our strength. It was tantalising, also, to reflect that we could not carry any quantity on our intended voyage. Boxall then proposed that we should return to our water-hole. "Though I am afraid, Charlie, we shall not find your shoes very full," he observed. "Perhaps not; but if we take a few of the deepest of these oyster-shells, we may get water more quickly," I answered. The thought that they would be of use had just struck me. Away we went, our pockets loaded with as many oysters as we could carry. When we got to the hole I was disappointed to find that Boxall was right, and that there was only just sufficient water in my shoes to enable Ben partly to quench his thirst. By further increasing the hole, however, and putting down our oyster-shells, we found that we could obtain a much larger quantity of the precious liquid than by means of the shoes. Still there was only just enough to quench our thirst; and even had we possessed a bottle, it would have required some hours to fill it. The tide had already begun to rise, and we agreed that no time was to be lost in crossing the channel to our raft, as we should now have the advantage of shallow water; whereas, if we waited, we should have to carry the raft a considerable distance over the rocks to launch it. "I won't disguise from you that I consider our expedition a dangerous one," said Boxall. "Heavy weather may come on before we reach the shore; or a current may sweep us either to the north or south on to another reef. And when we do gain the shore, we cannot tell how we shall support life, or what treatment we may receive from the inhabitants, should we fall in with any, in that desert region. We can, however, trust to One above to take care of us. Let us pray to Him for protection." We knelt down, and Boxall offered up a heart felt, earnest prayer, in which we all joined. Then we rose from our knees, with strong hearts to encounter the dangers before us. CHAPTER THREE. WE QUIT THE SAND-BANK--A SAIL! A SAIL!--SAVED--DON LOPEZ'S INDIGNATION--THE SHIP STRIKES--FIRE! FIRE!--CRUELLY DESERTED--THE WRECK BLOWS UP. We had marked the spot where we had landed on the sand-bank, and we hoped therefore without difficulty to find our raft on the top of the reef. Before starting, we swallowed as much water as we could collect, and filled our handkerchiefs and pockets with oysters--which we took out of the shells, for otherwise we could have carried but few. It was not a time to be particular, but the oysters _did_ feel somewhat slimy, and did not look very nice. How much we wished for a bottle in which we could carry water!--but all our ingenuity could devise no means of securing any for the future. We had an orange apiece remaining, and that was all on which we could depend for quenching our thirst till we could reach the shore; and perhaps even then we might be unable to find water. "Cheer up, cheer up!" cried Boxall. "We have thought sufficiently over the dangers before us, now let us face them bravely." Saying this, he led the way across the channel; Halliday and I followed, and Ben brought up the rear. We were able to wade the whole distance, though in the deeper part the water was up to our shoulders. We found the raft as we had left it, for the tide, even at its height, did not reach the top of the reef. At Boxall's suggestion, we took it apart and dragged the pieces down to the edge of the water, so that when put together again it might float as the tide came in. We also lashed it together more securely and balanced it better than before, while from one of the boards we cut out two fresh paddles; thus all hands were able to urge on the raft. Judging as far as we were able--by throwing a piece of wood into the water--that the current was setting to the southward, while we wished to go round the north end of the reef, we determined to wait till the tide slackened, which it would soon do; indeed, our raft was not yet completely afloat. The water rising higher and higher, however, we at last got on the raft and sat down. And while Boxall took the boat-hook to shove off, the rest of us paddled with all our might. "Away she goes!" cried Boxall; and we were fairly afloat. Just at that instant Ben cried out, "A sail! a sail! away to the north-west." We looked in the direction indicated, and clearly made out the top-gallant-sails and part of the royals of what was apparently a large ship, standing almost directly towards us. Our hearts leaped with joy. Instead of the weary paddling towards the arid coast, parched with thirst and suffering from hunger, we might soon be safe on board ship, with the prospect of returning to our friends and country. "We shall easily cut her off, if we steer to the westward and make good way," cried Ben. "But there is no time to lose, in case she should alter her course." "I cannot understand why she is standing in this direction," observed Boxall. "Her commander can scarcely be aware of the existence of this reef, or he would be giving it a wider berth." The wind was against us, and the send of the sea drove us back almost as much as we went ahead; so that we made but slow progress. The ship, however, approached nearer and nearer, till we could see nearly to the foot of her courses. When at length her hull came in sight, both Boxall and Ben were of opinion that she was foreign,--either French or Spanish. Boxall thought that she was the latter; and indeed we soon clearly made out the Spanish ensign flying from her peak. "I will get a signal ready," said Ben, taking off his shirt and fastening it to the end of the oar which had served as a mast. It was still too evident, however, that we were not seen. "If that ship were to stand on an hour longer, or even less, she would run right on the reef not far to the southward of this," observed Boxall. "It will be a mercy if those on board see us, as we will be able to warn them of their danger. Let us, at all events, do our best to get up to her." Cheering each other on, we paddled away as vigorously as we could. "I think she will see us now. Let us hoist our signal," cried Ben; and taking up the oar which lay along the raft, he waved it, with his shirt at the end, as high as he could. Some minutes more passed. The ship had got so far to the southward that we were directly on her beam. Ben waved the signal frantically; and uniting our voices, we shouted as loudly as we could. "I am afraid our voices don't reach her in the teeth of the wind," observed Boxall. "But our signal is seen, though," cried Ben; and as he spoke the ship's head was turned towards us, while we energetically paddled on to meet her. In a short time she was up to us, and we got alongside; ropes were hove to us (one of which Ben made fast to the raft), and several men came down the side to assist us in climbing up. Among the most active were two negroes--one a tall, powerful man, but about as ugly a mortal as I ever set eyes on; the other, a young, pleasant-looking lad, though his skin was as black as jet. The two seized me by the arms and dragged me up, though I could have scrambled on deck without their help. "Muchas gracias," (Many thanks), I said. "I thought you English officer," said the young black. "So I am," I answered. "How is it that you speak English?" "I served aboard English man-of-war, and knew that you were English officer directly I saw you," he answered. This was said almost before I placed my feet on the deck--where we were all soon standing, looking around us. The ship was apparently a man-of-war; but there were a number of soldiers and people of all ranks, evidently passengers, walking the deck, besides the officers. "I say, Charlie, as you speak Spanish, you had better tell the captain that he will be hard and fast on shore in a few minutes if he does not alter his course," said Boxall to me. Followed by my companions, I accordingly stepped aft to an officer whom I took to be the commander, and told him that we had only just before left a reef which ran north and south, and that he would soon be upon it unless he steered more to the westward; also that, if he kept a sharp look-out, he would see the sand-bank behind it. He seemed very much astonished, and at once gave orders to port the helm and trim the sails so as to stand off from the dangerous neighbourhood. I observed that our raft was towing astern. "We will hoist it on board by-and-by," said the captain; "it will serve for firewood, of which we have not too large a supply." I heard several people talking about the reef. One very consequential-looking gentleman declared that we had not spoken the truth, and that the reef must be much further off than we had said. I took no notice of this; indeed, I thought that I might possibly be mistaken, especially as I was not accustomed to hear Spanish spoken, although, thanks to honest Andrew, I was able to express myself with tolerable clearness on simple subjects. We convinced the captain, however, that my account was true, by showing him the oysters with which our pockets were filled, and which we were very glad to get rid of. Being about to throw them overboard, the young negro stopped us and begged to have them, as they would be very welcome at the mess to which he belonged. "We no get too much food here," he observed; "very different to English man-of-war." I asked the young black his name. "They call me Pedro aboard here; but I got many names, according to the people I live among," he answered with a laugh. "The English sailors call me Black Jack; and when I once lived with the Moors, my name was Selim; and in my own country, Quasho Tumbo Popo." "And what is the name of the big black man who helped me up the side?" I asked. "Him called Antonio here," answered Pedro, glancing round to ascertain that the person we were speaking of was not near. "Take care of him, massa; him no good. Once got flogging aboard man-of-war, and no love English officers, depend on that. He pretend to be great friend to you, but you see what he do." I thanked Pedro for his caution, feeling certain from the tone in which he spoke that he was sincere. The captain seemed really grateful for the service we had rendered him by preventing him from running on the reef. He invited us down to his cabin, and asked us if we would like to turn in and rest while our clothes were drying. "Will you tell him that we are dying of thirst," exclaimed Halliday, "and that we should not object to have something to eat first?" I explained that we had had no food except oysters since the previous evening, and that we should be grateful if he would order us some supper--for the Spanish dinner-hour had long passed. "Of course," he observed; "I forgot that,"--and he immediately ordered some water and light wine to be placed on the table. He seemed amused at the quantity we drank; having, I suspect, had very little experience of the way men feel who have been exposed to hunger and thirst, as we had been, for so many hours. Some light food was then brought in, to which we did ample justice. On my mentioning Ben to him, he observed,--"He will be taken good care of by the black Antonio; he understands your language." The captain appeared to be a quiet, gentlemanly man; but it struck me at once that he was not the sort of person to keep a disorderly crew and a number of troops and passengers in order. He again expressed himself deeply obliged to us for the service we had rendered him; and taking a small telescope in a case from the side-cabin, begged I would accept it as a mark of his gratitude. "There are some aboard here who pretend to understand better than I do how the ship should be managed; and it was by their advice that I was steering the course I was doing when I fell in with you," he observed. I told Boxall what the captain had said. "A pretty sort of commander he must be, to allow civilians, even though they may be scientific men, to interfere with the navigation of the ship," he observed. "For my part, I should tell them to keep as sharp a look-out as they liked upon the spars and ship, but to let me steer the course I considered the best." After supper we thankfully turned in--the captain politely giving his berth to Boxall, while two of the lieutenants begged that Halliday and I would occupy theirs. When we left the deck I observed that the wind had completely fallen, and I could not help wishing that we had been further off from the reef. The frigate, I should have said, had come through the Straits of Gibraltar, from Malaga or some other port on the south of Spain, and was bound out to Manilla in the Philippine Islands, carrying a number of official persons, with some settlers of lower grade. But having told the captain of the danger near him, we hoped that he would do his best to avoid it, and so ceased to let the matter trouble us. As may be supposed, we slept soundly, worn out as we were with our exertions; and it was daylight next morning when we awoke. I apologised to those whom we had kept out of their berths; but they were very civil, and replied that they had slept on sofas, and that we evidently required all the rest we could obtain. On going on deck we found that the calm still continued, and the ship lay on the glass-like surface, her sails idly hanging down against the masts. I observed that a hand was in the chains, heaving the lead; and on going into the mizzen-top, I made out the reef and the sand-bank behind it,--although, had I not known it was there, I might not have been certain what it was. Going forward, I found Ben, and asked him how he had fared. "Pretty well, thank you, sir; owing to the black Antonio, who looked after me," he answered. "He is a rum sort of a chap, though; and I shouldn't wish to have many such aboard a ship with me. He is civil enough, to be sure, as far as I am concerned; but he is bitter as olives against all above him: and it's my opinion he would work you, and Mr Boxall, and Mr Halliday a mischief, if he had the power, though you never did him any harm. I see clearly enough what he is about: he wants to gain me over to side with him--and that's the reason he's so terribly civil. Depend on it, Mr Blore, there'll be a mutiny aboard before long; and when it comes there'll be murder and fighting, and we shall fare ill among the villains. I cannot say much for the discipline of this ship, either; she is more like a privateer than a man-of-war. It's a wonder she has got as far as she has without meeting with some misfortune; and I only hope that we shall touch at a port before long, where we can get clear of her." "What you say is not pleasant; and, from certain things I have observed, I am afraid it is true," I answered. "If we don't touch anywhere, we may fall in with an English vessel; and I am sure Mr Boxall will agree with me, that we had better go on board her, even though she may be a merchant-man. But if we meet with a man-of-war, we shall be all right." "I hope we shall, sir," said Ben. "Antonio tells me, too, that the ship was on fire two nights ago, through the carelessness of some of the men, when more than half of the crew went down on their knees and cried for help to their saints, instead of trying to put out the flames; and if he and a few others had not set to work with buckets and wet blankets, the ship, to a certainty, would have been burned." "Well, Ben, keep your weather-eye open; and if anything of the kind occurs again, we must show them what British discipline and courage can do," I said. Going aft, I told Boxall what I had heard; and he agreed with me that it would be well to leave the ship as soon as we could, though we ought to be thankful that we had reached her, instead of having to make our way to land on our frail raft. We had certainly no reason to complain of want of civility from the officers of the ship; but the civilians, some of whom rejoiced in high-sounding titles, treated us with marked contempt, as beings altogether inferior to themselves. We agreed, however, to take no notice of this, and made ourselves as happy as we could. Halliday, after two or three substantial meals, recovered his spirits; and I jokingly told him that it would be wise to keep his pockets, in future, well stored with provisions, in case a similar accident might occur-- though I little thought at the time that he would take my advice in earnest, and follow it. A breeze at last sprung up, and the huge galleon began once more to glide through the water. The officers had again politely offered us their berths, but we positively refused to accept them,--saying that, as our clothes were dry, we could sleep perfectly well on sofas, or on the deck of the cabin, for that matter. The captain then begged that we would occupy the main cabin, which was only used in the daytime. After supper, we all three walked the deck till the great men had retired to their berths. It was a lovely night; the sea was smooth, and the moon shone brightly; a light air filled the sails, while the tall ship glided calmly onward. It was indeed such a night as one might have thought it impossible any accident could happen to a ship in. While we were walking the deck, Boxall stepped up to the binnacle and glanced at the compass. On returning to us, he observed-- "It seems extraordinary that, notwithstanding the warning we gave the captain, the ship is being kept more to the eastward of south than otherwise. I should say that south or south-south-west would be a safer course." "I have a great mind to tell the captain," I said. "I suspect that he does not believe we are so close in with the coast as is really the case. He seems a sensible man, and will, at all events, be obliged to me." I entered the cabin, but found that the captain had gone to bed. I then went up to the raised poop, on which the officer of the watch was standing, and, in as polite a way as I could, reminded him of the dangerous reef on our larboard beam. "Or rather, I may say, on our larboard bow," I added; "and if we stand on much longer on the course we are now keeping, we shall strike on it to a certainty." "If there is a reef where you say, we must have passed it long ago," answered the lieutenant carelessly. "My directions are to steer the course we are now on; and I am surprised that a stranger should venture to interfere with the navigation of the ship." "I beg your pardon, Don Lopez," I answered. "I have given you what my brother officers and I consider sound advice; and we, sir, should be as sorry as you would be to see the ship cast away." "Really, Mr Englishman, we Spaniards understand navigation as well as you do!" exclaimed the lieutenant in an angry tone. "You seem to forget that we discovered the New World, and had explored a large portion of the globe before your countrymen even pretended to be a maritime people, as you now call yourselves." I saw that it was useless saying more, and so rejoined my companions. Boxall was becoming more and more anxious. "We shall, to a certainty, be on the reef before many hours are over, if the ship's course is not altered," he said. "I suspect that the lieutenant has mistaken east for west, and that the captain really directed him to steer south-south-west." I again went up to the lieutenant, and, as politely as I could, inquired if he did not think it possible that some mistake might have been made as to the course to be steered, and suggesting that he should alter it to south-west. This made him very indignant, and he hinted that if I again interfered with him he should order me under arrest. Making him a polite bow, I returned to Boxall, and we continued our walk. The air, after the heat of the day, was comparatively cool and pleasant, and neither of us felt any inclination to turn in. No one interfered with us; and we were talking eagerly about the probability of falling in with an English man-of-war, or of making our way home on board a merchant-man, when we suddenly felt a shock, but not of sufficient force to throw us off our feet. "The ship has struck!" exclaimed Boxall. "What are the fellows about? They ought to clew up everything, and she might be got off." In spite of the manner in which the officer of the watch had treated me, I ran aft to him, and urged him to do as Boxall advised, "The reef, do you say!" he exclaimed; "that was no reef, but a sunken vessel. See! we are gliding on as smoothly as before." Scarcely had he said this when the ship again struck, and with far greater violence than before. The tall masts quivered, and seemed ready to fall. The captain, and most of the officers and crew who were below, came rushing on deck; the lead was hove, and shallow water found on either side. The captain immediately ordered the sails to be clewed up, and the boats to be lowered, that anchors might be carried astern, to haul off the ship. "If it's high-water her fate is sealed," observed Boxall; "but if low, she might possibly be hauled off: and she has not, I hope, received much damage." I ran to the chains, and observed that the lead-line was up and down-- the ship was evidently not moving. By this time the civilians and other passengers had come on deck, and great confusion prevailed. Everyone wanted to know what had happened, and what was to be done. Several came to me. "We must first try to heave the ship off," was my answer to all. The capstan was manned, and the crew commenced heaving; but not an inch did the ship move. The first anchor earned out, not holding, came home, and had with great labour to be lifted; the second held, though the strain on the cable was tremendous. Boxall had carefully sounded the water alongside. "She is moving!" he exclaimed at length. "Hurrah! work away, my fine lads!" he could not help crying out, though the men could not understand him. The water continued to rise, the ship moved faster and faster, and there appeared every probability of our getting off. While the crew were thus busily engaged, several soldiers and passengers came rushing up the fore-hatchway shouting out, "Fire! fire! fire!" Halliday and I, who were standing together, hurried forward, hoping that it might be a false alarm, though I could not help recollecting what Ben had told me the previous day. Though no flames were visible, I discovered, even in the gloom of night, that the atmosphere was peculiarly thick, while I could smell an odour of burning wood. More people rushing up with the same fearful shouts, the alarm soon became general. Halliday and I cried out to the men nearest us to get buckets and blankets, and that we would try to discover from whence the fire proceeded, and endeavour to put it out; but no one listened to us. Some of the soldiers and passengers were rushing about the deck like madmen; others were on their knees calling to the saints to assist them; while a number of the seamen rushed below, returned with axes, and began hacking at the shrouds and stays--as if, having made up their minds that the ship would be lost, they intended to cut away the masts. Some of the officers were endeavouring to recall the men to their duty, but others seemed to have lost their senses; while the civilians were as frantic as the rest: indeed, a panic had too evidently seized the greater part of those on board. Finding that we could do nothing, Halliday and I made our way aft to look for Boxall, and to ask what he advised we should do--feeling that it would be wise, at all events, to keep together. On our way we met with Ben. "I find, sir, that the careless Spaniards have forgotten to hoist our raft on board, as they intended doing, and she is still alongside," he said. "Now, as I see that these fellows are not likely to help themselves, it's our business, I have a notion, to look after number one; so I will just slip down on the raft and try what I can do to improve it, if you will send me over all the planks and spars you can lay hands on." Fortunately, just then Boxall found us out, and approved of Ben's proposal. The officers, in the meantime, were lowering the boats which remained on board, the larger ones being already in the water. We offered to assist some of them who were trying to lower the starboard quarter boat; but even those who had before been civil to us now rudely pushed us aside; and we felt sure that, even should they succeed in launching her, they would refuse to take us on board. Ben having got on the raft, had hauled it under the main chains. There was no lack of spars--the deck was piled up with a number, not only for the use of the ship, but for other vessels on the station; and there was also the framework and rigging complete of a small vessel. We quickly took from these spars and ropes sufficient to enable Ben to complete the raft--and had just sent him down the ship's fore-royal and its yard, with a couple of oars which we found on the booms, when a number of the crew discovered what we were about, and made a rush to get on the raft. We shouted to Ben to shove off,--telling him to come back for us, or we would swim to him. Before he was clear of the vessel's side, however, a Spanish seaman sprang on the raft; and having, as he thought, secured his own safety, he showed no inclination, notwithstanding the shouts of his countrymen, of returning to the ship. The example we had set was immediately followed by such of the crew as had retained their senses--the boatswain and two or three more of the inferior officers taking the lead. All this time no attempt had been made to put out the fire, which, from the slow progress it made, might, I felt sure, have easily been done. But the people now showed more energy in forming the proposed raft than they had hitherto done. It seemed surprising that the undisciplined crew did not take possession of the boats; but they were somewhat kept in awe by a party of marines or soldiers drawn up on the quarter-deck; and they had, besides, been assured by their officers that they should be taken on board when all was ready. The boats, which had in the meantime kept off from the ship, under the command of the lieutenants and other officers, were called up one by one. The barge being first summoned, the governor and his family, with several other civilians, ladies and children, embarked in her, with some provisions, and a few casks of water; more order and regularity being displayed on this occasion than on any other. The barge immediately shoved off; and then most of the civilians and naval officers hurriedly embarked in the other boats. I asked the captain if he would take us into his boat; but he replied, with a shrug of his shoulders, that it was impossible, as the Spaniards would not allow foreigners to embark while their countrymen remained on board. On hearing this, Boxall proposed to the boatswain that we should assist in building the large raft; and, as a considerable number of seamen on whom he could depend had already embarked in the boats, he thankfully accepted our offer. Before letting ourselves over the stern, where the raft was being formed, I looked out for Ben. At length I observed him, some way off, with his companion, apparently busied in finishing the small raft. Boxall agreed with me that we should be better off with him than on the larger raft, so we hoped that as soon as he could he would come back to the ship. In the meantime we set to work energetically to assist the boatswain; while two or three of the officers remained on board, and, with the few men to help them whom they could get to work, continued heaving over all the planks and spars they could find, together with some empty water-casks and hen-coops, through the ports. We had already formed a good-sized raft, when an officer, who had hitherto been labouring on deck, slipped down and joined us, together with a number of people who were afraid of being abandoned should they not secure a place upon it. Among the last articles sent down to us had been a top-gallant-sail, which Boxall, Halliday, and I at once got ready for hoisting on a long spar set up as a mast in the fore-part of the raft, that we might, should it be necessary, get clear of the ship; for although we were anxious to save as many people as possible, we knew that all would be lost should too many get upon it. I had gone to the after-part of the raft, to suggest to the boatswain that we should fix a rudder, when I caught sight of the captain's boat pulling away from the ship, leaving a number of the marines on the quarter-deck. They were shouting to the captain, asking him to come back for them. His reply was, "I will directly; but I go to call the other boats to take you on board." This reply evidently did not satisfy the soldiers. Several of them shouted out, "We will fire, if you do not return immediately;" but no notice was taken of this threat, and the crew of the boat gave way with redoubled energy. I was expecting, the next instant, to hear the rattle of musketry, when a fearful report, like the sound of a hundred guns going off at once, rang in my ears; the deck of the ship appeared to lift, her masts and spars trembled, and bright flames burst forth from every side. It seemed impossible that any of those remaining on deck could have survived. CHAPTER FOUR. MEETING ON THE RAFT--AN ATROCIOUS DEED--A DESPERATE FIGHT--SWIMMING FOR LIFE--A TERRIBLE DOOM. The people on the raft, overwhelmed with horror at the fearful catastrophe which had occurred, were for a time unable to exert themselves, and had we not been astern of the ship a large portion of our party would probably have perished; but as it was, no one was hurt. The boats, instead of returning to our assistance, continued to pull away to the southward; they did not even stop to take on board Ben and his companion, who, by the light of the burning ship, could be seen at some distance. As soon as those on the raft began somewhat to recover from their consternation, they rose to their feet, uttering the most fearful imprecations on the heads of those who, it was very evident, were so cruelly deserting them. The brave boatswain was the only one among the Spaniards who retained his presence of mind. He and I, with Boxall and Halliday, managed to hoist a sail; when a light breeze enabled us to get sufficiently clear of the burning wreck to avoid the masts and spars which came falling down, hissing, into the water. Several of the people shouted out, urging us to sail in chase of the boats; but even had we attempted it with a strong breeze in our favour, they would of course soon have got far ahead of us. As it was, the wind again fell, and we lay on the calm ocean unable to impel our raft either towards the shore or in any other direction, while we gazed with sad eyes at the burning ship. I looked round for Antonio and young Pedro, but could discover neither of them on the raft. The friendly disposition the latter had exhibited towards us made me hope that he had escaped in one of the boats. Boxall said that he had seen Antonio not long before he himself had got on the raft, and that he was nearly certain he had been left on the burning wreck. Notwithstanding the bad opinion Ben had formed of him, we agreed that we should have been glad had he been with us, as he was certainly one of the most intelligent and active seamen on board. Boxall, Halliday, and I sat near the mast with the boatswain, who tried in vain to arouse his companions to exertion,--urging them to secure the raft more firmly, and to endeavour to pick up anything which might be floating by. Those who had at first obeyed him willingly, now only grumbled; and from words I heard spoken, I was afraid that, should he attempt to enforce his orders, a mutiny would break out. On mentioning my fears to Boxall,--"We must try and defend him then," he answered. "I trust that some will remain faithful, and rally round us." The night continued calm. This was the time when, if active, we might possibly have obtained some provisions, and might certainly have improved the raft. We three did what we could, but the people would not move out of our way, and no one would lend a hand. We succeeded, however, in picking up several articles: a boat-hook, some oars, and two casks--but whether they contained water or spirits we could not be certain. Boxall said that as they floated light he believed they were spirit-casks, and suggested that it might be wiser to let them go, in case the people should get drunk with their contents; still, as there was a doubt on the subject, and we were unable at once to examine them, we secured them to the raft. The calmness of the sea alone saved many of the people sleeping near the edge from slipping overboard, or getting their limbs jammed between the openings in the spars. It was easy, however, to foretell what would happen should a strong wind and heavy sea get up: even should the raft hold together, many of those on it must be washed away; while if all hands had exerted themselves, it might have been greatly strengthened, and made secure against the dangers it would in all probability have to encounter. Weary with our exertions, we at length agreed to go back to the mast and rest till daylight; but on reaching the spot where we had before taken our post, near the boatswain, we found it occupied, and were compelled to content ourselves with a less secure place at some distance from him. Not trusting those around us, we agreed that one should keep awake and watch over the other two. It fell to my lot to keep the first watch; and so, while Boxall and Halliday stretched themselves lengthways on a plank, I sat by their side. I had not been there long when some men began talking near me (probably unaware that I understood Spanish). One of the men was, I made out, the boatswain's mate, and the others were ordinary seamen. They were speaking of the boatswain, and abusing him for what they called his tyranny. Each one had some grievance to complain of. "We have him now in our power," said the boatswain's mate; "let us revenge ourselves on him." "But who is to take command of the raft and guide us to the shore?" asked one of the men. "I will do that," was the answer; "I am as good a seaman as he is. And when we get to land we will build huts and live at our ease, instead of setting off, as he will certainly wish to do, to find some port where we can start for Spain, where most of you will be sent back to the galleys." A good deal more was said to the same effect; and my immediate impression was that the men he was addressing were emancipated convicts, and capable of any atrocity. I longed to warn the boatswain at once of the plot hatching for his destruction; but I knew that if I moved I should be suspected. I hoped, however, that at all events the wretches would not attempt to carry their nefarious plan out that night, and I resolved to take the first opportunity of telling the boatswain what I had heard. Growing very sleepy, I was compelled at last to awake Halliday and get him to keep watch. I told him to arouse me should the men make any movement, or show that they were about to carry out their treacherous project. I went to sleep with the thought on my mind of the boatswain's danger; and I suppose this caused me to awake suddenly. Starting up, I found that Halliday had dropped off to sleep by my side. The raft had drifted to some distance from the ship, which was, however, still burning, the glare falling on the figures of my companions in misfortune,--some lying down, others sleeping in sitting postures. I looked around towards the spot where the boatswain's mate and his associates had been; they were not there. I crept towards the place where I had left the boatswain; but could not distinguish him. Happening to look to the further end of the raft, I saw a hand lifted up holding a dagger, which gleamed in the light of the burning ship. I shouted to Boxall and Halliday, who sprang to their feet; while I, followed by them, rushed towards the spot where I had seen the weapon raised. "Stop! stop!" I shouted in Spanish. "Commit no murder." My voice aroused most of the other sleeping occupants of the raft; but before my friends and I could reach the spot the dagger had descended, and we were met by the glaring eyes of the boatswain's mate and his convict associates. "You have killed the brave boatswain," I could not help exclaiming. "You shall share his fate, whatever that is," growled out the murderer. "Who are you, who dares to interfere with me and my friends?" I made no answer. The man held the still reeking dagger in his hand, and I could not help fearing that, should I get within his reach, he would plunge it into me. The people on the raft were now shouting and talking together--some arranging themselves on our side, while others appeared inclined to take part with the boatswain's mate and his vile associates. "Where is the boatswain? where is the boatswain? Pedro Alvez!" cried out some of the petty officers. No answer came. All the officers had their swords, and Halliday and I had got hold of two of the axes which had been taken to form the raft. Boxall told me to urge the carpenter, who seemed to be the chief in rank, to cut down the mutineers at once, and either heave them overboard or lash them to the raft, as he was certain they would otherwise take an early opportunity of attacking us when unprepared, and would put us all to death. He hesitated, however, observing that most of them had their knives, and that it would be no easy matter to overcome them. Again voices shouted, "Where is Pedro Alvez? Let him show himself." "He went overboard and was drowned; and many more will follow him, if we are interfered with," answered some one from the end of the raft occupied by the mutineers. This answer evidently alarmed the carpenter, who was a very different sort of man from the brave boatswain. "We will remain quiet till we are attacked, and then, of course, we will defend ourselves," he observed in a low voice. "Our only chance will be to keep together and be constantly on the watch," observed Boxall. "I wish he would let me have his sword; I suspect that I should make a better use of it than he will." The carpenter declined to give up his own weapon, but promised to try and get one--as he was sure that the English officer would make good use of it. Boxall had hitherto been able to arm himself only with a heavy piece of wood, but which his strong arm was likely to use with good effect. In a short time, however, the gunner brought him a sword. "Tell your brother officer that I am sure he will fight well with it, and do his best to maintain order." "Thank him," answered Boxall. "He may trust me." Something like order was at length restored; and the mutineers held their post on the after-part of the raft, while we kept ours round the mast. Thus the remainder of the night passed away. The sun rose at last hot and red over the calm ocean; the heat became intense, and every one was crying out for food and water. Halliday whispered to me that he had taken my advice, and had filled his pockets with biscuits and sausages--which he invited Boxall and me to partake of. We agreed that they would be nothing among so many; still we did not like to eat them in the presence of others. "I ate as much as I wanted during the night," said Halliday; "and I think if you were to sit down behind me, you might be able to get some food into your mouth without being observed. I should like to give the carpenter some, though." I undertook to convey a small portion to him. He was very grateful for it, and did not even ask if we had any more. I then told him of the casks. He called several men whom he could trust; who went to the side and, with our assistance, got the casks on the raft. The larger one contained spirits, the other water. On discovering this, a number of the people made a rush towards them, afraid of losing their share,--and we were compelled to keep them at bay with our weapons. "The water and spirits shall be served out so that each shall have a due share," cried the carpenter. Some small cups were found which served as measures; and the people, awed by the bold front we exhibited, waited patiently till each person had received his proper portion. Very nearly half the cask of water was thus exhausted; and we should have acted more wisely had we waited till the people's thirst had become greater. Some of them had apparently a few biscuits and other eatable things in their pockets; but besides this, a cask of pork, which had been thrown overboard, and hauled up on the raft before it left the ship, was the only food we possessed. Our only hope of escaping starvation was by speedily reaching the shore. "How soon shall we get there?" asked Halliday of Boxall. "Never--unless a breeze springs up, and these fellows act like rational beings instead of madmen," he answered, in a more gloomy tone than I had ever yet heard him use. "We must not conceal from ourselves the fearful position in which we are placed. These ruffians will probably try to destroy the gunner and the other officers as they did the boatswain; and watchful as we may be, we shall scarcely be able to guard ourselves against them." "I wish we had Ben with us," said Halliday. "A stout, brave fellow such as he is would have been of great help, and with the assistance of the better disposed we might have kept the villains at bay. I wonder what can have become of him!" "He and his companion have probably paddled towards the shore," answered Boxall. "Self-preservation is the first thing a man thinks of; and though he might not, under other circumstances, have deserted us, he probably thought himself much better off on his light raft than he would be on this large one,--and was afraid, if he came near us, that others would attempt to gain a footing on it, and thus overload it." "No, no; I do not think that Ben would willingly have deserted us," I observed. "I am very certain that he would have done his best to help us. He probably lost sight of our raft during the night, and could not find it again; or one of the boats might have returned, and taken him and his companion on board." "Little chance of that," answered Boxall. "There is no excuse for their cowardly desertion of us, and they are not likely to have come back for the sake of rescuing any one." This style of conversation, more of which I need not repeat, served to pass away the time. While the calm continued, our condition did not change for the better, as we could not move, and no sail could approach to our assistance. The Spaniards around us were talking in even a more gloomy strain,--uttering curses, not loud but deep, on the heads of those who had basely deserted them; while the mutineers sat together at the end of the raft muttering to each other, and, as we suspected, hatching mischief. The day wore on, and the sun struck down on our unprotected heads with intense force; while the bright glare on the water affected our eyes, and compelled us to shield them with our hands,--for the sail, though hoisted, afforded us only a partial shade. The mutineers now began to cry out that they wanted more food and water. "It is not time yet to serve it out," answered the carpenter, who had assumed the command. "If we use it up now, we shall have none for to-morrow." "Better eat and drink while we are hungry and thirsty, and let to-morrow take care of itself," exclaimed one of the mutineers. The carpenter took no notice of the remark, and the mutineers remained quiet for some minutes, apparently not having made up their minds how to act. "Depend upon it, these fellows will attack us before long," observed Boxall; "we must be prepared. Tell the carpenter what I say." The latter agreed with Boxall, and spoke to the few around him whom he could trust. Boxall now suggested that we should place the three casks and some loose planks so as to form a barricade in front of us, by which means we might better resist an attack. We were engaged doing this, when the leader of the mutineers cried out,--"What are you about? Let these things remain as they are. We want food and water: if it's not given to us, we will come and take it." The carpenter, instead of boldly adhering to what he knew was wise, was advised by his more timid companions, and replied that he would give them a little pork and water provided they should remain quiet. I told Boxall; who desired me to warn him that he was acting very imprudently, as they would be sure to ask for more. He persisted, however; and telling the men to come for their rations, he gave each a small measure of water and a piece of pork. On this, several who had remained neutral joined them, and also insisted on receiving their rations. Being supported by the mutineers, the rest of the people very naturally cried out that they must have their share,--fearing that otherwise the mutineers would get the whole of it. Scarcely had the distribution been made, when the mutineers again demanded another supply. "We must be firm, or, finding that they can overawe us, they will insist on doing whatever they please," said Boxall. The carpenter could not fail to see the wisdom of this advice, and replied that not another drop of water or particle of food would be served out till the next morning. The mutineers received the answer in sullen silence, making at the time no movement; and we began to hope that they would remain quiet. As, however, they soon again felt the gnawings of hunger, they began to talk together in low voices; and, influenced by the instincts of savage beasts, they seemed determined to take by force what they wanted. Their leader, starting up, cried out,--"It's time to have more food; come, Mr Carpenter, give it to us at once." "Be quiet, friends; you know that is impossible," was the mild reply. It failed to influence them, however; and drawing their knives, with which most of them were armed, they sprang towards us. Just at that moment some one at the other end of the raft shouted out,--"A sail! a sail!" The welcome sound arrested even the savage wretches, and, sheathing their knives, they looked round in the direction in which the man was pointing. We cast our eyes towards the spot. There could be no doubt that there was a sail, but I saw at once that it must be a very small vessel, or a boat. I thought it best, however, not to tell the Spaniards this. The mutineers sat down, looking out towards the sail. Though the prospect of relief was sufficient, one might have supposed, to arouse every one, yet so weak and dispirited were many of the Spaniards, that they scarcely moved from their positions, but sat, as before, with their heads resting on their knees. One thing was certain--that the craft, whatever she was, was standing towards us, bringing up a breeze; yet she approached very slowly. "I suspected from the first what she was," observed Boxall. "Let me have your glass, Charlie, that I may be certain." I gave him my telescope, which I had kept slung at my back. "As I thought: it is a small raft--probably Ben's. Honest fellow, I wronged him. He calculated the direction in which we were likely to have drifted, and is coming to our assistance." In a short time the carpenter also observed to me that it was a raft, with our countryman on it. "We will not tell the mutineers so--let them find it out for themselves; as they may form a plan for taking possession of it, if they think that it would serve them better than this one," I observed. How anxiously we waited the arrival of the raft! It came on very slowly, for the breeze was light. Our own sail remained hoisted, but as one of the sheets had been let go it remained partly furled round the mast, and did not move the raft. Looking through my glass, I made out Ben and another man. It was evident, then, that they had not succeeded in saving any people from the burning wreck; probably, therefore, all had perished. The raft was soon visible to the dullest eyes of all on board. As she approached, Boxall shouted to Ben, and advised him not to approach too near--telling him of the disorderly state of those with us, and that they would certainly attempt to take from him any water or provisions he might have. Ben on this hauled down his sail, and we saw him apparently endeavouring to make his companion understand the warning he had received. "We will do as you advise, sir," he shouted in return. "We have got food and water enough on board for three or four people; and knowing that you were likely to be short of both, we came to look for you. My mate here is the brother of the boatswain, and is a very good fellow. As you say, it will be dangerous for us to come alongside; but if Mr Boxall, Mr Halliday, and you will swim off to us, we will run in closer and take you aboard." "No, no! don't come any nearer; we can all easily reach you," answered Boxall. He did not wish to let the Spaniard know of his brother's death, in case he might be less willing to remain faithful to us. The mutineers, as well as the other people, suspected from this conversation what we were about to do, and also from seeing that the raft did not come nearer. It struck me that, since the poor boatswain was dead, we ought to invite the carpenter to accompany us. Boxall agreed with me; I therefore asked him in a low voice if he could swim, and was willing to try and get on board the small raft. "I cannot swim," he answered; "and if I could, I would not desert these poor people who are trusting to me, for the mutineers would very soon put them to death. But as you are not bound to remain, I will help you to escape." Thanking him heartily, I said that we would leap overboard suddenly, in order that no one might attempt to stop us. We were all very sorry to leave the carpenter, for we could not help fearing that when we should be gone the mutineers would attack him, and in all probability treat him as they had done the boatswain. We were still talking to him, when once more the ruffians at the other end of the raft shouted out that they must have water and provisions served out to them immediately. "Ask them to wait patiently till the evening, and say that you will then do as they wish; you will have fewer mouths to feed by that time." I little thought at the moment how truly I spoke; for scarcely had the carpenter uttered the words when the mutineers rose in a body, and, drawing their knives, made a desperate rush at us. We had only time to spring to our feet and defend ourselves. Though we might have leaped overboard and escaped, we felt that it would be cowardly to desert the carpenter and those who sided with him. As it was, three of the unfortunate people who remained neutral, and were without weapons to defend themselves, being nearest to the savages, were stabbed before we could help them. We fought with the greatest desperation. Boxall cut down one of the fellows, and the carpenter and I wounded two others. Still they came on, as if resolved to overpower us. I observed, also, that Ben was near enough to see what was taking place, and was hoisting his sail, unable to resist his desire to come to our assistance. Should he come near enough to enable any of the people on our raft to leap on to his, I felt sure that our chance of escape would be lost. "Are we bound to sacrifice our lives for these people?" I asked Boxall. "Not when we have lost all hope of assisting them," he answered. "Ask the carpenter again if he will accompany us." I was on the point of putting the question, when the ruffians--who seemed resolved on his destruction, believing that then they could have everything their own way--made a desperate rush at him. He cut down one of them, and would have treated the others in the same way, when his foot slipped, and he fell into an opening between the spars. They immediately, before he could regain his feet, threw themselves upon him, and plunged their knives into his body. "It is useless further to contend with the villains. Now is our time!" cried Boxall; and driving back the fellows who were attacking us, we made our way to the side of the raft. "Now, Halliday, leap!" shouted Boxall, while he kept those who were attempting to stop us at bay. Halliday plunged into the water, letting go his axe as he did so, and struck out towards Ben's raft. "Keep hold of your sword, Charlie," said Boxall; "I will defend you from these fellows." I did as he advised me; and putting the sword in my mouth, where I held it fast between my teeth, I leaped into the water, and struck out with all my might towards the small raft. With a sweep of his weapon my brave friend drove back the ruffians, who had now turned their fury on him, and were pressing him hard; then springing overboard, he followed close at my heels. Happily, none of the savages could swim,--or, at all events, they dared not trust themselves in the water, fearing that if they did so Boxall might have attacked them with his sword; though some, in their rage, threw large pieces of wood and other articles, which came very near us; and one of the most furious flung his knife, which happily passed between Boxall's legs. Shrieks, cries, and shouts for us to come back, were uttered by our enemies, with threats of vengeance; but these, of course, only made us strike out the faster. Ben and his companion, in spite of the warning we had given them, had hoisted their sail, and urging on the raft at the same time with a couple of oars, were approaching us rapidly. "Shorten sail!" cried Boxall; "don't come nearer; we can easily reach you." Ben obeyed; and we had the satisfaction of seeing Halliday--who, having no weapon in his mouth, had kept well ahead of us--helped on to the raft. Just then Ben cast a look of dismay towards us. "Strike with all your might, and splash with your feet! Make haste! make haste!" he shouted frantically. At the same time seizing a lump of wood, he flung it into the water on one side of us; while he called to his companion, who had been steering the raft, to put in his oar to help us. The thought of the cause of his excitement flashed into my mind: he had seen close to us a huge shark, which he dreaded every instant would seize our legs. I had, I may say, less fear for myself than for Boxall, who was a little behind me; and I had made but a few more strokes when Ben and the Spaniard seized me by the hands, almost jerking off my arms as they hoisted me on board. The moment my feet were on the raft, my first impulse was to take my sword in my hand, ready to attack the shark should it approach. In a few seconds, greatly to my relief, I saw Boxall hauled up likewise. Scarcely were his feet out of the water when the hideous monster made a dash at the raft, his jaws closing on a projecting part of it, which trembled with the blow. A stroke which I dealt with right good will at its throat,--for a moment exposed to me as it turned on its back to bite,--made it relinquish its hold; and it darted away. Frail as was the structure on which we now found ourselves, we felt in comparative safety; but the impulse which had been given to the raft before the sail was lowered sent it dangerously near the big one. Judging from the attitudes of the people on it, we could make out that several were preparing to swim off to us; with the intention, in all likelihood, of making us prisoners, and taking possession of the provisions and water on the raft. On this Boxall called to Ben to work one of the oars, and Halliday and I assisted the Spaniard at the other. While we did our utmost to increase our distance from those whom we were now compelled to look upon as our enemies, they were all shouting and shrieking; some ordering us to come back, others entreating us not to leave them. As we had to pull against the wind, we made but slow progress; and at length three of the boldest of the mutineers, urged by their companions,--probably because they were good swimmers,--leaped into the sea with their knives in their mouths, and made towards us. The attempt was a mad one, as with our swords and axes we could easily have prevented them from getting on our raft. As they evidently had not seen the monster shark which had so nearly caught us, I shouted to them, telling them of their danger, and advising them to go back; but, believing that it was merely to prevent them from attacking us, they disregarded my warning. On they came, swimming with long powerful strokes, and threatened quickly to overtake us. Unwilling to injure them, we continued to row away as fast as we could--now and then turning our heads to watch them. They had got about half-way when a piercing shriek rent the air, and one of them, throwing up his arms, disappeared beneath the surface: a shark had seized him. His companions, seeing what had happened, turned round and endeavoured to regain the raft. We watched them anxiously, for we had no desire for their destruction, and gladly would we have saved them if we could. They had got some way back, and we hoped that they would succeed in reaching the raft; but when about a dozen fathoms from it, another huge shark rose to the surface, and dragged down a second shrieking victim. The third swam on frantically, crying out to his companions for assistance. They stretched out their arms to him, and we were thankful to see that he at length gained the raft in safety. What the fate of those miserable wretches would be, with no one to command them, to maintain discipline, or to direct them how to gain the land, we dared not think. As for ourselves, we felt in comparative safety on our small but well-constructed raft. Boxall consulted with Ben whether we could take off any of the unfortunate people; but the latter was strongly opposed to the attempt being made. "In the first place, it would be impossible to get off those we might select," said Ben. "And then," he added, "this craft carries us very well in smooth water; but should it come on to blow, and a heavy sea get up, it's more than she would do if we had half-a-dozen more people on board. Then, you see, we have water and provisions for ourselves; but we should be on short commons if we had more people to consume it." Ben's arguments prevailed; and though we felt sad at the thought of having to leave so many people to almost certain destruction, yet we could do no more. The wind had now completely fallen, and as Ben and his companion, as well as ourselves, had been awake all the previous night, we felt too weary to continue working the oars. We were, also, both hungry and thirsty, though we had hitherto been too much excited to think about it. Halliday was, as usual, the first to cry out. "Of course, we will get some food for you, sir. I forgot how sharp set you must have been," said Ben; "but as we have no galley aboard this craft of ours, you must be content to eat your supper raw." "We shall be content to eat anything we can get our teeth into," cried Halliday. "Oh, do give me a cup of water, as we had only a few thimblefuls on board the big raft." Ben quickly drew a small-sized cupful from one of several casks ranged round the raft. "I should like to serve out more, gentlemen; but Mr Boxall will agree with me that it's necessary to be careful, as our stock is but small, and we shall not get more till we reach the shore--and perhaps not even then." Ben had secured some flour, which he rolled up into small balls. We ate these thankfully, with some salt fish, from which they assisted to take off the saltness. We made a better meal than we had enjoyed since we left the ship; but I observed that neither Ben nor his companion ate anything. Night now came on. The ocean was as calm as a mirror, and the stare came forth from the cloudless sky and shone down upon us, their soft light tending greatly to tranquillise our spirits. One of us kept watch at a time, while the rest lay down, with the sail as an awning, on the planks with which Ben had formed a raised deck to the raft. We could dimly distinguish the large raft in the distance; while voices, borne over the tranquil ocean with peculiar distinctness, reached our ears, though I could not make out what was said. Again there came shrieks and cries, then all was quiet. Once more loud voices--as if the people were holding a violent debate, or were fiercely disputing--reached us. After all was quiet, I lay down and slept as soundly as I had ever done in my life. CHAPTER FIVE. A FRIGHTFUL ENCOUNTER WITH SHARKS--A CHASE, AND AN ESCAPE--LAND! LAND!--BREAKERS AHEAD. I was aroused by a cry from one of my companions; and, sitting up, I saw a small raft with four men on it approaching from the direction of the large one. I at once knew that it must have been formed by them during the night, for the purpose of trying to overtake us. The men were urging it on with frantic efforts, evidently resolved to board us; so we got out our oars, and began to row away to keep ahead of them. Day was just breaking. They probably had wished to surprise us during the darkness of night, but had been unable to finish their raft in time. We were, it must be understood, to the eastward of them, and a somewhat stiffish breeze had just got up, blowing from off the shore, which, although the water remained pretty calm, impeded our progress,--for our raft, though strongly put together, and able to contend with a heavy sea, was deep in the water, and could not be impelled by rowing at much speed. If overtaken, we must expect, we knew, a fearful struggle; for though we outnumbered those who were approaching, four desperate men, all armed, might overpower us, as we possessed no missiles, not even a boarding-pike or boat-hook with which to drive them off--nor could we prevent them from getting alongside, or commencing the fight till their feet were actually on our raft. On they came, uttering fearful oaths. "They have probably attacked the spirit-cask, and in their drunken fury are indifferent to consequences," observed Boxall. "It will be madness to show them the slightest mercy if they get up with us." While we rowed away with all our might, I could not help frequently turning my head to watch their progress. They had, I should have said, stepped a mast on their raft, but had no sail; indeed, they could not have used it had they possessed one. This was another sign of the haste in which they must have embarked. Their raft was also, it was evident, carelessly put together; and as it drew nearer we saw that the men could with difficulty keep their feet on it--for the wind by this time having caused the sea to get up slightly, it rocked from side to side. They were within half a cable's length of us, when the feet of one of the men slipped, and overboard he fell. His companions, not seeing him, continued to row on. He shrieked to them to stop; the man next to him was stooping down, holding out his hands to haul him in, when suddenly he too was drawn into the water. Piercing cries sounded in our ears. "See, see," exclaimed Ben; "the sharks have got them!" In an instant they had disappeared, while their companions looked on horror-struck. The next moment a huge shark rose to the surface. One of the men struck it with his oar, which was immediately torn from his grasp; and directly afterwards another shark darted at him. He seized his axe, and, holding on to the mast, attempted to defend himself, while the remaining man continued to row as desperately as before. We would gladly even then have saved the wretched men, but we were unable to do anything to help them. There must have been half-a-dozen sharks or more surrounding the raft, one after the other attacking the frail structure, and threatening every instant to capsize it. In vain the man on the fore-part of the raft attempted to turn it round; again and again the savage creatures assailed it; and at length one, more ferocious than its companions, threw itself upon the raft, and over it went--the two unhappy beings instantly becoming the prey of the monsters. We turned our eyes away from the sight, not without a dread that we might ere long be attacked in the same way. We had, however, the advantage of a strong raft, considerably higher out of the water than the other; and thus we had less reason to fear that the sharks would succeed in upsetting it. "It serves the fellows right," observed Ben; "though, villains as they were, I could have wished them a better fate." Wearied with our exertions, and as there was no immediate necessity for rowing--seeing we could not hope to reach the shore until a breeze got up in our favour--we put in our oars to rest. "Of course, Mr Boxall, you will take command of the raft," said Ben, touching his hat; "and maybe you will think fit to pipe to breakfast, as, I dare say, Mr Blore and Mr Halliday are getting hungry again." "That I will, very gladly," said Boxall; "and I will try, at all events, to do my best for all hands." "Hungry! I should think I am," exclaimed Halliday. We had some more fish, with some biscuit,--which, though soaked in salt water, afforded nourishment. The fish we could eat raw better than some salt pork which Ben told me he had on board. Although our food was not palatable, we had not much apprehension of starving. We were chiefly anxious about water, of which our supply was very small; and we could not help being struck by Ben's fidelity in coming to look for us, knowing, as he must, that we should consume so much of the precious liquid, which was little more than sufficient for himself and his companion. The day wore on, and still no breeze got up. "I wish that we had had an oar apiece, as we might then have had better hopes of making progress with the raft towards the shore," I observed. Halliday, however, declared that he thought we were pretty well off as we were,--as it would be a pity to exert ourselves, and to find that after all it was of no use; for a strong breeze from the shore would send us back in an hour the distance we had made good during a day's labour. "Still, if every day we make some progress, when the breeze does come from the westward we shall be so much nearer the shore," observed Boxall. "Therefore we ought, while we have strength, to do our best to urge on our raft." Though we were all agreed as to the wisdom of this, yet the sun came down with such strength on our heads that we had little inclination to exert ourselves. We had also hopes that, when the breeze did get up, a sail might come near us. This, perhaps, made us exert ourselves less than we should otherwise have done. The large raft, I should have said, was still in sight; and, looking through my telescope, I could see the people moving about on it,-- though, as far as I could judge, there were fewer than there had been when we left it. What had become of the others? Too probably many had been killed by the ruffianly mutineers; and some, having succumbed to hunger and thirst, had been thrown overboard. As the day wore on, we could not help acknowledging that we felt weaker than we had been, while a strong inclination to sleep overpowered us. So, while we waited anxiously for a breeze, we spent some hours sleeping under the sail,--persuading ourselves that we should be better able to row during the cool hours of night, when we determined to set manfully to work. I may venture to say, though I have not before taken notice of it, that a feeling of compassion made us unwilling to desert altogether the unfortunate people still on the raft until, for our own safety, we were compelled to do so. Before long, it was but too probable, their numbers would be greatly diminished. Already six of the mutineers had lost their lives, and their fate would, we hoped, be a warning to the others; perhaps, too, the better disposed people might gain the upper hand. "Whether we can venture to take them off now, is a question," observed Boxall; "but we may possibly be able to reach the shore and gain assistance for them: and it would certainly tend to prevent them giving way to despair, could we, before we leave the neighbourhood, tell them of our intentions." Halliday and I acquiesced in this; Ben was doubtful. "After the spirit they have shown, I am afraid it would be of no use, sir," he observed. "They are not to be dealt with like Englishmen; and if we go near them, they will only try to get hold of our raft. I will ask Jose what he thinks." The Spaniard shook his head. "They will not believe us, senor," he answered. "Our officers having deserted them, they will not believe that a party of foreigners can intend to treat them with better faith. As they have killed my poor brother, one of the best of men, so they will try to kill us." I could not help thinking that there was much force in what Jose said; still, until a breeze should get up, we agreed to remain where we were. Another day came to a close. Occasionally we could see the triangular fins of sharks gliding round the raft, their wicked eyes turned up towards us; but they made no attempt to attack us. After supper we again held a discussion as to what was best to be done. At last compassion gained the day, and we agreed to approach the large raft sufficiently near to hail the people, and to tell them that we would, if possible, send them assistance. "You will do so at great risk," said Jose. "I warn you of that; but, at the same time, I will not be the one to oppose your kind intentions towards my countrymen." We accordingly took our oars and began slowly to approach the large raft. As we drew near, we could hear the voices of the people on it; some shouting in hoarse tones, others shrieking and crying out, as if imploring mercy. "It is useless to go on, senors," said Jose. "They will not listen to reason." Still, impelled by a feeling superadded to that of the compassion which chiefly influenced us, and for which I can scarcely now account,-- resembling that which is said to induce birds or other animals to hurry forward into the open mouth of the serpent,--we continued to row towards the fatal raft. Perhaps, too, Boxall, who was the person to order us to stop, still hoped that our presence, and the promise we were about to give, might induce the people to remain quiet till assistance could reach them. At length we got near enough to hail; but it was some time before we could make our voices heard, or the uproar ceased. I desired Jose to tell them what we intended doing. "Come nearer, come nearer," was the answer. "Give us a little water and a little food; and if you will take two of our number,--only two,--who are suffering greatly, it will show us that you are in earnest, and that you wish to save our lives." "Don't trust them, don't trust them, senor," cried Jose, in an agony of fear. "They don't mean what they say. If once we get within their power, they will detain us." I told Boxall what Jose said. He still hesitated, however. Just then I felt the wind fan my cheek. "Here comes a breeze from the westward," shouted Ben. "We have given our message," I observed to Boxall; "and I cannot help thinking that Jose is right. We must not forget the sample they have given us of their feelings." "I am afraid it must be so," said Boxall with a sigh. "For our own safety, we must make for the shore without further delay. Hoist the sail, Ben. I will take the steering-oar; Jose can manage the bow oar; and you, Halliday, and Charlie can tend the halyards and sheet." We assisted Ben to hoist the sail, which was somewhat large for the raft, except under a very light wind. Before the sail was set, however, the breeze had greatly increased, and scarcely had we brought the sheet aft when over went the mast, carried off at the heel. We of course set to work to get in the sail, while Ben, with an axe, endeavoured to cut out the broken heel from the step, in which he had fixed it. This took some time, as the raft was rocking about far more than it had hitherto done, and he could not work quickly in the darkness. Having at length succeeded, he had next to chop the heel of the mast to the proper size to fit the step. He was working away as rapidly as possible, and we were stooping down to assist him, when Jose shouted out, "They are coming, they are coming!" Looking round, we observed that the sail of the big raft was hoisted, and that she was coming towards us faster than we should have supposed it was possible for her to move. In little more than a minute she might be up with us; while the wild shouts and execrations of the miscreants who were on the raft rang in our ears, and showed us what he had to expect from them. Ben worked away as composedly but as rapidly as he could, while we were engaged in taking a reef in the sail. "It's done," cried Ben at last; and lifting the mast, we found, to our great satisfaction, that the heel fitted into the step. We immediately set up four stays. "Be smart now," cried Boxall. "Hoist away with the sail." He had good reason to give the order, for, as we looked round, we saw the head of the big raft with several people on it, some rowing to give it more impetus, while one stood with a boat-hook ready to catch hold of us. In another instant the fellow might have hooked on, or have run the point of it into the back of Boxall, who had again resumed the steering-oar; but, hoisting away with all our might, we got the sail up, and while Ben was making fast the halyards Halliday and I carried the sheet aft. Over the now foaming sea we flew, while the big raft followed close astern,--those on it uttering the most fearful oaths and execrations as they found themselves disappointed in their project of seizing us. Our light raft went over the water far more rapidly than theirs, and we soon distanced them; but for long their shrieks and cries sounded in our ears. "I thought, sir, that they intended treachery," observed Jose to me; "and we may be thankful that we escaped them." I agreed with him; at the same time, having escaped, we had the satisfactory reflection that we would have done our best to have rendered them assistance, and that we could not blame ourselves for deserting our fellow-creatures. What would now be their fate, it was not difficult to say. They might possibly reach the shore; but the large raft, hurriedly put together, was but ill calculated to resist the now fast rising sea, and we could not but fear that many of the unfortunate wretches would speedily be washed off it. Our little raft was tolerably strong, but the way the pieces of which it was constructed worked, gave us a notion what would be the fate of theirs. We were tossed fearfully about, and had to run now to one side, now to the other, to balance it as it was lifted by the seas. Boxall kept his seat on a cask, endeavouring to steer it, but he had at length to call me to his assistance, while Ben helped Jose. On and on we flew. As the clouds gathered in the sky the night grew darker and darker, and we soon lost sight of the large raft, while the voices of those on it no longer reached our ears. I asked Boxall what he thought would happen to the miserable people. "Too probably they have been washed off the raft, or it has been capsized, by this time," he answered. "I confess, I do not like to think of what must have been their fate." Our thoughts were now turned towards what might happen to ourselves. We had no means of judging how far off we were from the coast, but I calculated that, as we had not seen it, we could not be within fifteen miles or so of it--an opinion which I expressed to Boxall. "You forget that, low down as we are in the water, our horizon is very circumscribed; while for miles together, on this part of the African coast, the sandy shore rises but a few feet above the level of the sea," he answered. "It may therefore be much nearer, than we suppose. We must, at all events, keep a good look-out; although, with the wind blowing strong, and running as we are directly before it, we shall have no choice where to land, and shall have to make good our footing on the dry land as best we can." We were silent for some time; indeed, we had enough to do to steer the raft. "Keep a bright look-out, Ben," cried Boxall. "Do you see anything of the land?" "No, sir," answered Ben, somewhat surprised; for he supposed, as I had done, that we were still a long way off. "I don't expect to see it for the next three or four hours." "We may reach it sooner than you fancy," said Boxall. "Very glad to hear that, sir," answered Ben; "for though I am very well satisfied with this craft of ours, I would sooner feel my feet on dry land than aboard of her, if it should come on to blow much harder than it does now." I suspect we all felt as Ben did. The sea was fast rising, and as the foaming crests of the tumbling waves came hissing over the raft, we had to hold on tightly to avoid being carried away. But our chief anxiety was about our mast. Should that give way, the raft would be left tossing helplessly amid the seas, and in all probability be washed off. We had, however, stayed it up securely, and we could only hope that it would hold. I now proposed taking another reef in the sail. "No, we will let it stand," said Boxall; "we shall only run a greater risk than we do now of being pooped, should we shorten sail, and if the wind does not increase we shall easily carry it; indeed, by the look of the sky, I have hopes that the weather will not grow worse,--and perhaps by the morning we shall have it calm again." "We may then congratulate ourselves on having had the strong breeze which is sending us along so famously," observed Halliday. "We shall have reason to be thankful to Him who has caused the westerly wind to blow," answered Boxall. "It might have come from the eastward, and we should have been driven still further off the coast--when, if not swamped, we would in all probability die of starvation, did we fail to fall in with a passing vessel." Fully two hours passed by, and still Ben's sharp eyes could not detect the land. We had been steering by the stars, and though they had for some time been obscured, we had reason to believe that the wind had not changed, and therefore, being directly before it, that we had kept the same course. I asked Boxall how fast he thought we were going through the water. "Considering the breeze we have got, I should say five or six knots an hour," he answered. "Beg pardon, sir," said Ben, who overheard him; "you forget, I dare say, that this raft does not sail like a boat. I suspect that we don't get much more than three or four knots out of her." "I believe you are right, Ben," answered Boxall. "In that case, it will take us an hour or so more than I calculated on to gain the shore. However, it may be to our advantage, for it will be far safer to land when it is calm than with so strong a breeze as is now blowing. At all events, unless the wind changes, we shall reach the shore at last." Another hour went by. According to Boxall's predictions, the weather was improving. The dark clouds which had obscured the sky cleared away, and the stars shone forth brightly as before; still the wind did not decrease, and the seas kept tumbling, foaming, and hissing around us as before. More than once we looked astern, thinking it possible that the large raft might be again within sight; but no sign of her could be seen. By degrees we had got accustomed to the tossing and the occasional breaking of the seas over us, and even had we expected to perform a much longer voyage we should not have complained; indeed, it now seems surprising to me how little concerned we all appeared to be. We were running much as we had been doing for the last three hours, when Ben exclaimed, "Land! land!"--and directly afterwards, "Breakers ahead!" We all looked out under the sail at what appeared to be the dark outline of a hilly country,--it seemed strange that we had not seen it before,-- while the intervening line of white foaming breakers stretched out parallel with the coast, and threatened our destruction before we could reach it. "Do you see any opening through which we may pass, Ben?" asked Boxall. "No, sir; none at all," answered Ben. "All we can do is to hold fast to the raft, and pray that we may be earned through the breakers." "Had we not better lower the sail, then, and keep the raft off till daylight?" I asked. "We may lower the sail; but all the strength we possess could not keep us out of the breakers," answered Boxall. "We had better do as Ben suggests--stand on, and hope to be carried safe through them. Hold fast, all of you!" cried Boxall; "here we are close upon them." As he spoke, we saw the waters hissing and foaming and dancing up to a prodigious height, as it appeared, directly before us, while the land rose still more distinctly behind them. The next instant we were in their midst. "Hold fast! hold fast!" again shouted Boxall, "and we shall be carried safely through." The breakers did not appear so high as they had done a little way off, and we all had hopes that Boxall's predictions would prove correct. But we had not much time for thinking; my head whirled and I felt giddy as I looked at the tumbling, foaming waters surrounding us. The raft lifted on the top of a sea, and came down with a fearful crash on a rock; and I felt myself torn from the grasp I had of the raft, and carried far away from it. I looked for my companions, and distinguished Halliday struggling near me. Striking out, I caught hold of him and urged him to endeavour to reach the shore, which appeared at no great distance before us. I then shouted to the rest of my companions, and was thankful to hear Boxall's voice. "Strike out ahead; we have not far to swim," he answered, and presently he was close up to us. Neither Ben nor Jose, however, replied to our shouts; but self-preservation compelled us to try and make the best of our way to the shore, without attempting to look for them. We had not struck out far when I felt my feet touch something. For an instant the horrid thought occurred to me that it might be a shark; but I retained my presence of mind,--and directly afterwards, greatly to my astonishment, I felt my feet touching the ground. I told my companions; and soon we all found ourselves standing, with the water scarcely up to our armpits. Still, though we distinctly saw the shore, it appeared to be a long way off. We now stopped to look around us. Not far-off, on one side, rose a rock to a considerable height, as it seemed, above the water. Believing that we were on a sand-bank, and that we might possibly have to swim a considerable distance, we agreed to make for the rock and rest on it till daylight. Holding each other's hands, we accordingly waded on, when suddenly we found that we had reached the rock,--on which we without difficulty climbed. The upper part of it, which was much lower than we expected, was perfectly dry; showing that the sea, in moderate weather, did not break over it. Boxall was of opinion that we had struck on a reef which extended parallel with the coast, and broke the force of the waves, and that we were in an intervening lagoon,--so that should it be now low water, which he thought probable, we could have no difficulty in reaching the shore. We again shouted to Ben and Jose, but no reply came; and fearing that they must have been lost, we gave up calling to them and sat down. The wind fell soon afterwards, and wet through as we were, by sheltering ourselves in a crevice of the rock we did not suffer much from the cold. After waiting for some time, we found that the tide was ebbing. "If we wait till the morning we shall have high-water again; and in my opinion we shall be wise to try and get on shore at once," said Boxall. Halliday and I agreed with him; for, our strength being restored, we were anxious to find ourselves safe on dry ground. We could not, however, fail to grieve for the loss of Ben, who had been so faithful to us; and also for his companion, Jose, who seemed a truly honest fellow. "Now," said Boxall, "let us start." "We are ready," answered Halliday; and he and I following Boxall's example by slipping off the rock, found ourselves in water scarcely up to our middle and once more began to wade towards the shore. CHAPTER SIX. A DECEPTIVE COAST--WHAT IS IT?--OUR DISAPPOINTMENT--A STRANGE APPARITION. An attempt to cross an unknown expanse of water, such as seemed the lagoon stretching out before us, was a hazardous experiment. Still, the water was calm, and we concluded that it was shallow, so that we hoped by perseverance to gain the dry land at last. There was no time to be lost, however, as the tide might soon rise again, and make the undertaking more difficult. I felt like a person in a dream as we waded on, surrounded on all sides by water, over which hung a peculiar silvery mist, curiously deceiving the senses,--though perhaps I was not aware of it at the time. The appearance of the shore even seemed changed. It looked altogether very different from what we expected to find it. Instead of a low sandy beach, with here and there hillocks of sand, it appeared to rise to a considerable height, with hills and intervening valleys, and lofty rocks springing directly out of the water. "We must have been further to the south than we supposed," I observed to Boxall. "Surely we must be near the French settlements. The shore before us cannot be on the border of the great Desert of Sahara." "I cannot make it out," he answered. "Still I am pretty certain as to our latitude. The country, however, is but little known, and we may have been thrown on a more fertile region than was supposed to exist." "I hope, then, that we shall be able to find some food," said Halliday; "I am terribly hungry and thirsty. Don't you think that we may by chance have got to the mouth of a river, and so may soon find fresh water?" "This, at all events, is salt enough," said Boxall, lifting a handful to his lips. "No; it is merely a lagoon filled by the ocean." We waded on and on, but the shore appeared no nearer. "We may have a fearfully long way to swim, should the water grow deeper," observed Halliday. "If it does, we can easily return to the rock and wait till the low tide during daylight, when we shall be better able to judge what course to take," I observed. As I said this I turned round to look at the rock, and to see how far we were from it, when what was my astonishment to be unable to distinguish it! Behind us the lagoon appeared to stretch out to an illimitable distance, without a single object rising above the surface. To attempt to return would have been madness, as we should certainly have lost our way; we therefore could do nothing else than push boldly forward. The sand below our feet was smooth and even, but walking in water almost up to our middle was fatiguing work, and we made but slow progress. Still on and on we went, when suddenly we saw before us a high conical hill, and directly afterwards a bright light appeared beyond it. Presently the upper circle of the full moon rose behind the hill, though it seemed six times the size of any moon I ever saw; indeed, I could scarcely believe that it was the moon. "I suppose that the African moons are much larger than those of any other part of the world. At all events, that is a whopper," exclaimed Halliday, without considering what he was saying. "It will give us light to see our way," observed Boxall, "and we should be thankful for it. We had better keep to our right, however, where the shore seems somewhat lower." He was turning aside, and I was about to follow him, when Halliday exclaimed-- "Look! look! what can that terrific creature be?" We turned our eyes towards the summit of the hill, and to our horror saw an enormous animal with arched back and glaring eyes--so we pictured it--gazing down upon us, seemingly prepared to make a terrific leap right down on our heads. Such a creature I had never even read of; for it looked far larger than any ordinary elephant, and might have swallowed us all at a gulp. "What is to be done?" cried Halliday. "If we run, it will certainly be after us." "We cannot run, at all events," said Boxall with less anxiety in his tone than I should have supposed possible, though I knew him to be a dauntless fellow. "We will keep to our right, as I proposed, and perhaps the monster won't follow us after all. It is not likely to come into the water to get at us." We kept away to our right, and found the water growing shallower and shallower. It was now but a little above our knees. I confess that I turned my head very frequently, to see whether the monster was coming after us. There it stood, however, in the same attitude as before-- which was some comfort, as it thus showed no inclination to act as we had dreaded. "What can it be?" I asked of Boxall. "A wild beast, certainly," he answered. "I might have supposed it a part of the rock, or some gigantic figure hewn out of it, but it is too much like a real creature for that; and I begin to think that the mist which hangs over the water must have given it its supernatural magnitude. I would have said, from its shape, that it was a hyena or jackal, but neither the one nor the other approaches to anything like it in size." "Whatever it was or is, it has disappeared," I exclaimed; for on looking round once more, the monster was no longer to be seen on the top of the hill. The water was now but a very little way above our knees, while the ascent was much steeper than it had been. "I only hope we shan't see the creature again on shore," said Halliday. "We have not much further to go to reach it," observed Boxall. The last few yards we had taken we had rapidly shoaled the water. "Thank Heaven, we are ashore at last!" he added, as the light surf which rolled up slowly went hissing back and left our feet uncovered. A few paces more, and we were standing on dry sand. "Halloa! what has become of the mountains?" exclaimed Halliday. "I thought we were going to land on a rocky country, but I see nothing but sand-hills around us." Such indeed was the case. As far as our eyes could reach, we could discern, in the moonlight, only a succession of sand-hills, rising but a few feet above the rest of the country. "I suspected that we should find that to be the case," observed Boxall. "If we were to measure the rock on the top of which we saw the monster standing, we should find that the creature's dimensions were not quite so gigantic as we supposed. However, here we are talking away, and neglecting to return thanks for our deliverance from the dangers we have gone through, and forgetting all about our unfortunate companions." I felt rebuked by Boxall's remark, and so, I dare say, did Halliday. We all knelt down, and I know that I tried to return hearty thanks for our preservation; but my mind was still in a confused state, thinking of Ben, and our long wade, and the monster which we had seen, and of what might be our future fate. My strength, indeed, was fast failing me; and though I was generally stronger than Halliday, I was the first to sink down on the sand. He imitated me, and Boxall soon afterwards sat down beside us. We none of us felt much inclined to speak; yet we were afraid to go to sleep, when we recollected the creature we had seen,-- which, though it might not be of extraordinary size, would, if it were a hyena, prove an ugly customer should it take us unawares. Otherwise, we had no reason to dread it. Such creatures, indeed, seldom attack human beings unless first assailed, as they five on carrion, and act a useful part as scavengers. Wet through as we were, the night air chilled us to the bones; but we were too much exhausted to feel inclined to move about and try and warm ourselves. We sat for some time gazing on the wild, desolate scene around us, lighted up by the rays of the full moon, which seemed to increase its aspect of dreariness. On three sides appeared a succession of sand-hills, one beyond another; while before us was seen the lagoon across which we had waded, with the tumbling seas, on the crests of which the moonbeams played, breaking on the reef in the distance. Every instant the water in front of us became more and more agitated, as the rising tide flowed over the reef; and we could not but be thankful that we had crossed the lagoon when we did, as later the undertaking would have been far more difficult, if not impossible, and we should probably have been engulfed by the foaming waters, which now with greater and greater violence rolled up on the shore. Our thoughts naturally turned to the future. How were we to support life in this dreary region? or, supposing it to be inhabited, what would be the character of, and disposition shown towards us by, the people we might encounter? I had read of the Arabs of the Desert, and of their generous hospitality to strangers, and I had hopes that such might be the people we should find. I mentioned this to my companions. "Poets and romance--writers may have pictured them as you describe, but I am afraid that we shall find the reality differ greatly from their glowing accounts," observed Boxall. "My notion is that they are a set of utter barbarians, who will rob us of everything we possess, and only feed us for the sake of keeping us alive to work for them." This was not encouraging, and I could not but hope that Boxall was wrong. "We shall soon find out," said Halliday. "I only wish that in the meantime we had something to eat." "Well, we are better off than poor Ben and Jose, who have lost their lives," I said. "I don't think we ought altogether to give them up," said Boxall. "Now that we have rested, I propose that we go along the shore and look for them. They may possibly have been carried in a different direction from that which we took. I felt the current, though not very strong, setting to the southward as we crossed; and if they stuck to the raft, or any portion of it, not being aware that they could wade, they would be carried in that direction. I have been thinking the matter over, and believe that they may possibly have escaped." As Boxall founded his opinion on sound grounds, I began to hope that Ben might still be in the land of the living; and as Halliday said he felt strong enough to walk, we set off along the shore. We every now and then shouted out, "Ben Blewett, ahoy! ahoy!" joining our voices to send them to a greater distance. But no answer came. "I am afraid poor Ben must be lost," I said. "He is not within hearing,--or, at all events, we are not within hearing of him; but let us still persevere. Had it not been for him, we should have lost our lives; and we are bound on every account to do our utmost to find him," observed Boxall. We accordingly dragged on our weary feet through the yielding sand. Walking was now excessively fatiguing, as the sea had come up and covered that part of the shore which had been hardened by the constant washing of the water over it. Again we stopped and shouted, "Ben Blewett, ahoy! ahoy!" We waited, hoping against hope that a reply would come. "I am so tired, I must sit down and rest for a few minutes," said Halliday. Boxall and I acknowledged that we felt much in the same condition, so we threw ourselves down on the sand. Scarcely had we lain down when the sound of a voice reached our ears. It seemed to come from a long way off, yet we all felt sure that it was a voice. We accordingly started up, forgetting our fatigue, and trudged on,--the sand seeming to our weary feet softer than ever. We went on for some time, but still we saw no one. We began to fear that we had been mistaken; still we pushed on, and in another minute I saw a dark object in the water, which I took to be a rock, close to the white beach. Directly afterwards I made out a human figure, which appeared to be coming towards us. I had got a little ahead of my companions. I called to them, and we tried to hurry on through the soft sand, which seemed to mock our efforts to advance. "Is that you, Ben?" I shouted. "Ay, ay, sir," was the answer, in a tone which showed that the speaker had but little strength left. We soon reached him. It was indeed Ben himself. "I am thankful to see you, gentlemen," he said. "It's what I little expected, when you disappeared from the raft. But how did you get on shore?" We told him, and then asked how he had escaped. "It's more than I can tell you," he answered. "All I know is, that I found myself floating alone on what remained of the raft, away from the reef, with the mast and sail gone and the oars lost. After some time I was carried again into the breakers, and, clinging on for dear life, though I couldn't tell where I was going, was sent right through them into smooth water. I looked about me, but could see nothing, nor hear any sounds. On I drifted, wondering what would next happen, when at last I was cast on shore,--the raft, which was turned over, being sent by a sea almost on the top of me. One of my feet, as it was, got caught; and if it had not been for the sand under it, my leg would have been broken: indeed, I had to dig it out before I could set myself free. Thinking that the tide might still be rising, and that I should be caught by it, I dragged myself on to the side of a hillock, where I lay down, and must at once have fallen fast asleep. I was at last awoke, I suppose, by your hails; though I first heard them several times in my dreams. I tried to hail in return, but felt my tongue clinging to the roof of my mouth; and it was not till after some time that I could open my eyes, and recollect where I was and what had happened. As soon as I did this, I got up as fast as I was able. And again I say, I am thankful to have found you, gentlemen; that I am." "And we are very glad to have found you, Ben," I answered. "Do you think that poor Jose has escaped?" "I am afraid not, sir," answered Ben. "He could not swim, and he must have been washed off the raft on the outside of the reef." "Have you managed to save any of the provisions?" inquired Halliday. "I am sorry to say, sir, that I am afraid they are all lost. The raft, however, was knocking about so much that I couldn't get hold of it by myself, to see if anything is still fast to it; but now you have come, we will try what we can do." Weary as we were, hunger prompted us to exert ourselves; and approaching the raft, which was heaving up and down in the surf, we got hold of it, after some difficulty, and at the risk of being crushed, and succeeded in dragging it partly up the beach. On examining it, to our infinite satisfaction we found a pork-cask,--which Ben had fastened so securely that it had escaped being carried away. It was, however, almost crushed in two. We examined it eagerly, and found that, though part of the contents had been washed out, several pieces of pork still remained. The water-casks, which we should have been still more thankful to find, had, alas! been completely destroyed. It required all the exertion we were capable of to secure the pork-cask, which we managed to drag out of reach of the water; and though very thirsty, our hunger induced us to eat a portion of the pork raw--which, however, we could with difficulty get down. "Never fear! Chaw, sir, chaw!" cried Ben, as he saw me hesitating about putting a piece between my parched lips. "It will seem dry at first; but go on, and it will slip down easy enough at last, and do you good." I followed his advice, and found that I could get down far more of the raw meat than I could have supposed possible. The wind had in the meantime been increasing, and the surf broke with a loud, sullen roar on the beach. Having eaten as much as we could swallow, we now turned the undamaged side of the cask uppermost, so as to cover its contents; and then, at Boxall's suggestion, we made our way to a spot a short distance off, between some sand-hills, where, pretty well worn out, we threw ourselves down to rest. Though thankful to get back honest Ben, we felt very melancholy at the dreary prospect before us. Strong as he was, he also appeared utterly worn out with his exertions; and, stretched at full length on the sand, he was soon fast asleep. I had rashly undertaken to keep the first watch. "Awake me soon, and I will relieve you," said Boxall. "I am afraid you will not be able to keep your eyes open long." "No fear," I answered. "I will do my best, depend on it; for I have no wish to be earned off by a hyena, or any other wild beast which may chance to visit us." Boxall and Halliday sat with their heads between their knees, and very quickly dropped off. As long as I was able to remain on my legs and walk about, I proved a faithful sentinel; but feeling very weary, I at last sat down, and the natural consequences followed--I fell fast asleep. The howling of the wind among the sand-hills and the ceaseless roar of the surf rather tended to lull my senses than to arouse me from my slumber. I dreamed of the events which had occurred, and fancied that I knew exactly where I was and what was happening. Now I was looking towards the foaming sea, when I observed in the offing a vessel under all sail approaching the coast. Gradually she faded from my view. And now, turning my head, I saw to my dismay a pack of hyenas stealing silently along towards us. I started up, and was thankful to find that the hyenas had disappeared; but, near the spot where I had seen them, my waking sight fell on a strange-looking animal with a long neck, a pointed head, and huge hump on its back, which I at once recognised as a camel. It advanced at a slow pace, not regarding us, and making its way directly to the beach. Though unwilling to wake my companions, I could not help crying out, when Boxall and Halliday started up, though poor Ben remained as fast asleep as ever. "What can that strange monster be?" exclaimed Halliday. At which Boxall, though certainly not in a merry mood, could not help laughing loudly. "Why, a camel, to be sure; coming down to the beach to get a lick of salt, of which most beasts are very fond," he answered. "I wonder if it's a wild one, then," said Halliday; "if it is, we may hamstring it, or kill it in some other way, and it will give us an ample supply of food." "There are no wild camels, that I ever heard of," answered Boxall; "and if we were to kill it, depend on it its owners would make us repent having done so. I suspect they are not far off." The appearance of the camel, as may be supposed, completely aroused us, and we watched it as it stalked down to the sands. "I propose that we catch it, and make it carry us somewhere or other," said Halliday. "Its back is long enough to let us all ride on it: you, Boxall, on the top of the hump, as the post of honour; Ben, astern; and Charlie and I in front." I could not help laughing at Halliday's proposal; Boxall did likewise. "We must catch the beast first, then get it to lie down while we are mounting. And then, should we ever get on its back, seeing that it has no halter, it would certainly carry us--not where we wished to go, but to the tents of its masters; who would probably knock us on the head, or, if mercifully disposed, make slaves of us," observed Boxall. "Then I vote we don't interfere with Mr Camel," said Halliday. "But perhaps, if we were to follow its footsteps, it might lead us to where we could get some fresh water; or, should it go back to its owners, we might have time to reconnoitre them at a distance, and judge whether it would be prudent to trust ourselves in their power." "A very good idea," said Boxall. "If, however, we are to trace its steps, we must wait till daylight; for as it probably walks much faster than we can, we should very likely lose sight of it, and get bewildered among the sand-hills." We were watching the camel as it came towards us, when, either seeing us or scenting us, it stopped short, poking out its head, as if wondering what curious creatures we could be. Then turning round, it stalked leisurely away, and was lost in the gloom. "I hope it won't go and tell its masters--unless they happen to be well-disposed individuals," said Halliday. "I trust that they may prove friendly; and the camel, perhaps, has come to guide us to them." "It seems to me that daylight is breaking," I remarked. "We shall soon know all about the matter, then; only I do wish we could get something to eat," said Halliday. "So do I; but there is no use talking about it," I observed. "I am not much afraid of starving," said Boxall. "We may hope to find oysters, or some other shell-fish, in the lagoon. I am more anxious about water; but even that we may possibly find by digging in the sand." Ben, overcome with fatigue, still slept on, undisturbed by our voices. I agreed with Boxall that he required rest even more than we did, and we therefore determined not to arouse him till daylight. CHAPTER SEVEN. BEN'S DREAM--AN UNPLEASANT DISCOVERY--A SEARCH FOR WATER--FRIENDS OR FOES?--BOXALL'S INGENIOUS MODE OF OBTAINING A LIGHT--OUR COMPANION SPIRITED AWAY. We lay on the ground, watching the stars gradually disappearing in the sky overhead, and still unwilling to awake Ben, who slumbered on, completely overcome by the fatigue he had endured for the last few days. At length the sun, like a huge ball of fire, rose above the region of sand-hills stretching out to the eastward. It was time therefore for us to get up and obtain a supply of pork from the store we had left on the beach, as also to commence a search for water. We called to Ben; who, starting to his feet, rubbed his eyes and looked wildly about him, as if not quite certain where he was. "I mind all about it now," he said, slapping his leg. "But, bless me, how I should like to have snoozed on: for I was dreaming that I was away back in Old England, in my sister Susan's cottage, with the youngsters playing about in front of the porch, and Betsy Dawson--who has promised to marry me when I next get back--just coming in at the door to have a cup of tea and a quiet chat; and I was putting out my hand to take hers, when I found myself clutching a heap of sand." Poor Ben scarcely seemed to be aware that he was speaking aloud, for when he heard our voices he cast a bewildered look at us. We did not laugh at him, however,--that you may depend on. "Well, well, Ben, we must be prepared for a good many trials and disappointments; but I hope that we shall all meet them like men," said Boxall. "Yes, sir, that we will; and I am ready for anything that turns up," said Ben, giving himself a shake. "We want water and we want food, in the first place, I suspect." "The water, I have a notion, we can get by digging, as we did on the sand-bank the other day; and as for food, it's hard if the sea does not give us something to eat, besides the pork," observed Boxall. The hot sun having quickly dried our wet clothes, we felt, as we began to move, in somewhat better spirits. We soon reached the spot where we had left the cask,--being guided to it by the remains of the raft on the beach. Halliday was the most hungry, and ran on first. "Hallo, the cask has been overturned; and what has become of the pork?" he exclaimed, as he began hunting about in the sand. "That monster of a hyena must have been here; and I am afraid the brute has not even left us enough for breakfast." We hurried on, and speedily joined in the search. "Here is a piece, fortunately, jammed between the staves," said Halliday, dragging forth the remnant of a joint of pork. "We may be thankful to get even that," said Boxall. We hunted round in every direction, but a couple of gnawed bones, with scarcely any flesh on them, were the miserable remains of the provision on which we had depended. "There can be no doubt about the hyena being the thief," I observed. "I am very sure of it," said Boxall. "Even had we buried the pork several feet deep, the creature would have dug it up; for the brutes are said sometimes to visit graveyards, and there to disinter human bodies unless carefully covered up with heavy stones." I shuddered, and felt but little inclined to eat the meat which the animal had left us. However, Ben was not so particular, and offered to take the bones as his share--by which arrangement he got a larger amount than either of us. Hunger had compelled us to eat the pork raw; and this having the natural effect of increasing our thirst, we agreed to lose no time in looking for water. The staves of the cask furnished us with tolerable implements for digging; and would serve us also for weapons of defence, in default of better. We fortunately had our knives, and as the wood was hard, we could shape them into wooden swords and sharpen the edges. So we at once began to search for a spot where a little verdure might tempt us to dig. For this purpose we scattered about, agreeing to keep in sight of each other, and the person who first found a likely spot was to wave his stave above his head. The hot sun now getting high in the heavens, his rays beat down on our heads, and made us eager to discover the refreshing fluid. Boxall said he was sure it was to be found along the coast, although he acknowledged that such spots might be miles and miles apart. "However," he observed, "there is nothing like trying." We agreed to go towards the south; one taking the beach, another on his left hand on the summit of the first line of sand-hills, the third further in, and the fourth in a like manner on his left. Ben took the beach, Boxall was next to him, but I was outside of all. It occurred to me that it would be wise not only to look for water, but occasionally to turn my spy-glass to the east in the chance of any natives appearing. I scarcely knew whether or not it would be desirable to fall in with our fellow-creatures, remembering what Boxall had said about the natives; but still I thought that we might trust to the generosity and hospitality of the Arabs, and therefore should have felt no apprehensions had any appeared. As far as my eye could reach, however, with the aid of my spy-glass, wide plains of arid sand, and sand-hills rising one beyond the other, were alone visible. It was a region in which it appeared impossible that human beings could exist. At last I shut up the glass, believing that we were not likely to be molested, and that we must depend on our own exertions for support. My mouth and throat were becoming dreadfully parched, and I would have given everything I possessed for a drop of pure water; but, from the appearance of the country, I now began to despair of finding any. We had gone on for some miles, it seemed to me, when I heard Halliday give a shout, and turning my head I saw Boxall waving his stave. I hurried after Halliday, who was making towards him. There was a slight depression in the ground, with a little verdure. Boxall had already begun digging, and we all joined with an ardour inspired by the parched state of our tongues. We exchanged but few words; indeed, we could speak but with difficulty. The staves served very well the purpose of shovels; and remembering that by perseverance we had before reached water, we dug on and on, believing that our labour would not be in vain. We had got down fully four feet, and yet no water appeared. "Dig away," cried Boxall; "even if we have to go two or three feet deeper, we need not despair." At last our efforts were rewarded by the appearance of moisture, and after we had thrown out more of the sand a whitish fluid flowed into the hole. On tasting it we found that it was drinkable, though somewhat bitter and brackish. "I have no doubt that it is wholesome, as the water which the Arabs dig for in their journeys is described in the books I have read as exactly like this," observed Boxall. So thirsty were we that we did not allow it to settle, when it would probably have become more limpid. But we all felt greatly refreshed, and thankful that we had not been thrown on this desert region to perish with thirst. Fatigued with our previous walk, we now sat down to rest. I turned my eyes in the direction of the reef,--which, however, was not visible,-- and saw Ben looking in the same quarter. "I wonder if we could repair the raft, and make our way to one of the settlements to the southward," I said. "We might land if we saw bad weather coming on; and we should not, at all events, be worse off than we now are." "That's just what I have been thinking about, sir," observed Ben. "But then, do you see, we should not have fresh water, and we should have nothing to eat; and besides, I don't know whether there is enough of the raft remaining to make it fit for use--though, to be sure, we might pick up some more pieces along the beach." "We need not give the matter much thought," said Boxall. "We are several hundred miles from the nearest settlement, and the want of fresh water alone would make the voyage impossible, even should we succeed in putting our raft to rights. All we can do is to push boldly on to the southward; and if we can obtain oysters or anything else for food, and retain our health, we may hope, with God's mercy, to succeed." We were, it must be understood, seated on a sandy mound facing the sea, the light air coming from which enabled us to bear the heat of the sun. As we were about to get up and proceed on our journey, I caught sight of some objects moving among the sand-hills in the far distance. I told my companions, who threw themselves down on the ground; while, unslinging my telescope, I turned it towards the moving objects, which I at once made out to be two camels with riders on their backs. The strangers drew nearer, and stopping, looked about them. "I am afraid their quick eyes have caught sight of the gold on our caps or the brass on my spy-glass," I observed. "What are we to do?" "Remain perfectly quiet," answered Boxall. "We might possibly improve our condition by joining them, but it might become very much worse. We can now calculate pretty well what we shall have to go through; but if we place ourselves in their power, we may be ill-treated, or compelled to labour for them, if we are not murdered." "Well, by all means let us keep out of their power. I for one have no wish to be reduced to slavery," said Halliday. "And I am sure _I_ don't want to work for these blackamoors," observed Ben. The general feeling, therefore, being against putting ourselves in the power of the Arabs, and thinking we could hold out, we remained perfectly still, completely concealed by the side of the bank. The strangers continued to approach, and it appeared very probable that we should be discovered. We lay quiet, however, and watched them; and at length, satisfied that they were mistaken, they continued their route to the southward, along the line of sand-hills which ran parallel with the coast. We watched them as long as they were in sight, and then descending to the sea-shore, the tide being out, continued our march over the hard sand. We had allowed the strangers to get so far ahead that we were not likely again to fall in with them. "It strikes me, sir, that while the water is low we ought to be looking out for some oysters or mussels, or we shall have nothing to eat when dinner-time comes," observed Ben to Boxall. "I see some rocks on ahead where we are very likely to find them." "You are right, Ben," answered Boxall. "I ought to have thought of that myself, but I was considering how we should meet the Arabs should we again fall in with them, or what bribe we could offer to induce them to conduct us either to Magador in Morocco, the nearest place where we shall find an English consul, or else to Saint Louis, a French settlement in the south, which is, I conceive, considerably nearer. It is a pretty long march either way,--half the width of the great Desert of Sahara, north and south." "I can, at all events, make myself understood, and I will say whatever you advise," I observed. "My opinion is, that on all occasions we should speak the truth," observed Boxall. "We must therefore say that we are British officers, wrecked on the coast, and that, if they will conduct us to any place from whence we can communicate with our friends, we will reward them handsomely." To all which, of course, Halliday and I agreed. We had now reached the rocks where Ben had hoped to find some shell-fish. Taking off our shoes and socks, and tucking up our trousers, we commenced our search, armed with our knives and wooden swords. No oysters were to be found on the rocks, or in the shoal water in which we waded. However, we obtained as many mussels and some other shell-fish as we could carry in our pockets; and Ben captured a large crab, which was a prize, we agreed, worth having. And as by this time the tide was running in, we were now obliged to return to the shore. "We must endeavour to light a fire and cook this food," observed Boxall. "If we attempt to live much longer on raw provisions, we shall be attacked by scurvy, and shall assuredly be unable to continue our journey." "As there are no trees hereabouts, and as we have neither flint nor tinder, I don't see how we shall get a fire to cook our food," Ben observed. "But there are roots on some of the sand-hills; and here is a stone I picked up, which I think is a flint," answered Boxall. We could, however, find neither roots nor shrubs of any sort for fuel, and were obliged to content ourselves with chewing some of the mussels to stay our hunger as we walked along. Having trudged on for some miles, some slight signs of verdure again greeted our eyes, although the bushes rose scarcely a foot above the ground. The branches, however, from their dry state, would, we imagined, ignite; though it would require a large number of them to make even a tolerable fire. We carried our fuel to a hole between two sand-hills, hoping that the smoke, by the time it had ascended above them, might become so attenuated as not to be observed by any passing Arabs. The difficulty was how to light our fire. We required first the means of striking a spark, and then the tinder to catch it, and finally to produce a flame. Boxall tried with his knife and the stone he had picked up, but was much disappointed when no spark proceeded from them, the knife and stone producing only a light with a phosphoric appearance. "We must not give it up, though," he said. "I have another idea--we must form a burning-glass." "How is that to be done?" I asked. "Let me look at your watch, that I may compare it with mine," he said. The glasses exactly corresponding in size, he took them both out. "Now," he continued, "by filling the interior with water we shall have a powerful burning-glass, which will in a few seconds set fire to any inflammable substance, or burn a hole in our clothes." I bethought me at that moment of the inside cotton-wool lining of my cap, on which the rays of the sun had been beating all the morning, and I felt sure that it would quickly catch fire; so teasing out a small piece, I followed Boxall down to the beach, where he was employed in filling the two watch-glasses with water. I held the wool, while he lifted the glasses over it; and in a few seconds a hole was burned, and I observed some sparks travelling round it. I rushed back to the heap of fuel, blowing as I went; while Halliday stood ready with a leaf of paper, which he had torn from his pocket-book, and with a heap of withered twigs and leaves, which with infinite perseverance he had gathered together. By all of us blowing together a flame was produced, to our infinite joy. A milky sap, however, came from the shrubs, and only a small portion of them would ignite, while the smoke which ascended was so pungent and smelt so disagreeably that we could scarcely bear it. It had the effect, however, of keeping the mosquitoes, which had hitherto annoyed us terribly, at a distance. By degrees also a few burning embers appeared, and we placed our shell-fish upon them. Seeing Ben poking in his wooden sword, I asked, "Why are you burning that?" "I am not burning it, sir, but hardening the point and edge; and I would advise you to do the same with yours." And following his example, we found it greatly improved our weapons. In a short time the shell-fish were cooked, and we enjoyed our repast, though we should have been glad to have had some substitute for bread to eat with the molluscs. Having cleaned out some of the larger shells, we cooked a further supply, which we packed within them, and then tied them up in our handkerchiefs, that we might be saved the necessity of lighting another fire. Indeed, we should, we knew, be unable to do so, except during the daytime, unless we could pick up a real flint--and that Boxall feared we were not likely to find. Our hunger being satisfied, our thirst returned, and our next object, as we advanced, was to discover water. The tide being high, we were compelled to seek the harder ground on the summit of the sand-hills, as the mosquitoes and sand-flies rendered walking on the sand excessively disagreeable. We kept in a line, as we had before done in our search for water, at a short distance from each other,--Boxall having chosen a position on the left,--and had trudged on for a couple of miles or more, as we calculated, without discovering any signs which tempted us to dig; for we were unwilling to make the attempt without a prospect of success. I was next to Boxall; and after we had gone some way he came nearer to me, and shouted that he would diverge to the left, towards a slight elevation, desiring us to go on slowly, and to halt should we lose sight of him. "I will make a signal, should I find any sign of water," he added. By this time my mouth and tongue had become fearfully parched, and I earnestly hoped that he would succeed. Continuing to look out for the usual signs--a little verdure, with a slight depression in the sand--I went on slowly till I got near enough to Halliday to tell him what Boxall had said; and he repeated the order to Ben. We had not gone much further when I felt great hopes, from the appearance of a spot before me, that water might be found; so calling to Halliday and Ben, they joined me. I looked round to make the sign agreed on to Boxall, when, to our dismay, we saw an Arab on a camel rapidly approaching him! We had been partly concealed by a sand-hill, and so the Arab had not, apparently, observed us. It was evident, however, that Boxall had not a chance of escape. He must have thought so himself, as he stood calmly awaiting the arrival of the Arab, who pulled up his camel as he got close to him. We stood for a minute irresolute, not knowing what to do; but as the Arab did not raise his weapon, we believed he had no hostile intentions, and was not likely to injure our friend. Boxall had now thrown down his wooden sword, and was holding out his hand as if to greet the Arab in a friendly way. The latter also stretched out his hand, and we hoped that the interview would pass off peaceably, when, to our astonishment, we saw the Arab lean over from his saddle, and by a sudden jerk seize Boxall by the arm and place him by his side; then giving the animal a blow with his spear or goad, it set off at a gallop across the desert. We now rushed forward, Halliday and I shouting to the Arab to stop, while Ben with loud cries advised Boxall to give the black rascal a thundering clout on the head, and that we would quickly come to his assistance; but I am inclined to think that neither the one nor the other heard us. Boxall did endeavour to release himself, but the Arab held him fast. Indeed, at the rate the camel was going, he could not otherwise have stuck on. Fast as the wind, the fleet creature, regardless of the weight of the two men struggling on its back, moved across the desert, its broad feet scarcely making an impression on the sand. We ran and shouted in vain: the camel rapidly distanced us, and making towards the south-east, disappeared at length among the sand-hills; while we, almost exhausted, sank down on the ground. All our previous misfortunes had not weighed so heavily on me as this. As far as we could tell, our friend might be carried into helpless captivity far away in the interior of Africa. Poor fellow! my heart bled for him. He had fully expected to obtain his promotion on returning home, and to be married to a very charming girl, of whom he had often spoken to me; for he had an independent property, though, having no interest, he had long remained a mate. We felt ourselves still at liberty, and did not consider that his fate might probably be ours before long; for how could we hope, without the help of his judgment and thoughtfulness, to make our way over some hundred miles of desert? Had we known, indeed, one tenth part of the difficulties to be encountered, we should have said that it was impossible. "We are not going to let Mr Boxall be carried off by that black chap without trying to get him back, I hope," exclaimed Ben at length. "Certainly not," I said. "Of course not," exclaimed Halliday. "We must follow him till we get near the Arab camp, and then try and let him know that we are near at hand to help him to escape." It struck me that this proposition was very good in theory, but unlikely to succeed in practice. I did not say so, however, as I was unwilling to damp the ardour of my companions, or to show any want of interest in our friend. "If we are to overtake him, we must set forth at once," I observed. "It will be difficult enough to trace him in the daytime, and impossible in the darkness; and that fleet camel may have passed over many miles of ground before night sets in." Halliday, I should have said, had a small compass attached to his watch-chain. It was a trifling little thing, and of scarcely any use at sea; but, placed on the ground, it would enable us to take the bearings of an object with tolerable accuracy. He at once put it down, and we marked the direction the Arab had taken; it was almost due south-east. "Shall we make sail, sir?" asked Ben, who was eager to be off. "Yes," I said. "You, Ben, lead, and keep straight ahead for the northern end of the most distant sand-hill in sight; while Mr Halliday and I will keep twelve paces apart, and twelve paces behind you. We shall thus form a triangle, and if we see you turning we will put you straight again. I think in that way we shall be able to keep a direct course." "I understand, sir," said Ben. Having measured our distances, we set off. We were already on the edge of the level desert, so that we had no impediments to interfere with our march. Had I been more sanguine of success, I should have gone on with better spirits; but with the slight hopes I entertained of overtaking Boxall, and suffering in common with my companions from excessive thirst, my spirits flagged, and I could with difficulty drag on my weary feet over the hot sand. But having reached the point for which we had been steering, we brought up; and again placing the compass on the ground, took a fresh departure. We had now no object by which to direct our course, and had it not been for the plan I had thought of, we should have had constantly to stop and ascertain by the compass whether we were steering right. The long shadows in front of us--or rather somewhat to the left--showed us that the sun was sinking low, and that unless we could reach the neighbourhood of the Arab camp before dark we should have to pass the night in the open desert. We pushed on bravely. Still, I confess I could hardly drag my feet after me; and I observed when I turned my eyes towards Halliday, that he was walking with yet greater difficulty, though unwilling to complain. Longer and longer grew our shadows--still the apparently illimitable desert stretched out before us--but nowhere was the camel to be seen. Influenced by Ben's zeal, I had been induced to undertake the pursuit; but I now began to repent having yielded to it. At length Halliday cried out, "Charlie, I can do no more!" and sank on the ground. So I called to Ben to stop, and we threw ourselves down by our companion's side. CHAPTER EIGHT. THE SEARCH FOR BOXALL--THE ARAB ENCAMPMENT--WE FIND WATER--BEN MAKES A "CIRCUMBENDIBUS" OF THE ARAB CAMP--CAPTURED BY BLACK ARABS--ANTONIO'S ESCAPE FROM THE WRECK--HIS RECEPTION BY THE OUADLIMS. Night found us in the midst of the vast desert, numberless low sand-hills scattered about around us, and the starry sky overhead. Here we must remain until daylight, or retrace our steps to the sea-shore. We might manage to get back, if we had strength sufficient to walk, as the stars would serve us as a guide, and a few points out of our direct course would not make much difference; whereas, should we attempt to keep to the south-east, we should very probably pass some distance either on the one side or the other of the line we wished to follow, and miss the Arab camp altogether. We could not hide from ourselves, too, the danger to which we were exposed from wild beasts; for besides hyenas--of the existence of which in the neighbourhood we had had ocular evidence--there was reason to believe that tigers, panthers, and even lions might be prowling about in search of prey; and our wooden swords, even though their points had been hardened in the fire, would be of little avail should we be attacked. I did not express my apprehensions to my companions, however, though I had no doubt they also entertained them. My duty, I felt, as the leader of the party in the place of Boxall, was to do my utmost to keep up my own and their spirits. We sat silent for some time; Halliday was the first to speak. "I wish that I had a mouthful of water," he said, in a hoarse voice. "Should we push on and find none to-morrow, what are we to do?" I could not answer his question. "But we may find some, sir," said Ben. "The Arabs are sure not to encamp unless they can get it for themselves and their beasts." "But suppose we miss the Arab encampment?" asked Halliday. Ben could not answer _that_ question. I thought it was time for me to speak. "I am very unwilling to give up the search for Mr Boxall," I said; "but unless we are prepared to lose our own lives, with a very remote prospect of assisting him, I believe that our only course is to make our way back to the coast, where we have a better chance than here of obtaining both food and water. I propose, therefore, that we remain here till we are rested, and then make the best of our way to the sea-shore. We must manage, in the meantime, to do without water; and as we have a supply of cooked limpets in our pockets, we had better make our supper off them, and then lie down and rest. I am ready to take the first watch; you, Ben, shall take the second; and that will give time to Mr Halliday, who is more tired than either of us, to recover his strength." My companions agreed to the proposal; and hunger being our sauce, we managed to get down a considerable portion of our store of limpets. Knowing that should I go to sleep both myself and my companions might be pounced upon by some wild beast, I did not venture to lie down, but leaned forward as I sat on the ground, supporting my hands on my wooden sword; and the moment I began to get drowsy I rose to my feet, with the intention, as long as I could walk, of pacing up and down close to them. I had just risen, when, turning my eyes to the north-east, I observed a bright glare in the sky. My first idea was that it must be the moon rising; and then I recollected that it would not appear above the horizon for some hours, and was convinced that the light was produced by an extensive fire. Never having heard of prairie fires in that part of Africa,--there being little or no grass to burn,--I came to the conclusion that there must be a camp in that direction; possibly the one to which the Arab had carried off Boxall, though he appeared to us to have taken a much more southerly route. I watched the light carefully, till I was convinced that I was right, and that it came from an Arab camp; then I at once aroused my companions. "Now is the time to get near them, then," exclaimed Ben. "We shall be able to see them though they cannot see us, and we shall thus have a better chance of finding out whether Mr Boxall is among them." We at once got up; and, guided by the light, we made our way without difficulty. It evidently proceeded from a large encampment, as the fires covered a considerable extent of ground,--which showed us that there must be a number of bushes or trees in the neighbourhood, to supply fuel. On we went, the light still increasing, till we found ourselves on somewhat rougher ground, slanting upwards, behind which we had no doubt the camp would be found. After going on for some time longer, we could clearly distinguish the forms of a number of horses standing up, and of camels lying down, with their drivers among them-- the light of the fires on the further side throwing them into bold relief. As we walked side by side, with our eyes turned up at them, we were all three nearly falling down together head foremost into a deep hole, to the edge of which we had suddenly come. Ben, who was the first to see it, caught hold of me, and I held back Halliday. "What can it be?" he asked, kneeling down and peering into the hole. "A well," I answered, "at which probably the animals from yonder encampment have been watered." "I only hope, then, that they have left us enough to quench our thirst," said Halliday. Ben offered to go down and explore the hole, for in the darkness we could not see how deep it was; and we knelt down, grasping him by the hand while he descended. "It's all right," he said in a low voice. "I can touch the bottom--or a ledge, at all events; I will feel my way, and take care not to slip down into a bottomless pit." It was too dark to see him as he moved about, but presently a slight splash of water sounded in our ears; after which we could hear it, as it seemed, gurgling down his throat. In less than a minute he came close under us. "Put down your hands," he said; "here is something you will be thankful for." We did as desired, and drew up a large wooden bowl attached to the end of a rope. I gave it to Halliday first, who I knew was suffering most; and between us we emptied the contents of the bowl, and then handed it down to Ben,--who went back with the same caution as before and procured an additional supply for himself and us. Having satisfied our thirst, we hauled him up; and then sitting down on the side of the well, we consulted what we should next do. I was of opinion that Boxall had not been carried to this camp; but that the Arab we had seen belonged to some other tribe, and probably had been reconnoitring in the neighbourhood, and, catching sight of Boxall, he had hoped to gain some advantage by making him prisoner. Ben, on the other hand, who was convinced that our companion had been carried to the camp, was anxious to be certain whether this was the case or not. I warned him of the risk we should run if discovered in the neighbourhood. "Well, they can't do more than kill us," he answered. "If they make prisoners of us, we must do our best to escape; and if the blackamoors have got hold of Mr Boxall, and we find him, we shall be able to help him to get off too." "But if we don't find him, we shall have had all our risk for nothing," said Halliday. "Nothing venture, nothing win," answered Ben. "Just let me go, and I'll take good care that these Arab rascals don't get hold of me." At length Halliday and I, won over by honest Ben's arguments, agreed to let him do as he proposed; it being settled that we should wait for him close to the well. "Thank you, gentlemen," he said. "I will make a `circumbendibus' of the camp; and if so be I can't get sight of Mr Boxall, I will be back here in an hour at the furthest. If I am caught or knocked on the head by the Arabs, it will all be in the way of duty; and you will say a good word for Ben Blewett if you ever get home." Shaking hands with us warmly, as if he were going on a forlorn hope, he stole off round the well towards the Arab camp. It did not occur to us at the time, but we had really chosen as dangerous a spot as any in the neighbourhood. In the first place, wild beasts prowling about at night were very likely to approach the spot to drink; and then, as a pathway led down to the well from the opposite side, the Arabs of the camp were sure, at early dawn, to come down to fill their water-skins,--so that should we, while waiting for Ben, fall asleep, we must inevitably be surprised. Fatigued by our long march, however, we could not resist the temptation of stretching our limbs on the sand, regardless of the risk we were running--but of which, as I have observed, neither of us thought at the time. We did our best to keep awake, however, and after, as we supposed, an hour had elapsed, began anxiously to look out for Ben. The time passed by. "I say, Charlie, I am sure Ben has been gone more than an hour," said Halliday in a drowsy tone. I scarcely understood what he said; I tried to arouse myself--he repeated his remark. "We must wait for him, at all events," I answered. "So, I say, keep awake, and rouse me up should you find me dropping off to sleep." But poor Halliday was even more sleepy than I was; and in another minute we must both have dropped off. We had been sleeping, I suppose, for some time, when I was aroused by feeling a hand on my arm; and opening my eyes, I saw a black fellow scantily clothed standing over me. He put his hand on my mouth, as a sign that I must not cry out, showing the blade of a sharp dagger--which he drew from his side--to enforce his commands. I saw that another had hold of Halliday; while, to my sorrow, I found that they had also secured Ben. His hands, poor fellow, were tied behind him; notwithstanding which, he was making the most strenuous efforts to escape--though it would have availed him nothing had he succeeded, as he could not have rescued us, and must either have fallen into the hands of other Arabs or have died of starvation. Compelling us to get up, our captors next secured our hands in the same fashion as they had done Ben's, and ordered us to move on. Instead of taking us to the camp, however, they began to drag us away in the opposite direction, towards the sea-shore, hurrying us along as fast as they could run,--making it evident that our captors did not belong to the camp we had seen, and were anxious to get a distance from it before daylight. In vain, therefore, did we try to get near Ben, to ask him if he had seen Boxall, and to learn what had happened. I found, on looking up at the stars, that after going a short distance they turned off to the south-west, keeping on the harder and more elevated ground, but still verging towards the coast. This strengthened my conviction that they belonged to a different tribe from those in the camp, and that they had been on a marauding expedition when they fell in with us. Perhaps they believed that we belonged to their enemies, and hence their anxiety to hurry us away from the camp. Day had just dawned when we saw before us a line of low dark tents, pitched on the side of a sand-hill just above the sea-shore, with camels and other animals standing near them, as if ready to receive their loads, in case an immediate start should be necessary. The light of day also revealed to us the hideous and savage countenances of our captors-- their skins almost black, and in features, many of them, closely resembling negroes; though, from the dress of their chief, and their camels and tents, I should have supposed them to be Arabs. They had but scant clothing, in addition to the belts hanging over their shoulders, and to which their daggers were attached. Their other arms were short swords and spears. Our arrival at the camp was announced by loud shouts from the people assembled in front of it; on which a number of other men, with women and children, came rushing out of the tents. Their chief, before whom we were brought, was a tall man, of rather lighter complexion than the rest, but with countenance not less hideous and sinister than those of his remarkably unprepossessing followers. He inquired, in a sort of mongrel Arabic,--which, however, I could partly understand,--who we were, whence we had come, and how we had been found. To the latter question alone, his people could give a reply. I heard him remark that there must have been a shipwreck on the coast not far off, and that we were some of the people who had escaped from it. The others agreeing that he was right, a consultation was then held as to the direction in which it had occurred. Thinking it was time to speak, I now stepped forward, and making a profound salaam--for I felt that it was wise to be polite to the savages--I said, in as good Arabic as I could command-- "Know, sheikh, that the ship on board which we were voyaging was consumed by fire; but the great Allah whom we worship allowed us to escape, and conducted us to your shores on a raft,--which, as a proof that I speak the truth, will be found a day's journey to the north." The astonishment of the black Arabs, on hearing me speak in their own language, was very great. "Who are you, and how is it that you can speak in our tongue?" asked the sheikh. "It is the custom of my people to learn the tongues of the nations they are likely to visit, as they voyage to all the lands under the sun; and before long we hope that our countrymen will come here to take us off, and reward those who have treated us with hospitality," I answered, trying to look as important as I could. "O Nazarene, you speak big words," exclaimed the sheikh. "But understand that your countrymen, however large their ships, will find it a hard matter to follow you into the Desert, should we think fit to carry you there." "True, O sheikh; your wisdom approaches that of Solomon," I answered, trying to imitate the Arabic style of language. "But you will then lose the reward you would have obtained by restoring us safe to our friends. The few articles we carry about us, seeing that we could save nothing from the wreck, are not worthy of your acceptance. May I now inquire what powerful prince of the Desert I have the honour of addressing?" The sheikh appeared somewhat pleased at this speech; but he did not relax the sternness of his features while he answered-- "Know, O Nazarene, that you are in the presence of the Sheikh Boo Bucker Saakhi, chief of the Ouadlims," was the answer. Though the sheikh did not appear a man likely to be won over by soft speeches, I determined to persevere. Unslinging my telescope, I held it out to him. "Here is an instrument which will enable a person who looks through it to see ten times as far as he can with his naked eye. I will present it to you, and show you how to use it, the day a ship appears in sight, and you enable us to get on board her." I thought the sheikh was going to laugh; but he only grinned sarcastically as he replied-- "Know, O Nazarene, that I can at any moment take it from you, as well as everything else you carry, and strip you to the skin; so I value not your promise as you think I should." "But, O Sheikh Boo Bucker Saakhi, we wish you to understand that our countrymen will reward you handsomely with numerous articles such as your soul desires, if you treat us with that hospitality for which you princes of the Desert are famed throughout the world." "That may be true; but a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," answered the sheikh. At least, he made use of an Arab proverb of a similar tenor. "However, I will consider the matter. In the meantime, I will receive you and the other Nazarene as guests in my tent, where you will be pleased to exhibit the various articles you possess." Of course, I said that we should be delighted, though I suspected what would be the result of exhibiting our property. "And who is yonder white man, who seems so greatly inclined to knock over my followers?" inquired the sheikh. "His dress, I observe, differs from yours. Is he one of your people?" "That man, O sheikh, is a faithful follower of ours; a lion in war, and a lamb in peace when not interfered with," I answered, looking at Ben, who was at that minute engaged in a struggle with a dozen or more Ouadlims, from whom he had broken loose, and who were again trying to bind his hands. "Let him be allowed to come here at liberty, and I will prove that what I state regarding him is true," I added. The sheikh shouted to his followers, and I called Ben to come to us. As he did so, he pulled off his hat, which he flourished in the air, and made the sheikh a polite bow. Then putting out his hand, he exclaimed-- "Give us your flipper, old fellow, and we will be good friends!--only, tell your people to keep decent tongues in their heads, and their hands to themselves." "What is he talking about?" asked the sheikh, who, of course, did not understand a word Ben had said, and was unable to comprehend his movements. "He says that he is ready to fight for and serve you, O sheikh, as he has served his own chief," I answered. "You will find him faithful to yourself, and a terror to your enemies, while he remains with you." I said this for the sake of getting Ben well treated, though it was an imprudent observation--and I was wrong in saying what was not the truth--as the sheikh might not be willing to part with Ben again. But for the present it answered its object; for the sheikh, bidding us all three follow him, led the way to the entrance of his tent, to the astonishment of his followers. Though it was considerably larger than a gipsy tent in England, it had much the appearance of one. The cover consisted of camel-hair cloth, supported by a couple of long poles in the centre, the skirts being stretched out and fastened to the ground by pegs. Heaps of sand were also piled up, as a further security to prevent it being blown away. The ground inside was covered with a dirty piece of carpet, while a few pots hanging to the tent-poles formed the whole of the furniture. The women of the tribe were most of them even more ugly than the men; and though they were decently clothed as to quantity, their garments were dirty in the extreme. They appeared to go about the camp as freely as the men, who showed no anger or annoyance when we looked at them,-- which, as Ben observed, was not surprising, considering how hideous they were. They gathered round, looking with curiosity at our white skins and strange dresses; but, out of respect to the chief, of whom they seemed to stand in awe, they did not further annoy us. "Come into my tent, O Nazarenes, and we will talk this matter over more at our ease," said the sheikh, walking inside, and making a sign to Ben--who, from the character we had given of him, was looked upon as an important personage--to follow. The sheikh sank down on his carpet, and we imitated his example, endeavouring, like him, to tuck our legs under us--Halliday and Ben on one side, and I on the other. But our attempts were not very successful. Halliday tried two or three times in vain, and at last stretched them out comfortably before him; while Ben, after rolling from side to side, fairly toppled over on his nose, before he could get his legs stowed away--greatly to the amusement of the sheikh, in whose estimation he was thereby considerably lowered, I am afraid. After we were settled, and the sheikh's cachinnations had ceased, he clapped his hands; on which one black damsel brought him in his hookah, while another appeared with a piece of charcoal to light it. He did not, however, hand us his pipe. "You are hungry, strangers," he next observed. "Yes, indeed we are, and very thirsty too," said Halliday, who had not attempted to speak till now. "I forgot," said the sheikh; and calling to the black damsels, he ordered them to bring us food and water. In a short time one of them returned with a large bowl of couscoussu, a sort of porridge made of wheat beaten into powder. We had our fingers only to eat it with. "Set to, strangers," said the sheikh, nodding; but he took none of the food himself. "It is not bad stuff when a fellow is hungry," observed Halliday, stuffing the porridge into his mouth as fast as he could lift it with his fingers; "but it's very flavourless; I wish we had some salt to put into it." "So do I, for more reasons than one," I answered. "I do not quite like the appearance of things." "But he seems to be a pretty good-natured kind of fellow; perhaps he does not know we like our food salted," said Halliday. "We must take people as we find them; and I hope he has not omitted the salt intentionally, though I suspect he has not made up his mind whether to trust us or not," I observed. We all did justice to the sheikh's couscoussu, however; for, notwithstanding its want of salt, we had eaten no food so wholesome since we were on board the Spanish ship. Another girl next brought in an earthen jar of water, which we in a few minutes completely emptied. "Thank you, Mr Sheikh," said Ben, after his meal; "long life to your honour." "What does he say?" asked our host. "He hopes that your shadow may never grow less, and that you may live to be a blessing to your people for as long as the patriarchs of old." The sheikh seemed pleased, and answered,--"Your lion-hunter is a fine fellow." I explained that I only said he was as brave as a lion; but the sheikh replied that his bravery must have been proved by his hunting lions--and that he, at all events, would give him an opportunity of exhibiting his prowess. Ben, tired of sitting so long on his feet, now got up, and, pulling a lock of his hair, walked out of the tent. Not supposing he would be molested, we sat on, wishing to practise our Arabic by talking to the sheikh, who made numerous inquiries about our country and other parts of Europe, evidently being not altogether ignorant of what had been taking place of late in the world. We at last also got up, to take the fresh air outside, when he said-- "Stop, stop! young Nazarenes. You came here to show me the precious treasures you possess; I desire you to exhibit them." "Of course we will," I said, unslinging my telescope. He looked at it, putting the field-glass to his eye, when he saw his own ugly face reflected in it. "Bismillah! it's wonderful," he cried out. I explained that this was the wrong way to use it; and inviting him to come to the door of the tent, I put it to my own eye to show him how it was to be used. As I did so, turning it eastward, what was my surprise to observe a sail standing towards the shore. "Thank Heaven! here comes a vessel which may rescue us," I exclaimed. "Let me look at her," said Halliday, taking the glass from me. "Look again, Charlie," he said, returning it to me. "I am afraid that it is only a small boat." "You are right," I answered; "or rather, it is no boat at all, but a raft!" Indeed, by this time we could distinguish the raft with our naked eyes. "What is all this about?" asked the sheikh, observing our agitation. I gave him the glass, but he could not fix it on the object. He saw the raft, however, without it. "Allah be praised! yonder vessel will certainly be thrown on our shore, and we shall obtain a rich booty," he exclaimed. I did not undeceive him. "Can that be the large raft, I wonder?" asked Halliday. "If so, some of the poor wretches have escaped death after all." I examined it attentively, and saw that it was very much smaller than the large raft, and could not support more than two or three people. I also now observed that a reef of rocks ran parallel with the coast for some distance, the sea breaking heavily upon it. There was soon a general commotion in the camp, and all fully believing that a vessel was approaching which could not escape being wrecked, were highly delighted at the prospect of making themselves the possessors of her cargo. The sheikh was as eager as any one, and, accompanied by his family, hastened down to the beach, hoping to be among the first on board. Nearer drew the raft, and at length I made out that only one person sat upon it, steering with an oar. The people--who were all by this time down on the beach--soon discovered their mistake, and began to vent their disappointment by uttering curses on the head of the stranger,--we coming in for a share of their anger. On came the raft, and presently, as we expected would be the case, was dashed on the reef, suffering even a worse fate than ours--being utterly broken to pieces. Its occupant, however, sprang forward, and we saw him striking out bravely in the calmer water, into which he had been thrown, towards the shore. He was followed by fragments of the raft, which I thought would strike him; but he escaped from them, and came on with rapid strokes towards us. The Arabs, some of whom rushed half-naked into the water, waved their hands and encouraged him by their shouts. As he drew near we saw that he was either an Arab or a black man; and before he landed we recognised him as Antonio, the black we had met on board the Spanish ship. The Arabs now stretched out their hands to help him, and he was soon in their midst, supported by their arms. Whether he had recognised us or not we could not tell, for at first he appeared to be too much exhausted to speak; and from the eagerness with which the Arabs gathered round him, and his general appearance, we suspected that he either belonged to their tribe, or to some other tribe on friendly terms with them. Such we had soon too good reason to know was the case. Presently we saw him borne to the tent of the sheikh, where food and water were carried to him. Remembering his conduct to us on board the Spanish ship, we could not but fear that his coming boded us no good; still, of course, if he was an honest man he could not fail to corroborate our story, and so we waited with some anxiety to speak to him. In the meantime the women and children gathered round us, the latter especially treating us with scant respect; the urchins, like so many imps, grinning from ear to ear at us, pulled at our clothes and pinched our arms and legs; while several of them, pious, I have no doubt, according to their notions, spit at us to show their hatred of the Nazarenes. We knew that it would be of no use to run after the little wretches and punish them, so we bore the indignities we received with as much stoical indifference as we could assume. A big fellow whom we heard called Sinne--one of the men who had captured us--encouraged them; and at last approaching Ben, he insulted him with abusive language and gestures, snatching at his hat, and even trying to pull off his jacket. On this, Ben, without considering the consequences, lifted his fist and knocked the fellow down. Sinne got up considerably cowed for the moment, and stalked away; but, from the malignant glances he cast at Ben and us, we could not doubt that he meditated vengeance. "Come back, old fellow, and I will do it again," shouted Ben; but the Arab did not wish to put himself within reach of the seaman's sturdy fists. "I wish that you had not knocked the fellow over, Ben," I said; "our only hope of escaping is to keep on good terms with the Arabs." "And so I wish to do, sir," answered Ben. "It may be, if I knock a few more of them over, they will be all the better friends with us; and it may teach them that we will stand no nonsense!" Certainly, Ben's mode of proceeding appeared at first likely to answer, for both women and children kept at a more respectful distance, while none of the men seemed inclined to molest us. Being tired with our previous exertions, we now sat down under the shade of a tent, whence we could watch the wide expanse of sea stretched out before us; but our eyelids were heavy, and, in spite of the doubtful disposition of the natives, we all dropped off to sleep. CHAPTER NINE. AN UNPLEASANT CHANGE--BEN UNDERGOES A SEVERE TRIAL--THE OUADLIMS RECEIVE AN UNWELCOME VISIT--WE ARE MADE PEACE-OFFERINGS--A CURIOUS SPECTACLE--I MAKE FRIENDS WITH THE SHEIKH'S BROTHER ABDALAH--THE SHIPWRECKED PARTY-- DISCOVER A VALUABLE FRIEND--ANTONIO'S ESCAPE FROM THE WRECK. We were aroused by the voice of the sheikh. "Get up, you lazy sons of dogs!" he was exclaiming in an angry tone. "You have been deceiving me, I find, by passing yourselves off as people of importance, when you are mere servants of servants. Get up, I say;" and he began to enforce his commands by kicks and blows. We sprang to our feet, and Ben, doubling his fists, would have knocked the sheikh down had I not held him back. "What have we done to merit this treatment, O sheikh?" I asked. "Told lies, vile Nazarene," he answered. "Henceforward know that you and your companions are to be slaves--should my people not prefer putting you to death." The sheikh was heard by the rest of the community, who now gathered round us, delighted at being able to renew their insults,--some of them pulling off our caps, while others tugged away at our jackets and pinched us as before, even spitting at us in their fury. At length Antonio stalked out of the tent, casting malignant glances at us as he passed. "I say, mate, you know what better manners are," exclaimed Ben. "Do try and teach these people to treat us decently." Antonio made no reply, but, without even turning his head, walked on. "You are a pretty fellow," shouted Ben; "I thought you would have wished to be civil, at least." Remembering the black's behaviour on board the Spanish ship, however, I felt that it would be useless to appeal to him. Presently we saw him returning, accompanied by Sinne and several other fellows, mostly as ill-favoured as himself. Approaching Ben, they threw themselves upon him, and, pinioning his arms, led him off, ordering us to follow. "I am afraid they mean mischief," said Halliday in a melancholy voice. "Do you think, Charlie, that they intend to murder poor Ben?" "I hope not," I answered, though I did not feel over confident about the matter. "I will do all I can to save him." We followed Ben and his captors. He turned his head towards us, and, by his look, evidently thought that his last hour had come; so indeed did we, and very sad we felt. We walked on till we had got some hundred yards from the camp, when we saw a sort of bench formed by boards on the top of a sand-hill, to which Ben was conducted. Sinne and Antonio having led Ben up to the bench, made him kneel down before it; when, to our horror, the former drew a pistol from his belt and presented it at the honest seaman's head. "Fire away, you rascals," cried Ben in a loud voice, fixing his eyes on his executioners. "I am not afraid of you!" Every instant we expected to hear the fatal shot fired, but still Sinne refrained from pulling the trigger. Feeling sure that if we rushed forward to Ben's assistance it would be the signal for his death, we stood stock-still, not daring to move. In equally fixed attitudes stood the Arabs, evidently taking delight in our horror and anxiety. I dared not even pull out my watch to note how the time went by, but it seemed to me that a whole hour must have thus passed,--the Arab all the while standing motionless, till I thought his arm must have ached with holding the pistol. Halliday declared that he thought at least two hours must have elapsed, when Sinne, giving a self-satisfied grunt, restored the pistol to his belt, and stalked off towards the camp, followed by Antonio, and leaving Ben kneeling before the bench. Ben, on finding that they were gone, got up and gave himself a violent shake. "I thought I was done for!" he exclaimed, with that cool air which an habitual indifference to danger can alone inspire. "I didn't care so much for myself; but I thought the villains would treat you in the same way as they were going to serve me, and I was terribly sorry for you, that I was." We thanked Ben for his interest in us, assuring him how glad we were that he had escaped; and not having before had an opportunity of hearing the result of his expedition to the Arab camp, we inquired if he had seen Boxall. "Not a glimpse of him," he answered. "I went round and round the camp, so if he was there he must have been inside a tent; but as a number of people, whom I took to be slaves, were busy either pounding corn or cleaning their beasts, I am pretty sure that if he had been carried there he would have been among them, and I should have seen him. I believe, Mr Blore, you were right after all; and that the Arab who got hold of him must have gone off to another camp. All we can hope is, that he is among better people than these black fellows here." I hoped so likewise, though I began to fear that our chances of escape were very small, and that we should be doomed to perpetual slavery by our savage captors. Of course, from the first we had determined to escape if we could; but the question was, In what direction should we fly? The desert was terminable on the east by the Nile; on the north, by the barbarous empire of Morocco, or by Algiers, Tripoli, or Tunis; while to the south were hordes of savages of whom we knew nothing, with only one insignificant French settlement where we might expect a kind reception: and we should undoubtedly have many hundred miles of an almost barren region to traverse, either to the east or to the north or south, with but a bare possibility of escaping on board some vessel which might appear off the coast, provided we could keep along the shore and avoid recapture. We were not allowed many minutes for conversation, for our savage tormentors quickly gathered round us again, and seemed to take delight in insulting and tormenting us in every way they could think of. We had been left for some time to the tender mercies of the women and children; the men having assembled together to hold, as we afterwards found, a consultation regarding our disposal--their savage yells and cries reaching our ears even above the shrill shrieks and shouts of the women. It was evident that our captors were engaged in a hot discussion, but not one of them, we had reason to suppose, was lifting up his voice in our favour. At length Sinne appeared, and ordered us to accompany him. Advancing with rapid strides, he led us into the centre of a circle of Arabs; but as we glanced round at their scowling countenances, we observed no sign of kindly feeling or sympathy for our sufferings. The sheikh then calling to me, ordered me to interpret to the rest. He said that we were all three to be separated,--he himself intending to take me. Ben was to fall to the lot of Sinne; while Halliday was to become the slave of another chief man. This announcement affected us more than anything which had occurred. Together, we thought that we could have borne our misfortunes; but parted from each other, we felt they would be insupportable. "You are all young and active, and can each do more work than any three women," he observed; "let me see that you are not idle, or you will repent it. And you shall begin at once." On this some heavy mallets or pestles were put into our hands, and we were ordered to pound some corn in wooden mortars, which were brought out and placed before us, while our new masters looked on to see that we laboured with all our strength. Ben grumbled and growled, the only way in which he could express his feelings; but seeing Halliday and me working, he thought it prudent to obey. I may say here that we had from the first observed that the people were in a somewhat uneasy state of mind, as if aware that an enemy was in the neighbourhood. No fires had been lighted. The tents had been pitched close to the shore, so that they and the camels were hidden, by the first line of sand-hills rising above them, from any one passing on the opposite side; while men on foot were sent out as scouts at night, to watch far and wide round the camp. After we had finished our task we were told that we might go down to the beach and obtain shell-fish for our own supper. Our fare was not much better than we had before been able to obtain for ourselves; for, no fires being allowed, we were unable to cook our shell-fish--and only a small portion of porridge was given us, while we were compelled to drink the brackish water which we procured from a well dug in the sand some way off. Darkness at length coming on, we were permitted to lie down, worn out with fatigue, outside the chiefs tent, thankful that we were not as yet separated from each other. The women and children, however, would not for some time allow us to go sleep; but again coming round us, joined this time by some of the younger men, amused themselves in jeering at and taunting us. But at length they retired, and we fell asleep. Dawn had just broken, when we were aroused by the voices of the people in the camp; and on looking out, we saw a number of the scouts hurrying in, with alarm on their countenances. We were not kept long in doubt as to the cause of their agitation; for on glancing to the eastward we saw, coming over the hills of sand, several bands of Bedouins mounted on camels, their arms glittering brightly in the rays of the rising sun. On they advanced at full gallop, till they got within gun-shot of our camp, when they suddenly pulled up. The camels then slowly kneeling down, their masters dismounted, and secured fetters to their legs, to prevent them from going away. Two Arabs were mounted on each camel: the first seated on a small side-saddle, something in the style of a lady's; and the second as a man sits on horseback. We counted nearly twenty different bands, each composed of twelve men, who took up their stations one after the other. Whether they came as friends or foes, was at first difficult for us to determine; but, from the state of agitation and alarm into which the Ouadlims were thrown, it was soon clear that they regarded the strangers in no friendly light. To escape, however, was impossible, as they were greatly outnumbered by the new arrivals; who were also better armed, and under superior discipline, than the savage tribe into whose hands we had fallen. As we stood watching them, we saw in the far distance numerous other camels, as well as horses, and apparently sheep and goats, approaching. The Bedouin sheikh and several other principal men now advanced, being well protected by the firelocks of their men, who stood in front of the camels. The black sheikh, Boo Bucker, being summoned, then advanced to meet them, with Sinne and other heads of families, cutting a very sorry appearance in the presence of the superior tribe. They had a long discussion, after which the whole party came to the top of the hill, where they could view the coast. No one hindering us, we drew near them; when, from the remarks made, I found they had supposed that a shipwreck had taken place, and their object was to participate in the plunder, or rather, to take it away from the Ouadlims should they have got possession of it--just as the frigate-bird seizes the prey which the smaller wild-fowl has obtained. The new-comers appeared to be somewhat angry at being disappointed in their hope of obtaining a rich booty, and from the talking and wrangling which took place we thought they would have come to blows with our captors. The latter endeavoured to pacify them, however, and I gathered from what I heard that we were to be delivered up as a peace-offering. This to us mattered very little; indeed, we hoped that our condition would be improved by falling into the hands of a less barbarous tribe than those who had first taken possession of us. Still, it was not pleasant to find ourselves handed over, like so many sheep or oxen, by one party of savages to another. Boo Bucker then coming up, seized me by the arm and dragged me forward to the strange sheikh; while another chief led Halliday. Sinne was about to seize hold of Ben; who, however, drew back, exclaiming,--"Come, come, old fellow, you are not going to touch me; I am going where my officers go, so don't you be afraid. And to show you that I don't harbour ill-will, here's my fist;" and he seized the Arab's hand and wrung it till the fellow cried out, and seemed glad to let him go. Ben soon came up to us, laughing and slapping his legs to exhibit his pleasure at the trick he had played the ill-favoured savage. Still the Bedouins did not appear satisfied, and more wrangling took place. At length Boo Bucker and his companions retired to their camp, and in a short time reappeared, dragging forward Antonio, who seemed very unwilling to accompany them. Notwithstanding the resistance he made, however, he was brought up to the Bedouin chief, who placed his hand on his shoulder and claimed him as his slave. Antonio was at first furiously indignant at being so treated by his treacherous friends, but seeing that there was no help for it, he yielded to circumstances. "I say, Charlie, it won't do to let these black fellows keep up our jackets and caps!" exclaimed Halliday. "Cannot you ask our new masters to get them back for us?" "I will do my best, at all events," I answered; and turning to one of the Arabs who surrounded us, I inquired the name of their chief. The Arab seemed very much surprised at being addressed in his own language, and answered,--"Sheikh Hamed ben Kaid." I thanked him in due form for the information he had given me; then stepping up to the sheikh, I made him a profound salaam, and addressing him by name, told him that we had been deprived of our garments, and begged that he would recover them. He at once turned to Boo Bucker, and upbraiding him for keeping back what ought to have been his, ordered him at once to bring the jackets and caps. The Ouadlim chief looked very much annoyed, as he had evidently expected to retain the articles; but a few menacing words made him hasten away, and return in a short time with the things, as well as my spy-glass,--all of which we expected would be restored to us. Such, however, we found to be very far from Sheikh Hamed's intention. He inquired if any other articles had been taken from us; and on my replying that everything had been given back, he ordered Boo Bucker to move with his people to the northward, as it was his intention to camp in the neighbourhood. On this the two parties separated; and we were not sorry to see the last, as we hoped, of our former masters. Sheikh Hamed now mounted his camel, and ordering us to follow, moved on to the southward--to look out for a spot suitable for encamping, as we supposed. We marched on as directed; but Antonio, who showed an evident inclination to be refractory, was handed over to the keeping of some of Sheikh Hamed's followers. In a short time we reached a spot not far from the shore, which appeared to satisfy the requirements of the chief; and sticking his spear into the ground, he called a halt, when the various bands as they came up reined in their camels--the animals kneeling down as before, that their riders might dismount. I looked out eagerly in the hope of seeing Boxall, but could nowhere discover him. I inquired of one of the people, who seemed inclined to be communicative, if a white man had been taken prisoner and brought to the camp. His answer fully satisfied me that the Arab who had carried off our friend must have belonged to some other tribe. On the arrival of the baggage camels we were ordered to assist in unloading them and erecting the tents, and many a curse and blow we received for our want of skill in performing the operation. We took notice, however, of the mode in which everything was done, so that another time we should know how to proceed. The tents were quickly set up, much in the fashion of those of the Ouadlims,--though these were larger, and that of the sheikh had a somewhat better and cleaner carpet than the dirty cloth which covered the floor of Boo Bucker's tent. Having performed this duty, we were next ordered to assist in digging wells. Fortunately, we had retained our wooden swords. At first, the Arabs looked at them with contempt; but when they saw how we used them to dig up the sand, they treated them with more respect, and inquired if we could manufacture some for them. I replied that if we could find a cask on the sea-shore we could easily do so, but without the proper wood we could not gratify their wishes. "Then look out and find a cask speedily," said the Arab who was superintending the operation. The wells being dug, we had to bail out the water in wooden bowls, and carry it to the different animals. Fuel was then collected, and a line of fires kindled in order to drive away the mosquitoes and other insects, which appeared to torment the animals even as much as they did us. We were then ordered to assist the black slaves in cleaning the oxen and cows; which operation was managed in a curious way. The animals being seized by the horns, were thrown down on the sand, where they lay perfectly quiet, while the blacks with great dexterity cleansed their bodies from the insects. After this, they were washed with water from the sea. The cows were then milked. These various processes employed the greater number in the camp till near midnight. We were then allowed to lie down inside one of the tents, already crowded with Arabs and blacks. Some sheep-skins were thrown to us for coverings; and though we did not require them for warmth--the heat was almost insupportable--they were a slight protection from the attacks of the mosquitoes which swarmed around us, and for long hours, it seemed, prevented us from falling asleep, weary as we were. The next morning we were aroused at daybreak by several kicks from the foot of an Arab, who ordered us to go down to the shore and collect shell-fish--furnishing us with a basket for the purpose. Our taskmaster followed us, to see that we laboured diligently; and I observed that he and the other Arabs took great care not to wet their feet in the salt water. Believing that they would thus become defiled, when they were compelled to do so they invariably washed them afterwards in fresh water. While we were thus employed in the grey dawn, the sheikh issued from his tent, and mounting the summit of the nearest sand-hill, shouted,--"Allah akbar!" (God is great!) At this summons the whole male population of the camp assembled in lines behind him, turning their faces eastward in the direction of Mecca; and as the sun rose above the horizon, they knelt down, and throwing sand over their bodies, bowed their heads to the ground, while they offered up their prayers, repeating,--"There is one God, and Mohammed is his prophet." The women at the same time came to the front of their tents, where they performed a similar ceremony. We stood at a distance, struck by the solemnity of the scene. "Well, after all, these appear to be decent fellows," observed Ben. "I only hope they will treat us in a proper manner." But alas for Ben's good opinion of them! No sooner were their prayers over than the Arabs, with kicks and cuffs, set the slaves to work; while we had to return to the sea-shore to collect more shell-fish. We were thus employed for the greater part of the day, and could with difficulty obtain a little porridge, or get leave to cook our shell-fish at any of the fires. Several days passed in a similar manner. We frequently met Antonio,--as I will still call him, though he had another name among the Arabs,--and he never failed to cast a look of anger at us, as if he supposed we had been the cause of his captivity. At length, every root and blade of grass in the neighbourhood being consumed, the sheikh gave the order to prepare for marching. The baggage camels were brought up, the tents struck, the animals loaded (we assisting), and every preparation quickly made. We had hoped to be allowed camels to ride on, but the sheikh ordering us to proceed on foot, we had no help for it but to obey. On we trudged all day, under a burning sun, sinking up to our ankles in the soft sand. Ben did his best to keep up our spirits, talking away, and even singing; though neither Halliday nor I were able to join him. When we arrived at night, we had to assist in pitching the tents and grinding corn; while frequently we were sent to a distance in charge of flocks of goats. On such occasions, however, we were always separated from each other, and carefully watched, so that we could not attempt to make our escape. The tribe, as it moved along through the desert, had the appearance of a large army. There were, to begin with, between eight and nine hundred camels, nearly two hundred of which belonged to the chief; and there were fully two thousand sheep, and nearly as many goats. There were also twenty or thirty horses, with a few jackasses; and numerous dogs, chiefly of the greyhound and bloodhound breed, which were used for the purpose of killing hares, foxes, and wolves. Each family possessed a tent, which, with their provisions, water, and effects, was carried by the male camels, while the young and the milch camels were not loaded. When we moved on, the sheep and goats of each family moved in separate droves--the animals keeping close together, and following their respective shepherds; but when we encamped or met with vegetation, they were allowed to spread over the country. They were again quickly collected by the shepherd's whistle, or, if at a distance, by the sound of his horn. However far-off they might be, the instant they heard the horn in they all flocked; having been taught to do so from their earliest days at the appearance of a wild beast, when their instinct showed them that it was the surest way of escaping from danger. On encamping at night, the camels and flocks belonging to each family took up their proper position in front of the respective tents, near the fires which were immediately kindled for cooking. On several occasions, when we were in what was considered a dangerous neighbourhood, either on account of hostile tribes or wild beasts, the tents were pitched in a large circle, the camels, flocks, and herds being placed in the centre. On such occasions the male camels and horses were kept saddled, while the men lay down by their sides, ready to start up at a moment's notice. The sheep and goats are much larger than any I have seen in England, with long legs and thin bodies; and when sufficiently fed they can keep up with the camels on a journey, and can run as fast as a greyhound. It is extraordinary, too, how long camels can go without food and water, and on what scanty herbage they manage to subsist. From being able to talk to the people, Halliday and I had much softened their feelings towards us; and I determined to try what I could do to win the regard of the sheikh. He had a brother, Abdalah by name, a fine-looking young man, who thought a good deal of himself. Making him a profound salaam as he was passing one day, I said: "May your shadow never be less. O brother of the great sheikh, I have heard of your valour and prowess, and I doubt not that your generosity equals it! You see before you two young chiefs, who may some day become great water sheikhs, in command of many thousands of men; and knowing this, I trust you will not allow them longer to endure the pain and suffering they have gone through for many days." "Bismillah! is what you speak the truth?" exclaimed Abdalah. "Your servant would not condescend to speak a lie. Among our people it is looked upon as a disgraceful act," I answered. Abdalah did not seem quite to understand this; but my bold address had some effect upon him, and he promised to make a request to the sheikh that we might be permitted to ride on camels when we had long journeys to take. Halliday and I thanked him; and I asked him if he had ever looked through my telescope, of which his brother had possession. He had not done so; and having described its wonders, I promised to show him how to use it the next day. After we had performed our morning tasks, the sheikh pointed out two camels, with saddles on their backs, and told us that we might mount them. I then asked if Ben might have the same privilege. "No, no," he answered. "You might take it into your heads to try and gallop off; and though you would not escape, it would give us the trouble of going after you." As we rode along that day, I found that we were once more verging towards the sea-shore. While we were moving onwards, Abdalah came up with my spy-glass hung over his shoulder, and said that he wished me to show him its use. We soon afterwards--being a considerable distance ahead of the caravan--came to a halt, when, dismounting, I pulled the telescope out and put it to my eye. What was my surprise to see, in the far distance, a white spot on the beach, which on more minute examination I discovered to be a tent made of a ship's sails! Instead of letting Abdalah see it, I turned the glass towards some distant camels, which appeared mere specks rising out of the sandy desert. Abdalah's astonishment on seeing them, as it were, on a sudden brought within reach, was much greater than mine had been on catching sight of the tent. After he had amused himself for some time, I informed him that I believed we should find some white men encamped at a distance of less than an hour's journey, and entreated him to be merciful to them. "That will be as the sheikh thinks fit," he answered evasively. We were now anxious to hurry on, in order to ascertain who the people were; so, mounting our camels, we started off. I was considerably raised in the opinion of the sheikh and Abdalah when they found my prediction true. Dismounting from their camels, Halliday and I following them, they made their way towards the tent. As they drew aside a loose portion, a sad scene met the view. In the interior were a number of persons apparently in the last stage of starvation, whose haggard countenances, long hair and beards, and scanty clothing, showed the hardships they had endured. One of them coming forward, threw himself on his knees, imploring the chief in piteous accents to have compassion on him and his companions. "Who are you?" asked the sheikh; but the man made no reply. Halliday and I then stepped forward and looked on. I thought I recognised several of them, and at length was convinced that they were some of the people we had seen on board the Spanish ship. I then asked them if this was the case. "Yes," answered the poor man on his knees. "We escaped in one of the boats, and after enduring many hardships were thrown on this inhospitable shore,--several of our people being drowned at the same time." I told the sheikh of the sufferings they had endured, hoping to excite his compassion; but he seemed unmoved thereat, though he allowed Abdalah to show us a spot where, by digging, we could obtain some fresh water. The eagerness with which they took it when we carried it to them proved the amount of their thirst; indeed, I believe that all of them would have died in a few hours had we not arrived to their rescue, as they had long exhausted the small stock of water they had brought on shore, and had no idea that, by exerting themselves, they could have obtained a supply close at hand. Among others I recognised the black boy, our young friend Selim, or Pedro as he was called on board. He at once came forward, expressing his pleasure at seeing us; for, believing that we had been left on board the burning ship, he supposed that we had perished. He had before shown so friendly a feeling towards us that we also were glad to meet him, especially as he did not appear to dread his future lot. "I am at home everywhere, and I shall not find the Arabs worse masters than others with whiter skins," he said, shrugging his shoulders. He and Ben--to whom he had been very attentive on board--at once became fast friends; indeed, he was the only person besides ourselves with whom poor Ben could converse. When the boy caught sight of Antonio, however, he looked anything but delighted. "What, he not drowned!" he exclaimed. "He too bad for that. Well, take care. He do some of us a mischief if he can." Having myself formed a similar opinion of the big negro, I was not surprised to hear Selim say this of his countryman; and it was very clear that we must be on our guard against Antonio, who had already exhibited his ill-will towards us. At present our attention was taken up with the castaways, who were, we felt, still more unfortunate than ourselves. CHAPTER TEN. THE FATE OF THE SHIPWRECKED PARTY--THE WELL IN THE DESERT--WE SEE BOXALL--A PANTHER VISITS THE CAMP--TREACHERY--SELIM PROVES HIMSELF A TRUE FRIEND--ANTONIO MADE PRISONER--HIS ESCAPE--WE RESCUE THE SHEIKH FROM A MOUNTAIN OF SAND--THE SALT REGION. The fate of the unfortunate people whose boat, after they had escaped from the burning ship, had been wrecked, was cruel indeed; their strength, reduced by famine, made them utterly unable to work, while the hard-hearted Arabs not only refused to assist them, but threatened them with perpetual slavery. The party consisted of an officer of the ship, two seamen, Pedro the black boy, four civilians, and an unhappy lady,-- the wife of a Don Fernando, the principal person among them, who had treated us with marked contempt when we were on board the Spanish galleon. His manner was now greatly changed; and we, of course, did not allude to his former behaviour, which we endeavoured to forget. It seemed wonderful that the poor lady should have survived the hardships she had already endured. They were all reduced to the last stage of starvation, with the exception of the black boy Pedro, or Selim,--as will call him in future,--who, accustomed as he was to coarse food, had flourished on the shell-fish, and the roots of some low bushes which grew in the neighbourhood. Notwithstanding the treatment we had received from some of the unhappy people on board their ship, and though we had been intentionally abandoned, we felt bound to do our utmost to assist them. The camp having been pitched in the neighbourhood, the sheikh ordered them to pack up their tent and move to it. This they were utterly unable to do; but, after much entreaty, we obtained a camel, on which we placed the canvas, arranging it so as to form a seat for the poor lady--her husband mounting to assist in holding her on. As we placed her on it, I doubted whether she would reach the camp alive. The others were compelled to walk, and though somewhat strengthened by the food we had obtained for them, they could with difficulty drag their feet over the sand. On reaching the camp, we divided the canvas so as to form a small tent for the dying lady, and put up another for the rest of the party, who faintly expressed their gratitude to us. We did not escape having to perform our allotted duties, for all that. The next morning, at daybreak, we were sent down with a couple of baskets to bring up shell-fish from the shore. On our return we found a party of strange Arabs in the camp, engaged in a discussion with the sheikh; and on drawing near I discovered that they were bargaining for the purchase of the unfortunate people who had just fallen into his power, and who, from their weakness, he did not wish to carry along with him. They took the information I conveyed to them almost with indifference. "It matters little indeed into whose hands we fall," observed Don Fernando, the chief man among them; "but I beg you to say that if they will convey us to the neighbourhood of any place where a European consul resides, they will obtain a large sum for our ransom." I told the strange sheikh this, and it made him ready to give a better price than he might otherwise have done, much to the satisfaction of Hamed. On going to the tent of Don Fernando I found him stretched over the body of his wife, who had just breathed her last. Sad indeed was the poor man's fate, and we pitied him from our hearts, though we could do little to comfort him. His once haughty spirit was completely broken down. We at length aroused him; and calling Ben to our assistance, Halliday and I conveyed the body of his wife to a distance from the camp, where we dug a grave and buried her, he attending as the only mourner. He was then delivered over to his purchaser with the rest of the Spaniards, the young black alone remaining with us. We could not help pitying the poor people as we saw them carried away, though their fate might not be worse than ours; indeed, as they had some prospect of being redeemed, it might be better. I must now give a more rapid account than heretofore of my adventures. Again we struck the tents and proceeded more inland, over hard ground producing wild bushes, but not a blade of grass or a drop of water. We then came to a region consisting of hills and valleys of sand, over which we had to trudge on foot, suffering fearfully from thirst. After proceeding about ten miles we saw before us a low circular wall of sunburned bricks, with a few stunted palm-trees. The Arabs pointed towards it eagerly, and even the camels and other animals lifted up their heads. It marked the position of a deep well, near which we encamped; and for the remainder of that day and the greater part of the next we were employed in drawing up water, not only to furnish ourselves and the animals, but to fill the water-skins carried by the camels, on which we were to depend for several days to come. This task accomplished, we continued our route over the sand. Here we saw a few deer, of a small size and of a somewhat yellow colour, with black streaks along their sides, and small straight horns; their legs were long and slender, and they flew over the sand at a speed which the fleetest greyhound could not equal. Here and there we met with small bushes of a palm-like form. When we halted at night we were employed in getting some roots which ran along the sand, and which were about the thickness of a man's finger. They were sweet as sugar, and the people as well as the cattle ate them. Barren as the region appeared, we saw three or four species of birds, the largest of which were bustards; and on searching in the sand we frequently came on their eggs, which afforded us the most satisfactory food we had yet enjoyed. About ten days we spent in passing through this sandy district. We then entered on a region of firm soil, sometimes presenting a hilly surface, and occasionally plains of hard clay sprinkled over with bushes, but without any other vegetation, and almost destitute of water. We were fully a month traversing this kind of country. We had left it a couple of days, when we saw before us a stream of running water. Oh, how eagerly we rushed forward, expecting to enjoy a draught; but when we knelt down and plunged in our faces, how bitter was our disappointment on finding that it was far too brackish to drink. However, Halliday, Ben, and I ran in and had the luxury of a bath; but the Arabs, being indifferent at all times about washing, would not give themselves the trouble of taking off their clothes for the purpose. This was the first of several streams we met with of the same character. When encamping near them, however, the brackish water served to wash the cattle in the way I have before described. Again fresh water failed us, and in a short time the stock carried by the camels was exhausted, and not a drop remained in our skin-bottles. Nearly a whole day we had marched, under the fiery rays of the sun, our mouths so parched that Halliday and I thought we should sink to the ground; but knowing that we should meet with little or no sympathy from our task-masters, we did our utmost to keep up with Hamed and his brother. The ground was covered with bushes, and here and there a few stunted palm-trees reared their heads somewhat higher above the surface. At last I was obliged to cry out to Hamed that I could go no further. "Courage, Nazarene! You will see water before long," he answered. Scarcely had he spoken when we caught sight of a party of Arabs approaching from the opposite direction. Hamed and his followers urged on their camels; and it soon became doubtful who would first arrive at the water. If we did, by the law of the Desert it would be for our use and that of our beasts till all were satisfied; but the law of the Desert is often superseded by the law of the strongest. The other party still came hurrying on; when all at once we saw Sheikh Hamed, who had urged on his camel ahead of us, suddenly rein it in, and wave his spear. We therefore exerted ourselves, and were soon up to him. The strangers halted at a little distance off, under some palm-trees. There were five of them, besides three men on foot. We stood thus for some minutes eyeing each other. Would they yield to our inferior numbers? They stood still, as if in doubt--perhaps intending to wait till we and our beasts were satisfied, unaware of the numerous bands in our rear. As I looked at them I could not help fancying that one of the persons on foot was a white man. I asked Halliday if he could make him out. "A white man he certainly is, and it is my belief that it is Boxall," he answered. I thought so too, but feared I might be mistaken. We waved our hands. He recognised us, I felt sure, though Halliday doubted it; at all events, we were about to hurry forward to meet him, regardless of our thirst, when the leading columns of the caravan appeared in the distance, and the strangers, seeing that they had no prospect of successfully disputing the water with us, hauled the men on foot up on their saddles, and went off at a round gallop. We were grievously disappointed at thus missing the opportunity of speaking to Boxall; and should he have failed to recognise us, the chances of our being able to hold any communication with each other would be greatly lessened. However, as he was in the neighbourhood, we might still hope to meet him, and concoct some plan for effecting our escape. The pool over which the Arabs would have been ready to shed each others' blood was between thirty and forty feet in circumference, five or six feet deep, and contained little more than a foot or so of stagnant water; but, stagnant as it was, we drank eagerly of it. At the edge was sitting a huge frog, its sole living occupant, as far as we could see. We were about to drive the reptile away, when the sheikh exclaimed, in an agitated tone, "Stay, Nazarenes! disturb not the creature. It is the guardian of the pool, and should it be destroyed the water may dry up for ever." Obeying the sheikh's commands, we let his frogship watch on; but I suspect that he must have had an uneasy time of it, while the animals of the caravan were drinking up his water till every drop was exhausted. As we travelled on, we frequently came in sight of other Arab tribes, but though moving in the same direction we never pitched our tents near each other. Occasionally, however, when the chiefs were on friendly terms, they would ride on together; though they always parted before the time of camping arrived. This was done because of the difficulty of finding water and food for their cattle. Sometimes we fell in with hostile tribes, when the cattle were driven close together, and the armed men drew up in battle array, ready to resist an attack. The Arabs do not, however, often engage in battle with each other, unless one party can surprise an enemy, or is much superior in numbers. In vain did we look out for Boxall; and when I tried to ascertain from the sheikh's brother to what tribe the Arabs belonged whom we had seen at the pool, he would only tell me that they were enemies, and not good people. At length, in the far distance, we caught sight of groups of tall palm-trees rearing their heads above the plain. At first, so accustomed were we to low bushes, I expected to see them only a little higher than usual, and was surprised at the length of time which elapsed before we reached them. We were delighted to find ourselves under their cool shade, and on the borders of a stream flowing in their midst. The Arabs, however, did not exhibit the same satisfaction; the animals were kept closer together than usual, while a vigilant watch was placed over them. I inquired the cause of these precautions, and was told that the forest was infested with wild beasts, and that we should be fortunate did we escape without being attacked. We had not gone far, indeed, when we caught sight of a lion stalking amid the trees; but after looking at us for some time, as if he would like to pounce upon some of the sheep or goats, he walked off, intimidated by the shouts and cries of the Arabs. We took warning, and did not stray from the camp. Among many other trees in this forest, I remarked cocoa-nut, date, and wild orange trees; indeed, the region appeared so fertile, that at first it seemed surprising that the Arabs should not have taken up their abode there. There were many reasons, however, for their not doing so: the strongest was their unconquerable love of a wandering life through the desert wilds; another and very important reason was, that the vast number of wild beasts which inhabited the forest would have proved very destructive to their flocks and herds. There were also several tribes already in possession, who would have proved formidable enemies had they attempted to settle in the neighbourhood. We had evidence the following day of the destructive power of the wild beasts. The caravan was already in motion, the chief men and the baggage camels being in front, a small guard only bringing up the rear. Halliday, Ben, and I, with our young negro companion Selim, were tending the flocks placed under our charge--several of those belonging to other families of the tribe being on the outside of us. It was about noon, and the rays of the sun struck down between the lofty branches, rendering the heat almost insupportable. As we were moving on we observed the camels ahead hesitating to advance, notwithstanding the efforts of their drivers to urge them forward. A cry was then quickly passed from rank to rank that wild beasts were at hand; and the guards looked to their firearms. Suddenly a huge panther leapt from a thicket almost into the midst of the nearest flock. Muskets were discharged from all sides, at the no small risk of hitting either the shepherds or the sheep. Several men, bolder than the rest, rushed forward with their spears to attack the panther; but, with a blow of its paw, and regardless of the spears thrust at it, it knocked over two of its assailants; and springing at a third, who was endeavouring to make his escape, brought him to the ground. The panther was now in the midst of the flock; and while some of the guards were reloading their weapons, it seized a sheep, and, before they could fire, bounded off with it as easily as a dog would with a fowl. Though several shots were sent after it, the animal, unhurt, disappeared in the forest. And this was only one of several instances of a similar character which occurred during our journey. We now ran to the assistance of the three men who had been struck down; but they were all dead. Loud wailings arose from their comrades, who, taking up their bodies, carried them to the spot where we halted for the night. Double guards were set, and fires lighted round the camp to frighten away the wild beasts. The night was spent by the Arabs in bewailing the loss of their companions; and at daybreak the next morning the dead were carried forth and graves were dug, when they were committed to the earth--some time being spent in piling up stones over their bodies, to prevent the hyenas or other wild beasts from digging them up. The instance I have mentioned was too common an occurrence, however, to make much impression on the rest of the people. Antonio had of late appeared to have forgotten his former animosity towards us, and whenever he could find opportunity he entered into conversation with Halliday and me. Still, notwithstanding the friendly manner he put on, I did not trust him; for there was something so singularly repulsive in his countenance, that I could not believe he was sincere. He told us at last that we were approaching his country. "Now will be the time for you to make your escape," he said in a confidential tone. "You are weary of this life, I am sure; and if you will fly with me, you will be welcomed by my people, and be treated as great chiefs: besides which, as they have constant communication with the coast, you will without difficulty be able to return to your own country." He was one day speaking in this way, when Selim, who was near, overheard him, but pretended to take no notice. The lad, however, watched for an opportunity when I was alone, and warned me not to trust the black, "He hates you and your friends, and has resolved on your destruction," he whispered to me. "I overheard him, when he did not know I was near, speaking to Abdalah, and it is clear that his intention is to betray you. Now, we will try to be even with him; the sheikh already mistrusts him, for he has been the cause of much trouble in the camp, about which I will tell you by-and-by. Do you therefore pretend to agree to his plans, and tell him that he must steal out first to a certain place beyond the camp, and that you will join him. I will then take care to let the sheikh know that he has gone, and that you have no intention of deserting, and will advise that men should be sent to seize him. If he is caught, it will prove that what I have said is true; and if he escapes, he will be afraid to return, and we shall be quit of him." "But we should thus be acting a very treacherous part, to which I can on no account consent," I answered. "You must leave that to me," replied Selim. "All you have to do is to listen to his plans: and depend upon it, if you do not, as I advise, pretend to agree with them, he will find some other means to betray you." Notwithstanding what Selim had said, I, of course, could not consent to do as he proposed. However, I found he was not to be defeated. He managed to insinuate himself into the confidence of Antonio, and persuaded him that it would be imprudent to be seen conversing with me, but that he himself would act as go-between; and he was thus able to manage matters according to his own fancy. Had I known at the time how Selim was acting, I should have felt it my duty to put a stop to his proceedings, although they were intended for our benefit. The very next night there was a commotion in the camp, and we heard that Antonio had been sent for by the sheikh. His name was shouted in all directions, but he was nowhere to be found. Soon afterwards a party, accompanied by Selim, set out from the camp; from which circumstance I had little doubt that the young black had carried out his treacherous plan. I could not help fearing, at the same time, that, notwithstanding his precautions, Ben, Halliday, and I might be implicated in it, and suffer accordingly. We were still employed in our usual evening's occupation when the party returned, bringing back Antonio, with his hands securely bound together. As the light of the fire, opposite which he was led, fell on his countenance, it struck me that it had more of an angry and vindictive than of a downcast look. He threw his fierce glance on me especially, appearing even then to be meditating a bitter revenge, as he naturally considered that it was owing to my treachery that he had been captured. He was forthwith conducted into the presence of the sheikh, who, with his brother Abdalah and other elders of the tribe, was seated by a fire beneath a group of palm-trees. Here, squatting on the ground, with a guard standing over him, he was allowed to listen to the consultation they were holding as to the punishment he merited. Selim, who managed to get near enough to hear what was going on, told us that some were for shooting him forthwith, or cutting off his head, while others considered that a sound beating would be sufficient to keep him in order. Though the Arabs are as well acquainted with the bastinado as the Moors and Turks, policy rather than mercy decided them on not inflicting it, as he would thus be unable to march, and it would be necessary to burden a camel with him for many days to come. It was at length decided that he should receive a severe beating; and that, should he still be refractory, he should be sold to the first slave-caravan for any sum he would fetch. That might seem a light punishment; but, as strong slaves are often compelled to carry burdens as well as work hard, should he be sold he would have to march for many months over the burning desert,--and as slave-merchants keep a watchful eye on their property, he would have but little chance of escape: so the fate in store for him was calculated, it was considered, to keep him on his good behaviour. "The camp will not be long troubled with him, however," said Selim, when he had finished his account. "He is sure before long to create a disturbance, and the sheikh will sell him to the first caravan we meet with." The Arabs, however, little knew the man they had to deal with. A guard was set over him; but though watchful enough when an enemy is expected to attack them, the Children of the Desert are, when in charge of a prisoner, as liable to yield to drowsiness as other people, under the belief that he too will fall asleep. Such, probably, was the case in the present instance. When morning dawned, Antonio was not to be found. His guards declared that they had seen a thick smoke ascend from where he lay, and that when they went to the spot he had disappeared,--thus proving without doubt that the Jins (or evil spirits) had carried him off. A diligent search was made round the camp, but no traces of him could be found, and no one could guess the direction he had taken. We now again moved forward, and were once more in the open country. By Selim's advice, Halliday and I did our best to ingratiate ourselves with the sheikh. "He thinks well of you already," he observed, "because you can speak his language; and if you can gain his confidence you will certainly be better treated, and perhaps be able to obtain your liberty." We were well-disposed to take this advice. The sheikh, I considered, was only following the instincts of his nature in making us slaves; and I hoped, by working on his good feelings (supposing he possessed any), ultimately to obtain our liberty: and, at all events, we should be better off while we remained with him. I must briefly describe the chief incidents of our journey. We had now again obtained the use of camels, and were riding on ahead with the sheikh, who usually liked to converse with us, as we could tell him of strange countries, and of events of which he had no previous conception. The noonday sun was beating down on our heads, without a breath of wind to cool the air, when we saw before us a vast, almost perpendicular wall of sand, which seemed completely to bar our way, extending as it did so far to the east and west that it might require not only one, but several days' journeys to get round it. The sheikh, though at first somewhat daunted at the appearance of the barrier, declared that there must be a passage through it, and that through it we must go if such passage could be found. Turning to the left, he led the way under the sand cliff, narrowly eyeing the ground in the hope of finding the footmarks of any camels which might have preceded us. On we went, the remainder of the caravan waiting for a sign from their chief to advance. At length there appeared a gap in the cliff, if I may so call it,--just as if a violent current of wind had forced its way through the barrier. The sheikh examined it, evidently doubting whether it would afford a safe passage for himself and his numerous followers, with their flocks and herds. At last he moved forward ahead of us, to examine the passage more narrowly; now looking to the right, now to the left, as if disliking the appearance of the towering masses of sand above his head. At length he exclaimed, "If it is the will of Allah that we should perish, why longer hesitate?" and waving his spear, he urged on his camel into the centre of the gorge. I was on the point of shouting to him to stop, for I observed the summit of the cliff begin to tremble ominously, as if it felt the effect of the camel's feet at its base; but in another instant down came the avalanche of sand, entirely surrounding the sheikh, who in vain endeavoured to force his way out. Higher and higher it rose, his camel struggling violently--while he clung to its back, knowing that should he lose his hold he himself would be speedily overwhelmed. His brother and the rest of the leading party stood aghast, afraid of sharing his fate should they attempt to go to his rescue; while, regardless of what might be the consequences to myself, I dashed forward, calling to Halliday and Ben. Fortunately, I carried secured to my saddle a long coil of rope, which I had found useful in surrounding my flock at night; and telling my companions to hold fast to one end, I took the other, and, throwing myself from my camel, dashed into the midst of the sand. I knew, however, that at any moment, should I be completely overwhelmed, they could draw me out. I made my way with great difficulty, almost at times covered up by the sand, till I succeeded in crawling rather than walking up to the spot where the sheikh was struggling. "I have been sent to your rescue, O sheikh," I cried out, throwing him the end of the rope. "Secure this to your camel's body." He quickly did as I advised him. "Is it secure?" I asked. The reply was in the affirmative. "Hold on then, O sheikh, and we will draw you forth!" I exclaimed; when, hurrying back to my companions, we fastened the other end of the rope to our three camels, which with might and main we urged away from the bank. Faster and faster came down the sand from above; but we pulled and pulled, while the sheikh's camel struggled, trampling the sand down with its fore feet; and in a few seconds we had hauled him out from the midst of the sand, and once more safe among his followers--who rode up to congratulate him, and to compliment us on the service we had rendered. "You have done well, O young Nazarene," he exclaimed, turning to me; "and from henceforth know me as your friend. Though I cannot grant you your liberty--which in this place would be of no use, as you would certainly be murdered were you to attempt to cross the desert alone-- yet, on my return to the north, I will venture as near the settled districts as I can, that you may have an opportunity of reaching your countrymen." I thanked the sheikh in proper terms, assuring him of the satisfaction my companions and I felt at having rescued him from the dangerous position in which he had been placed. Quickly recovering himself, and being quite indifferent to the quantity of sand clinging to his garments, he rode along in search of a more practicable opening. This at length was found; and as the valley was much broader, and the sand slanted more gradually on either side, there appeared a fair prospect of our being able to pass through. The whole caravan then entered the defile between the sand-hills; but we were fully three hours travelling between those prodigious masses of sand. Sand was below our feet, sand in front and behind, sand on each side. A sudden blast would inevitably cover us with it for many feet. It was nervous work. Fatalism alone could have induced men, fully alive to the danger they were incurring, to venture into such a position. To add to our danger, the loaded camels frequently fell down, and we were compelled to take off their burdens to enable them to rise. At length, overcome with fatigue, the whole caravan emerged from the defile on firm ground, where we encamped,--but without a drop of water to quench our burning thirst. The only liquid that we could procure, and that in very small quantities, was milk from the camels and goats. We at length reached a pool of brackish water, which somewhat restored us. Further on we passed over a region of salt. Here the ground, as we advanced over it, gave way under our feet, producing a crackling noise, just as snow does when trod on after being slightly melted and again hardened by the frost. I observed numerous heaps of beautiful crystallised salt, perfectly white, arranged in peculiar order and symmetry. This salt region was of considerable extent. In certain places we found that the ground had been dug up; and I heard that caravans came there for the express purpose of loading their animals with salt, to convey it to far-distant parts of the continent. Though the sheikh may have thought it beneath his dignity to express many signs of gratitude to us for the service we had rendered him, yet our condition was considerably improved, and we had less hard work than usual to perform; still, we were by no means allowed to eat the bread of idleness. As we were travelling on, when I happened to be in the rear I observed in the far distance a small black object, which, from its constantly appearing in the same direction, I could not help believing was some person following the caravan. The Arabs did not seem to have noticed any one; but my mind instantly fixed on Antonio, and I felt sure that he had some treacherous object in view. However, until I had ascertained that I was right in my conjectures, I thought it would be more prudent not to tell the Arabs, as, should he be pursued, he would in all probability make his escape or hide himself, and I should be accused of creating a false alarm, and might be ill-treated in consequence. I contented myself, therefore, with merely telling Halliday and Ben, who were of opinion that I was right; and we agreed to be on the watch, lest he should steal into the camp at night with the intention of murdering us, or watch for us should we venture outside. At all events, we were certain he was capable of any treachery, and that he would run any risk for the sake of gratifying his revenge. CHAPTER ELEVEN. CONVERSATION ON RELIGIOUS MATTERS WITH THE SHEIKH AND MARABOUTS--THE SLAVE TRACK--AT THE SHRINE OF THE SAINT--I START ON A JOURNEY--THE SHEIKH GRANTS ME A FAVOUR--AN UNPLEASANT DUTY--ATTACKED BY A WILD BEAST--ANTONIO HAUNTS OUR CAMP--ARRIVAL AT OUR DESTINATION. Day after day we continued to travel southward--further and further from home, as it seemed to us. Whenever we could meet, Halliday, Ben, and I--not trusting to the sheikh's promises, of whose fickleness we had many proofs--eagerly discussed the possibility of escaping. Ben's idea was, that if we should arrive at length at a river running into the sea, we might either steal a canoe or build a raft, and float down the stream. We might thus escape from our present masters, who, unaccustomed to the water, would be unable to follow us; but we should run the risk of falling into the hands of still greater savages, who might very likely murder us. Still, our present slavery was well-nigh unbearable, and we were ready to run every risk to escape from it. We were doubtful whether we might venture to take Selim into our counsels. He seemed attached to us, and especially to me; but then, as he had shown a readiness to act treacherously in the case of Antonio, he might, should it be to his interest, play us a similar trick, Halliday thought. I was more inclined to trust him; I liked the expression of the lad's countenance, and he had hitherto, as far as we could judge, been faithful to us. During the time he had been on board an English ship-of-war, he had learned the truths of Christianity from the boatswain and three or four of the men, who, having become truly converted themselves, had endeavoured to win over their shipmates, and had taken great pains with him. He had been the only survivor of a boat's crew wrecked on the northern coast of Africa--he, being an excellent swimmer, having gained the shore. He had been kept in slavery a year or more by the Moors; but he at length managed to swim off to a Spanish vessel, and afterwards entered on board the galleon where we first met with him. Accustomed, therefore, to the habits of the Moors, he was able to conduct himself discreetly towards them; and passing for a good Mohammedan, he had in a considerable degree gained their confidence. He had, however, expressed to me more than once his regret at having to play the hypocrite. "What can I do?" he would observe. "I know that Mohammed was a false prophet; but if I were to say so I should have my head cut off--and to that I cannot make up my mind. Every time I cry out `Allah is great, and Mohammed is his prophet,' I know that I am telling a lie, and pray to be forgiven. Do you think that the true God will forgive me?" I replied that it was not for me to decide, but that I thought he was bound to try and escape from such thraldom on the first opportunity. "That is what I shall do," he answered; "but I will not escape without you; and as I know the ways of the country, and can speak the language of the black people further south, I may, I hope, be of use to you." After this conversation, he came to me one day and told me that the sheikh and two marabouts, or priests, who were in the camp, had resolved to make me and my companions turn Mohammedans. "I warn you, that you may know how to behave. Let me advise you not to show any indignation, but rather to pretend that you are ready to listen to what they call the truth." The very next day the sheikh summoned me into his presence. I found him seated with the two marabouts; and they at once explained the doctrines of the Mohammedan faith, and to which, according to Selim's advice, I listened with all the respect I could assume. "Are you acquainted, O sheikh, with my religion, from which you wish to turn me?" I asked quietly. "Yes; you worship Jins, and have dealings with the Evil One," he answered in a confident tone, as if he knew all about the matter. I have since met others, in more enlightened lands, equally confident as to their knowledge of the religious opinions of those who differ from them, and equally wrong. "You have been misinformed, O sheikh; pardon me for saying so," I replied calmly. "I worship the one true God. Listen to the prayer I offer up every morning." I then repeated slowly, and with all due emphasis, the Lord's Prayer. The sheikh and marabouts listened with astonishment depicted on their countenances. "Can this be so?" asked the sheikh. "Such a prayer as that any true believer might be ready to offer up." "Forgive us our offences, as we forgive them that offend against us," I said slowly, looking at the sheikh. "Can you pray thus and expect to be forgiven?" I asked. "Truly the young Nazarene has put a puzzling question," observed the sheikh, turning to the marabouts. They shook their heads, unable to reply, but still unwilling to confess themselves defeated. "Now, O sheikh, understand that we Christians desire to follow that precept, not from cowardice or a mean spirit, but from obedience to our Lord and Master; and would you therefore wish to induce me and my companions to abandon a faith inculcating so pure and holy a precept? Understand that where it is practised, blood feuds, and the many other causes which produce the quarrels and bloody wars so constantly prevailing in this region, are impossible. Peace and prosperity reign in exact proportion as the true Christian faith gains the ascendency among a people." "You argue well, young Nazarene," said the sheikh. "I may not see with your eyes, but I respect your opinions." We said much more on the subject, and I had reason to hope that, without sacrificing my principles, I had gained the respect of the sheikh; but one of the marabouts, at least, was far from contented with the result of our conversation. He constantly afterwards attacked both Halliday and me, endeavouring to convert us, and threatening us with severe penalties if we refused. We had now got a considerable way to the east, and were passing along the track of caravans moving northward with slaves, collected in the Black States, to the southward of the Desert. The whole road was marked by the skeletons of human beings, who had expired from thirst and hunger. As I was riding along on my camel, dozing in consequence of the heat of the sun, I was awoke by hearing a crashing sound, and on looking down I saw that my beast's feet had stepped upon the perfect skeletons of three or four human beings, which gave way beneath them. The head of one of the skeletons, detached by a kick from the animal's foot, rolled on like a ball some way before me. The Arabs took no notice of the occurrence, however, remarking that they were only those of black slaves, and of no account. It was about this time that several of our camels knocked up; and seeing that they would not live, the sheikh gave the order for them to be killed. I was struck with the savage expression of the Arabs, who stood ready with their knives in their hands, waiting for the signal to plunge them into the bodies of the poor animals--which, before they were cool, were cut up to supply food for the caravan. The head of the camel to be slaughtered being turned towards the east, an Arab stuck his dagger into its heart, when it almost instantly dropped dead. A good many camels having been thus lost, Halliday, Ben, and I were compelled, as at first, to trudge on on foot. All this time I had not forgotten Antonio, and I was sure that I occasionally caught glimpses of him. How he managed to subsist, might seem surprising; but he had armed himself, and was thus able to kill any animals he might meet with: he might also pick up subsistence from the remains of the camels, sheep, and cattle which dropped on the road. Possibly, too, he had some confederates in the camp, who might have hidden food as well as ammunition,--which, when we moved on, he would know by certain marks where to find. We at length reached a somewhat more fertile region, where date, cocoa-nut, and other palm-trees were once more seen; while beyond it was a large lake, on the borders of which we heard was the shrine of a Mohammedan saint, at which the people of the caravan were about to worship. Out of the lake, we learned, ran a broad river to the westward; a fact which created in us the most lively interest, for it might afford us the long-looked-for means of making our escape. As we neared the sacred precincts, the marabouts again endeavoured to make us change our religion. On our refusing, as formerly, to do so, they became very angry, even the sheikh himself appearing to be much disappointed. While we lay encamped, a day's journey, I understood, from the shrine,--which was to the eastward of us,--he sent for me, and expressing his confidence in my fidelity, informed me that he intended to trust to my care the widow and children of a friendly chief, who had died while visiting the tomb of the saint. "Her relatives, to whom she desires to return, dwell about twelve days' journey off; and you will return before we again set forth on our journey northward. I will send two guides with you who know the country; but as our camels require rest, you will be compelled to proceed on foot. The widow and her children will, however, be provided with a camel; and the guides will conduct another laden with provisions and water. Here," he said, giving me an old-fashioned, large-mouthed pistol, "is a weapon with which you can defend yourself and your charges; and here, also, is a pouch with ammunition. You will set out to-morrow morning; and may no harm befall you on the way!" I hardly knew whether to be pleased or not at the confidence placed in me. Halliday and I had been hoping that while at this spot we might find an opportunity of escaping down the river, as we had proposed,--and should I be separated from him and Ben, our plan might be defeated. So as soon as I had left the sheikh I went in search of them, and told them of the expedition I had been ordered to make. "I am afraid you will have to await my return before we can venture to carry out our plan." "I don't quite see that, sir," said Ben. "You are going to the west; and that is, I suppose, the direction the river takes. Now my idea is, that if we can make off while the Arabs are praying to their saint, we can meet you half-way on your return; and then we can all steer for the river together, and either borrow a canoe or build a raft, as you proposed." "But the risk of missing each other is very great," I answered. "I am therefore still inclined to hold to my opinion, that it will be better to wait till I can get back; and if I can give a favourable account of my mission, the sheikh will place more confidence in us, and we shall be less strictly watched than heretofore." "I propose that we consult Selim," said Halliday. "He has been making inquiries about the country, and has picked up a good deal of information which might be useful to us." "I am sure, from what he has said to me lately, that he can be trusted, and that he is as anxious to escape as we are,--so I agree with you, Halliday," I said. "Perhaps the sheikh will allow him to accompany me; if so, he will be of great assistance in enabling me to find you out. I might ask to have him, on the plea that he understands the language of the people." My companions agreed to this proposal, and I undertook at once to petition the sheikh that he would allow me to take Selim. It was also settled that my friends should endeavour to escape from the camp exactly twelve days after I had left it, when they were to make their way along the banks of the river for six days, and then look out for me. I undertook, on my part, to return eastward for the same length of time, also keeping as closely as possible to the river. By this plan we had good hopes of meeting, though we could not conceal from ourselves that there were many dangers to be encountered; but yet no more feasible plan presented itself. So confident did I feel in Selim's honesty, that, without speaking to him, I at once went back to the sheikh and boldly requested that he might be allowed to accompany me. To my great satisfaction, he at once consented. "He is a sharp lad, and you will find him of great use on your journey," he added. Selim, whom I soon afterwards found, was greatly pleased at what I told him. "We may hope, then, to shake the dust of the camp off our feet for the last time," he said quietly. I had fixed my eyes on Selim's countenance as he spoke. He turned his on me with so honest a look, that I was more than ever convinced he was sincere. I took his hand, and said,--"We understand each other, then; if we escape to my country, notwithstanding the difference in the colour of our skins you shall be my friend for life." "I hope so," he answered. "Though we may be wide apart, our hearts may be joined; and we may meet above, in that happy land to which all Christians are bound." I had no longer a shade of doubt as to Selim proving faithful. Next morning Selim and I, according to the sheikh's directions, waited outside the camp, when he, his brother Abdalah, and two other chiefs appeared, conducting a couple of camels. On the first was placed a palanquin of wicker-work, ornamented with silk hangings, and a tuft of feathers on the top. Within it was seated a veiled lady and three small children, whose black curly heads made them look more like negroes than Arabs. There was apparently some mystery in the matter, into which it was not my business to inquire. Leading the other camel, which was laden with provisions and a small tent, were two guides, both of whom were negroes, though dressed in the Arab fashion. The sheikh then uttered a benediction on the occupant of the palanquin and her young family, and ordered us to advance. The guides, with Selim, went first, by the side of the baggage camel; and I, with the veiled lady, followed. Whether I was to see her face or not, I could not tell, nor was I very curious about piercing the mystery connected with her. The sun was still rising at our backs, as, moving forward at a tolerably quick pace, we soon lost sight of the camp. We had gone several miles, Selim always keeping ahead with the guides, with whom he was apparently engaged in an interesting conversation. I was already beginning to feel somewhat tired, when a voice from the palanquin desired me to take out one of the children, as the little urchin had a fancy to be carried instead of being cooped up within it. Unwilling to disoblige the lady, I obeyed; so, placing the child on my shoulder, we again moved on--though, as I dragged my weary limbs along, I felt very much inclined to let the young urchin drop. Feeling, at last, that I could no longer carry him, I begged the veiled lady to take him in again; but she, looking on me as a slave bound to obey her commands, replied that he preferred riding on my back, and that I must carry him as long as he wished. Accordingly, to avoid a dispute, I again took up the urchin and staggered on, strengthened by the hope that my days of slavery would soon come to an end. I had not forgotten my suspicions about Antonio, and wondered whether he was still in the neighbourhood, or if he had observed us quitting the camp. If so, I had little doubt that he would follow in our footsteps, and attack us should he find an opportunity. He might, indeed, at the present moment be stealing upon us to shoot me, and carry off the lady, before the guards could be aware of his approach. As may be supposed, therefore, I very frequently turned my head anxiously round, almost expecting to see him. I also began to think that the sheikh had acted very imprudently in sending the lady with so small an escort, and I regretted that I had not begged to have a greater number of guards; at the same time, it occurred to me that I should have had more difficulty in escaping from them than from the two men who accompanied us. The thought of the possibility of being suddenly attacked by Antonio added not a little to the annoyance I felt at having to carry the little blackamoor. Still, unwilling to offend his mother, I went on without complaining as long as I could walk. I felt very much inclined, I confess, to pinch his legs and make him cry out, especially when he amused himself by pulling at my hair, evidently thinking it very good fun. We had gone some distance when, turning my head, I saw--not Antonio, but a large panther, stealing out from a thicket at some distance on our left, and approaching us with stealthy steps. "Now, lady, unless you wish your child to be gobbled up by yonder monster, you must take him," I cried, throwing the urchin, without waiting for a reply, into the palanquin, and shouting out to Selim and the guides to come to my assistance, as I had only my pistol slung to my back--a very unsatisfactory weapon with which to encounter a wild beast. The guides had carbines and spears, indeed; but it was a question whether they would use them or run away. Selim at once gave proof of his courage and fidelity, however, by snatching a carbine from one of his companions, and rushing back at full speed towards me. "Don't fire your pistol," he cried out; "keep that, lest my carbine fail to kill the beast." The panther came on, in spite of the shouts which the guides set up, while they waved their cloaks and spears, and did their utmost to frighten it away. When within about a hundred yards of us, however, the savage creature stopped. This encouraged the guides, who now moved hesitatingly towards us. But again the panther crept on, though with less boldness than at first, as if it had expected to pick off the rearmost of the party, and was disappointed in its object. Seeing that should we move on the panther would follow with rapid bounds, I ordered the guides to stand still; and snatching the carbine from Selim's hand, I knelt down that I might take a surer aim. Knowing, however, that the Arabs' powder is often very bad, and that, consequently, their weapons frequently miss fire, I felt very doubtful whether such might not be the case on the present occasion. "Silence!" I cried out to my companions, who were still shouting and hurling fearful epithets at the head of the panther. "Only cry out should it attempt to spring." The savage brute came on, and was now within twenty paces. Two or three bounds might bring it upon us. So, praying that my weapon might prove faithful, I drew the trigger, aiming at the panther's breast. The piece going off, I was knocked over by the rebound; for the owner, in loading it, had put in a double charge: indeed, it was a wonder that it did not burst. When the smoke cleared away, I caught sight of the panther struggling on the ground, a few paces only in advance of the spot where I had last seen it; and the Arabs, shouting "E'sheetan! E'sheetan!" now rushing forward, plunged their spears into the creature's body, uttering a curse with every thrust they gave it. "Allah akbar!" exclaimed one. "It was a regular Jin." "No doubt about it. You Nazarene have done well; for if you had not killed him, he might have carried one or all of us off," cried the other. I felt very thankful at having succeeded, because I had not only killed the panther, but had risen considerably in the estimation of my companions. I should have liked to have had the animal's skin; but I was unwilling to delay our journey, and we therefore pushed on. I beckoned to Selim to walk alongside me; and I still carried the carbine, which I had reloaded from the guide's pouch. "I think we shall do well," said Selim; "I have been talking to those men, and they are well-disposed towards us. We shall, therefore, have no difficulty in escaping from them; indeed, one of them was once a slave himself, and would like to leave the tribe altogether. I have been telling him of the countries I have visited and the wonderful things I have seen, and he is eager to go and see them." "They may be well-disposed; but we must take care, Selim, that we are not betrayed by them," I observed. "We must first accomplish the object of our mission; and we have a good many dangers yet to encounter." I then told him of my apprehensions regarding Antonio, and charged him to keep a good look-out himself, and warn the guides also to be on their guard. Selim listened with attention to what I said. "I am afraid that you are right," he answered. "Last night, while we were encamped, I fancied that I caught sight of an object moving in the distance. I took it for a wild beast, and accordingly threw more wood on the fire and made it blaze up, and thus, as I supposed, frightened the beast away. I remarked, however, its extraordinary shape, and for some moments believed it to be a man; but as I gazed towards it, it disappeared in the darkness, and so I thought that my fancy had deceived me." From what Selim said I now felt perfectly sure that Antonio was following us, and so determined the next night to remain myself on the watch, with the carbine by my side. Accordingly, after we had pitched the tent and had taken our supper, I lay down close to the camel,--the palanquin, which had been taken off its back, assisting to form a screen. The other camel lay on the opposite side,--the fire being in the centre,--while boughs of prickly pear, which we cut down, formed the remainder of the circle. This was our usual style of encampment, and it afforded a tolerable protection against wild animals. I had not been long on the watch, when, as I was looking eastward, I saw a shadowy form slowly emerge from the darkness; as it approached it resolved itself into the figure of a man of gigantic size, as it appeared to me, but having certainly the air of Antonio. He stopped, and appeared to be surveying the camp. I saw that he grasped a large scimitar in his hand; but he had evidently no firearms. This accounted for his hesitation about attacking us unless he could take us by surprise. I could have shot him where he stood, but, though convinced that he meditated mischief, I could not bring myself to do so unless he actually attacked us. I lay quiet, attentively watching him; and at length he began to move forward, grasping his sword. On seeing this I started up, and the light of the fire behind me brought my figure into view. He immediately turned and fled, and in a few seconds I lost sight of him. He would now be aware, however, that we suspected his design, and were on the watch; which would make him approach more cautiously another time. Calling up Selim, I told him to take my place while I got some sleep, which I much required; but the night passed away, and nothing more was seen of Antonio. I cannot describe each day's journey. We kept along the skirts of a woody country, occasionally crossing shallow streams which furnished us with an ample supply of water. On two other occasions we caught sight of that mysterious figure,--once in the daytime, and once at night; but we were at both times on our guard, and he did not venture to approach. Still, the knowledge that he was following us, evidently with sinister intentions, caused us great anxiety, for we could not tell at what moment he might make a dash at us, at all hazards, and wreak his vengeance on our heads. Selim and I would certainly be his first victims, and probably he would put the rest of the party to death. At length the guides told me that we were approaching the end of our journey, and that the tents of the black sheikh were not far off. It had been arranged that we should encamp at a short distance from them, when I was to go forward with the camel, and deliver the widow and her children to her father. I had expected to see an encampment somewhat similar to the one I had left; but, as we drew near, a few low, cotton-covered tents alone met my view. The lady desired me to make her camel kneel down, saying that she, with her eldest child, would go forward, and begged me to take charge of the younger ones. I did as she wished; and, taking a basket which contained her valuables, she advanced with trembling steps towards one of the tents. Two figures stood at the entrance: one was a gigantic negro, with about as ugly and sinister an expression of countenance as I ever saw; the other was a veiled woman, whom I concluded to be the sheikh's wife. They received the poor lady without the slightest expression of pleasure or affection, and seemed to be demanding why she had come back; but, on account of the distance I was from them, I could not hear what was said. The widow had, I concluded, a long story to tell, and the black stood eyeing her with a look of contempt, which showed me that her reception was anything but a pleasant one. The old dame--for such, I was convinced, she was, though I could not see her features--stood quite still. At last I saw the widow go forward and kneel at the sheikh's feet; when, lifting her up, he seemed, as far as I could judge, to be assuring her of his protection, and forgiveness for any fault she might have committed. She then turned round and beckoned to me, when I brought forward the other two youngsters. As her father did not invite me to remain, however, I made my salaam to the lady and returned to our camp. I told Selim what had occurred. "The sooner we are away, the better, then," he said; "that sheikh is one of the fiercest and most barbarous in this part of the country, and it is impossible to tell how he may act towards us." I agreed with Selim, that if such was his character his countenance certainly did not belie him. It was then too late to move, however, so we arranged with the two guides to stop till the following morning, when we proposed setting out at daybreak. Having lighted our fire, and formed our camp as usual, while the guides lay down by the side of their camels, Selim and I sat and talked over our plans for the future. The question to be decided was, How could we best separate from our companions without being followed? There were difficulties, but we hoped to overcome these. Selim was of opinion that the safest plan would be for me to run off a couple of hours before dawn,--when he, taking the carbine of one of the guides, would set out as if in pursuit of me. The guides, finding that we did not return, and the one afraid of losing the other, would proceed on their journey, and report at the camp that we had been lost. Should Halliday and Ben, in the meantime, have been unable to make their escape, this would prevent suspicion being cast on them. To this plan I agreed, provided no better should present itself. CHAPTER TWELVE. I ESCAPE FROM THE CAMP--A TERRIBLE ENCOUNTER--SELIM ARRIVED--WE CROSS THE STREAM--A JOYFUL MEETING. Having but a small stock of provisions and little water to carry, Selim and I rode on one of the camels, while the guides mounted the other, and we made the first part of our return journey more pleasantly and rather more rapidly than we had come. We at the same time kept a good look-out for Antonio, but not a glimpse of him could be seen, and I began to hope that he had abandoned his design of murdering us,--if he had entertained it,--and had gone off to try and reach his own country. We at length arrived at the spot where Selim and I had agreed to quit the camp and strike off for the river, which we believed to be not more than a day's journey to the south of us. The country was wild and barren in the extreme, here and there a few cacti and stunted shrubs alone being visible. It would be imprudent to attempt escaping by day, with the possibility of being followed by the guides; even should they not follow us, they would naturally, on their arrival at the camp, inform the Arabs of the direction we had taken. Of course, we might have shot them, or have hamstrung the camels; but though Selim suggested that such might be necessary, I would not for a moment entertain the idea. If we were to escape, we must escape with clean hands and clear consciences. I would only consent to Selim carrying off one of the carbines, and as much ammunition as he could obtain; while I provided myself with as many dates and as much other food as I could stow away. We determined to commence our enterprise that very night, as soon as the moon had risen. I believed that I should have no difficulty, by the aid of her light, in making my way due south; and I agreed to stop at daybreak to look out for Selim. He would follow as soon as he thought that I had got to a sufficient distance to render it unlikely that the guides, should they propose to accompany him, would overtake me; and even in that case he hoped to be able to slip away from them. We encamped as usual, when Selim and I undertook to keep the first watch; and the guides, unsuspicious of our intentions, went to sleep. We had intentionally kept only a small fire burning, and as soon as the guides' eyes were closed we let it get still lower. Selim might have made his escape with me, but then he would have been unable to obtain one of the carbines and the ammunition, which it was essential for our future safety we should possess,--and which, according to the Arab fashion, the men slept with close to their hands, ready for instant use. Having fully agreed as to our future proceedings, so that there might be as little risk as possible of missing each other, I looked once more to the priming of my pistol, took a draught of water (that I might require none for some time to come), and then stole noiselessly out of the camp. I waited for a minute to ascertain that the Arabs were really asleep, and not watching me; then I took another survey in every direction, lest Antonio might possibly be in the neighbourhood; but no one appearing, I started off, running towards the south. I had before dark carefully surveyed the ground, and ascertained that it was perfectly level, without any impediment to stop my course. As soon as I had got out of sight, however, I went on more leisurely. The moon did not rise so soon as I had expected, while clouds gathering in the sky obscured the stars, and made it more difficult to keep a direct course. Still I hoped that I was steering to the south, and so continued on. Now and then I stopped to listen, but no sound reached my ears, and I was satisfied that I was not followed. On and on I went, anxious to reach some wood or thicket in which I could conceal myself should the guides, contrary to our expectations, accompany Selim. Often had I found trudging over the desert with bare feet in the daytime very painful, but at night, unable to discern the inequalities of the ground, and the prickly plants which grew on it, I suffered far more than I had ever done before, hardened as my feet had become by going so long without shoes. I had hitherto reached no trees, and although I tried to pierce the gloom I could discern no trace of the forest I expected to meet with in the distance. The moon now rising, enabled me better to see my way; but, though my feet pained me greatly, finding that I was making slower progress than I had calculated on, I pushed forward, still hoping before daybreak to reach some spot where I could conceal myself. At length I could bear the pain no longer, and, overcome with fatigue, a faintness seized me, and I sank down on the ground. How long I had continued in this state I could not tell. When I came to myself the moon was high in the sky, occasionally obscured, however, by the clouds which a strong wind drove across it; now her rays cast a bright light over the desert, now all again was in comparative darkness. I could only hope that no wild beast, prowling in search of prey, might find me, as I could, I felt, offer but a slight resistance. With the thought that such a thing might possibly occur, I took my pistol, which I had carried slung to my back, and grasped it in my hand. Again the faintness seized me, and I lay stretched out on the hard ground. As my senses returned, my ear being close to the ground, I fancied that I heard a footfall. Opening my eyes,--a cloud at that moment having passed the moon, which now shone brightly forth,--I saw approaching, a few paces off, the figure of a tall black man, with a scimitar raised in his hand--the light of the moon revealing to me the vindictive features of Antonio. In another moment his weapon, raised to strike, would have descended on my neck. His attitude convinced me of his intentions, so there was not a moment for deliberation. I was unwilling to have his blood on my head, but had I even ventured to speak my life would have been sacrificed. Suddenly lifting my pistol, I fired. The shot took effect. Raising his hand to his head, and dropping his sword, the black fell backward to the ground. For a moment it seemed as if I had been in a fearful dream, but the still smoking pistol in my hand convinced me of the reality of what had occurred; so, rising, at length I staggered towards where Antonio lay. Not a limb, not a muscle, moved, however. He had been shot through the heart. Feeling a horror of remaining near the dead body, and knowing also that it would certainly attract beasts of prey, I was anxious, in spite of the pain my feet suffered, to get to a distance. Reloading my pistol, therefore, and taking the scimitar,--which might enable me to defend myself against savage beasts as well as human foes,--I hurried forward as fast as my maimed feet would allow me. At length I made out a dark mass rising above the ground, which I hoped was the commencement of the forest bordering the river; and in a short time I reached the trunk of a large tree, which stood out at some distance from the others, when, unable longer to endure the pain of walking, I sank down at its base. It was just the sort of place in which I knew Selim would search for me. Suddenly the dreadful thought occurred, Had Antonio first encountered him, and taken his life? Such, I feared, was but too possible, as the savage black must have discovered our camp after I had left it, and pursued me to the spot where, intending to take my life, he had met his own doom. This idea caused me much anxiety, and greatly damped the satisfaction I felt at finding myself free. How many difficulties and dangers also yet lay before me! Should I meet Halliday and Ben? I asked myself. If not, what would become of us all? Could they find their way to the sea alone? Could I, indeed, expect to do so? How deeply I regretted having been separated from Boxall, who, with his good sense and courage, was far better calculated than any of us to conduct to a successful issue the hazardous undertaking proposed. Afraid of going to sleep, lest Selim should approach or any wild beast find me, I watched the moon sinking lower and lower, till she gradually disappeared altogether at the break of day. As the light increased I found myself on the borders of a forest, denser than any I had yet seen in Africa; while to the north the wide plain over which I had passed lay stretched out before me. I looked out anxiously for any figure which might prove to be that of Selim. Strange birds flew overhead, and a herd of deer went bounding by at no great distance. Had I possessed a more efficient weapon than my clumsy pistol, I should have tried to shoot one of the latter, in the hope of being able to manufacture shoes or sandals out of the hide to protect my lacerated feet, which were so swollen that I felt it would be almost torture to proceed further without some protection for them. As soon as there was sufficient light, however, I employed myself in picking out the thorns, with which they were full; after which operation I felt some slight relief. I then looked around for water in which I might cool them, but no stream or pool was in sight--though I knew, from the appearance of the vegetation, that water could not be far-off; and I felt sure that if I could but drag myself to it, I should soon be able to proceed. As the sun rose, his rays threw a bright glare across the plain, almost roasting me where I lay. To avoid the heat, I moved round to the western side of the tree, in the cool shade of which I stretched myself out at my length to rest my weary limbs, and turned my anxious eyes northward--from which direction I expected Selim would come. At length some one appeared on the top of a small hillock in the far distance, and stopped and looked about him. It must be Selim, I thought; and yet, until I was certain, I did not like to show myself. I anxiously watched the person. "Yes, it must be Selim," I exclaimed aloud. My fear was that, not seeing me, he might go off to the east or west. I knew that my voice could not reach him at that distance. I tried to drag myself up by means of the trunk, so as to lean against it when I was on my feet; but I could stand with difficulty even then. The only means I had of drawing Selim's attention was to fire off my pistol, but I was unwilling to throw away any of the ammunition. The person was by this time about to descend the hillock. With great pain and difficulty I got round the tree into the sunlight, and fired. Immediately the person began to run towards me; when, unable longer to stand, I sank down on the sand, fearing that after all he might be an enemy. I reloaded my weapon, therefore, and leaned back against the tree, with the scimitar I had taken from Antonio in my hand, determined to defend myself to the last. The person approached rapidly, stopping every now and then to look about him--surprised, apparently, at not seeing any one. As he came nearer, to my great joy I saw that it was no other than the faithful Selim. He bounded forward as he caught sight of me, uttering exclamations of joy; but his joy was turned to sorrow at finding me in the painful condition to which I had been reduced. "But still I have reason to be thankful that you are alive," he said. "Soon after you had gone, what was my dismay to catch sight of Antonio's shadowy form in the distance. He had apparently been watching the camp, and must have seen you leave it; but I suspect he was waiting to ascertain whether any person would follow you. Had I had the carbine in my hand, I might have been tempted to fire at him; but I should thus have awakened the guides, and your flight would have been discovered. I went up, as it was, to the sleeping men, to try and get one of their carbines, but found that I could not do so without arousing them; and when I looked again, the mysterious figure had disappeared. I trembled for your safety, but notwithstanding my anxiety I had to wait till the time agreed on. Then, arousing the guides, I told them that I thought you had escaped; and while they were rubbing their eyes, and trying to understand what I had said, I got hold of one of their weapons, with a bag of ammunition, and shouting out that I would quickly overtake you, rushed forth from the camp. `Take care of the camels, or they will escape,' I exclaimed as I dashed forward. They, believing that I should soon be back, did not follow, and I was soon out of their sight. "I was hurrying on, when I fell over the dead body of Antonio. My mind was greatly relieved, for I was satisfied that, instead of his killing you, you had killed him; and with revived spirits I pushed on till I reached the sand-hill and heard the report of your pistol. We have, however, no time to lose, for when the guides find that I do not return, they are very likely to come in pursuit of us." I told Selim how unable I was to walk. "I see that," he said; "but I must carry you till we get to water." "But you have not strength enough," I said. "Try me," he answered, and insisted on taking me on his back; and, though I was fully as heavy as he was, he managed to carry me with far greater ease than I should have supposed possible. We were soon making our way through the forest, which was more open than it had appeared at a distance. It contained a great variety of trees, few of which I had ever seen before. Many bore fruit and nuts, which Selim told me would furnish us with an ample supply of food. Among them were several shea-trees, from which vegetable butter is prepared; the fruit greatly resembling a large olive. At length we caught sight of water glittering amid the green foliage. Selim staggered on towards it, though his strength was well-nigh giving way. It was a comparatively narrow stream, running, we supposed, into the main river which we wished to reach. We had great difficulty in making our way amid the tangled foliage which grew on its banks; but at last we succeeded in finding a tree which had fallen into the water, and by scrambling along it we were able to reach the edge of the stream. "We must take care not to be picked off by any passing crocodile," observed Selim. "Stay, I will get a long stick, and, by splashing it in the water, we shall soon drive the creatures away, should any be near." He did as he proposed, and then we stooped down without fear and took an ample draught to satisfy our burning thirst. I quickly felt a beneficial effect from sitting with my feet in the stream and cooling them, Selim carefully beating the surface all the time; and being much refreshed, we soon returned to a more open part of the forest, where we sat down to rest, and to satisfy our hunger with the dates I had in my shirt, and some fruit which Selim collected. He also got some large leaves, possessing, he said, healing qualities; these he bound round my feet, and they produced even a more soothing effect than the water had done. Soon, relieved of pain, I felt excessively drowsy; and Selim promising to keep watch, in a few seconds I was fast asleep. When I awoke I found that the day was far advanced. Selim had been busy, in the meantime, in making me a hat with palm leaves--which, he said, I greatly required to shield my head from the sun. He had also, from the same material, manufactured a pair of slippers, which assisted to protect my feet, though they could not defend them altogether from the thorns which lay on the ground. Knowing that he must be in need of sleep, I told him that I would watch while he got some rest. He acknowledged that he should be very glad of it; and in a few seconds he was fast asleep. I sat with his carbine in my hand, ready to fire at any wild beast which might approach us; but happily none came near. And in a couple of hours or less Selim awoke, and declared that he was quite able to proceed. Our first object was to gain the bank of the river, to look out for Halliday and Ben, whom we hoped might have found their way to it. Though I still walked with difficulty, I managed to get along. We had not gone far when Selim observed a tree from which, he said, the people in his country were accustomed to manufacture bows. "I must make one at once," he observed; "it will save our ammunition-- which will serve to defend us from human foes or wild beasts, while we can shoot small birds or animals with arrows." He quickly cut off a branch which he fixed on for the purpose, and as we walked along he began to shape it with his knife. We had followed the course of the stream, which, as we caught glimpses of it through the trees, widened considerably. We had now arrived near the point where the stream joined the larger river, but both of us felt that we could go no further. We had still a good supply of dates, and Selim quickly collected some fruit, which enabled us to satisfy our hunger. We then cut down a number of saplings and a quantity of branches, with which we constructed a hut between the buttressed roots of a gigantic baobab-tree, with a strong barricade in front. Here we hoped to rest more securely than we had done for a long time, as we could not be attacked in the rear, and we believed that no wild beast would attempt to break through it; then, as we had met with no traces of inhabitants, we consequently did not expect to be attacked by human beings. We had our hut completed before dark; and in the meantime Selim managed to collect a number of reeds for arrows, and the strong fibre of a plant to twist into a bow-string. We had thus plenty of occupation-- till night coming on compelled us to retire within our hut, and build up the barricade in front of it. When I awoke in the morning, I found that Selim had completed his bow and arrows; so as soon as we had breakfasted on our remaining stock of provisions we set out towards the bank of the main river. It should be understood that we were on the eastern side of the stream. We had not gone far down it when, coming to an opening amid the numerous trees which lined its banks, I caught sight of a human figure moving, at some distance off, on the opposite shore. Telling Selim, in a whisper, what I had seen, I dragged him behind a tree, from whence we could look out and observe the stranger. We eagerly watched him; and presently we saw him joined by two other persons. "Why," exclaimed Selim, "they are our friends!" "If so, Boxall must be with them," I said joyfully. The uncertain light of the forest had before prevented me from distinguishing them; but as we made our way to the bank I was convinced that Selim was right. They had their backs turned towards us, and were proceeding westward, or down the river. We shouted to them; but our voices were lost amid the forest, or they did not recognise them, for they hurried on, and were soon lost to sight. Fearing that we should miss them altogether, we now determined to swim the stream--without reflecting on the dangers we might run. Selim fastened his bundle of arrows and my pistol on his head, and lifting his carbine and bow in one hand, he boldly struck out. I followed his example; but, laden though he was, he swam better than I did. Happily the stream was not very rapid, and a draught of water which I took as I swam across contributed to restore my strength; so in a few minutes we were on the opposite bank. Losing no time in shaking the water from our clothes, we hurried on, shouting to our friends. Again we caught sight of them. They looked round, and seeing us coming, hurried towards us. The meeting, as we all grasped each other's hands, was indeed a happy one. But how Boxall had fallen in with them I could not conceive. A few words, however, sufficed to explain how it had happened. It was he, as we had supposed, whom we had seen at the water-hole; and the tribe among whom he was a captive had, like many others, travelled south to worship at the shrine of the saint. A far greater intimacy than usual had taken place between the people of the different camps which at that period had assembled in the neighbourhood, and he thus came to hear that three Englishmen were held in slavery by Sheikh Hamed. He of course guessed that we were the persons spoken of, and resolved to communicate with us, though he knew that he ran a great risk of being severely punished should he be discovered. He took the opportunity, while all the men in his camp were worshipping at the shrine of the saint, to wander as far away as he could venture without creating suspicion in the minds of those who might be watching him, in the hope of meeting with one of us, or with some of our people who might give him information and take a message from him. He had proceeded further than was prudent, when, as it happened, a party of our Arabs returning to the camp caught sight of him, and supposing, from his white skin and dress, that he was one of us, seized and bound him, and carried him off as a prisoner. His capture, as he afterwards learned, was observed by a shepherd and some boys of his own camp, who carried back intelligence of what had occurred. Fortunately, Ben, who was outside our camp, met the party, and recognising Boxall, claimed him as a friend; telling him, without loss of time, of our intention of escaping. This made Boxall--who had been well treated by his captors, and expected to be liberated on his return to the north--abandon his resolution of going back to them, if he could escape from our camp. He pretended, therefore, to be well satisfied with his change of masters, and--as was really the case--to be delighted at finding an old friend. The Arabs, being thus deceived, believed that there was no necessity for watching him, and gave him over without hesitation into Ben's charge. Now, as I had left the camp secretly, it was not known by the people generally, and especially by the women, that I was absent, and Ben calculated rightly that Boxall would be mistaken for me. He accordingly conducted him boldly into the camp, where they soon found Halliday; and it was agreed that as soon as night came on they should all three make their escape together. This they had done; and having supplied themselves with food and some leathern bottles filled with water, they had pushed on during the night and the whole of the next day, till they reached the shelter of the wood. Arriving at the very stream we had discovered, and supposing that they would find us on the western side, they had crossed it, and had been waiting the whole day in expectation of our arrival. Boxall had gone through numerous adventures; but having been fortunate enough to cure some of the sheikh's family and several other persons by practising the slight knowledge of medicine he possessed, he had been held in high estimation, and had gained the confidence of the sheikh and all the chief people,--so that he had had few of the irksome duties to perform which had fallen to our lot. I now fondly hoped that, with Boxall as our leader, though we might have many difficulties to encounter, we should be able to overcome them, and finally reach the sea. We all agreed, however, that, from the direction the caravans had taken, we must still be at a considerable distance from it, and that we should certainly have a long voyage to perform on the river. "No matter how long it is," exclaimed Ben in a confident tone; "if we can get a few planks under our feet, and a bit of canvas for a sail, with Mr Boxall as captain, we'll do it!" CHAPTER THIRTEEN. THE RAFT UPSET--WE DISCOVER A CANOE--A FIGHT FOR LIBERTY--RECAPTURED-- THE BLACK WOMAN'S KINDNESS--THE BLACK SHEIKH BETTER THAN HE LOOKS-- SHEIKH HAMED'S ANGER--A FRIGHTFUL DOOM--RESCUED. We did not spend much time in relating our adventures--knowing that we should have opportunities enough by-and-by of spinning as many yarns about them as we might. Boxall approved of our plan of trying to find a canoe; or if not, of building a raft on which we might float down the stream until we could fall in with one; so we accordingly made our way at once to the bank of the river. It was not so broad as we expected to find it, yet the volume of water was sufficient to make us suppose that it flowed on in an uninterrupted course to the ocean. Of the character of the natives we knew nothing; indeed, we believed that no European had ever explored that part of the country. Selim alone could give us any information. His idea was that the people were among the most barbarous of any to be found on the borders of the Sahara. This was not satisfactory, but we could only hope that we might escape them. "At all events," observed Ben, "I have a notion that four Englishmen with a carbine, a large pistol, and a Turkish cutlass, backed by an honest black fellow with his bow and arrows, are a match for any number of savages; so if they come we must give them a thrashing--and that's what I've got to say about the matter." Though not quite so confident as Ben, we hoped that we should be able to keep at bay any enemies who might attack us. The bank of the river was thickly wooded, and we made but slow progress. Despairing at last of finding a canoe, we determined to build a raft. Reaching a part of the bank where a few feet of open ground gave us space to work, we commenced operations. My cutlass was invaluable, as it enabled us to cut down a number of young palms, the wood of which was soft and light. There were also plenty of creepers, which served instead of ropes for binding the logs together. We first placed a row of young trees side by side, and then secured another row at right angles upon them. By evening our raft was complete. We also provided ourselves with long poles, which would enable us to guide it in shallow water or keep it off overhanging trees; and, in addition, we formed five rough paddles--one being larger than the rest, for steering. We intended also to form a triangle, between which we could spread our shirts to serve as a sail should the wind be fair. Well satisfied with our day's performance, we launched our raft, which had been built close to the water, and secured it to the bank. It floated us all well; and as it was likely to afford a more secure resting-place than the shore, we lay down on it to sleep--two of us at a time keeping watch, lest any wild beast might, attack us. But although lions were heard roaring all night long, and other strange sounds came out of the forest, we slept securely on our floating bed. At daybreak, and in good spirits, we commenced our adventurous voyage. At first we floated tranquilly down the stream, having only occasionally to use our paddles to keep the raft off from the trunks of sunken trees--called snags, in America--which appeared above the water. In a short time, however, the current became more rapid, and we found, by the way the water leaped about, that we were being carried over a shallow part of the river. Our poles, too, showed that the depth was not above three or four feet. Presently the water became more shallow and more agitated, and we thought it wise to make for the bank. We were steering towards it, when the raft, striking an unseen rock, was whirled rapidly round and round: the water rushed over it, and we ourselves were swept off; while the raft, freed from our weight, was carried downwards, and quickly dashed to pieces among a number of rocks, over which the water furiously rushed, not a hundred yards below us. Happily we were all good swimmers, and we managed to reach shallow water and climb up the bank. "What has become of our weapons?" was the first question we asked. They, with my Moorish sword, had been placed in the centre of the raft, and so had been lost. We had cause to be thankful however, for having escaped with our lives. Undaunted by the accident, we determined to persevere, and to try and find a canoe in which to prosecute our voyage. Ben had saved one of the long poles, which, after sharpening at the end, would serve as a weapon--the only one we now possessed. Selim offered to supply us with bows and arrows, which might serve to kill birds for our meals. He showed himself one of the most active of the party, too, and as he went on ahead he looked into every little bay or hollow in which a canoe was likely to be concealed. At length we caught sight of some low, conical-shaped, thatched huts in the distance, and Selim said he was sure he could find a canoe not far off from thence. The only doubt was whether he should take it without asking the owner's leave, or try to obtain the loan of it: but then we had absolutely nothing to offer in return; and the natives might not only refuse to give it us, but might make us prisoners--and perhaps carry us back to the Arabs from whom we were escaping, or sell us to some other tribe. "Beggars must not be choosers," said Ben. "To my mind, if we can find a canoe, we have a right to her, considering that we have been kept in slavery, and worked pretty hard too, by the friends of these people." Certainly, I would rather have bought the canoe; but as that was out of the question, I could not help agreeing with Ben. We had not gone far, when we came to a path evidently made by human feet. "This probably leads to some plantation, or to another village, through the forest," observed Boxall. "We must proceed cautiously, so as not to come suddenly upon the natives." Selim offered to go on first and explore the way. In a short time he came running back. "I have discovered a canoe afloat and secured to the bank," he said. "She has paddles in her, so the owners cannot be far-off. We are indeed, fortunate, and must not lose the opportunity of escaping, as we are not likely again to meet so good a one." We hurried on. There lay the canoe, as Selim had described; she was large enough to hold us all--indeed, large enough to navigate the river to its mouth. Without further consideration we stepped into her, and seizing the paddles, cast off the painter, and shoved out into the stream. We did not feel quite as happy as we might have done had we been able to obtain her by lawful purchase from the owners. They would naturally be enraged on discovering that we had run off with their property, and if they could obtain the means, would, of course, follow us; we hoped, however, by paddling on, to get well ahead before being discovered. We should be in most danger when passing the village we had seen on the bank some way down the stream. Boxall told Selim to take the helm--as his black face might make the natives suppose that we were a party of white slaves sent down the river by our owner--while we four paddled with might and main. As we neared the village we plied our paddles harder than ever. Just as we got abreast of it, we saw a native in the front of one of the huts. Discovering us, he shouted to some others, who rushed out of their huts and followed him down to the river. We did not stop to ascertain what they were about to do, but paddled on. We had not got far, however, before we saw a canoe being launched from the bank. We might easily have distanced her, and were expecting to do so, when there appeared two more canoes some way ahead of us, putting off from the shore, evidently with the intention of intercepting us. Our only hope now was that we could fight our way past them. Had we possessed our firearms, or even Antonio's scimitar, this we might have done without much danger; but with only our paddles and Ben's long pole for weapons of defence, we should run, we knew, a great risk of losing our lives: still the attempt must be made. We paddled on boldly, shouting at the top of our voices, in the hope of intimidating our enemies. Those in one of the canoes seemed doubtful about attacking us, but the others came boldly on, sending, as they got near, a flight of arrows towards us. Selim shouted to them, telling them to keep off, and saying that we only wished to be allowed to pass in peace. To this they paid no attention, however, but, uttering loud cries in reply to our shouts, came dashing towards us. Ben, who had got his long pole ready, sprang up, and plunged it with such force that it ran through the body of one of the savages, who was dragged overboard. The others, alarmed by the death of their companion, paddled to a distance, and assailed us with fresh flights of arrows. Happily, they were not well aimed, and none of us were struck. We now began to hope that we should escape, though, as we paddled on, we were hotly pursued by two canoes. We were, however, distancing them, when we found that the river made a sharp bend, and ran back close to the village we had at first seen. At the same time we caught sight of four or five large canoes putting off from the shore, evidently for the purpose of intercepting us. In vain we attempted to escape; the canoes completely surrounded us, and unless we had resolved, rather than yield, to sacrifice our lives, resistance would have been useless. We merely, therefore, warded off with our paddles the blows aimed at our heads, while we cried out to the people that we were ready to give in if they would desist from striking. Before they understood us, however, we had received several cuts and bruises, and in a pitiable condition were conducted on shore. On landing we were placed in an open space on the ground, with guards over us; while the more influential persons seated themselves under a widespreading baobab-tree, and discussed what was to be done with us. Though we could not hear clearly what was said, from their gestures we fully believed they contemplated putting us to death. "We might as well have made a stouter fight for our liberty," observed Ben, who seemed to be sorry that we had yielded so easily. "If they believe that they can make anything by us, they will not kill us," said Boxall. "We may still, I hope, escape death." Anxiously we watched the gestures of the assembly. They were savage-looking fellows enough, but yet it soon became evident that some were for mild measures; and Selim, who understood better than we did what they were saying, caught a few words, and told us that they were waiting the arrival of some one, who had been sent for, and who was to decide our fate. Some hours passed, during which we were kept without food, and exposed to the burning rays of the sun. At length there was a movement among our captors, and we caught sight of several horsemen coming through the forest, with a person, who was evidently a chief of importance, at their head. As he approached, we recognised the black, ill-looking sheikh to whose camp we had conducted the veiled lady. My heart, I confess, sunk within me, for I expected very little mercy at his hands. Without dismounting, he listened to the account the chiefs of the village gave of our capture. When they had finished, I thought it was time for me to speak, and I knew that by so doing I could not make our case worse; I therefore addressed him in Arabic, which, at our former interview, I found that he understood. I reminded him that I had conducted his daughter and her family, placed under my charge, in safety to him; and that, having faithfully performed my duty, I felt that I had a right to escape from slavery, and to try and get back to my own country; that on my way I had fallen in with my present companions, and that when we were captured we were only doing what he and any of his people would, under similar circumstances, have attempted. He seemed more moved by my address than I had expected. "What you say is true, O Nazarene," he answered; "but those from whom you have escaped are my friends, and they will demand you at my hands. You know the penalty you have incurred by attempting to escape, and you must be prepared to pay it." I felt it would be of no use pleading for mercy with the savage, or I would have entreated him to set us at liberty, and to allow us to continue our voyage down the river. I had frequently heard, too, of the fearful cruelties which were practised on slaves who attempted to escape from their Arab masters, so I could not help thinking of those we should be doomed to suffer were we to be delivered up to Sheikh Hamed. The black sheikh now held a short consultation with the chiefs of the place and with those who accompanied him, and finally decided that we were to be carried next day to his camp. We were, in the meantime, thrust into a small hut, there to remain till the following morning, when we were to set out. Of course, we could not help being greatly cast down by the turn affairs had taken; Boxall, however, did his best to keep up our spirits, and urged us to look above for that strength and courage which we required in our time of need. "Our lives have been preserved when we expected to have lost them. Let us hope that even now some means of escape may be found," he observed. "I wonder whether the savages think we can live without eating," said Halliday. "I wish they would bring us some food." Not many minutes after this the door opened, and a black woman appeared, carrying a couple of baskets containing a bowl of couscoussu, a calabash of water, and some fruit. Though her countenance was shrivelled, it beamed with kindness. "I heard that there were white men starving, and in captivity, and I hastened from my home down the river to bring food to them," she said. "Here it is. Eat, strangers, and may your strength be restored." We thanked her for her charity. "I myself have reason to be thankful to white men," she answered. "When I was young, and just married, our village was attacked by a party of Moors, when my husband and I were carried down to the coast, to be conveyed across the wide ocean to slavery in a distant land. While waiting to embark, the kind governor of the place purchased us, kept us in his house, and fed and clothed us; and at last, when the country was at peace, he sent us back to our own home. There we continued to live, and my husband is now a rich man. Our great pleasure since then has been to help those white men who have been made slaves by the Arabs, or who are otherwise in distress." As she said this, the hope arose in me that she might possibly help us to escape. I asked her without hesitation if she could do so. She shook her head. At last she answered:-- "My husband is now old, and has no influence with the people of this place. They respect me, so they allow me to bring this food to you, but my power extends no further; still, I will do what I can. I must not now delay, or I may be accused of endeavouring to assist you to escape." Of course, after hearing this we could not detain the kind negress; and wishing us good-bye, she took her departure, while we set to at the welcome food she had brought us. "We have indeed reason to be thankful for this unexpected assistance," observed Boxall. "He who put it into the heart of this kind negress to bring us this food, will find us the means of escape." With our spirits somewhat raised by this event, we stretched our weary limbs on the hard ground, and were all soon asleep. We were awakened at daybreak by one of our guides, who told us that we must immediately set out on our journey. We had barely time allowed us to eat the remainder of the provisions the good negress had brought us, and were compelled to abandon any hope we had entertained of escaping by her assistance. We had now to march with guards on either side, and our hands tied, two and two: Boxall and I, Halliday and Ben, with Selim bringing up the rear. The journey was a fatiguing one, for after we had left the belt of forest which bordered the river we had a wide expanse of open country, where we were exposed to the rays of the hot sun. It was not desert, however; for numerous plantations covered it. At length we reached another woody district on the very borders of the Sahara, where the chief had pitched his camp. He had preceded us, we found; for on our arrival he appeared at the door of his tent, and called me up to him. "I have saved your life and that of your companions," he said; "but as you were attempting to escape from bondage, I am bound to deliver you up to Sheikh Hamed Aben Kaid, who will treat you as he thinks fit. All I can do is to report favourably of the way in which you conducted yourself towards my daughter and her children, and this may tell in your favour; but I warn you that a severe punishment awaits those who attempt to fly from their masters. You will set out to-morrow morning. And take my advice: as soon as you arrive you must express your desire to become faithful followers of the Prophet, and all will be well; if not, you may expect no mercy." I thanked the black sheikh for the kindly feeling which prompted his advice, but did not say whether I intended to take it. I felt very sure that my companions would suffer anything rather than turn Mohammedans, and I hoped that even the fear of death would not make me do so. For the remainder of the day we were placed in a tent by ourselves, and were amply supplied with food. As soon as we were alone, I told my friends what the black sheikh had said. Their answers were as I expected; and we all agreed to support each other in the resolution we had formed to be firm to our faith. Next morning we set out at daybreak on our dreary journey, escorted by a party of black troops on foot, with a few camels to carry provisions. We kept the road I had come, turning neither to the right nor to the left. Nothing occurred to us during the march worth narrating; we were not ill-treated, and were sufficiently supplied with food, our guards wishing to bring us back in good condition. We had got within about a day's journey of the camp, when we saw a party of Arabs approaching, mounted on camels, and as our guards did not appear alarmed we knew that they must be friends. As they drew nearer I recognised Sheikh Hamed at their head; and as he saw us a frown gathered on his brow, and he inquired of the leader of our guards how we had been taken. On being told what had happened, his anger increased, his own people gathering round him and crying out that we deserved nothing but death. While he and they were discussing the matter, one of the marabouts, who had taken part in the discussion I once had with the sheikh on religious subjects, proposed that we should be forgiven, provided we would acknowledge Mohammed as the Prophet of God, and conform in all other respects to the true religion, as he called it. As the question was not formally put to us, we had no reason to reply, and therefore stood silent while the discussion was going forward. As soon as it was over, the marabout came to us and inquired whether we were willing to conform to the faith of the Prophet, promising that if we did so our lives would be spared. We answered boldly, and at once, that we would not be hypocrites, and that we had resolved to abide by the religion in which we had been brought up. Our determined answer greatly enraged the marabout, who had expected to make easy converts of us. "Then you must be prepared for the fate you have brought upon yourselves," he answered. As evening was approaching, both parties encamped; and we were left during the night in doubt as to what our punishment would be. Ben was as firm as any of us. "A pretty sort of prophet Mohammed must have been, if he could not teach his followers to behave themselves better than they do," he exclaimed. "I cannot say but what they bow and pray enough, and go through all sorts of curious forms, but to my mind it's all outside show; and if their religion don't teach people to be kind and merciful, and to do to others as they would others should do to them, it's not worth a bit of rotten rope yarn." Selim, who had hitherto professed to be a follower of Mohammed, declared, after hearing our conversation, that he was ready to acknowledge himself a Christian, and to die with us if we were to be put to death. Boxall thereupon spoke very earnestly to him, as he had done to us, and urged him to adhere to his resolution. "It is far better to die than to live a hypocrite, or to acknowledge that Mohammed was a true prophet of God, when we know that he was an emissary of Satan sent to deceive the world," he observed. Next morning, after the Arabs and blacks had gone through their usual ceremonies, we were brought out, with our arms bound to our sides. The marabout had, in the meantime, been among the people, endeavouring to excite them against us, and they now gathered round from every side with savage gestures, hurling bitter curses at our heads, calling us vile Christians, despisers of the true Prophet, Nazarene dogs, accursed infidels, children of Satan, and similar names, till they had exhausted their vocabulary of abuse. The two sheikhs and the other chiefs now appeared on the field, and were received with loud acclamations. "Allah, Allah! God is great, and Mohammed is his Prophet!" shouted the crowd surrounding us, while their countenances exhibited their hostile feelings. Terrible was the doom preparing for us; whatever might have been the wishes of Sheikh Hamed and the black chief, the voices of the marabouts and the people prevailed. We were doomed to a fate scarcely less terrible than that of Tantalus. We were condemned to be buried alive, with our heads above the sand,--water and food being placed just beyond our reach, so that we might see the means of saving life and yet be unable to profit thereby. Certainly, I think, the vivid imaginations of the old heathens could not have invented a more horrible punishment. Again the marabouts came to us, and asked whether we would become faithful followers of the Prophet; promising to receive us as brothers, and to raise us to rank and honour in their tribe, if we would do so, and pointing out the dreadful fate which would be ours if we refused. But we all remained firm, declaring that we could not embrace a religion in which we did not believe. Selim, influenced by our example, shouted out,--"I once professed to be a follower of your false prophet, and I am sorry for it. I don't believe in him, or the Koran, or in the wrong and foolish things it teaches. You may kill me, along with these white men; I would rather die with them than live with such wretches as you are." The marabouts, as he spoke, rushed forward and struck him, and tried to drown his words by their shouts and execrations. Boxall, Halliday, and I, seeing no advantage in irritating the fanatical feelings of our captors, had said nothing, except that we would not turn Mohammedans; but Ben shouted out, in the best Arabic he could command,--"I believe in one God; but I know very well that Mohammed was not one of His prophets; and only blind, ignorant fools such as you are would believe in him or the stupid book he wrote. You may bury me, or do what you like; but as long as I have got a tongue above ground to wag, I will not knock off speaking the truth.--I say, Mr Blore, I don't think they quite make out what I mean. You just tell them, please; and give them a bit of your own mind too." Fortunately for Ben, only the first words of his speech were comprehended, and many of the people fancied that he was ready to turn Mohammedan; so that, instead of attacking him, many of them demanded that he should be set free and allowed to do as he wished. Indeed, by his good-humour, and readiness to help any one who wanted assistance, he had become a general favourite in the camp. The marabouts, however, suspecting, from his tone of voice, that he was not very complimentary to them or their religion, answered that he must be left to share our fate. They were also greatly enraged against Selim, and decided that he (in consequence of his perversion from the true faith) and Boxall (as the eldest of the party) should be the first to suffer. In the meantime, preparations were being made for our punishment; spades had been brought, and two holes dug in the sand about six feet apart. While we lay bound on the ground, the marabouts again came forward, and asked Boxall if he would turn Mohammedan; reminding him that he would be the cause of our death, and that of the young black, if he refused, as we should all undoubtedly follow. It was very clear that they would rather make converts of us than put us to death. "No, my friends," answered Boxall calmly. "In our country each man is allowed to believe as he thinks best; and I tell you that I cannot believe as you do." "Then take the consequences of your obstinate unbelief," answered the marabout, making a sign to the people surrounding us. They instantly seized Boxall and Selim, and dragged them to the holes, into which they thrust them,--one facing the other, and with their arms bound tightly down by their sides,--till their heads alone were visible above ground. The sand was then shovelled in till their bodies were entirely buried; after which a bowl of water and two pieces of well-cooked meat, emitting a pleasant odour, were placed between them, at such a distance that they could not possibly be reached. The Arabs had begun to dig two more holes, when we observed some disturbance among them. Presently the sheikh hurried to the top of a neighbouring mound, while all eyes were turned northward across the Desert. Leaving Boxall and Selim in their fearful position, and entirely disregarding us, those possessing firearms began to look to the priming, and all appeared to be getting their weapons ready for use, when, even as we lay on the ground, the heads of men in a long line came into view above our limited horizon. Then we could distinguish camels-- of which there seemed to be a hundred or more--advancing rapidly in close order. On they came,--the ground shaking beneath their tread,-- surrounded by clouds of dust stirred up by their feet. The two sheikhs now marshalled their men, and calling on them to fight bravely and merit paradise, led them forward to meet the foe. We watched them with painful interest, for our lives depended on the result. Whether the strangers had come for the purpose of rescuing us, we could not tell; but should they be defeated, there could be little doubt that our present masters would carry out their intention of putting us to death. If, on the contrary, the strangers gained the day, we had good hopes that we should be rescued, though we might still be kept in slavery. Sheikh Hamed and the black chief fought bravely; but they and their followers were but ill-armed, and greatly outnumbered. Back and back they were driven, and many soon lay stretched on the ground. Still others, who had remained as a reserve, advanced, rushing with their muskets and swords right up to the camels; but they too were driven back, while many of them took to flight. I prayed that the tide of battle would not sweep our way, lest we might be trampled to death. Several of the blacks, however, passed us, but these were in too great a hurry to escape to knock us on the head. Ben, meantime, had been working away desperately to get his hands free. "Hurrah! I have done it," he shouted, and instantly came and released Halliday and me. We then hurried to the assistance of Boxall and Selim, and with one of the spades which had been left behind we quickly dug them out. It was fortunate that we were not delayed, for they were already beginning to feel the weight of the sand pressing round them, though they might possibly have lived for many hours in that position. We had been so eager in extricating them, that we had not observed how the battle went, till, looking round, we saw the new-comers in full pursuit of our late owners, many of whom had been cut down. No prisoners had been taken, however; for it being known that the blacks were followers of the Prophet, it was not considered worth while to capture them, as they could not be held in slavery. Boxall, on catching sight of the victorious party, at once recognised them as his friends; and as they now halted and drew together, he led us towards them. Their leader at once knew him, and gave him a cordial welcome, expressing his satisfaction at having rescued him. Boxall then introduced us, and said that we wished to place ourselves under the protection of him and his tribe. The sheikh then ordering five of his followers each to take one of us up behind him on his camel, the victorious party rode off with us across the Desert, in the direction from which they had come, carrying away with them some of the arms and a few camels which they had captured. The band of warriors who had so opportunely come to our rescue belonged, I learned from the man behind whom I rode, to the powerful tribe of the Sheikh Salem Alsgoon, between whom and Sheikh Hamed Ben Kaid a feud had long existed. Although they could not come to blows at the tomb of the saint, a constant watch had been kept on the movements of Sheikh Hamed; and when it was found that he had set out from his camp to meet us, an expedition had been despatched with all haste to surprise him. To this circumstance we owed our preservation. Sheikh Salem, however, would have had sufficient excuse, according to the law of the Desert, for attacking Sheikh Hamed, on account of his having, as was supposed, carried off one of his slaves; indeed, the desire to recover Boxall was one of the motives which had induced him to undertake it. Had we not been found, he had ordered his people to make a few prisoners, in order that they might be exchanged for Boxall. Thus the very circumstance which at first appeared the most disastrous to us, as is often the case in life, resulted ultimately in our favour. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. THE OLD RECLUSE--DESCRIPTION OF THE CAMP--NIGHT INTRUDERS--BU SAEF--THE MIRAGE--OVERTAKEN BY A SAND-STORM--FEARFUL SUFFERINGS--ARRIVE AT AN OASIS--FALLING FORTUNES--ANOTHER CONVERSATION WITH MARABOUTS--VISITORS AT THE CAMP--SOLD--ARRIVE AT A TOWN. We rode on without stopping till the sun had sunk low in the western horizon, the object of the Arabs being to join the main body by daylight,--for our leader well knew that Sheikh Hamed, having escaped, would hasten back to his camp and summon his followers to pursue us; and as we had to pass at no great distance from the camp, there was every probability of our party being overtaken. Sheikh Salem's people, however, were full of fight, and boasted that, even should the whole of the hostile tribe come up with us, they would quickly put them to flight. They nevertheless dashed on with unabated speed, and never had I before ridden so fast through the Desert. Although rescued from a cruel and lingering death, we could not expect that our lot in other respects would be greatly improved. We were going back to slavery, and our new masters were likely to treat us as the others had intended doing, should we attempt to escape or refuse to embrace their religion. Just at sunset we reached a hollow with a few bushes growing at the bottom, from the midst of which sprang up a strange figure. It was that of an old man of most repulsive appearance, with a long white beard, a dark ragged garment thrown over his withered body, and a long stick in his hand. He was, I was told, a holy recluse, who lived upon the alms of passing pilgrims. He saluted our leader as an old acquaintance, and mounting on a camel, offered to guide us on our way during the night. It is no easy matter at any time, even for the Arabs, to find the way in a direct line across the boundless Desert; and when clouds obscure the stars, it is almost impossible without a compass. The old recluse, on seeing white strangers, cast a look of disgust and disdain at us, expressing his surprise that any true believers should allow infidel Nazarenes to remain in their company. But our leader only laughed, and answered that, as we had not eaten pork for a year, we had become almost as clean as Arabs. Considering that we had had a bath only a few days before, we considered ourselves a good deal cleaner. However, we did not say so, but let the dirty old saint abuse us to his heart's content without replying. Even camels cannot go on for ever; and at length we reached a rocky ridge with a hollow beyond it. Crossing over the ridge, we descended into the hollow, where we at length halted to spend the night. On this ridge several sentries were placed, to give early notice of the approach of the foe. No fires were lighted; and each man, having taken his frugal meal of dates and flour-cakes, lay down among the weary camels to rest. The night passed off without any alarm, and before daybreak we were again mounted and proceeding on our journey. Just as the sun was about to appear a halt was called, when all the men dismounted, and prostrating themselves towards the east, threw sand on their heads, while they uttered aloud their prayers as the sun rose above the horizon. Though anxious to push forward, as our pursuers would be employed in the same way, yet they did not hesitate to expend the time required in offering up their prayers. They mounted again as soon as possible, however, and once more we went ahead. A sharp look-out was kept for the camp, of the position of which the old Arab did not appear certain; for the tribe had been moving on for the last two days, in order to put as wide a space as possible between themselves and their foes. At length we saw a horseman spurring across the plain, when, catching sight of our camels, he turned and galloped towards us. He was one of several scouts who had been sent out to look for our party. Guided by him, we now went forward with confidence, and soon came in sight of numerous troops of camels, spreading, it seemed, right across the horizon; while Arabs were arriving from all directions,--some mounted on camels, others on foot. Passing through the line of camels, we saw before us a number of low tents, pitched at a short distance from a pool of water bordered by tall reeds, stunted palms, and other trees. As our party approached, we were welcomed with loud shouts. No sooner had we dismounted than the wife of the sheikh--a tall woman of commanding aspect--advanced from her tent to meet Boxall, who went forward with confidence, we following. I cannot say that she looked benignantly at us, for her countenance was stern, though unusually handsome for an Arab woman of her age. She gave orders that a tent should be prepared for our use, however; and as soon as we had taken possession of it she sent us a bowl of couscoussu, with some dates and camel's milk, so that we fared sumptuously after our fatiguing ride. "I feel almost as if I had got home again," said Boxall, as we lay at our ease with our legs stretched out on the carpet covering the floor of our tent. "I am really thankful to have you with me. Besides, we enjoy an advantage in being under the protection of a powerful sheikh, though I am afraid that our chance of escape is as remote as ever; while I suspect, notwithstanding the sheikh's promises, he will be very unwilling, when the time comes, to give me my liberty." "Where there's a will there's a way; and we must look out for that way," observed Ben. "I only hope that we shall some day get back to the sea, or be in the neighbourhood of some town where Christian people live. We must look out, at all events, for a chance of giving our friends the slip. I, for one, have no fancy to spend my days among these fellows, who never think of serving out an honest piece of roast beef, and turn up their ugly noses at a man because he may chance to have a liking for boiled pork and pease-pudding." We were not allowed to remain long in quiet. After we had enjoyed a couple of hours' rest, our tent was besieged by a number of people who came to have a look at the strangers. Among them were the two daughters of the chief. They were not much darker than Spanish women, and had graceful figures and really beautiful features. Their teeth were brilliantly white; and their eyes full of expression and vivacity, heightened by the colour they had given to their eyelashes and eyebrows by means of a blue stone. Their dress consisted of a woollen robe, which covered them from the shoulders, where it was secured by a silver buckle, and hung in folds down to their feet. They asked us all manner of questions, some of them very difficult to answer. Unfortunately, we had no presents to offer them in order to gain their goodwill. They looked upon us as their father's chattels, and with a mixture of contempt and curiosity, as if we were strange animals. Nor can I say that they appeared to feel any of that pity for our condition which we might suppose would animate the hearts of such lovely damsels. In truth, I fear that Ben was right when he observed,--"The good looks of them gals is only skin-deep; we may depend on that. They are more likely to do us an ill turn than a good one. I can tell it by the eyes they cast at us; so we mustn't be taken in by them." Alas! the Arab maidens had none of that true beauty which adorns the mind, for which our own fair countrywomen are so justly celebrated, and without which all outward beauty is a mockery and deception, as Ben justly remarked in his own way. I must here describe the encampment, which was similar to many others we met with during our wanderings. It was about ten or twelve hundred yards in circumference. The tents were made of camel-hair cloth, manufactured by the inhabitants. They were supported in the middle by poles, round the top of which was some basketwork, to give them ventilation; the lower edges being fixed to the ground by pegs, and further weighted by stones or sand. The sheikh's tent differed but little from those of his people, being only more spacious, and rather higher. It was pitched in the middle of the enclosure; the others being on either side, according to the rank of the occupants. A large part of the ground within was covered over with carpets, on which the family slept; the tents of the less wealthy people being furnished with mats only. On a few short poles stuck in the ground were hung the goat-skin bottles containing milk or water; as also arms, and a few garments, which, together with some wooden bowls, jugs, small millstones for grinding corn, cooking utensils, looms for weaving camel-hair cloth, and sundry small articles, constituted the whole furniture of the habitations of these wanderers of the Desert. The people continued to press around us in a most annoying manner. Boxall said he would complain to the sheikh's wife, in order that we might be allowed to rest in peace. He accordingly made his way through the crowd--who treated him with more respect than they did the rest of us--and that lady soon made her appearance, and in a threatening way ordered them to disperse. Though they obeyed her, they cast no very friendly glances at us; and in a short time many returned--with others who, though they did not enter the tent, crowded round the opening to have a look at us. Indeed, not till some time after night closed in were we allowed to rest in quiet. We had been asleep some hours when I was aroused by a shout; and starting up, I heard Ben cry out, "Hallo! what do you want with us, old fellow?" Selim gave a shriek, and Boxall and Halliday sprang to their feet, when by the dim light of the stars I caught sight of a number of heads, adorned with horns and long beards, at the entrance of the tent. The creatures, undaunted by our shouts, rushed in, butting against us, and evidently determined to take possession of the tent. We soon discovered them to be goats, which had been turned out for our accommodation, and now seemed inclined to dispute possession and reclaim their former abode. "Since you have come here you shall pay for your footing, and give us some milk for breakfast," exclaimed Ben, trying to seize one of them. The creature, however, was not to be easily caught; and eluding his grasp, it bolted out, followed by the rest, which we in vain tried to secure. They did not return, and we were allowed to pass the rest of the night in quiet. The next morning, after the usual form of prayer had been gone through, the scouts reported that Sheikh Hamed's people were nowhere in the neighbourhood, and the order was given to strike camp. The women immediately began to lower the tents, and to roll up the coverings in packages suitable for stowage on the camels' backs. Even the sheikh's wife and daughters performed their part, with our assistance. The men were in the meantime bringing in the baggage camels--which, kneeling down, were rapidly loaded. We marched much as we had been accustomed to do with Sheikh Hamed's tribe: a strong guard of armed men brought up the rear, scouts were sent out on our flanks, and another body, with which the sheikh generally rode, went ahead,--the whole covering the plain for an immense distance. There must have been three thousand camels, at the least, with several thousand sheep and goats, and a considerable number of horses and asses. Thus we moved forward day after day towards the north-east; not in a direct line, however, for we had frequently to make detours to reach wells or water-holes, or spots where water could be obtained by digging. Sometimes, too, we had to push across sandy regions in which not a drop of water could be found. On such occasions the poor animals, with the exception of the camels, suffered greatly; and even they became sensibly weakened, while we ourselves suffered greatly, from the want of water. We were allowed to ride on camels, but were otherwise--with the exception of Boxall--treated as slaves. I was allotted to the sheikh's wife, who proved a very imperious mistress. Ben had been claimed by a relation of the sheikh, the owner of a camel of the celebrated Bu Saef breed, noted for its speed, which it was his especial duty to tend; while Halliday and Selim became the property of other principal men related to the sheikh. Boxall, in his character of a doctor, belonged to the sheikh, though he was allowed to practise among all in the camp who claimed his services. My condition, from being able to act as interpreter, was better than it might otherwise have been; and I often blessed my old friend Andrew Spurling for having incited me to study Arabic. Boxall, however, confessed to me that he was on dangerous ground. Had he possessed a stock of simple medicines with the properties of which he was well acquainted, he believed he might have been the means of alleviating the sufferings of many; but he was well aware that if any patient should die to whom he had given a draught, he would be accused of murdering him, and in all probability be put to death. He had therefore to confine his skill to bruises, wounds, or broken limbs, which he invariably treated with the cold-water system whenever water was to be procured; and as his patients recovered, his reputation was thus maintained. I cannot recount one tenth part of the adventures we met with during that long march northward across the Sahara. Occasionally the monotony of our life was diversified by hunting ostriches and several kinds of deer. The former were run down by horsemen, who formed a large circle, compelling the birds to turn round and round till their strength was exhausted. Water became scarcer as we advanced into the Desert. The camels and other animals had drunk their fill at some pools in a valley, the water-skins had been filled, and we had now an immense extent of arid sand to traverse before we could reach another well. There was no means of avoiding this region, which even the bravest looked on with dread. We commenced our march before the sun was up, stopping only for a hasty prayer, and then pushing on again. Instead of spreading over the plain, as usual, the camels and other animals were kept close together, forming a broad, dense line. A few hours of rest were to be allowed at night; we were then again to advance; and so we were to proceed till the oasis could be reached, as the destruction of the whole caravan might be the result of delay. Almost in silence we moved over the glittering plain. The fiery sun struck down on our heads, and the heat was such that the air seemed to dance around us. Hour after hour we moved on, a few words being now and then exchanged, or songs sung by the light-hearted, or tales told by the most loquacious of story-tellers. I observed skeletons of camels and men sticking out of the sand, as the caravan deviated slightly to avoid them; for they extended across the plain half a mile or more. On making inquiries, I found that the skeletons were those of a caravan which, while crossing the Desert on their way south, had been overtaken by a simoom, and had perished, when only half a day's journey from the pools we had left. The sight certainly did not tend to raise our spirits; we had nearly three days' journey before us, and in the course of that time we might be exposed to the same danger. We encamped for a little at night, but having no fuel, were compelled to eat our provisions cold. During the next day the heat was more intense than ever, and our thirst increased in proportion. Soon after mid-day, a bright lake of shining water, as it seemed, appeared before us, with animals feeding on its banks; the walls of a city, with its domes, and spires, and tall palm-trees, behind. How delightful was the spectacle! Eager to reach it, I could not help urging on my camel; many others did the same, but our leaders proceeded as deliberately as before, regarding the spectacle with no concern; when, as we advanced, it suddenly vanished, and I found that we had been deceived by a mirage, so common in the Desert. The atmosphere had hitherto been calm, not a cloud dimmed the bright blue sky; but before long the wind, hot as from a furnace, swept by us, the sun struck down on our heads with irresistible force, while the azure of the sky changed to a lurid tint. I saw the Arabs looking anxiously at each other. Stronger and stronger came the wind, blowing the sand like spray from off the ground. Turning my head, I observed a dark cloud advancing towards us, sweeping over the ground. On it came, rising upwards, and completely obscuring the heavens. In vain would we have attempted to escape from it; almost immediately we were enveloped in a vast mass of sand, through which even the sun's rays, with all their power, could not penetrate. Darker and darker it grew, till we could scarcely distinguish those who rode on either side of us; while sand filled eyes, ears, and mouth, and covered our hair, even penetrating through our clothes. The Arabs shouted to each other to keep together, and dashed forward; but thicker and thicker came the storm. My tongue felt as if turned to leather, a burning thirst attacked me, and it was with difficulty I could speak; while others were suffering even more severely than I was. The sheikh had called a halt; and those in the rear came crowding up, almost riding over the front ranks before they were aware that they had reached them. Men and animals stood huddled together in a vast mass. To lie down would have been death; had any attempted to do so, they would either have been trampled under foot or have been buried beneath the sand. The fierce wind rendered it useless to pitch the tents, seeing they would have been blown down as soon as erected, or carried away before the blast. Occasionally those nearest each other would ask whether the storm was at the worst; but no one dared reply. The clouds of sand became thicker and thicker; we seemed to have death alone to expect. Complete silence prevailed; the horses hung their tongues out of their mouths, the camels drooped their heads, while the sheep and goats struggled to free themselves from the sand collecting around them. Thus hour after hour went by, and many of the Arabs, though accustomed to such storms, gave themselves up for lost. But suddenly the wind changed, and seemed to drive back the clouds which surrounded us; objects hitherto obscured came into view; and once more the voices of the leaders could be heard. The order to advance was given, and again we dashed forward, though so exhausted with thirst that we could scarcely keep our seats, while those on foot with difficulty dragged on their weary limbs. At nightfall we encamped, and small measures of water, or of such milk as the camels and goats could yield, were served out to the people; but the portion we obtained was scarcely sufficient to cool our parched tongues. Our very skin felt like leather, and was cracked and scorched all over. A short time only could be given for rest, however; another blast might sweep up clouds of sand and overwhelm us; another fatiguing march during a day and night over the Desert had to be passed. Besides, every drop of water was expended; and though the camels might go on with comparative ease, we must all of us expect to suffer dreadfully,--but more especially the women and children. Again we advanced; but another day might witness the destruction of many who had hitherto held out bravely. We went on as fast as the camels could move their limbs. The expectation that water would be found ahead incited us to exertion, I suppose, otherwise many would have sunk down and resigned themselves to their fate. At length the faint outline of palm-trees was seen in the far distance. Shouts of joy were uttered by those in advance, and taken up by the multitude in the rear. Soon the palm-trees became more and more distinct; and even the animals seemed to know that relief would soon be obtained. In a short time the whole caravan was collected round a large well, from which eager hands were employed in drawing water. Some time passed, however, before we could obtain a draught, as even the animals were considered more worthy to enjoy the water than we Nazarenes were. We here encamped, that both human beings and animals might recruit their strength. It was curious to remark the contrast between the flocks which came up to receive water at the well and those which had already slaked their thirst; the latter bounded and leaped about, showing how quickly the refreshing liquid had restored their strength. I have elsewhere described the appearance of our camp, and the mode of proceeding never varied. Before we started in the morning, the male part of the population were called out to prayer; the herdsmen then departed in all directions to tend the camels, horses, sheep, and goats while grazing. As the day advanced, the extreme heat, and the absence of most of the men, deprived the camp of all its bustle: a few women were alone to be seen, occupied in grinding between two stones the barley which was to serve for the evening repast; others were employed at their looms, weaving camel-hair cloth, within the shade of the tents. In the evening the whole scene became one of the greatest animation. Various travellers were arriving, and seeking the hospitality of the sheikh and his people: some came in troops, lightly mounted; others with camels loaded with articles to dispose of in the Desert. The sheikh sat on his carpet in front of his tent, calmly smoking his long hookah, and habited in a white haique of extreme fineness, which hung over another garment of sky-blue, ornamented on each side of the breast with silk embroidery of various colours. On his feet were red morocco boots, tastefully figured; while, instead of a turban, he wore round his head-- which was entirely shaved--a band of blue silk, a sign of his rank. Each Arab as he arrived made his camel kneel before the tent, and then, holding his musket in one hand, he touched the sheikh's head with the other in token of respect. The sheikh congratulated each one on his arrival, and returned the numerous salutations, without even inquiring from whence the traveller came, or whither he was going. Before dark, all were assembled for evening prayer; after which the travellers formed themselves into groups, partaking out of one common bowl the couscoussu prepared for them by their hosts. As night approached the camels and flocks came trotting in; and by a peculiar instinct each herd arranged itself before the tent to which it belonged, the women hurrying out to milk the she-camels and goats. The hubbub which ensued, caused by the numerous animals assembled, may be imagined. A perfect calm then succeeded the bustle: the inhabitants retired to their tents--the travellers, enveloped in their cloaks, lying down with their camels by the side of the waning fires; the cattle, closely packed together, remained immovable till morning,--and, notwithstanding the number collected, not a sound was heard during the night. The routine of every ordinary day, when we were not travelling, was similar to that I have described. Our position in the camp had not improved of late. By some means or other I had offended my hasty mistress and her young daughters, and this prejudicing the mind of the sheikh against me, I was ordered to perform the same sort of service as that to which Halliday and Ben had been condemned; while we were told that from henceforth we must march, like the other slaves, on foot. This encouraged a marabout, who hitherto had not interfered with us, to insist that we should turn Mohammedans; and every day we were summoned to hear him abuse the Christians, and to listen to his arguments in favour of the faith of the Prophet. Boxall, too, had not been so successful in his cures as at first. One of his patients, suffering from some internal disease, and who had broken his arm by a fall from a camel, died, and Boxall was accused of killing him--though he protested his innocence, and even the sheikh said that the man might have died from other causes. But from that day the people lost faith in him; and he was finally reduced from his post as surgeon-general of the tribe to serve with us as a camel-driver. Though the life he had now to bear, however, was one of daily toil, he accepted his position without complaining. "I confess, my dear Charlie," he said to me soon afterwards, "that I often felt ashamed of myself, while I was enjoying the favour of the sheikh and the abundant food he provided for me,--simply because I happened to know a little about medicine and surgery,--to see you and Halliday ill-treated and badly fed, and to be unable to help you. However, now that we are together, perhaps we may be better able to manage some means of escape. I have been endeavouring to calculate our present position, and I believe that we are not more than four hundred miles south of the borders of Morocco or Algiers. Should we reach Morocco, we might not be much better off in some respects than we are at present, as the Moors are even more fanatical than these wandering Arabs; but we might find the means of communicating with one of the English consuls on the coast, and probably obtain our release: whereas, if we could get into the neighbourhood of the frontier of Algiers, we might, on escaping, place ourselves under the protection of the French. To reach one of their outposts would, of course, be a difficulty; for, even supposing that we could escape from the camp, a journey by ourselves of three or four hundred miles across the Desert would be dangerous in the extreme, with the probability of being pursued by the Arabs. Notwithstanding this, I am inclined to the latter plan, provided my calculations of our position should prove correct." "So am I," I answered. "As for the dangers we may have to encounter, I am perfectly ready to face them; so I am sure will Halliday, Ben, and Selim--for we must not on any account leave the black lad behind." The plans for escape formed the subject of our conversation whenever we met. We were all of one mind about it, and we resolved not to desert each other, but to remain or escape together. Seeing I could converse with the Arabs with greater ease than the others, Boxall charged me to try and ascertain exactly whereabout we were, adding--"But be cautious about exhibiting any special interest in the matter." Whenever strangers came into the camp, therefore, I got into conversation with them, and tried to learn whence they had come, and how long they had been on their journey, hoping to find some one who had visited either the Atlantic or Mediterranean shores of the continent; but no one I had met with had performed less than a journey of thirty days in coming from the city of Morocco, or forty or more from Fez-- which of course placed us still a long way to the south of Algiers. We had therefore to wait patiently till the sheikh should move his camp further northward. We heard, however, of several large cities in different parts of the Desert: Timbuctoo, a long way to the south; Tintellust and Agadly, to the east; Tafleet and the beautiful oasis of Draha, to the north-west of us,--to all of which places travellers were proceeding. Ben was at this time in a better position than we were. Being a handy fellow, and understanding something of smith-work, he had mended the locks of some of the Arabs' firearms; and the whole of his time, when not occupied in tending his camel, was employed in repairing the damaged weapons of our masters. He held his position, however, among those capricious people, by a very uncertain tenure. The marabouts fancied, from his easy, good-natured manner, that they could without difficulty induce him to turn Mohammedan, and set to work with him, as they had done with us, to show the excellence of their religion. "Look you here, my friends," answered Ben, after listening with perfect gravity for some time, when one evening he and I, with the rest of our party, were seated on the ground at our supper, and two of these so-called holy men came up to us. "If it's a good thing for a man to have a dozen--or even fifty--wives, to cut throats, to steal, and commit all sorts of rogueries, then your religion may be a good one; but if not, why, do ye see--begging your pardons, no offence being intended--to my mind it was invented by the devil, and your Prophet, as you call him, was as big a rogue as ever lived.--Just tell them, Mr Blore, what I say; for I never can make these marabout chaps understand my lingo." Knowing that Ben's remarks would not be favourably received, I confess that I did not translate them literally, but replied: "My brother listens with all respect to the wisdom which has proceeded from your mouths. We all acknowledge Allah, and look to him for everything we possess; but we have been taught to put faith in another Prophet, whom we believe to be greater than any human being, and therefore we cannot deny Him by acknowledging any other." "Mohammed was superior to all other prophets!" exclaimed the marabouts. "Those who do not believe this are worthy of death and eternal damnation." "It is just on that point we differ, my friends," I answered with perfect calmness. "You believe one thing, we believe another. In the end we shall know which is right. In the meantime, why should we wrangle and dispute? or why should you grow angry with us because we do not agree with you?" "The more we love you, the more anxious we are for your conversion," answered the marabouts. "You take a curious way of showing it," I could not help observing, causing thereby something like a smile on the grave countenances of the priests--who did not, however, again attempt a theological discussion with us. Ben managed to make his opinions known, though, and received very severe treatment in consequence. The sheikh no longer continued to protect him any more than he did us; and when the tribe moved forward, he was compelled to trudge on foot, separated from his camel--which on such occasions was bestrode by his master. Many a weary day's march we had to make. Sometimes, however, we remained for several weeks together at an oasis, where wells would be found, and herbage for the beasts, with groves of date-trees. Here we had time to regain our strength; and our masters being generally in better humour, we were in consequence less harshly dealt with. Still, our existence was daily becoming more and more unendurable, and only the hope of ultimately escaping kept up our spirits, and prevented us sinking altogether into despair. Had we consented to abandon our religion, our homes, and civilisation, we might have been raised to a high position among these barbarians; and I believe that Boxall and I might have become sheikhs ourselves. The beautiful Coria, the youngest of the sheikh's daughters, showed me at first many marks of her esteem; but my refusal to embrace their religion, even for her sake, changed her love into hatred, and she became my most bitter persecutor. At length we heard that we were approaching a town, which we hoped might prove to be at no great distance from the borders of Algiers. Our knowledge of the interior of Africa, however, was very imperfect; or, I may say, we knew nothing at all about it--our only recollection of the Desert being a vast blank space, with a few spots upon it marked "oases," with Lake Tchad and Timbuctoo on its southern border, and a very indefinite line marked Algiers and Morocco. The place we were approaching was, we heard, the permanent abode of the sheikh; and the country, though arid according to European notions, was more fertile than any we had yet seen--palms and other trees being scattered about, with ranges of hills in the distance. The Arabs manifested their joy by singing and uttering shouts of delight, praising the country to us as if it were a perfect paradise. Here and there were fields of barley, with some low tents in their midst; and a grove of date-trees circling a well, near which was an open space. The sheikh advanced into the centre, and the camels immediately halting, they were unloaded, and all hands set to work to erect the tents. The tribe had reached their home, after their long pilgrimage. There seemed, however, no prospect of our lot being improved. We had not been long settled when a cavalcade arrived, the persons composing which differed greatly in appearance from those among whom we had so long lived. Their leader was a handsomely dressed, fine-looking Arab. He wore a haique, over which was a cloak of blue cloth, with a well-arranged turban on his head. The costume of his followers was nearly as becoming; their horses were large and well-caparisoned, their saddles being covered with scarlet cloth, to which hung enormous silver stirrups; while they were profusely covered with ornaments of the same material. Each horseman was armed with a poignard and sabre, and pistols in his sash; while he carried before him--the but resting on the saddle--a fine silver-mounted Moorish gun. The same ceremonies as I have before described were gone through; an entertainment also being prepared for the new-comers. After some time we were summoned to attend the sheikh, when we found that he was offering to sell us to his visitors. The price to be paid we could not ascertain, nor the object of our proposed purchasers; our only consolation was that we were to be sold together, and should not thus be separated. What other object the visitors had in coming to the camp we could not learn. I had my suspicions, however, when I heard the young sheikh-- whose name was Siddy Ischem--invite our master to accompany him. "No! Allah be praised, I have never been accustomed to towns and their ways; and within stone and brick walls I hope not to enter, unless I go at the head of my people, sword in hand, to plunder and destroy the cursed infidels,--when, with the blessing of Mohammed, I will get out again as soon as the work is accomplished." "Each man to his taste," answered Siddy Ischem. "A city affords its pleasures as well as the Desert." The greater part of the next morning was spent at the camp. We were then ordered to be ready to march. Siddy Boo Cassem, owner of the famous Bu Saef camel, with several of his tribe, accompanied our party. No camels or horses were allowed us, however, and having to march on foot, a dreary, fatiguing journey we found it. Some of our masters rode on either side of us, to prevent the possibility of our running away; though where we could have run to it was hard to say. We travelled on all day, the night overtaking us while we were still on the road. In about an hour, however, the moon rose, and enabled us better to see the path. Not long afterwards, we caught sight of a lofty tower rising out of the plain, and the dark frowning walls of a fortified town; and from the remarks of the Arabs we learned that this was our destination. We soon came under the walls, when the leaders of our band began to defile through a narrow archway. My heart sank within me, for I felt that the difficulties of escape would be increased. I expressed my feelings to Boxall; but he rejoined,--"Such walls as these can be easily scaled; and if we once get on the outside, we are not so likely to be observed and followed as from an open camp. Cheer up, Charlie; `it's a long lane that has no turning.'" Even he, however, felt somewhat dispirited when we were conducted to a long, low building, into which we were thrust, and the door closed upon us. All we could discover in the gloom was that the walls were of bare stone, with rings and chains secured to them, and that the floor was excessively dirty. We were so tired from our journey that we longed to lie down; but we were unable to do so until we could scrape from the floor the offal which thickly covered it. "I hope they are not going to send us supperless to bed," exclaimed Ben. "Can't you sing out that we are in want of food, Mr Blore, and that we shall be much obliged to them if they will send us something to drink at the same time?" There was a single, strongly-barred window in the room, looking into the street. I went to it, and cried at the top of my voice, "Oh, pity! oh, pity! oh, pity! Will any one have compassion on us, and bring us some food to supply our wants?" My appeal was not in vain, for before long the door opened and a veiled female appeared, bringing a basket with the universal couscoussu, some dates, and a bottle of water. Without uttering a word she placed the basket on the ground, and retired as silently as she had entered; not even allowing us time to thank her for her kindness. All we could do was to bless her after she had gone, and wonder who she could be; and then we set to with hearty appetites to devour the viands she had brought us. Finding some pieces of wood, we next scraped a spot in the corner of our prison clear of dirt; and then throwing ourselves on the ground, forgot our cares in sleep. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. BEN DISPLAYS HIS ABILITY AS A GUNSMITH--I ACT THE PART OF EAVESDROPPER-- HOW SIDDY BOO CASSEM OBTAINED BU SAEF--SELIM GOES ON A DANGEROUS EXPEDITION--ITS RESULT--BOXALL DOCTORS SIDDY BOO CASSEM--WE TAKE FRENCH LEAVE OF OUR MASTERS. Scarcely had daylight appeared when the door opened, and a number of inquisitive faces--belonging to people of all descriptions who had come to see us--appeared at the entrance. Some gazed in silence, but many amused themselves by abusing us, and bestowing on us all sorts of uncomplimentary names. We endured the abuse for some time without replying; but at last I got up and said-- "What is it that excites your curiosity, O followers of the prophet Mohammed? Are we not formed like yourselves? In what do we differ, except that your skins are dark and ours light; that you are at home, and we come from a far-distant land; that you speak one language, and we speak another--although Allah has given us the power of acquiring yours? We have no wish to insult you, and why should you take a pleasure in insulting us?" The people were greatly astonished at hearing me address them in their own language. What I had said had also considerable effect, for they instantly ceased abusing us; and several of them began to ask questions about our country, and the business which had brought us to Africa. Affairs were taking a more favourable turn, when one of those abominable marabouts came in and reminded the people that we were Nazarenes, and haters of the Prophet, and endeavoured thus to incite their fanatical zeal against us. What would have been the result I do not know, had not Siddy Ischem made his appearance. As we had become his property, he had no wish to see us injured; so he quickly drove the people away, and ordered us to accompany him to the house where he was staying. We soon reached a one-storied building, having a gateway, through which we passed into a courtyard, round which ran a colonnade. Part of the courtyard was covered with an awning, under which, on a carpet, sat a richly dressed Arab, by whose side Siddy Ischem took his seat, and then calling us up, desired us to narrate our adventures. I did so, explaining that three of us were officers who had been wrecked on the coast; that I felt sure a handsome price would be paid for our ransom; whereas, if we were kept in slavery, though we might labour ever so hard we could be of little profit to our masters. I do not know whether the sheikh was moved by what I said, but he told a slave standing by to bring us some food, and desired us to sit down in the shade and eat it. He then ordered us to go to the stables and groom the horses, saying at the same time that we must be prepared to continue our journey the next day. We found that the town in which we were, was one of those built by the Romans when their colonies spread over the northern shores of Africa. The town had long fallen into decay, the sands of the Desert having gradually encroached on it till the greater portion of the land fit for cultivation had been overwhelmed. The only habitable houses were one story in height, composed of sunburned bricks, and with flat roofs, on which the occupants seemed to spend most of their time. I forgot to say that we discovered our abode, which we at first took for a prison, to be merely a stable, and that the rings and chains were simply intended to secure refractory horses. We performed the duties assigned us as well as we could; and Ben's talent as a gunsmith being noised abroad, he was called on to repair all the damaged firearms in the place--we assisting him as well as we could--at a smith's shop to which we were conducted. "What wonderful people are these Nazarenes!" observed some of the bystanders. "They know everything." "Yes," remarked others; "the Jins teach them. It is their turn now; but they will burn throughout eternity. Curses rest on them! Allah is great; we have paradise for our portion." Similar remarks were made during the time we were at work; while some of the spectators, to show their contempt, spat at us; and several came up threatening us with their fists, to prove their zeal for their religion. But we had been too long accustomed to this sort of treatment to take any notice of it; and even Ben went on with his work, filing, hammering, and screwing away,--only remarking, when he understood what was said, "That's all you know about it." Those who had their weapons mended went away contented; but as we could not repair half the number brought to us, the owners of the rest were very indignant, and we were glad to get back to our dirty stable out of their way. During the evening, Siddy Boo Cassem, Ben's master, made his appearance, and informed him that he was to remain in his service, to attend to his Bu Saef camel when he himself was not riding the animal. "Not a few clever rogues have attempted to run off with the creature, which is to me as the apple of my eye; but I know that you Nazarenes would not know where to run to, so I can trust you," he observed. I told Ben what Siddy Boo Cassem had said. "Let him give me the chance, and I will see what I can do," he answered. We were allowed another night's rest, with a sufficiency of food,--for just then provisions were plentiful in the place, or we should have been left by our masters to pick up what we could. We tried in vain to discover who the charitable female was who had brought us provisions on the previous evening. It confirmed my belief, however, that Woman is the same all the world over; and that in every place some are to be found who, according to the light within them, endeavour to do their duty in the sight of God, by affording sympathy and help to their fellow-creatures in distress. Again we were on the road,--Ben being summoned to attend to his master, while we trudged wearily on foot. Having neither cattle, sheep, nor goats to impede us, our progress was more rapid than it had been across the Desert. The baggage was carried on camels and asses; while the more wealthy people rode, and the rest had to walk. For several days we advanced, passing numerous ruins, which showed how thickly the country at one time had been populated. At last one afternoon we encamped on high ground, outside an ancient town or fortress, amid which palms and other trees had grown up, attesting its antiquity. The tents were pitched, and Boxall, Halliday, and I were sent out with the horses and camels to graze on the pastures surrounding the hill. Returning in the evening, we met Ben with his camel--beside which it was his duty to sleep close to his master's tent. Ours was not far off. "I have a notion, Mr Blore," said Ben, "that if you could take my place for the evening, you would find out more of what these fellows are about than I can. Half-a-dozen or more are sure to be seated in front of the tent for a couple of hours or so after dark, talking away, and smoking their pipes; but for the life of me, though I listen, I cannot make out what they say. They will not know the difference between you and I, however, and the camel will be as quiet with you as he is with me." I was very willing to take advantage of Ben's suggestion; so giving my horses into his keeping, I took his camel and led it up in front of Siddy Boo Cassem's tent, where, making it lie down, I threw myself on the ground near it. Its owner and several friends were seated, as Ben expected,--the hoods of their burnouses, drawn over their heads, making them look more like a party of old crones than stalwart Arabs habituated to war and the chase; or I might have taken them for the witches in "Macbeth" discussing their malevolent designs. On one side were the ruined walls of the Roman town, with a tall monument rising above them; in front were the tents, spread beneath a few sparsely scattered palm-trees; while beyond could be seen the boundless Desert, the crescent moon casting a pale light over the scene. As Siddy Boo Cassem knew that Ben could not understand him, even had he been, as he supposed, near at hand, he and his friends spoke in loud tones; every now and then indulging in a chuckling laugh at each other's wit, or at the recollection of some scene in which they had been engaged. I listened attentively, endeavouring to catch all they said. Much of their conversation was not very edifying, but I became all attention when Siddy Boo Cassem began to talk of his famous camel, and to boast of his deads. "Curses on the mother who bore them!" he exclaimed. "The rogues would like to have him again, if they knew how near he was to them; but I will take good care that none of their tribe scour again over the plain on his back. He is not likely to remember his old haunts, or the masters who owned him, or I should not have brought him so near them again." "How did you obtain him, O friend of the Prophet?" asked one of the party. "As wise men obtain what they desire and cannot otherwise get," answered Siddy Boo Cassem. "I stole him. I heard the report of his swiftness, and determined to become his master. At that time I possessed two fine black slaves, nimble of foot, and cunning in all their ways. Mounted on a fleet steed, of black hue, in case I should have to beat a retreat, and accompanied by my two slaves, I approached the camp an hour after midnight. One of the slaves had also visited the camp some days before, that he might ascertain where the Bu Saef was wont to be tethered; and I had promised him his liberty should we succeed. I remained behind a ruined wall, through which I had a view of the camp. Anxiously I watched, till in less than an hour I distinguished through the gloom the shadowy figure of the longed-for camel coming across the plain towards me. I already felt that he was mine, and could scarcely refrain from galloping forward to meet him. He reached the ruins, the faithful lad leading him; but just at the moment I was mounting on his back a party of horsemen were seen issuing from the camp. Alee threw himself upon my horse, while I gave Bu Saef the rein. Fleet as the wind he flew over the plain. A shriek reached my ears; my slave had received his death-blow. A shot followed; neither Alee nor my black horse did I ever see more. But I had obtained the object of my desire, at the price of a horse and two slaves, which was as nothing compared to his value. Ever since, for many a long year, have I ridden Bu Saef across the Desert in safety, distancing every foe when pursued, following up their traces when they have been attempting to escape, and ascertaining the whereabouts of their camp." "Allah is great! you performed a fine stroke of business," exclaimed the company in chorus. "Ho, ho! if you stole Bu Saef, we shall be justified in returning him to his former owners, Siddy Boo Cassem," I thought to myself. But how that was to be done, was the question. Bu Saef could not carry all five of us, that was certain; and probably would refuse to move unless mounted by his accustomed rider. I listened as eagerly as before to the conversation, which went on without cessation for some hours; for the Arabs are as good talkers as any people on the earth. I gathered from what I heard that our party had advanced nearly as far north as it was considered prudent to go, as the country beyond was held by the infidels, or by tribes on friendly terms with them; that the great chief, Abd-el-Kader, having been captured, his hordes were dispersed; and that the tribe from which the Bu Saef had been stolen was now encamped at no great distance from where we were. Of course, I knew that the infidels spoken of were the French; and I felt sure that, could we communicate with any outpost, the officer in command would do his utmost to obtain our liberation--though that might be a difficult matter to accomplish. The tribes of the Desert still entertained hostile feelings towards those who were on friendly terms with the French, and no intercourse was maintained between them. The exact object of our expedition I could not learn; but that was of little consequence. The great point to decide was the means of getting away; and that I did not despair of, difficult as it appeared. I lay perfectly still, so that, should any of the Arabs look towards me, they might suppose I was asleep. My only fear was that Siddy Boo Cassem might summon Ben, when I should run a great risk of being discovered, and he might suspect that I had an object in taking his slave's place. I was relieved at length when the Arabs separated, some going into Siddy Boo Cassem's tent, and others elsewhere. At last, on hearing loud snoring from the tent, I crept slowly away, crouching down on the ground till I found Ben, who in like manner returned to his proper place. After this, as may be supposed, we could talk of nothing else but the means of escape. The distance between us and the tribe we wished to reach was about thirty miles. On foot, it would be scarcely possible to accomplish that distance during the night, even were we to run the whole distance. We should also probably fall in with natives, who might take it into their heads to stop us, and perhaps put us to death; while, as soon as our flight was discovered, we should certainly be pursued. Selim, who was as anxious to escape as we were, volunteered to go first, to try and find some place in which we might conceal ourselves should we be pursued, and where we might remain till the camp had broken up and returned southward. He believed that he would have time to make a search during the night for the sort of place which would answer our purpose, and to return before daybreak without being discovered. If not pursued, we intended to push on as far as we could without stopping. We therefore hid away as large a stock of provisions as we could, so that, should we be obliged to lie concealed for any length of time, we might not be starved. From the information I gained, too, it seemed likely that we should soon be shifting our camp, and we could scarcely expect to reach a place from which we were so likely to make our escape as where we now were. Besides, the moon was nearly at its full, and though we might get out of the camp more easily during the dark, still we could not find our way unless with the light which it would afford us. We had already wandered over the country for some distance from the hill, and had carefully noted the road that it was evident we should take. We determined, therefore, no longer to put off our adventure. Selim slipped out directly all around him were asleep, made his way down the hill without being seen, and was soon lost in the darkness. We resolved, should he return unobserved, and report favourably, to start the next night. So anxious were we all, we could with difficulty go to sleep, though we did not expect him back for some hours. My eyes at length closed; and it seemed but a moment afterwards when I heard a voice whispering in my ear, and looking up, saw Selim seated by my side. "All right," he said; "I have discovered an old ruin, about a mile from this, some way off the highroad; and though I had no little fear of meeting with hyenas or other wild beasts, I explored it completely, and found within the walls a hollow space with a narrow entrance, in which we might remain concealed--even if the people are looking for us--by blocking up the passage with a few stones. The place I speak of will do even though we are pursued immediately on leaving the camp. After this I went on for two hours, when I found, amid a grove of palm-trees, a still larger ruin. One side had fallen down; and I thought that if I could climb up I might find some chambers or hollows in the heaps of ruins, in which we might conceal ourselves without much risk of being discovered. I was not disappointed; and if we can reach that spot without being seen, we may remain there in safety till our pursuers have returned." This information greatly raised our spirits, and we resolved to leave the camp without further delay, and make our way to the tribe in alliance with the French. We had of late performed our respective duties with such apparent cheerfulness that the Arabs supposed we were reconciled to our lot. Providence, too, just then favoured us in a way we little expected. Siddy Boo Cassem fell ill, and recollecting that Boxall was supposed to possess medical knowledge, he sent for him; directing me to come also, to act as interpreter. Boxall very conscientiously recommended a sudorific, and charged him to keep himself well covered up during the night, and on no account to leave his couch. We accordingly piled on the top of him all the cloaks and rugs we could find, and so wrapped him up that he could not well move had he wished it. Unsuspicious of our designs, he promised to follow Boxall's injunctions. The moon was now waning, and would not rise till some time after the occupants of the camp had gone to sleep. Selim, we agreed, was to start first; Boxall, Halliday, and I, should we not be interrupted, were to follow; while Ben, mounted on the camel, was to make his way down the hill, and place himself at our head, in order that, should he be seen, he might be taken for some traveller, with his attendants, leaving the camp on a night journey. As soon as we were out of sight of the camp, Ben was to start off at full speed to the northward; and as I had instructed him what to say, we hoped he would be able to make himself sufficiently understood to induce the tribe to move forward to our rescue. Selim set off at the time agreed on, and soon disappeared in the darkness. We then crept out one by one, and made our way among the sleeping camels and horses, unobserved by any of their keepers. We next waited anxiously for the appearance of Ben; who, to our great satisfaction, at last came riding down the hill, and placed himself at our head,--when it was almost ludicrous to observe the air of unconcern he assumed as he rode forward at our head. The plain we had to pass was perfectly open, without a tree or shrub to conceal us, so that all we could hope for was that no suspicious eyes might be turned in the direction we were pursuing. On we went, wishing that Ben would hasten forward with the camel; but there he sat, letting the beast walk at its usual pace--which, when it was not obliged to put forth its powers, was unusually slow. We had got round the hill, and were steering northward, when, as we looked over our shoulders, what was our dismay to see several Arabs mounted on camels coming down from the camp at full speed! It was evident that Ben had been seen, and his object suspected. Boxall shouted to him to push on without thinking of us, and not to pull rein till he had reached those who might be induced to come to our assistance. "Ay, ay, sir," he answered. "Trust me for that. I'll not drop anchor till Bu Saef has rejoined his old masters." Saying this, off he went; and we felt very sure that, fleet as were the camels who were pursuing him, he would not be overtaken. In a few seconds he was out of sight. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. HOTLY PURSUED--BEN GALLOPS OFF ON BU SAEF--WE FIND CONCEALMENT IN A RUIN--SURROUNDED BY OUR PURSUERS--A FIERCE CONFLICT--BEN APPEARS--A FRIENDLY RECEPTION--HOW BEN ARRIVED AT THE FRENCH CAMP--SAIL FOR OLD ENGLAND--CONCLUSION. We ran on as fast as our legs could carry us, hoping that the Arabs, having their eyes fixed on Ben, had not perceived us. Bu Saef had a long start, for the other camels while descending the hill could not advance so rapidly as on the plain. We had thus also an advantage, of which we were determined to make the best use: inured to long tramps across the Desert, with but little flesh on our bones, and our muscles well strung, we could run as fast as any ordinary camels over the hard ground. We were in good wind, too, and had no fear of getting tired; instead, therefore, of stopping at the first place Selim had discovered, we pushed on for the ruined temple he had discovered in the wood. I may formerly have run faster for a short distance, but never had I gone over so many miles of ground at such a rate. Almost before I thought it possible that we could have got so far, Selim, who led the way, pointing to a wood, cried out, "There's the place where we can hide ourselves!" We immediately darted into it, he leading us amid the trees to the ruins he had described, and up which we quickly scrambled. Now and again turning our heads where the ground was more open, and where no trees or other objects impeded the view, we caught glimpses of the shadowy forms of our pursuers against the dark sky; but the sight only nerved us to fresh exertions. Mounting up steps formed by the fallen walls, we gained the top ledge, which had apparently once supported a floor; and creeping along it, and through a narrow doorway, we found ourselves in a small chamber some twenty feet or so above the ground. Numbers of loose stones lay about, with which we instantly set to work to block up the entrance, making as little noise in the operation as we could. A small fracture in the wall would serve as a window, too, on the side which commanded the road, and enable us to look out. By piling up a few stones, I found I was able to reach it; so I took post there to watch our pursuers, while the rest were working as I have described. Scarcely had I begun to look out when I saw five men on camels, the moon shining on their arms, pushing along as fast as they could go to the northward, evidently supposing that we were before them. I had little fear of their overtaking Ben; indeed, they themselves could scarcely have expected to do so. Had we, however, continued on, they would certainly have come up with us. Though I would gladly have thrown myself on the ground to rest, I continued looking out from my watchtower. But no other Arabs followed. Probably it was thought that the five armed men could easily master us. My fear was that, when they could not find us, they might suspect where we were hidden, and should come and search the ruins. No one appeared, however; and I had waited for upwards of an hour when I saw the five camels returning at a leisurely pace, the riders looking about them on every side. The trees in front of the building at length hid them from sight. Would they now venture to stop and search for us? As the Arabs have a notion that such places are inhabited by Jins or evil spirits, I was in hopes that they would, at all events, not attempt to explore it till daylight; but even if they did, we considered that we were so securely hidden that they were not likely to find us. At last their voices ceased; whatever might have been their suspicions, they continued their way back to the camp. We now held a consultation whether we should at once push on to meet our expected friends, or remain in our secure hiding-place till their arrival. Tired as we were with our long run, during which we had strained every muscle to the utmost, we settled to remain in the ruins till the afternoon; indeed, it was not likely that, even should Ben induce the allies of the French to come to our assistance, they could reach the place for some hours. He would not know, either, whether we had been captured or not; and as it must have seemed to him that there was every probability of our having again fallen into the hands of our task-masters, he might have advised the sheikh to wait till he could send forward a force able to cope with the party under Siddy Boo Cassem. Our spirits were high, for we had accomplished far more than we expected, and we had every hope of escaping from the galling bondage we had for so long endured. "Come, Charlie," said Boxall, "I'll take the look-out now." So gladly yielding up my place, I threw myself on the ground, and was asleep in a few moments. When I awoke, daylight was streaming in through our narrow look-out hole, at which Selim was now stationed, while Boxall and Halliday were fast asleep, they having been in the interval on the watch. I did not wake them; but climbing up where Selim stood, I asked if he had seen anything. "No," he answered; "not a single person has passed. The peasantry, I suspect, have fled from this part of the country, and we may possibly make our way to the camp of our friends without meeting any one. It would, however, be a long journey on foot; and should Siddy Boo Cassem send out an expedition, we might run the risk of being overtaken and recaptured." Notwithstanding what he said, I could not help feeling a strong desire to push on, and I thought of proposing to Boxall and Halliday to do so. Still, while they slept so soundly, I did not like to awake them. After some time I told Selim to lie down again, and I would keep watch. Feeling very hungry, I munched some of the dates and barley-bread which we had brought with us. This made me thirsty, and reminded me that we must search for water before we could attempt to proceed. I was, therefore, on the point of awaking Selim and asking him to make his way out to look for some--he being more likely to succeed than any of us-- when the sound of horses' hoofs on the hard ground reached my ear. Turning my head round, I saw, marching from behind the grove of trees which concealed the road abreast of us, a troop of horsemen, among whom I recognised a number of the chiefs and others whom I had seen at the camp. Several of them dashed into the wood, through which they passed quickly, and then, as I guessed from the sounds which reached me, came close up to the ruin. I fancied that some had dismounted, and were scrambling among the masses of stone searching for us, and I trembled lest we might have left some traces by which they should discover our retreat. I dared not move, for fear they might hear me; and I dreaded every moment that my companions would awake, and, unaware of our danger, utter some sound which might draw attention to us. I was almost afraid to breathe. More horsemen now appeared on the road, and from the movements of the party there was no doubt that they were convinced we were hiding in the neighbourhood. I listened to the voices of those who were searching for us, and tried to make out what was said. They appeared to be stumbling among the masses of fallen ruins, looking into every hole, and poking their swords into every crevice. "The cursed Nazarenes cannot be here," I at last heard one exclaim. "They must have gone on further, if they are not concealed nearer the camp." "They may have fleet heels, but they could not have got further than this when we passed the place," exclaimed a second. "May curses rest on them and their ancestors," growled another. Still my companions slept. Even now I dreaded lest the slightest sound they might make should catch the ears of our pursuers, who at that moment were close under us. It did not occur to them that, like cats, we should have climbed up to such a height; nor, of course, were they aware of the existence of the secret chamber in which we lay hid. Perhaps hundreds of years had passed since it was entered by a human being, and it was next to a miracle that Selim should have discovered it. How thankful I felt when, by the sounds made by the Arabs as they scrambled over the ruins, I knew that they were returning to their horses. Presently I caught sight of them, as they passed in front of my look-out hole on their way to join their comrades, who had gone on in advance. Not, however, till they were at a considerable distance, did I venture to arouse my companions. I then got Boxall to look out at them, for I suspected he might otherwise suppose that the account I had to give was a creation of my imagination. He and the rest were all now convinced of the danger we had escaped. The question as to whether we should leave our place of concealment was settled, too, for the present; for, of course, we determined to remain where we were till the Arabs had left the neighbourhood. I have not repeated one tenth part of the curses heaped on our heads, or the threats of vengeance uttered by our pursuers. Their chief cause of anger, however, was the loss of the famed Bu Saef. Among them I now recognised Siddy Boo Cassem, as well as several of his relatives and friends; and I had not the slightest doubt but that they would have put us to death in revenge for our having carried off the animal. Should they overtake Ben, his fate would be sealed; but we had little fear on his account, as he must, unless some accident had happened to him, be many leagues ahead of his pursuers. None of us felt inclined to go to sleep again; but we judged it prudent to remain close in our lair, for fear any passer-by should catch sight of us, and inform our enemies on their return. At length we suffered so greatly from thirst, that we were induced to let Selim creep out to try and find water. Boxall had thoughtfully brought away a leathern bottle, such as Arabs always carry with them; but he had not filled it, on account of the weight. We charged Selim not to go far, however, and to conceal himself as much as possible, while he kept a sharp look-out on every side, as it would be far better to endure the severest thirst rather than run the risk of being discovered. Often before had we endured thirst, but on such occasions we had been unable to obtain water; now that it was possible to get it, we could not resist the temptation, notwithstanding the risk to be run. Having removed a few of the stones, Selim crawled out, and scrambled down among the ruins; but we could not watch him without exposing ourselves, and had therefore to remain in anxious suspense during his absence. It seemed to us a terribly long time; and at length we began to fear that Siddy Boo Cassem's party would return before he got back to us. We waited and waited, our thirst increasing till we could scarcely bear it longer--one of us all the while keeping a look-out at the only aperture by which we could command a view of the road. A couple of hours, at the least, must have passed, when we heard a slight noise beneath us; and the next instant Selim came crawling along the ledge, and entered by the hole we had made. "Quick, quick!" he whispered, "stop it up. I was pursued, and must have been noticed entering the ruin." He had brought the bottle full of water, and, in spite of our anxiety, we could not resist putting it in succession to our lips till we had drained it to the bottom. While the rest sat down, I continued to look out; and we listened anxiously for the approach of the people Selim had seen. In a short time we heard people speaking beneath us. They were Arabs, and, from their style of speaking, natives of the place--who would probably be as ready to deliver us up to one party as the other, and would choose the one with whom they could make the best bargain. They were far more likely to discover us than Siddy Boo Cassem's followers, as they most probably were well acquainted with the ruin. Our anxiety was somewhat relieved, however, when we heard one of them remark-- "It must have been a Jin, though he looked like a black slave; and this is known to be the dwelling-place of Jins." "Take care lest any of them rush out on us," cried another. "Allah, Allah, Allah is great, and Mohammed is his Prophet!" they sang out in chorus, as a charm to keep the Jins at a distance. Notwithstanding their fears, they continued to hunt about. We might possibly, by uttering some wild shrieks or other strange sounds, have put them to flight, but the risk was too great, as they were evidently climbing about among the stones, and making a more thorough search than the other party had done. Just then I caught sight, in the distance, of a horseman galloping along the road at full speed. His turban was off, and his sword broken. Others followed, in even worse plight; and as they came nearer I saw that blood was streaming from the heads or sides of several of them. Presently the sound of a dropping fire reached us. A larger body of those who had ridden by in such gallant trim in the morning now galloped past in an opposite direction, without turbans, their weapons broken or lost, their dresses torn, and covered with dust from head to foot. A still larger body followed, keeping close together, and firing as they advanced,--evidently in pursuit of the former. The Arabs who were hunting for us rushed off on hearing the sounds, and we were left in safety, as far as they were concerned; but whether the pursuers of our late masters would prove friends or foes, we could not tell. They were just at the end of the wood when the fugitives rallied, and charged them with such fury that they were driven back, and we feared that the fortunes of the day would be changed. Several fell on both sides. Siddy Boo Cassem fought with the greatest bravery, and encouraging his followers to merit paradise, again and again charged his foes. We looked in vain for Bu Saef. Had the camel appeared, our doubts as to Ben's safety, and the way we should be treated by the hitherto victorious party, would have been set at rest. Just then, amid the clouds of dust which surrounded the combatants, we caught sight of a fresh body of horsemen coming from the northward. In a few minutes they had reached the scene of conflict, shouting, as they advanced, various battle-cries, some in Arabic, others in French. Presently a cry louder than all the rest reached our ears--a truly British Hurrah!--and at the same time I caught sight of Ben, sticking like wax to the back of a fiery steed, and flourishing a huge sabre, as he led on a party of dark-skinned Arabs, who had to urge forward their steeds to keep up with him. The front ranks, which had hitherto been hotly engaged and hard pressed, wheeled aside to let the new-comers pass. Siddy Boo Cassem saw them coming, and knowing that all hope of victory was lost, shouted to his people, wheeled round his horse, and galloped off as fast as the animal could put his feet to the ground. Ben and his followers then swept by like a whirlwind, and our only fear now was that the gallant fellow might lose his life by a chance shot from the flying enemy. Having no longer any doubt as to the reception we would meet with, we were about to rush out and join the Algerines; but Boxall stopped us. "Stay," he exclaimed; "they may suppose we are a party of the enemy lying in ambush. Let one of us go forward and present himself." I volunteered, and descending from our place of concealment, advanced outside the wood. Already a party of the Algerine forces had halted to attend to the wounded; while several of the Arabs levelled their rifles at me, and two or three bullets whistled near my head, before I could make them understand that I was a friend. On reaching the main body, I found several persons dressed in half Oriental and half European costume, some of whom I guessed were French surgeons, from the way they were attending to the wounded Arabs. I quickly made myself known, and met with a cordial reception. Going to a spot whence I could be seen from the tower, I made the signal agreed on to my friends within it, who at once descended and hurried to the spot. The French officers congratulated us warmly on our wonderful escape, they having heard from Ben of our long captivity. One of them-- who was the officer in command--spoke English fairly, and gave us an account of the sailor's arrival among them, at which they, and even the Arabs, who guessed what we were talking about, laughed heartily. The information of the approach of an enemy had a short time before been brought to them, and the French had just arrived at the Arab camp preparatory to commencing a march southward, when, by the light of the full moon, a camel, fleet as the wind, was seen approaching the camp. The animal, instead of being reined up by its rider, galloped forward, the assembled multitude making way on either side; when suddenly it stopped, and, as a natural consequence, off flew honest Ben from its back into their midst. Without being in the least disconcerted, as soon as he had picked himself up he began to shout out, in English and such Arabic as he could command-- "Come along, all of you, as fast as you can, and save my officers from being knocked on the head by the villainous crew from whom we have escaped, as we had a right to do." How Ben might have been received by the Arabs, it is hard to say; but at that moment the sheikh, the former owner of Bu Saef, came forward and recognised his well-beloved and long-lost camel. In a moment Ben found himself treated with the greatest respect and attention. The French commandant coming up, quickly learned all about us; and finding that there was no time to be lost, he at once despatched the first party of Arab cavalry that was ready to start, following himself shortly afterwards with others, accompanied by Ben. The French commandant having posted men in the wood and among the ruins, so as to attack the enemy on their flank, in the event of those who had gone in pursuit being compelled to retreat, we waited anxiously for their return. Presently we saw clouds of dust rising from the south, out of which the Algerine forces at length emerged. I looked out eagerly for Ben; and not seeing him, feared that he must have fallen. At length, to my great joy, I caught sight of him, with his huge sabre in his hand, alongside the sheikh; with whom he seemed to be on the most intimate terms. Ben's delight at seeing us was great in the extreme; and throwing himself from his horse, he ran up to us, shaking us all in succession warmly by the hand. "Beg pardon, gentlemen, for the liberty I take," he exclaimed; "but I cannot help it--on my life, I cannot--I am so glad to see that you have got away all right from those cut-throat fellows! They will not dare to make slaves of English officers again in a hurry." As the French commandant was doubtful of the strength of the enemy, who might possibly descend in force, he ordered his troops to return. The wounded were placed in panniers on the backs of mules, which were brought up for the purpose; and several of the enemy's horses being caught, we were soon all mounted, and on the way with our new friends to the northward. We reached the French outposts by nightfall, where we were most hospitably entertained by the commandant and his officers, who supplied us with clothing and other necessaries. The sheikh, to show his gratitude to Ben for having brought him back Bu Saef, offered to receive him into his tribe, and to make him a chief. "Please, Mr Blore, tell the old gentleman that I am much obliged to him," answered Ben; "but as I have not fallen quite into his style of living, I beg he will excuse me; and, to say the truth, I had rather serve on board a man-of-war till I can get a pension, and go and settle down with my Susan in Old England, than turn into an Arab sheikh with a dozen wives and a thousand blackamoor followers." Having recruited our strength, we some days after left our kind French friends and set off for Algiers, where we arrived safely; and soon afterwards, accompanied by Selim, we embarked for England. I need not say that we were welcomed there as if from the dead, by our friends; and I trust that we were all thankful for the merciful way in which we had been preserved from the numberless dangers we had gone through. Andrew Spurling was delighted to see us. "I told you, Mr Blore, that you would find Arabic useful, though I little thought at the time how much service its acquirement would render you," he exclaimed as he shook me by the hand. "However, it proves, as I once observed to you, that the more knowledge we can pick up the better, as we can never tell how valuable it may become to us." 
31410	----	THE BOY SLAVES. BY CAPT. MAYNE REID AUTHOR OF "THE DESERT HOME," "THE OCEAN WAIFS," ETC. With Illustrations. A NEW EDITION, WITH A MEMOIR BY R. H. STODDARD. NEW YORK: THOMAS R. KNOX & CO., Successors to James Miller, 813 Broadway. Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1864, by TICKNOR AND FIELDS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1884, by THOMAS R. KNOX & CO., in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. New York, January 1st, 1869. Messrs. Fields, Osgood & Co.:-- I accept the terms offered, and hereby concede to you the exclusive right of publication, in the United States, of all my juvenile Tales of Adventure, known as Boys' Novels. MAYNE REID. TROW'S PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY, NEW YORK. [Illustration: THE DEATH OF GOLAH.] AUTHOR'S NOTE. Captain Mayne Reid is pleased to have had the help of an American Author in preparing for publication this story of "The Boy Slaves," and takes the present opportunity of acknowledging that help, which has kindly extended beyond matters of merely external form, to points of narrative and composition, which are here embodied with the result of his own labor. The Rancho, December, 1864. MEMOIR OF MAYNE REID. No one who has written books for the young during the present century ever had so large a circle of readers as Captain Mayne Reid, or ever was so well fitted by circumstances to write the books by which he is chiefly known. His life, which was an adventurous one, was ripened with the experience of two Continents, and his temperament, which was an ardent one, reflected the traits of two races. Irish by birth, he was American in his sympathies with the people of the New World, whose acquaintance he made at an early period, among whom he lived for years, and whose battles he helped to win. He was probably more familiar with the Southern and Western portion of the United States forty years ago than any native-born American of that time. A curious interest attaches to the life of Captain Reid, but it is not of the kind that casual biographers dwell upon. If he had written it himself it would have charmed thousands of readers, who can now merely imagine what it might have been from the glimpses of it which they obtain in his writings. It was not passed in the fierce light of publicity, but in that simple, silent obscurity which is the lot of most men, and is their happiness, if they only knew it. Briefly related, the life of Captain Reid was as follows: He was born in 1818, in the north of Ireland, the son of a Presbyterian clergyman, who was a type of the class which Goldsmith has described so freshly in the "Deserted Village," and was highly thought of for his labors among the poor of his neighborhood. An earnest, reverent man, to whom his calling was indeed a sacred one, he designed his son Mayne for the ministry, in the hope, no doubt, that he would be his successor. But nature had something to say about that, as well as his good father. He began to study for the ministry, but it was not long before he was drawn in another direction. Always a great reader, his favorite books were descriptions of travel in foreign lands, particularly those which dealt with the scenery, the people, and the resources of America. The spell which these exercised over his imagination, joined to a love of adventure which was inherent in his temperament, and inherited, perhaps with his race, determined his career. At the age of twenty he closed his theological tomes, and girding up his loins with a stout heart he sailed from the shores of the Old World for the New. Following the spirit in his feet he landed at New Orleans, which was probably a more promising field for a young man of his talents than any Northern city, and was speedily engaged in business. The nature of this business is not stated, further than it was that of a trader; but whatever it was it obliged this young Irishman to make long journeys into the interior of the country, which was almost a _terra incognita_. Sparsely settled, where settled at all, it was still clothed in primeval verdure--here in the endless reach of savannas, there in the depth of pathless woods, and far away to the North and the West in those monotonous ocean-like levels of land for which the speech of England has no name--the Prairies. Its population was nomadic, not to say barbaric, consisting of tribes of Indians whose hunting grounds from time immemorial the region was; hunters and trappers, who had turned their backs upon civilization for the free, wild life of nature; men of doubtful or dangerous antecedents, who had found it convenient to leave their country for their country's good; and scattered about hardy pioneer communities from Eastern States, advancing waves of the great sea of emigration which is still drawing the course of empire westward. Travelling in a country like this, and among people like these, Mayne Reid passed five years of his early manhood. He was at home wherever he went, and never more so than when among the Indians of the Red River territory, with whom he spent several months, learning their language, studying their customs, and enjoying the wild and beautiful scenery of their camping grounds. Indian for the time, he lived in their lodges, rode with them, hunted with them, and night after night sat by their blazing camp-fires listening to the warlike stories of the braves and the quaint legends of the medicine men. There was that in the blood of Mayne Reid which fitted him to lead this life at this time, and whether he knew it or not it educated his genius as no other life could have done. It familiarized him with a large extent of country in the South and West; it introduced him to men and manners which existed nowhere else; and it revealed to him the secrets of Indian life and character. There was another side, however, to Mayne Reid than that we have touched upon, and this, at the end of five years, drew him back to the average life of his kind. We find him next in Philadelphia, where he began to contribute stories and sketches of travel to the newspapers and magazines. Philadelphia was then the most literate city in the United States, the one in which a clever writer was at once encouraged and rewarded. Frank and warm-hearted, he made many friends there among journalists and authors. One of these friends was Edgar Allan Poe, whom he often visited at his home in Spring Garden, and concerning whom years after, when he was dead, he wrote with loving tenderness. The next episode in the career of Mayne Reid was not what one would expect from a man of letters, though it was just what might have been expected from a man of his temperament and antecedents. It grew out of the time, which was warlike, and it drove him into the army with which the United States speedily crushed the forces of the sister Republic--Mexico. He obtained a commission, and served throughout the war with great bravery and distinction. This stormy episode ended with a severe wound, which he received in storming the heights of Chapultepec--a terrible battle which practically ended the war. A second episode of a similar character, but with a more fortunate conclusion, occurred about four years later. It grew out of another war, which, happily for us, was not on our borders, but in the heart of Europe, where the Hungarian race had risen in insurrection against the hated power of Austria. Their desperate valor in the face of tremendous odds excited the sympathy of the American people, and fired the heart of Captain Mayne Reid, who buckled on his sword once more, and sailed from New York with a body of volunteers to aid the Hungarians in their struggles for independence. They were too late, for hardly had they reached Paris before they learned that all was over: Görgey had surrendered at Arad, and Hungary was crushed. They were at once dismissed, and Captain Reid betook himself to London. The life of the Mayne Reid in whom we are most interested--Mayne Reid, the author--began at this time, when he was in his thirty-first year, and ended only on the day of his death, October 21, 1883. It covered one-third of a century, and was, when compared with that which had preceded it, uneventful, if not devoid of incident. There is not much that needs be told--not much, indeed, that can be told--in the life of a man of letters like Captain Mayne Reid. It is written in his books. Mayne Reid was one of the best known authors of his time--differing in this from many authors who are popular without being known--and in the walk of fiction which he discovered for himself he is an acknowledged master. His reputation did not depend upon the admiration of the millions of young people who read his books, but upon the judgment of mature critics, to whom his delineations of adventurous life were literature of no common order. His reputation as a story-teller was widely recognized on the Continent, where he was accepted as an authority in regard to the customs of the pioneers and the guerilla warfare of the Indian tribes, and was warmly praised for his freshness, his novelty, and his hardy originality. The people of France and Germany delighted in this soldier-writer. "There was not a word in his books which a school-boy could not safely read aloud to his mother and sisters." So says a late English critic, to which another adds, that if he has somewhat gone out of fashion of late years, the more's the pity for the school-boy of the period. What Defoe is in Robinson Crusoe--realistic idyl of island solitude--that, in his romantic stories of wilderness life, is his great scholar, Captain Mayne Reid. R. H. Stoddard. CONTENTS. I The Land of the Slave II. Types of the Triple Kingdom III. The Serpent's Tongue IV. 'Ware the Tide! V. A False Guide VI. Wade or Swim? VII. A Compulsory Parting VIII. Safe Ashore IX. Uncomfortable Quarters XI. 'Ware the Sand! XII. A Mysterious Nightmare XIII. The Maherry XIV. A Liquid Breakfast XV. The Sailor among the Shell-fish XVI. Keeping under Cover XVII. The Trail on the Sand XVIII. The "Desert Ship" XIX. Homeward Bound XX. The Dance Interrupted XXI. A Serio-Comical Reception XXII. The Two Sheiks XXIII. Sailor Bill Beshrewed XXIV. Starting on the Track XXV. Bill to be Abandoned XXVI. A Cautious Retreat XXVII. A Queer Quadruped XXVIII. The Hue and Cry XXIX. A Subaqueous Asylum XXX. The Pursuers Nonplussed XXXI. A Double Predicament XXXII. Once more the mocking Laugh XXXIII. A Cunning Sheik XXXIV. A Queer Encounter XXXV. Holding on to the Hump XXXVI. Our Adventures in Undress XXXVII. The Captives in Conversation XXXVIII. The Douar at Dawn XXXIX. An Obstinate Dromedary XL. Watering the Camels XLI. A Squabble between the Sheiks XLII. The Trio Staked XLIII. Golah XLIV. A Day of Agony XLV. Colin in Luck XLVI. Sailor Bill's Experiment XLVII. An Unjust Reward XLVIII. The Waterless Well XLIX. The Well L. A Momentous Inquiry LI. A Living Grave LII. The Sheik's Plan of Revenge LIII. Captured Again LIV. An Unfaithful Wife LV. Two Faithful Wives LVI. Fatima's Fate LVII. Further Defection LVIII. A Call for Two More LIX. Once More by the Sea LX. Golah Calls Again LXI. Sailor Bill Standing Sentry LXII. Golah Fulfils his Destiny LXIII. On the Edge of the Saära LXIV. The Rival Wreckers LXV. Another White Slave LXVI. Sailor Bill's Brother LXVII. A Living Stream LXVIII. The Arabs at Home LXIX. Work or Die LXX. Victory! LXXI. Sold Again LXXII. Onward Once More LXXIII. Another Bargain LXXIV. More Torture LXXV. En Route LXXVI. Hope Deferred LXXVII. El Hajji LXXVIII. Bo Muzem's Journey LXXIX. Rais Mourad LXXX. Bo Muzem Back Again LXXXI. A Pursuit LXXXII. Moorish Justice LXXXIII. The Jew's Leap LXXXIV. Conclusion THE BOY SLAVES. CHAPTER I. THE LAND OF THE SLAVE. Land of Ethiope! whose burning centre seems unapproachable as the frozen Pole! Land of the unicorn and the lion,--of the crouching panther and the stately elephant,--of the camel, the camelopard, and the camel-bird! land of the antelopes,--of the wild gemsbok, and the gentle gazelle,--land of the gigantic crocodile and huge river-horse,--land teeming with animal life, and last in the list of my apostrophic appellations,--last, and that which must grieve the heart to pronounce it,--land of the slave! Ah! little do men think while thus hailing thee, how near may be the dread doom to their own hearths and homes! Little dream they, while expressing their sympathy,--alas! too often, as of late shown in England, a hypocritical utterance,--little do they suspect, while glibly commiserating the lot of thy sable-skinned children, that hundreds--aye, thousands--of their own color and kindred are held within thy confines, subject to a lot even lowlier than these,--a fate far more fearful. Alas! it is even so. While I write, the proud Caucasian,--despite his boasted superiority of intellect,--despite the whiteness of his skin,--may be found by hundreds in the unknown interior, wretchedly toiling, the slave not only of thy oppressors, but the slave of thy slaves! Let us lift that curtain, which shrouds thy great Saära, and look upon some pictures that should teach the son of Shem, while despising his brothers Ham and Japhet, that he is not yet master of the world. * * * * * Dread is that shore between Susa and Senegal, on the western edge of Africa,--by mariners most dreaded of any other in the world. The very thought of it causes the sailor to shiver with affright. And no wonder: on that inhospitable seaboard thousands of his fellows have found a watery grave; and thousands of others a doom far more deplorable than death! There are two great deserts: one of land, the other of water,--the Saära and the Atlantic,--their contiguity extending through ten degrees of the earth's latitude,--an enormous distance. Nothing separates them, save a line existing only in the imagination. The dreary and dangerous wilderness of water kisses the wilderness of sand,--not less dreary or dangerous to those whose misfortune it may be to become castaways on this dreaded shore. Alas! it has been the misfortune of many--not hundreds, but thousands. Hundreds of ships, rather than hundreds of men, have suffered wreck and ruin between Susa and Senegal. Perhaps were we to include Roman, Ph[oe]nician, and Carthaginian, we might say thousands of ships also. More noted, however, have been the disasters of modern times, during what may be termed the epoch of modern navigation. Within the period of the last three centuries, sailors of almost every maritime nation--at least all whose errand has led them along the eastern edge of the Atlantic--have had reason to regret approximation to those shores, known in ship parlance as the Barbary coast; but which, with a slight alteration in the orthography, might be appropriately styled "Barbarian." A chapter might be written in explanation of this peculiarity of expression--a chapter which would comprise many parts of two sciences, both but little understood--ethnology and meteorology. Of the former we may have a good deal to tell before the ending of this narrative. Of the latter it must suffice to say: that the frequent wrecks occurring on the Barbary coast--or, more properly, on that of the Saära south of it--are the result of an Atlantic current setting eastwards against that shore. The cause of this current is simple enough, though it requires explanation: since it seems to contradict not only the theory of the "trade" winds, but of the centrifugal inclination attributed to the waters of the ocean. I have room only for the theory in its simplest form. The heating of the Saära under a tropical sun; the absence of those influences--moisture and verdure--which repel the heat and retain its opposite; the ascension of the heated air that hangs over this vast tract of desert; the colder atmosphere rushing in from the Atlantic Ocean; the consequent eastward tendency of the waters of the sea. These facts will account for that current which has proved a deadly maelstrom to hundreds--aye, thousands--of ships, in all ages, whose misfortune it has been to sail unsuspectingly along the western shores of the Ethiopian continent. Even at the present day the castaways upon this desert shore are by no means rare, notwithstanding the warnings that at close intervals have been proclaimed for a period of three hundred years. While I am writing, some stranded brig, barque, or ship may be going to pieces between Bojador and Blanco; her crew making shorewards in boats to be swamped among the foaming breakers; or, riding three or four together upon some severed spar, to be tossed upon a desert strand, that each may wish, from the bottom of his soul, should prove _uninhabited_! I can myself record a scene like this that occurred not ten years ago, about midway between the two headlands above named--Bojador and Blanco. The locality may be more particularly designated by saying: that, at half distance between these noted capes, a narrow strip of sand extends for several miles out into the Atlantic, parched white under the rays of a tropical sun--like the tongue of some fiery serpent, well represented by the Saära, far stretching to seaward; ever seeking to cool itself in the crystal waters of the sea. CHAPTER II. TYPES OF THE TRIPLE KINGDOM. Near the tip of this tongue, almost within "licking" distance, on an evening in the month of June 18--, a group of the kind last alluded to--three or four castaways upon a spar--might have been seen by any eye that chanced to be near. Fortunately for them, there was none sufficiently approximate to make out the character of that dark speck, slowly approaching the white sand-spit, like any other drift carried upon the landward current of the sea. It was just possible for a person standing upon the summit of one of the sand "dunes" that, like white billows, rolled off into the interior of the continent--it was just possible for a person thus placed to have distinguished the aforesaid speck without the aid of a glass; though with one it would have required a prolonged and careful observation to have discovered its character. The sand-spit was full three miles in length. The hills stood back from the shore another. Four miles was sufficient to screen the castaways from the observation of anyone who might be straying along the coast. For the individuals themselves it appeared very improbable that there could be any one observing them. As far as eye could reach--east, north, and south, there was nothing save white sand. To the west nothing but the blue water. No eye could be upon them, save that of the Creator. Of His creatures, tame or wild, savage or civilized, there seemed not one within a circuit of miles: for within that circuit there was nothing visible that could afford subsistence either to man or animal, bird or beast. In the white substratum of sand, gently shelving far under the sea, there was not a sufficiency of organic matter to have afforded food for fish--even for the lower organisms of _mollusca_. Undoubtedly were these castaways alone; as much so, as if their locality had been the centre of the Atlantic, instead of its coast! We are privileged to approach them near enough to comprehend their character, and learn the cause that has thus isolated them so far from the regions of animated life. There are four of them, astride a spar; which also carries a sail, partially reefed around it, and partially permitted to drag loosely through the water. At a glance a sailor could have told that the spar on which they are supported is a topsail-yard, which has been detached from its masts in such a violent manner as to unloose some of the reefs that had held the sail, thus partially releasing the canvas. But it needed not a sailor to tell why this had been done. A ship has foundered somewhere near the coast. There has been a gale two days before. The spar in question, with those supported upon it, is but a fragment of the wreck. There might have been other fragments,--others of the crew escaped, or escaping in like manner,--but there are no others in sight. The castaways slowly drifting towards the sand-spit are alone. They have no companions on the ocean,--no spectators on its shore. As already stated, there are four of them. Three are strangely alike,--at least, in the particulars of size, shape, and costume. In age, too, there is no great difference. All three are boys: the oldest not over eighteen, the youngest certainly not a year his junior. In the physiognomy of the three there is similitude enough to declare them of one nation,--though dissimilarity sufficient to prove a distinct provinciality both in countenance and character. Their dresses of dark blue cloth, cut pea-jacket shape, and besprinkled with buttons of burnished yellow,--their cloth caps, of like color, encircled by bands of gold lace,--their collars, embroidered with the crown and anchor, declare them, all three, to be officers in the service of that great maritime government that has so long held undisputed possession of the sea,--midshipmen of the British navy. Rather should we say, had been. They have lost this proud position, along with the frigate to which they had been attached; and they now only share authority upon a dismasted spar, over which they are exerting some control, since, with their bodies bent downwards, and their hands beating the water, they are propelling it in the direction of the sand-spit. In the countenances of the three castaways thus introduced, I have admitted a dissimilitude something more than casual,--something more, even, than what might be termed provincial. Each presented a type that could have been referred to that wider distinction known as a nationality. The three "middies" astride of that topsail-yard were of course castaways from the same ship, in the service of the same government, though each was of a different nationality from the other two. They were the respective representatives of Jack, Paddy, and Sandy,--or, to speak more poetically, of the Rose, Shamrock, and Thistle,--and had the three kingdoms from which they came been searched throughout their whole extent, there could scarcely have been discovered purer representative types of each, than the three reefers on that spar, drifting towards the sand-spit between Bojador and Blanco. Their names were Harry Blount, Terence O'Connor, and Colin Macpherson. The fourth individual--who shared with them their frail embarkation--differed from all three in almost every respect, but more especially in years. The ages of all three united would not have numbered his: and their wrinkles, if collected together, would scarce have made so many as could have been counted in the crowsfeet indelibly imprinted in the corners of his eyes. It would have required a very learned ethnologist to have told to which of his three companions he was compatriot; though there could be no doubt about his being either English, Irish, or Scotch. Strange to say, his tongue did not aid in the identification of his nationality. It was not often heard; but even when it was, its utterance would have defied the most accomplished linguistic ear; and neither from that, nor other circumstance known to them, could any one of his three companions lay claim to him as a countryman. When he spoke,--a rare occurrence already hinted,--it was with a liberal misplacement of "h's" that should have proclaimed him an Englishman of purest Cockney type. At the same time his language was freely interspersed with Irish "ochs" and "shures"; while the "wees" and "bonnys," oft recurring in his speech, should have proved him a sworn Scotchman. From his countenance you might have drawn your own inference, and believed him any of the three; but not from his tongue. Neither in his accent, nor the words that fell from him, could you have told which of the three kingdoms had the honor of giving him birth. Whichever it was, it had supplied to the Service a true British tar: for although you might mistake the man in other respects, his appearance forbade all equivocation upon this point. His costume was that of a common sailor, and, as a matter of course, his name was "Bill." But as he had only been one among many "Bills" rated on the man-o'-war's books,--now gone to the bottom of the sea,--he carried a distinctive appellation, no doubt earned by his greater age. Aboard the frigate he had been known as "Old Bill"; and the soubriquet still attached to him upon the spar. CHAPTER III. THE SERPENT'S TONGUE. The presence of a ship's topsail-yard thus bestridden plainly proclaimed that a ship had been wrecked, although no other evidence of the wreck was within sight. Not a speck was visible upon the sea to the utmost verge of the horizon: and if a ship had foundered within that field of view, her boats and every vestige of the wreck must either have gone to the bottom, or in some other direction than that taken by the topsail-yard, which supported the three midshipmen and the sailor Bill. A ship _had_ gone to the bottom--a British man-of-war--a corvette on her way to her cruising ground on the Guinea coast. Beguiled by the dangerous current that sets towards the seaboard of the Saära, in a dark stormy night she had struck upon a sand-bank, got bilged, and sunk almost instantly among the breakers. Boats had been got out, and men had been seen crowding hurriedly into them; others had taken to such rafts or spars as could be detached from the sinking vessel: but whether any of these, or the overladen boats, had succeeded in reaching the shore, was a question which none of the four astride the topsail-yard were able to answer. They only knew that the corvette had gone to the bottom,--they saw her go down, shortly after drifting away from her side, but saw nothing more until morning, when they perceived themselves alone upon the ocean. They had been drifting throughout the remainder of that long, dark night,--often entirely under water, when the sea swelled over them,--and one and all of them many times on the point of being washed from their frail embarkation. By daybreak the storm had ceased, and was succeeded by a clear, calm day; but it was not until a late hour that the swell had subsided sufficiently to enable them to take any measures for propelling the strange craft that carried them. Then using their hands as oars or paddles, they commenced making some way through the water. There was nothing in sight--neither land nor any other object--save the sea, the sky, and the sun. It was the east which guided them as to direction. But for it there could have been no object in making way through the water; but with the sun now sinking in the west, they could tell the east, and they knew that in that point alone land might be expected. After the sun had gone down the stars became their compass, and throughout all the second night of their shipwreck they had continued to paddle the spar in an easterly direction. Day again dawned upon them, but without gratifying their eyes by the sight of land, or any other object to inspire them with a hope. Famished with hunger, tortured with thirst, and wearied with their continued exertions, they were about to surrender to despair; when, as the sun once more mounted up to the sky, and his bright beams pierced the crystal water upon which they were floating, they saw beneath them the sheen of white sand. It was the bottom of the sea, and at no great depth,--not more than a few fathoms below their feet. Such shallow water could not be far from the shore. Reassured and encouraged by the thought, they once more renewed their exertions, and continued to paddle the spar, taking only short intervals of rest throughout the whole of the morning. Long before noon they were compelled to desist. They were close to the tropic of Cancer, almost under its line. It was the season of midsummer, and of course at meridian hour the sun was right over their heads. Even their bodies cast no shadow, except upon the white sand directly underneath them, at the bottom of the sea. The sun could no longer guide them; and as they had no other index, they were compelled to remain stationary, or drift in whatever direction the breeze or the currents might carry them. There was not much movement any way, and for several hours before and after noon they lay almost becalmed upon the ocean. This period was passed in silence and inaction. There was nothing for them to talk about but their forlorn situation, and this topic had been exhausted. There was nothing for them to do. Their only occupation was to watch the sun, until, by its sinking lower in the sky, they might discover its _westing_. Could they at that moment have elevated their eyes only three feet higher, they would not have needed to wait for the declination of the orb of day. They would have seen land, such land as it was; but, sunk as their shoulders were almost to the level of the water, even the summits of the sand dunes were not visible to their eyes. When the sun began to go down towards the horizon, they once more plied their palms against the liquid wave, and sculled the spar eastward. The sun's lower limb was just touching the western horizon, when his red rays, glancing over their shoulders, showed them some white spots that appeared to rise out of the water. Were they clouds? No! Their rounded tops, cutting the sky with a clear line, forbade this belief. They should be hills, either of snow or of sand. It was not the region for snow: they could only be sand-hills. The cry of "land" pealed simultaneously from the lips of all,--that cheerful cry that has so oft given gladness to the despairing castaway,--and redoubling their exertions, the spar was propelled through the water more rapidly than ever. Reinvigorated by the prospect of once more setting foot upon land, they forgot for the moment thirst, hunger, and weariness, and only occupied themselves in sculling their craft towards the shore. Under the belief that they had still several miles to make before the beach could be attained, they were one and all working with eyes turned downward. At that moment old Bill, chancing to look up, gave utterance to a shout of joy, which was instantly echoed by his youthful companions: all had at the same time perceived the long sand-spit projecting far out into the water, and which looked like the hand of some friend held out to bid them welcome. They had scarce made this discovery before another of like pleasant nature came under their attention. That was, that they were _touching bottom_! Their legs, bestriding the spar, hung down on each side of it; and to the joy of all they now felt their feet scraping along the sand. As if actuated by one impulse, all four dismounted from the irksome seat they had been so long compelled to keep; and, bidding adieu to the spar, they plunged on through the shoal water, without stop or stay, until they stood high and dry upon the extreme point of the peninsula. By this time the sun had gone down; and the four dripping forms, dimly outlined in the purple twilight, appeared like four strange creatures who had just emerged from out the depths of the ocean. "Where next?" This was the mental interrogatory of all four: though by none of them shaped into words. "Nowhere to-night," was the answer suggested by the inclination of each. Impelled by hunger, stimulated by thirst, one would have expected them to proceed onward in search of food and water to alleviate this double suffering. But there was an inclination stronger than either,--too strong to be resisted,--sleep: since for fifty hours they had been without any; since to have fallen asleep on the spar would have been to subject themselves to the danger, almost the certainty, of dropping off, and getting drowned; and, notwithstanding their need of sleep, increased by fatigue, and the necessity of keeping constantly on the alert,--up to that moment not one of them had obtained any. The thrill of pleasure that passed through their frames as they felt their feet upon _terra firma_ for a moment aroused them. But the excitement could not be sustained. The drowsy god would no longer be deprived of his rights; and one after another--though without much interval between--sank down upon the soft sand, and yielded to his balmy embrace. CHAPTER IV. 'WARE THE TIDE!. Through that freak, or law, of nature by which peninsulas are shaped, the point of the sand-spit was elevated several feet above the level of the sea; while its neck, nearer the land, scarce rose above the surface of the water. It was this highest point--where the sand was thrown up in a "wreath," like snow in a storm--that the castaways had chosen for their couch. But little pains had been taken in selecting the spot. It was the most conspicuous, as well as the driest; and, on stepping out of the water, they had tottered towards it, and half mechanically chosen it for their place of repose. [Illustration: 'WARE THE TIDE] Simple as was the couch, they were not allowed to occupy it for long. They had been scarce two hours asleep, when one and all of them were awakened by a sensation that chilled, and, at the same time, terrified them. Their terror arose from a sense of suffocation: as if salt water was being poured down their throats, which was causing it. In short, they experienced the sensation of drowning; and fancied they were struggling amid the waves, from which they had so lately escaped. All four sprang to their feet,--if not simultaneously, at least in quick succession,--and all appeared equally the victims of astonishment, closely approximating to terror. Instead of the couch of soft, dry sand, on which they had stretched their tired frames, they now stood up to their ankles in water,--which was soughing and surging around them. It was this change in their situation that caused their astonishment; though the terror quick following sprang from quite another cause. The former was short-lived: for it met with a ready explanation. In the confusion of their ideas, added to their strong desire for sleep, they had forgotten the tide. The sand, dust-dry under the heat of a burning sun, had deceived them. They had lain down upon it, without a thought of its ever being submerged under the sea; but now to their surprise they perceived their mistake. Not only was their couch completely under water: but, had they slept a few minutes longer, they would themselves have been quite covered. Of course the waves had awakened them; and no doubt would have done so half an hour earlier, but for the profound slumber into which their long watching and weariness had thrown them. The contact of the cold water was not likely to have much effect: since they had been already exposed to it for more than forty hours. Indeed, it was not that which had aroused them; but the briny fluid getting into their mouths, and causing them that feeling of suffocation that very much resembled drowning. More than one of the party had sprung to an erect attitude, under the belief that such was in reality the case; and it is not quite correct to say that their first feeling was one of mere astonishment. It was strongly commingled with terror. On perceiving how matters stood, their fears subsided almost as rapidly as they had arisen. It was only the inflow of the tide; and to escape from it would be easy enough. They would have nothing more to do, than keep along the narrow strip of sand, which they had observed before landing. This would conduct them to the true shore. They knew this to be at some distance; but, once there, they could choose a more elevated couch, on which they could recline undisturbed till the morning. Such was their belief, conceived the instant after they had got upon their legs. It was soon followed by another,--another consternation,--which, if not so sudden as the first was, perhaps, ten times more intense. On turning their faces towards what they believed to be the land, there was no land in sight,--neither sand-hills, nor shore, nor even the narrow tongue upon whose tip they had been trusting themselves! There was nothing visible but water; and even this was scarce discernible at the distance of six paces from where they stood. They could only tell that water was around them, by hearing it hoarsely swishing on every side, and seeing through the dim obscurity the strings of white froth that floated on its broken surface. It was not altogether the darkness of the night that obscured their view; though this was of itself profound. It was a thick mist, or fog, that had arisen over the surface of the ocean, and which enveloped their bodies; so that, though standing almost close together, each appeared to the others like some huge spectral form at a distance! To remain where they were, was to be swallowed up by the sea. There could be no uncertainty about that; and therefore no one thought of staying a moment longer on the point of the sand-spit, now utterly submerged. But in what direction were they to go? That was the question that required to be solved before starting; and in the solution of which, perhaps, depended the safety of their lives. We need scarce say perhaps. Rather might we say, for certain. By taking a wrong direction they would be walking into the sea,--where they would soon get beyond their depth, and be in danger of drowning. This was all the more likely, that the wind had been increasing ever since they had laid down to rest, and was now blowing with considerable violence. Partly from this, and partly by the tidal influence, big waves had commenced rolling around them; so that, even in the shoal water where they stood, each successive swell was rising higher and higher against their bodies. There was no time to be lost. They must find the true direction for the shore, and follow it,--quickly too; or perish amid the breakers! CHAPTER V. A FALSE GUIDE. Which way to the shore? That was the question that arose to the lips of all. You may fancy it could have been easily answered. The direction of the wind and waves was landward. It was the sea-breeze, which at night, as every navigator is aware, blows habitually towards the land,--at least, in the region of the tropics, and more especially towards the hot Saära. The tide itself might have told them the direction to take. It was the in-coming tide, and therefore swelling towards the beach. You may fancy that they had nothing to do but follow the waves, keeping the breeze upon their back. So they fancied, at first starting for the shore; but they were not long in discovering that this guide, apparently so trustworthy was not to be relied upon; and it was only then they became apprised of the real danger of their situation. Both wind and waves were certainly proceeding landward, and in a direct line; but it was just this direct line the castaways dared not--in fact could not--follow; for they had not gone a hundred fathoms from the point of the submerged peninsula when they found the water rapidly deepening before them; and a few fathoms further on they stood up to their armpits! It was evident that, in the direction in which they were proceeding, it continued to grow deeper; and they turned to try another. After floundering about for a while, they found shoal water again,--reaching up only to their knees; but wherever they attempted to follow the course of the waves, they perceived that the shoal trended gradually downward. This at first caused them surprise, as well as alarm. The former affected them only for an instant. The explanation was sought for, and suggested to the satisfaction of all. The sand-spit did not project perpendicularly from the line of the coast, but in a diagonal direction. It was in fact, a sort of natural breakwater--forming one side of a large cone, or embayment, lying between it and the true beach. This feature had been observed, on their first setting foot upon it; though at the time they were so much engrossed with the joyous thought of having escaped from the sea, that it had made no impression upon their memory. They now remembered the circumstance; though not to their satisfaction; for they saw at once that the guide in which they had been trusting could no longer avail them. The waves were rolling on over that bay--whose depth they had tried, only to find it unfordable. This was a new dilemma. To escape from it there appeared but one way. They must keep their course along the combing of the peninsula--if they could. But their ability to do so had now become a question--each instant growing more difficult to answer. They were no longer certain that they were on the spit; but, whether or not, they could find no shallower water by trying on either side. Each way they went it seemed to deepen; and even if they stood still but for a few moments, as they were compelled to do while hesitating as to their course--the water rose perceptibly upon their limbs. They were now well aware that they had two enemies to contend with--time and direction. The loss of either one or the other might end in their destruction. A wrong direction would lead them into deep water; a waste of time would bring deep water around them. The old adage about time and tide--which none of them could help having heard--might have been ringing in their ears at that moment. It was appropriate to the occasion. They thought of it; and the thought filled them with apprehension. From the observations they had made before sunset, they knew that the shore could not be near--not nearer than three miles--perhaps four. Even with free footing, the true direction, and a clear view of the path, it might have been a question about time. They all knew enough of the sea to be aware how rapidly the tide sets in--especially on some foreign shores--and there was nothing to assure them that the seaboard of the Saära was not beset by the most treacherous of tides. On the contrary, it was just this--a tidal current--that had forced their vessel among the breakers, causing them to become what they now were,--castaways! They had reason to dread the tides of the Saära's shore; and dread them they did,--their fears at each moment becoming stronger as they felt the dark waters rising higher and higher around them. CHAPTER VI. WADE OR SWIM? For a time they floundered on,--the old sailor in the lead, the three boys strung out in a line after him. Sometimes they departed from this formation,--one or another trying towards the flank for shallower water. Already it clasped them by the thighs; and just in proportion as it rose upon their bodies, did their spirits become depressed. They knew that they were following the crest of the sand-spit. They knew it by the deepening of the sea on each side of them; but they had by this time discovered another index to their direction. Old Bill had kept his "weather-eye" upon the waves; until he had discovered the angle at which they broke over the "bar," and could follow the "combing" of the spit, as he called it, without much danger of departure from the true path. It was not the _direction_ that troubled their thoughts any longer; but the _time_ and the _tide_. Up to their waists in water, their progress could not be otherwise than slow. The time would not have signified could they have been sure of the tide,--that is, sure of its not rising higher. Alas! they could not be in doubt about this. On the contrary, they were too well assured that it _was_ rising higher; and with a rapidity that threatened soon to submerge them under its merciless swells. These came slowly sweeping along, in the diagonal direction,--one succeeding the other, and each new one striking higher up upon the bodies of the now exhausted waders. On they floundered despite their exhaustion; on along the subaqueous ridge, which at every step appeared to sink deeper into the water,--as if the nearer to the land the peninsula became all the more depressed. This, however, was but a fancy. They had already passed the neck of the sand-spit where it was lowest. It was not that, but the fast flowing tide that was deepening the water around them. Deeper and deeper,--deeper and deeper, till the salt sea clasped them around the armpits, and the tidal waves began to break over their heads! There seemed but one way open to their salvation,--but one course by which they could escape from the engulfment that threatened. This was to forego any further attempt at wading, to fling themselves boldly upon the waves, and _swim_ ashore! Now that they were submerged to their necks, you may wonder at their not at once adopting this plan. It is true they were ignorant of the distance they would have to swim before reaching the shore. Still they knew it could not be more than a couple of miles; for they had already traversed quite that distance on the diagonal spit. But two miles need scarce have made them despair, with both wind and tide in their favor. Why, then, did they hesitate to trust themselves to the quick, bold stroke of the swimmer, instead of the slow, timid, tortoise-like tread of the wader? There are two answers to this question; for there were two reasons for them not having recourse to the former alternative. The first was selfish; or rather, should we call it _self-preservative_. There was a doubt in the minds of all, as to their ability to reach the shore by swimming. It was a broad bay that had been seen before sundown; and once launched upon its bosom, it was a question whether any of them would have strength to cross it. Once launched upon its bosom, there would be no getting back to the shoal water through which they were wading; the tidal current would prevent return. This consideration was backed by another,--a lingering belief or hope that the tide might already have reached its highest, and would soon be on the "turn." This hope, though faint, exerted an influence on the waders,--as yet sufficient to restrain them from becoming swimmers. But even after this could no longer have prevailed,--even when the waves began to surge over, threatening at each fresh "sea" to scatter the shivering castaways and swallow them one by one,--there was another thought that kept them together. It was a thought neither of self nor self-preservation; but a generous instinct, that even in that perilous crisis was stirring within their hearts. Instinct! No. It was a thought,--an impulse if you will; but something higher than an instinct. Shall I declare it? Undoubtedly, I shall. Noble emotions should not be concealed; and the one which at that moment throbbed within the bosoms of the castaways, was truly noble. There were but three of them who felt it. The fourth could not: _he could not swim!_ Surely the reader needs no further explanation? CHAPTER VII. A COMPULSORY PARTING. One of the four castaways could not swim. Which one? You will expect to hear that it was one of the three midshipmen; and will be conjecturing whether it was Harry Blount, Terence O'Connor, or Colin Macpherson. My English boy-readers would scarce believe me, were I to say that it was Harry who was wanting in this useful accomplishment. Equally incredulous would be my Irish and Scotch _constituency_, were I to deny the possession of it to the representatives of their respective countries,--Terence and Colin. Far be it from me to offend the natural _amour propre_ of my young readers; and in the present case I have no fact to record that would imply any national superiority or disadvantage. The castaway who could not swim was that peculiar hybrid, or _tribrid_, already described; who, for any characteristic he carried about him, might have been born either upon the banks of the Clyde, the Thames, or the Shannon! It was "Old Bill" who was deficient in natatory prowess: Old Bill the sailor. It may be wondered that one who has spent nearly the whole of his life on the sea should be wanting in an accomplishment, apparently and really, so essential to such a calling. Cases of the kind, however, are by no means uncommon; and in a ship's crew there will often be found a large number of men,--sometimes the very best sailors,--who cannot swim a stroke. Those who have neglected to cultivate this useful art, when boys, rarely acquire it after they grow up to be men; or, if they do, it is only in an indifferent manner. On the sea, though it may appear a paradox, there are far fewer opportunities for practising the art of swimming than upon its shores. Aboard a ship, on her course, the chances of "bathing" are but few and far between; and, while in port, the sailor has usually something else to do than spend his idle hours in disporting himself upon the waves. The sailor, when ashore, seeks for some sport more attractive. As Old Bill had been at sea ever since he was able to stand upon the deck of a ship, he had neglected this useful art; and though in every other respect an accomplished sailor--rated A.B., No. 1--he could not swim six lengths of his own body. It was a noble instinct which prompted his three youthful companions to remain by him in that critical moment, when, by flinging themselves upon the waves, they might have gained the shore without difficulty. Although the bay might be nearly two miles in width there could not be more than half that distance beyond their depth,--judging by the shoal appearance which the coast had exhibited as they were approaching it before sundown. All three felt certain of being able to save themselves; but what would become of their companion, the sailor? "We cannot leave you, Bill!" cried Harry: "we will not!" "No, that we can't: we won't!" said Terence. "We can't, and won't," asseverated Colin, with like emphasis. These generous declarations were in answer to an equally generous proposal: in which the sailor had urged them to make for the shore, and leave him to his fate. "Ye must, my lads!" he cried out, repeating his proposition. "Don't mind about me; look to yersels! Och! shure I'm only a weather-washed, worn-out old salt, 'ardly worth savin'. Go now--off wi' ye at onest! The water'll be over ye, if ye stand 'eer tin minutes longer." The three youths scrutinized each other's faces, as far as the darkness would allow them. Each tried to read in the countenances of the other two some sign that might determine him. The water was already washing around their shoulders; it was with difficulty they could keep their feet. "Let loose, lads!" cried Old Bill; "let loose, I say! and swim richt for the shore. Don't think o' me; it bean't certain I shan't weather it yet. I'm the whole av my head taller than the tallest av ye. The tide mayn't full any higher; an' if it don't I'll get safe out after all. Let loose, lads--let loose I tell ye!" This command of the old sailor for his young comrades to forsake him was backed by a far more irresistible influence,--one against which even their noble instincts could no longer contend. At that moment, a wave, of greater elevation than any that had preceded it, came rolling along; and the three midshipmen, lifted upon its swell, were borne nearly half a cable's length from the spot where they had been standing. In vain did they endeavor to recover their feet. They had been carried into deep water, where the tallest of them could not touch bottom. For some seconds they struggled on the top of the swell, their faces turned towards the spot from which they had been swept. They were close together. All three seemed desirous of making back to that dark, solitary speck, protruding above the surface, and which they knew to be the head of Old Bill. Still did they hesitate to forsake him. Once more his voice sounded in their ears. "Och, boys!" cried he, "don't thry to come back. It's no use whatever. Lave me to my fate, an' save yersels. The tide's 'ard against ye. Turn, an' follow it, as I tell ye. It'll carry ye safe to the shore; an' if I'm washed afther ye, bury me on the bache. Farewell, brave boys,--farewell!" To the individuals thus apostrophized, it was a sorrowful adieu; and, could they have done anything to save the sailor, there was not one of the three who would not have risked his life over and over again. But all were impressed with the hopelessness of rendering any succor; and under the still further discouragement caused by another huge wave, that came swelling up under their chins, they turned simultaneously in the water; and, taking the tidal current for their guide, swam with all their strength towards the shore. CHAPTER VIII. SAFE ASHORE. The swim proved shorter than any of them had anticipated. They had scarce made half a mile across the bay, when Terence, who was the worst swimmer of the three, and who had been allowing his legs to droop, struck his toes against something more substantial than salt water. "I' faith!" gasped he, with exhausted breath, "I think I've touched bottom. Blessed be the Virgin, I have!" he continued, at the same time standing erect, with head and shoulders above the surface of the water. "All right!" cried Harry, imitating the upright attitude of the young Hibernian. "Bottom it must be, and bottom it is. Thank God for it!" Colin, with a similar grateful ejaculation, suspended his stroke, and stood upon his feet. All three instinctively faced seaward--as they did so, exclaiming-- "Poor Old Bill!" "In troth, we might have brought him along with us!" suggested Terence, as soon as he had recovered his wind; "might we not?" "If we had but known it was so short a swim," said Harry, "it is possible." "How about our trying to swim back? Do you think we could do it?" "Impossible!" asserted Colin. "What, Colin, you are the best swimmer of us all! Do you say so?" asked the others, eager to make an effort for saving the old salt, who had been the favorite of every officer aboard the ship. "I say impossible," replied the cautious Colin; "I would risk as much as any of you, but there is not a reasonable chance of saving him, and what's the use of trying impossibilities? We'd better make sure that we're safe ourselves. There may be more deep water between us and the shore. Let us keep on till we've set our feet on something more like terra firma." The advice of the young Scotchman was too prudent to be rejected; and all three, once more turning their faces shoreward, continued to advance in that direction. They only knew that they were facing shoreward by the inflow of the tide, but certain that this would prove a tolerably safe guide, they kept boldly on, without fear of straying from the track. For a while they waded; but, as their progress was both slower and more toilsome, they once more betook themselves to swimming. Whenever they felt fatigued by either mode of progression, they changed to the other; and partly by wading and partly by swimming, they passed through another mile of the distance that separated them from the shore. The water then became so shallow, that swimming was no longer possible; and they waded on, with eyes earnestly piercing the darkness, each moment expecting to see something of the land. They were soon to be gratified by having this expectation realized. The curving lines that began to glimmer dimly through the obscurity, were the outlines of rounded objects that could not be ocean waves. They were too white for these. They could only be the sand-hills, which they had seen before the going down of the sun. As they were now but knee-deep in the water, and the night was still misty and dark, these objects could be at no great distance, and deep water need no longer be dreaded. The three castaways considered themselves as having reached the shore. Harry and Terence were about to continue on to the beach, when Colin called to them to come to a stop. "Why?" inquired Harry. "What for?" asked Terence. "Before touching dry land," suggested the thoughtful Colin, "suppose we decide what has been the fate of poor Old Bill." "How can we tell that?" interrogated the other two. "Stand still awhile; we shall soon see whether his head is yet above water." Harry and Terence consented to the proposal of their comrade, but without exactly comprehending its import. "What do you mean, Coley?" asked the impatient Hibernian. "To see if the tide's still rising," was the explanation given by the Scotch youth. "And what if it be?" demanded Terence. "Only, that if it be, we will never more see the old sailor in the land of the living. We may look for his lifeless corpse after it has been washed ashore." "Ah! I comprehend you," said Terence. "You're right," added Harry. "If the tide be still rising, Old Bill is under it by this time. I dare say his body will drift ashore before morning." They stood still,--all three of them. They watched the water, as it rippled up against their limbs, taking note of its ebbing and flowing. They watched with eyes full of anxious solicitude. They continued this curious vigil for full twenty minutes. They would have patiently prolonged it still further had it been necessary. But it was not. No further observation was required to convince them that the tidal current was still carried towards the shore; and that the water was yet deepening around them. The data thus obtained were sufficient to guide them to the solution of the sad problem. During that interval, while they were swimming and wading across the bay, the tide must have been continually on the increase. It must have risen at least a yard. A foot would be sufficient to have submerged the sailor: since he could not swim. There was but one conclusion to which they could come. Their companion must have been drowned. With heavy hearts they turned their faces toward the shore,--thinking more of the sad fate of the sailor than their own future. Scarce had they proceeded a dozen steps, when a shout, heard from behind, caused them to come to a sudden stop. "Avast there!" cried a voice that seemed to rise from out the depths of the sea. "It's Bill!" exclaimed all three in the same breath. "'Old on my 'arties, if that's yerselves that I see!" continued the voice. "Arrah, 'old on there. I'm so tired wadin', I want a short spell to rest myself. Wait now, and I'll come to yez, as soon as I can take a reef out of my tops'ls." The joy caused by this greeting, great as it was, was scarce equal to the surprise it inspired. They who heard it were for some seconds incredulous. The sound of the sailor's voice, well known as it was, with something like the figure of a human being dimly seen through the uncertain mist that shadowed the surface of the water was proof that he still lived; while, but the moment before, there appeared substantial proof that he must have gone to the bottom. Their incredulity even continued, till more positive evidence to the contrary came before them, in the shape of the old man-o'-war's-man himself; who, rapidly splashing through the more shallow water, in a few seconds stood face to face with the three brave boys whom he had so lately urged to abandon him. "Bill, is it you?" cried all three in a breath. "Auch! and who else would yez expect it to be? Did yez take me for 'ould Neptune risin' hout of the say? Or did yez think I was a mare-maid? Gee me a grip o' yer wee fists, ye bonny boys. Ole Bill warn't born to be drowned!" "But how did ye come, Bill? The tide's been rising ever since we left you." "Oh!" said Terence, "I see how it is, the bay isn't so deep after all: you've waded all the way." "Avast there, master Terry! not half the way, though I've waded part of it. There's wather between here and where you left me, deep enough to dhrown Phil Macool. I didn't crass the bay by wading at all--at all." "How then?" "I was ferried on a nate little craft--as yez all knows of--the same that carried us safe to the sand-spit." "The spar?" "Hexactly as ye say. Just as I was about to gee my last gasp, something struck me on the back o' the head, making me duck under the wather. What was that but the tops'l yard. Hech! I was na long in mountin' on to it. I've left it out there afther I feeled my toes trailin' along the bottom. Now, my bonny babies, that's how Old Bill's been able to rejoin ye. Flippers all round once more; and then let's see what sort o' a shore we've got to make port upon." An enthusiastic shake of the hands passed between the old sailor and his youthful companions; after which the faces of all were turned towards the shore, still only dimly distinguishable, and uninviting as seen, but more welcome to the sight than the wilderness of water stretching as if to infinity behind them. CHAPTER IX. UNCOMFORTABLE QUARTERS. The waders had still some distance to go before reaching dry land; but, after splashing for about twenty minutes longer, they at length stood upon the shore. As the tide was still flowing in they continued up the beach; so as to place themselves beyond the reach of the water, in the event of its rising still higher. They had to cross a wide stretch of wet sand before they could find a spot sufficiently elevated to secure them against the further influx of the tide. Having, at length, discovered such a spot, they stopped to deliberate on what was best to be done. They would fain have had a fire to dry their dripping garments: for the night had grown chilly under the influence of the fog. The old sailor had his flint, steel, and tinder--the latter still safe in its water-tight tin box; but there was no fuel to be found near. The spar, even could they have broken it up, was still floating, or stranded, in the shoal water--more than a mile to seaward. In the absence of a fire they adopted the only other mode they could think of to get a little of the water out of their clothes. They stripped themselves to the skin, wrung out each article separately; and then, giving each a good shake, put them on again--leaving it to the natural warmth of their bodies to complete the process of drying. By the time they had finished this operation, the mist had become sensibly thinner; and the moon, suddenly emerging from under a cloud, enabled them to obtain a better view of the shore upon which they had set foot. Landward, as far as they could see, there appeared to be nothing but white sand--shining like silver under the light of the moon. Up and down the coast the same landscape could be dimly distinguished. It was not a level surface that was thus covered with sand, but a conglomeration of hillocks and ridges, blending into each other and forming a labyrinth, that seemed to stretch interminably on all sides--except towards the sea itself. It occurred to them to climb to the highest of the hillocks. From its summit they would have a better view of the country beyond; and perhaps discover a place suitable for an encampment--perhaps some timber might then come into view--from which they would be able to obtain a few sticks. On attempting to scale the "dune," they found that their wading was not yet at an end. Though no longer in the water, they sank to their knees at every step, in soft yielding sand. The ascent of the hillock, though scarce a hundred feet high, proved exceedingly toilsome--much more so than wading knee-deep in water--but they floundered on, and at length reached the summit. To the right, to the left, in front of them, far as the eye could reach, nothing but hills and ridges of sand--that appeared under the moonlight of a whiteness approaching to that of snow. In fact, it would not have been difficult to fancy that the country was covered with a heavy coat of snow--as often seen in Sweden, or the Northern parts of Scotland--drifted into "wreaths," and spurred hillocks of every imaginable form. It was pretty, but soon became painful from its monotony; and the eyes of that shipwrecked quartette were even glad to turn once more to the scarce less monotonous blue of the ocean. Inland, they could perceive other sand-hills--higher than that to which they had climbed--and long crested "combings," with deep valleys between; but not one object to gladden their sight--nothing that offered promise of either food, drink, or shelter. Had it not been for their fatigue they might have gone farther. Since the moon had consented to show herself, there was light enough to travel by; and they might have proceeded on--either through the sand-dunes or along the shore. But of the four there was not one--not even the tough old tar himself--who was not regularly done up, both with weariness of body and spirit. The short slumber upon the spit--from which they had been so unexpectedly startled--had refreshed them but little; and, as they stood upon the summit of the sand-hill, all four felt as if they could drop down, and go to sleep on the instant. It was a couch sufficiently inviting, and they would at once have availed themselves of it, but for a circumstance that suggested to them the idea of seeking a still better place for repose. The land wind was blowing in from the ocean; and, according to the forecast of Old Bill--a great practical meteorologist,--it promised ere long to become a gale. It was already sufficiently violent--and chill to boot--to make the situation on the summit of the dune anything but comfortable. There was no reason why they should make their couch upon that exposed prominence. Just on the landward side of the hillock itself--below, at its base--they perceived a more sheltered situation; and why not select that spot for their resting place? There was no reason why they should not. Old Bill proposed it; there was no opposition offered by his young companions,--and, without further parley, the four went floundering down the sloping side of the sand-hill, into the sheltered convexity at its base. On arriving at the bottom, they found themselves in the narrowest of ravines. The hillock from which they had descended was but the highest summit of a long ridge, trending in the same direction as the coast. Another ridge, of about equal height, ran parallel to this on the landward side. The bases of the two approached so near, that their sloping sides formed an angle with each other. On account of the abrupt acclivity of both, this angle was almost acute, and the ravine between the two resembled a cavity out of which some great wedge had been cut,--like a section taken from the side of a gigantic melon. It was in this re-entrant angle that the castaways found themselves, after descending the side of the dune, and where they had proposed spending the remainder of the night. They were somewhat disappointed on reaching their sleeping-quarters, and finding them so limited as to space. In the bottom of the ravine there was not breadth enough for a bed,--even for the shortest of the party,--supposing him desirous of sleeping in a horizontal position. There were not six feet of surface--nor even three--that could strictly be called horizontal. Even longitudinally, the bottom of the "gully" had a sloping inclination: for the ravine itself tended upwards, until it became extinguished in the convergence of its inclosing ridges. On discovering the unexpected "strait" into which they had launched themselves, our adventurers were for a time nonplussed. They felt inclined to proceed farther in search of a "better bed," but their weariness outweighed this inclination; and, after some hesitation, they resolved to remain in the "ditch," into which they had so unwillingly descended. They proceeded therefore to encouch themselves. Their first attempt was made by placing themselves in a half-standing position--their backs supported upon the sloping side of one of the ridges, with their feet resting against the other. So long as they kept awake, this position was both easy and pleasant; but the moment any one of them closed his eyes in sleep,--and this was an event almost instantaneous,--his muscles, relaxed by slumber, would no longer have the strength to sustain him; and the consequence would be an uncomfortable collapse to the bottom of the "gully," where anything like a position of repose was out of the question. This vexatious interruption of their slumbers happening repeatedly, at length roused all four to take fresh counsel as to choosing a fresh couch. Terence had been especially annoyed by these repeated disturbances; and proclaimed his determination not to submit to them any longer. He would go in search of more "comfortable quarters." He had arisen to his feet, and appeared in the act of starting off. "We had better not separate," suggested Harry Blount. "If we do, we may find it difficult to come together again." "There's something in what you say, Hal," said the young Scotchman. "It will not do for us to lose sight of one another. What does Bill say to it?" "I say, stay here," put in the voice of the sailor. "It won't do to stray the wan from the t'other. No, it won't. Let us hold fast, thin, where we're already belayed." "But who the deuce can sleep here?" remonstrated the son of Erin. "A hard-worked horse can sleep standing; and so can an elephant, they say; but, for me, I'd prefer six feet of the horizontal--even if it were a hard stone--to this slope of the softest sand." "Stay, Terry!" cried Colin. "I've captured an idea." "Ah! you Scotch are always capturing something--whether it be an idea, a flea, or the itch. Let's hear what it is." "After that insult to ma kintree," good-humoredly rejoined Colin, "I dinna know whuther I wull." "Come, Colin," interrupted Harry Blount, "if you've any good counsel to give us, pray don't withhold it. We can't get sleep, standing at an angle of forty-five degrees. Why should we not try to change our position by seeking another place?" "Well, Harry, as you have made the request, I'll tell you what's just come into my mind. I only feel astonished it didn't occur to any of us sooner." "Mother av Moses!" cried Terence, jocularly adopting his native brogue; "and why don't you out with it at wanse?--you Scatch are the thrue _rid-tape_ of society." "Never mind, Colly!" interposed Blount; "there's no time to listen to Terry's badinage. We're all too sleepy for jesting; tell us what you've got in your mind." "All of ye do as you see me, and, I'll be your bail, ye'll sleep sound till the dawn o' the day. Good night!" As Colin pronounced the salutation he sank down to the bottom of the ravine, where, stretched longitudinally, he might repose without the slightest danger of being awakened by slipping from his couch. On seeing him thus disposed, the others only wondered they had not thought of the thing before. They were too sleepy to speculate long upon their own thoughtlessness; and one after the other, imitating the example set them by the young Scotchman, laid their bodies lengthwise along the bottom of the ravine, and entered upon the enjoyment of a slumber from which all the kettle-drums in creation would scarce have awaked them. CHAPTER XI. 'WARE THE SAND! As the gully in which they had gone to rest was too narrow to permit of them lying side by side, they were disposed in a sort of lengthened chain, with their heads all turned in the same direction. The bottom of the ravine, as already stated, had a slight inclination; and they had, of course, placed themselves so that their heads should be higher than their feet. The old sailor was at the lower end of this singular series, with the feet of Harry Blount just above the crown of his head. Above the head of Harry were the heels of Terence O'Connor; and, at the top of all, reclined Colin,--in the place where he had first stretched himself. On account of the slope of the ground, the four were thus disposed in a sort of _échelon_ formation, of which Old Bill was the base. They had dropped into their respective positions, one after the other, as they lay. The sailor had been the last to commit himself to this curious couch; he was also the last to surrender to sleep. For some time after the others had become unconscious of outward impressions, he lay listening to the "sough" of the sea, and the sighing of the breeze, as it blew along the smooth sides of the sand-hills. He did not remain awake for any great length of time. He was wearied, as well as his young comrades; and soon also yielded his spirit to the embrace of the god Somnus. Before doing so, however, he had made an observation,--one of a character not likely to escape the notice of an old mariner such as he. He had become conscious that a storm was brewing in the sky. The sudden shadowing of the heavens;--the complete disappearance of the moon, leaving even the white landscape in darkness;--her red color as she went out of sight;--the increased noise caused by the roaring of the breakers; and the louder "swishing" of the wind itself, which began to blow in quick gusty puffs; all these sights and sounds admonished him that a gale was coming on. He instinctively noted these signs; and on board ship would have heeded them,--so far as to have alarmed the sleeping watch, and counselled precaution. But stretched upon terra firma--not so very firm had he but known it--between two huge hills, where he and his companions were tolerably well sheltered from the wind, it never occurred to the old salt, that they could be in any danger; and simply muttering to himself, "the storm be blowed!" he laid his weather-beaten face upon the pillow of soft sand, and delivered himself up to deep slumber. The silent prediction of the sailor turned out a true forecast. Sure enough there came a storm; which, before the castaways had been half an hour asleep, increased to a tempest. It was one of those sudden uprisings of the elements common in all tropical countries, but especially so in the desert tracts of Arabia and Africa,--where the atmosphere, rarefied by heat, and becoming highly volatile, suddenly loses its equilibrium, and rushes like a destroying angel over the surface of the earth. The phenomenon that had broken over the arenaceous couch,--upon which slept the four castaways,--was neither more nor less than a "sand-storm;" or, to give it its Arab title, a _simoom_. The misty vapor that late hung suspended in the atmosphere had been swept away by the first puff of the wind; and its place was now occupied by a cloud equally dense, though perhaps not so constant,--a cloud of white sand lifted from the surface of the earth, and whirled high up towards heaven,--even far out over the waters of the ocean. Had it been daylight, huge volumes, of what might have appeared dust, might have been seen rolling over the ridges of sand,--here swirling into rounded pillar-like shapes, that could easily have been mistaken for solid columns, standing for a time in one place, then stalking over the summits of the hills, or suddenly breaking into confused and cumbering masses; while the heavier particles, no longer kept in suspension by the rotatory whirl, might be seen spilling back towards the earth, like a sand-shower projected downward through some gigantic "screen." In the midst of this turbulent tempest of wind and sand--with not a single drop of rain,--the castaways continued to sleep. One might suppose--as did the old man-o'-war's-man before going to sleep--that they were not in any danger; not even as much as if their couch had been under the roof of a house, or strewn amid the leaves of the forest. There were no trees to be blown down upon them, no bricks nor large chimney-pots to come crashing through the ceiling, and crush them as they lay upon their beds. What danger could there be among the "dunes?" Not much to a man awake, and with open eyes. In such a situation, there might be discomfort, but no danger. Different however, was it with the slumbering castaways. Over them a peril was suspended--a real peril--of which perhaps, on that night not one of them was dreaming--and in which, perhaps, not one of them would have put belief,--but for the experience of it they were destined to be taught before the morning. Could an eye have looked upon them as they lay, it would have beheld a picture sufficiently suggestive of danger. It would have seen four human figures stretched along the bottom of a narrow ravine, longitudinally aligned with one another--their heads all turned one way, and in point of elevation slightly _en échelon_--it would have noted that these forms were asleep, that they were already half buried in sand, which, apparently descending from the clouds was still settling around them; and that, unless one or other of them awoke, all four should certainly become "smoored." What does this mean? Merely a slight inconvenience arising from having the mouth, ears, and nostrils obstructed by sand, which a little choking, and sneezing, and coughing would soon remove. Ask the Highland shepherd who has imprudently gone to sleep under the "blowin' sna'"; question the Scandinavian, whose calling compels him to encamp on the open "fjeld"; interrogate Swede or Norwegian, Finn or Lapp, and you may discover the danger of being "smoored." That would be in the snow,--the light, vascular, porous, permeable snow,--under which a human being may move, and through which he may breathe,--though tons of it may be superpoised above his body,--the snow that, while imprisoning its victim, also gives him warmth, and affords him shelter,--perilous as that shelter may be. Ask the Arab what it is to be "smoored" by sand; question the wild Bedouin of the Bled-el-jereed,--the Tuarick and Tiboo of the Eastern Desert,--they will tell you it is danger often _death_! Little dreamt the four sleepers as they lay unconscious under that swirl of sand,--little even would they have suspected, if awake,--that there was danger in the situation. There was, for all that, a danger, great as it was imminent,--the danger, not only of their being "smoored," but stifled, suffocated, buried fathoms deep under the sands of the Saära, for fathoms deep will often be the drift of a single night. The Arabs say that, once "submerged" beneath the arenaceous "flood," a man loses the power to extricate himself. His energies are suspended, his senses become numbed and torpid--in short, he feels as one who goes to sleep in a snow-storm. It may be true; but, whether or no, it seemed as if the four English castaways had been stricken with this inexplicable paralysis. Despite the hoarse roaring of the breakers, despite the shrieking and whistling of the wind, despite the dust constantly being deposited on their bodies, and entering ears, mouth, and nostrils,--despite the stifling sensation one would suppose they must have felt, and which should have awakened them,--despite all, they continued to sleep. It seemed as if that sleep was to be eternal! If they heard not the storm that raged savagely above them, if they felt not the sand that pressed heavily upon them, what was there to warn, what to arouse them from that ill-starred slumber? CHAPTER XII. A MYSTERIOUS NIGHTMARE. The four castaways had been asleep for a couple of hours,--that is, from the time that, following the example of the young Scotchman, they had stretched themselves along the bottom of the ravine. It was not quite an hour, however, since the commencement of the sand-storm; and yet in this short time the arenaceous dust had accumulated to the thickness of several inches upon their bodies; and a person passing the spot, or even stepping right over them, could not have told that four human beings were buried beneath,--that is, upon the supposition that they would have lain still, and not got startled from their slumbers by the foot thus treading upon them. Perhaps it was a fortunate circumstance for them, that by such a contingency they might be awakened, and that by such they _were_ awakened. Otherwise their sleep might have been protracted into the still deeper sleep--from which there is no awaking. All four had begun to feel--if any sensation while asleep can be so called--a sense of suffocation, accompanied by a heaviness of the limbs and torpidity in the joints,--as if some immense weight was pressing upon their bodies, that rendered it impossible for them to stir either toe or finger. It was a sensation similar to that so well known, and so much dreaded, under the name of _nightmare_. It may have been the very same; and was, perhaps, brought on as much by the extreme weariness they all felt, as by the superincumbent weight of the sand. Their heads, lying higher than their bodies, were not so deeply buried under the drift; which, blown lightly over their faces, still permitted the atmosphere to pass through it. Otherwise their breathing would have been stopped altogether; and death must have been the necessary consequence. Whether it was a genuine nightmare or no, it was accompanied by all the horrors of this phenomenon. As they afterwards declared, all four felt its influence, each in his own way dreaming of some fearful fascination from which he could make no effort to escape. Strange enough, their dreams were different. Harry Blount thought he was falling over a precipice; Colin that a gigantic ogre had got hold of and was going to eat him up; while the young Hibernian fancied himself in the midst of a conflagration, a dwelling house on fire, from which he could not get out! Old Bill's delusion was more in keeping with their situation,--or at least with that out of which they had lately escaped. He simply supposed that he was submerged in the sea, and as he knew he could not swim, it was but natural for him to fancy that he was drowning. Still, he could make no struggle; and, as he would have done this, whether able to swim or not, his dream did not exactly resemble the real thing. The sailor was the first to escape from the uncomfortable _incubus_; though there was but an instant between the awakening of all. They were startled out of their sleep, one after another, in the order in which they lay, and inversely to that in which they had lain down. Their awakening was as mysterious as the nightmare itself, and scarce relieved them from the horror which the latter had been occasioning. All felt in turn, and in quick succession, a heavy crushing pressure, either on the limbs or body, which had the effect, not only to startle them from their sleep, but caused them considerable pain. Twice was this pressure applied, almost exactly on the same spot, and with scarce a second's interval between the applications. It could not well have been repeated a third time with like exactness, even had such been the design of whatever creature was causing it; for, after the second squeeze, each had recovered sufficient consciousness to know he was in danger of being crushed, and make a desperate effort to withdraw himself. The exclamations, proceeding from four sets of lips, told that all were still in the land of the living; but the confused questioning that followed did nothing towards elucidating the cause of that sudden and almost simultaneous uprising. There was too much sneezing and coughing to permit of anything like clear or coherent speech. The _shumu_ was still blowing. There was sand in the mouths and nostrils of all four, and dust in their eyes. Their talk more resembled the jibbering of apes, who had unwisely intruded into a snuff shop, than the conversation of four rational beings. It was some time before any one of them could shape his speech, so as to be understood by the others; and, after all had at length succeeded in making themselves intelligible, it was found that each had the same story to tell. Each had felt two pressures on some part of his person; and had seen, though very indistinctly, some huge creature passing over him,--apparently a quadruped, though what sort of quadruped none of them could tell. All they knew was, that it was a gigantic, uncouth creature, with a narrow body and neck, and very long legs; and that it had feet there could be no doubt: since it was these that had pressed so heavily upon them. But for the swirl of the sand-storm, and the dust already in their eyes, they might have been able to give a better description of the creature that had so unceremoniously stepped over them. These impediments, however, had hindered them from obtaining a fair view of it; and some animal,--grotesquely shaped, with a long neck, body, and legs,--was the image which remained in the excited minds of the awakened sleepers. Whatever it was, they were all sufficiently frightened to stand for some time trembling. Just awaking from such dreams, it was but natural they should surrender themselves to strange imaginings; and instead of endeavoring to identify the odd-looking animal, if animal it was, they were rather inclined to set it down as some creature of a supernatural kind. The three midshipmen were but boys, not so long from the nursery as to have altogether escaped from the weird influence which many a nursery tale had wrapped around them; and as for old Bill, fifty years spent in "ploughing the ocean" had only confirmed _him_ in the belief, that the "black art" is not so mythical as philosophers would have us think. So frightened were all four, that, after the first ebullition of their surprise had subsided, they no longer gave utterance to speech, but stood listening, and trembling as they listened. Perhaps, had they known the service which the intruder had done for them, they might have felt gratitude towards it, instead of the suspicion and dread that for some moments kept them, as if spell-bound, in their places. It did not occur to any of the party, that that strange summons from sleep--more effective than the half-whispered invitation of a _valet-de-chambre_, or the ringing of a breakfast-bell--had in all probability rescued them from a silent, but certain death. They stood, as I have said, listening. There were several distinct sounds that saluted their ears. There was the "sough" of the sea, as it came swelling up the gorge; the "whish" of the wind, as it impinged upon the crests of the ridges; and the "swish" of the sand as it settled around them. All these were the voices of inanimate objects,--phenomena of nature, easily understood. But, rising above them, were heard sounds of a different character, which, though they might be equally natural, were not equally familiar to those who listened to them. There was a sort of dull battering,--as if some gigantic creature was performing a Terpsichorean feat upon the sand-bank above them; but sharper sounds were heard at intervals,--screams commingled with short snortings, both proclaiming something of the nature of a struggle. Neither in the screams nor the snortings was there anything that the listeners could identify as sounds they had ever heard before. They were alike perplexing to the ears of English, Irish, and Scotch. Even old Bill, who had heard, sometime or other, nearly every sound known to creation, could not classify them. "Divil take thim!" whispered he to his companions, "I dinna know what to make av it. It be hawful to 'ear 'em!" "Hark!" ejaculated Harry Blount. "Hish!" exclaimed Terence. "Wheesh!" muttered Colin. "It's coming nearer, whatever it may be. Wheesh!" There could be no doubt about the truth of this conjecture; for as the caution passed from the lips of the young Scotchman, the dull hammering, the snorts, and the unearthly screams were evidently drawing nearer,--though the creature that was causing them was unseen through the thick sand-mist still surrounding the listeners. These, however, heard enough to know that some heavy body was making a rapid descent down the sloping gorge, and with an impetuosity that rendered it prudent for them to get out of its way. More by an instinct, than from any correct appreciation of the danger, all four fell back from the narrow trench in which they had been standing,--each, as he best could, retreating up the declivity of the sand-hill. Scarce were they able to obtain footing in their new position, when the sounds they had heard not only became louder and nearer, but the creature that had been causing them paused close to their feet,--so close that most of them could have touched it with their toes. For all that, not one of the party could tell what it was; and after it had passed,--on its way down the ravine,--and was once more lost to their view amid the swirling sand, they were not a bit further advanced in their knowledge of the strange creature that had come so near crushing out their existence with its ponderous weight! All that they had been able to see was a conglomeration of dark objects,--resembling the head, neck, body, and limbs of some uncouth animal,--while the sounds that proceeded from it were like utterances that might have come from some other world; for certainly they had but slight resemblance to anything the castaways had ever heard in this--either upon sea, or land! CHAPTER XIII. THE MAHERRY. For some length of time they stood conjecturing,--the boys with clasped hands,--Old Bill near, but apart. During this time, at intervals, they continued to hear the sounds that had so astonished them--the stamping, the snorts, and the screaming, though they no longer saw the creature that caused them. The sand gully opened towards the sea, in a diagonal direction. It could not be many yards to the spot, where it debouched upon the level of the beach; and the creature that had caused them such a surprise--and was still continuing to occupy their thoughts--must have reached this level surface: though not to suspend its exertions. Every now and then could be heard the same repetition of dull noises,--as if some animal was kicking itself to death,--varied by trumpet-like snorts and agonizing screams, which could be likened to the cry of no animal upon earth. But that the castaways knew they were on the coast of Africa,--that continent renowned for strange existences,--they might have been even more disposed to a supernatural belief in what was near them; but as the minutes passed, and their senses began to return to them, they became more inclined to think that what they had seen, heard, and _felt_, might be only some animal--a heavy quadruped--that had trampled over them in their sleep. The chief difficulty in reconciling this belief with the actual occurrence was the odd behavior of the animal. Why had it gone up the gorge, apparently _parenti passu_, to come tumbling down again in such a confused fashion? Why was it still kicking and stumbling about at the bottom of the ravine,--for such did the sounds proclaim it to be doing? No answer could be given to either of these questions; and none was given, until day dawned over the sand-hills. This was soon after; and along with the morning light had come the cessation of the simoom. Then saw the castaways that creature that had so abruptly awakened them from their slumbers,--and, by so doing, perhaps, saved their lives. They saw it recumbent at the bottom of the gorge, where they had so uneasily passed the night. It proved to be--what from the slight glimpse they had got of it, they were inclined to believe--an animal, and a quadruped; and if it had presented an uncouth appearance, as it stepped over them in the darkness, not less so did it appear as they now beheld it, under the light of day. It was an animal of very large size,--in height far exceeding a horse,--but of such a grotesque shape as to be easily recognizable by any one who had ever glanced into a picture-book of quadrupeds. The long craning neck, with an almost earless head and gibbous profile; the great straggling limbs, callous at the knees, and ending in broad, wide splitting hooves; the slender hind-quarters, and tiny, tufted tail,--both ludicrously disproportioned,--the tumid, misshapen trunk; but, above all, the huge hunch rising above the shoulders, at once proclaimed the creature to be a dromedary. "Och! it's only a kaymal!" cried Old Bill, as soon as the daylight enabled him to get a fair view of the animal. "What on hearth is it doin' 'ere?" "Sure enough," suggested Terence, "it was this beast that stepped over us while we were asleep! It almost squeezed the breath out of me, for it set its hoof right upon the pit of my stomach." "The same with me," said Colin. "It sunk me down nearly a foot into the sand. Ah, we have reason to be thankful there was that drift-sand over our bodies at the time. If not, the great brute might have crushed us to death!" There was some truth in Colin's observation. But for the covering of sand,--which acted as a cushion,--and also from that which formed their couch yielding beneath them, the hoof of the great quadruped might have caused them a serious injury. As it was, none of them had received any hurt beyond the fright which the strange intruder had occasioned them. The singular incident was yet only half explained. They saw it was a camel that had disturbed their slumbers; that the animal had been on its way up the ravine,--perhaps seeking shelter from the sand-storm; but what had caused it to return so suddenly back down the slope? Above all, why had it made the downward journey in such a singular manner? Obscure as had been their view of it, they could see that it did not go on all-fours, but apparently tumbling and struggling,--its long limbs kicking about in the air, as if it was performing the descent by a series of somersaults. All this had been mysterious enough; but it was soon explained to the satisfaction of the four castaways, who, as soon as they saw the camel by the bottom of the gorge, had rushed down and surrounded it. The animal was in a recumbent position,--not as if it had lain down to rest, but in a constrained attitude, with its long neck drawn in towards its forelegs, and its head lying low and half-buried in the sand! As it was motionless when they first perceived it, they fancied it was dead,--that something had wounded it above. This would have explained the fantastic fashion in which it had returned down the slope,--as the somersaults observed might have been only a series of death struggles. On getting around it, however, they perceived that it was not only still alive, but in perfect health; and its late mysterious movements were accounted for at a single glance. A strong hair halter, firmly noosed around its head, had got caught in the bifurcation of one of its fore-hoofs, where a knot upon the rope had hindered it from slipping through the deep split. This had first caused it to trip up, and tumble head over heels,--inaugurating that series of struggles which had ended in transporting it back to the bottom of the ravine,--where it now lay with the trailing end of the long halter knotted inextricably around its legs. CHAPTER XIV. A LIQUID BREAKFAST. Melancholy as was the situation of the self-caught camel, it was a joyful sight to those who beheld it. Hungry as they were, its flesh would provide them with food; and thirsting as they were, they knew that inside its stomach would be found a supply of water! Such were their first thoughts as they came around it. They soon perceived, however, that to satisfy the latter appetite it would not be necessary for them to kill the camel. Upon the top of its hump was a small, flat pad or saddle, firmly held in its place by a strong leathern band passing under the animal's belly. This proved it to be a "maherry," or riding camel,--one of those swift creatures used by the Arabs in their long rapid journeys across the deserts; and which are common among the tribes inhabiting the Saära. It was not this saddle that gratified the eyes of our adventurers, but a bag, tightly strapped to it, and resting behind the hump of the maherry. This bag was of goat-skin, and upon examination was found to be nearly half-full of water. It was, in fact, the "Gerba," or water-skin, belonging to whoever had been the owner of the animal,--an article of camel equipment more essential than the saddle itself. The four castaways, suffering the torture of thirst, made no scruple about appropriating the contents of the bag, and, in the shortest possible time, it was stripped from the back of the maherry, its stopper taken out, and the precious fluid extracted from it by all four, in greedy succession, until its light weight and collapsed sides declared it to be empty. Their thirst being thus opportunely assuaged, a council was next held, as to what they should do to appease the other appetite. Should they kill the camel? It appeared to be their only chance; and the impetuous Terence had already unsheathed his midshipman's dirk, with the design of burying it in the body of the animal. Colin, however, more prudent in counsel, cried to him to hold his hand,--at least until they should give the subject a more thorough consideration. On this suggestion they proceeded to debate the point between them. They were of different opinions, and equally divided. Two,--Terence and Harry Blount,--were for immediately killing the maherry, and making their breakfast upon its flesh; while the sailor joined Colin in voting that it should be reprieved. "Let us first make use of the animal to help carry us somewhere," urged the young Scotchman. "We can go without food a day longer. Then, if we find nothing, we can butcher this beast." "But what's to be found in such a country as this?" inquired Harry Blount. "Look around you! There's nothing green but the sea itself. There isn't anything eatable within sight,--not so much as would make a dinner for a dormouse!" "Perhaps," rejoined Colin, "when we've travelled a few miles, we may come upon a different sort of country. We can keep along the coast. Why shouldn't we find shell-fish,--enough to keep us alive? See,--yonder's a dark place down upon the beach. I shouldn't wonder if there's some there." The glances of all were instantly directed towards the beach,--excepting those of Sailor Bill. His were fixed on a different object; and an exclamation that escaped him--as well as a movement that accompanied it--arrested the attention of his companions, causing them to turn their eyes upon him. "Shell-fish be blow'd," cried Bill, "here's something better for breakfast than cowld oysters. Look!" The sailor, as he spoke, pointed to an oval-shaped object, something larger than a cocoa-nut, appearing between the hind legs of the maherry. "It's a shemale!" added he, "and's had a calf not long ago. Look at the 'eldher,' and them tits. They're swelled wi' milk. There'll be enough for the whole of us, I warrant yez." As if to make sure of what he said, the sailor dropped down upon his knees by the hind-quarters of the prostrate camel; and, taking one of the teats in his mouth, commenced drawing forth the lacteal fluid which the udder contained. The animal made no resistance. It might have wondered at the curious "calf" that had thus attached himself to its teats; but only at the oddness of his color and costume; for no doubt it had often before been similarly served by its African owner. "Fust rate!" cried Bill, desisting for a moment to take breath. "Ayqual to the richest crame; if we'd only a bite av bred to go along wi' it, or some av your Scotch porritch, Master Colin. But I forgets. My brave youngsters," continued he, rising up and standing to one side, "yez be all hungrier than I am. Go it, wan after another: there'll be enough for yez all." Thus invited, and impelled by their hungry cravings, the three, one after another, knelt down as the sailor had done, and drank copiously from that sweet "fountain of the desert." Taking it in turns, they continued "sucking," until each had swallowed about a pint and a half of the nutritious fluid when, the udder of the camel becoming dry, told that her supply of milk was, for the time, exhausted. CHAPTER XV. THE SAILOR AMONG THE SHELL-FISH. It was no longer a question of slaying the camel. That would be killing the goose that gave the golden eggs. Though they were still very hungry, the rich milk had to some extent taken the keen edge off their appetites; and all declared they could now go several hours without eating. The next question was: where were they to go? The reader may wonder that this was a question at all. Having been told that the camel carried a saddle, and was otherwise caparisoned, it will naturally be conjectured that the animal had got loose from some owner, and was simply straying. This was the very hypothesis that passed before the mind of our adventurers. How could they have conjectured otherwise? Indeed it was scarce a guess. The circumstances told them to a certainty that the camel must have strayed from its owner. The only question was: where that owner might be found. By reading, or otherwise, they possessed enough knowledge of the coast, on which they had been cast away, to know that the proprietor of the "stray" would be some kind of an Arab; and that he would be found living--not in a house or a town--but in a tent; in all likelihood associated with a number of other Arabs, in an "encampment." It required not much reasoning to arrive at these conclusions; and our adventurers had come to them almost on that instant, when they first set eyes on the caparisoned camel. You may wonder that they did not instantly set forth in search of the master of the maherry; or of the tent or encampment from which the latter should have strayed. One might suppose, that this would have been their first movement. On the contrary, it was likely to be their very last; and for sufficient reasons,--which will be discovered in the conversation that ensued, after they had swallowed their liquid breakfasts. Terence had proposed adopting this course,--that is, to go in search of the man from whom the maherry must have wandered. The young Irishman had never been a great reader,--at all events no account of the many "lamentable shipwrecks on the Barbary coast" had ever fallen into his hands,--and he knew nothing of the terrible reputation of its people. Neither had Bill obtained any knowledge of it from books; but, for all that,--thanks to many a forecastle yarn,--the old sailor was well informed both about the character of the coast on which they had suffered shipwreck, and its inhabitants. Bill had the best of reasons for dreading the denizens of the Saäran desert. "Sure they're not cannibals?" urged Terence. "They won't eat us, any how?" "In troth I'm not so shure av that, Masther Terry," replied Bill. "Even supposin' they won't ate us, they'll do worse." "Worse!" "Aye, worse, I tell you. They'd torture us, till death would be a blissin'." "How do you know they would?" "Ach, Masther Terry!" sighed the old sailor, assuming an air of solemnity, such as his young comrades had never before witnessed upon his usually cheerful countenance; "I could tell yez something that 'ud convince ye of the truth av what I've been sayin', an' that'll gie ye a hidear av what we've got to expect if we fall into the 'ands av these feerocious Ayrabs." Bill had already hinted at the prospective peril of an encounter with the people of the country. "Tell us, Bill. What is it?" "Well, young masthers, it beant much,--only that my own brother was wrecked som'ere on this same coast. That was ten years agone. He never returned to owld Hengland." "Perhaps he was drowned?" "Betther for 'im, poor boy, if he 'ad. No, he 'adn't that luck. The crew,--it was a tradin' vessel, and there was tin o' them,--all got safe ashore. They were taken prisoners as they landed by a lot o' Ayrabs. Only one av the tin got home to tell the tale; and he wouldn't a 'ad the chance but for a Jew merchant at Mogador, that found he had rich relations as 'ud pay well to ransom him. I see him a wee while after he got back to Hengland; and he tell me what he had to go through, and my hown brother as well: for Jim,--that be my brother's name,--was with the tribe as took 'im up the counthry. None o' yez iver heerd o' cruelties like they 'ad to put up with. Death in any way would be aisy, compared to what they 'ad to hendure. Poor Jim! I suppose he's dead long ago. Tough as I be myself, I don't believe I could a stood it a week,--let alone tin years. Talk o' knockin' about like a Turk's head. They were knocked about, an' beat, an' bullied, an' kicked, an' starved,--worse than the laziest lubber as ever skulked about the decks o' a ship. No, Masther Terry, we mustn't think av thryin' to find the owner av the beest; but do everythink we can to keep out o' the way av both him and his." "What would you advise us to do, Bill?" "I don't know much 'bout where we be," replied the sailor; "but wheresomever it is, our best plan are to hug by the coast, an' keep within sight o' the water. If we go innard, we're sure to get lost one way or t' other. By keepin' south'ard we may come to some thradin' port av the Portagee." "We'd better start at once, then," suggested the impatient Terence. "No, Masther Terry," said the sailor; "not afore night. We musn't leave 'eer till it gets dark. We'll 'ave to thravel betwane two days." "What!" simultaneously exclaimed the three midshipmen. "Stay here till night! Impossible!" "Aye, lads! an' we must hide, too. Shure as ye are livin' there'll be somebody afther this sthray kaymal,--in a wee while, too, as ye'll see. If we ventured out durin' the daylight, they'd be sure to see us from the 'ills. It's sayed, the thievin' schoundrels always keep watch when there's been a wreck upon the coast; an' I'll be bound this beest belongs to some av them same wreckers." "But what shall we do for food?" asked one of the party; "we'll be famished before nightfall! The camel, having nothing to eat or drink, won't yield any more milk." This interrogative conjecture was probably too near the truth. No one made answer to it. Colin's eyes were again turned towards the beach. Once more he directed the thoughts of his comrades to the shell-fish. "Hold your hands, youngsthers," said the sailor. "Lie close 'eer behind the 'ill, an' I'll see if there's any shell-fish that we can make a meal av. Now that the sun's up, it won't do to walk down there. I must make a crawl av it." So saying, the old salt, after skulking some distance farther down the sand gully, threw himself flat upon his face, and advanced in this attitude, like some gigantic lizard crawling across the sand. The tide was out; but the wet beach, lately covered by the sea, commenced at a short distance from the base of the "dunes." After a ten minutes' struggle, Bill succeeded in reaching the dark-looking spot where Colin had conjectured there might be shell-fish. The old sailor was soon seen busily engaged about something; and from his movements it was evident, that his errand was not to prove fruitless. His hands were extended in different directions; and then at short intervals withdrawn, and plunged into the capacious pockets of his pea-jacket. [Illustration: THE OLD SAILOR SUCCEEDS IN GATHERING SOME SHELL-FISH.] After these gestures had been continued for about half an hour, he was seen to "slew" himself round, and come crawling back towards the sand-hills. His return was effected more slowly than his departure; and it could be seen that he was heavily weighted. On getting back into the gorge, he was at once relieved of his load, which proved to consist of about three hundred "cockles,"--as he called the shell-fish he had collected,--and which were found to be a species of mussel. They were not only edible, but delicious,--at least they seemed so to those who were called upon to swallow them. This seasonable supply did a great deal towards allaying the appetites of all; and even Terence now declared himself contented to remain concealed, until night should afford them an opportunity of escape from the monotony of their situation. CHAPTER XVI. KEEPING UNDER COVER. From the spot, where the camel still lay couched in his "entetherment," the sea was not visible to one lying along the ground. It was only by standing erect, and looking over a spur of the sand-ridge, that the beach could be seen, and the ocean beyond it. There would be no danger, therefore, of their being discovered, by any one coming along the strand--provided they kept in a crouching attitude behind the ridge, which, sharply crested, like a snow-wreath, formed a sort of parapet in front of them. They might have been easily seen from the summit of any of the "dunes" to the rear; but there was not much likelihood of any one approaching them in that direction. The country inward appeared to be a labyrinth of sand-hills--with no opening that would indicate a passage for either man or beast. The camel, in all probability, had taken to the gorge--guided by its instincts--there to seek shelter from the sand-storm. The fact of its carrying a saddle showed that its owner must have been upon the march, at the time it escaped from him. Had our adventurers been better acquainted with Saäran customs, they would have concluded that this had been the case: for they would have known that, on the approach of a "shuma"--the "forecasts" of which are well known--the Bedouins at once, and in all haste, break up their encampments; and put themselves, and their whole personal property, in motion. Otherwise, they would be in danger of getting smoored under the settling sand-drift. Following the counsels of the sailor--whose desert knowledge appeared as extensive as if it, and not the sea, had been his habitual home--our adventurers crouched down in such a way as not to be seen by any one passing along the beach. Scarcely had they placed themselves in this humble attitude, when Old Bill--who had been keeping watch all the while, with only the upper half of his head elevated above the combing of the sand-wreath--announced, by a low exclamation, that something was in sight. Two dark forms were seen coming along the shore, from the southward; but at so great a distance that it was impossible to tell what sort of creatures they might turn out. "Let me have a look," proposed Colin. "By good luck, I've got my glass. It was in my pocket as we escaped from the ship; and I didn't think of throwing it away." As the young Scotchman spoke, he took from the breast of his dreadnought jacket, a small telescope,--which, when drawn out to its full extent, exhibited a series of tubes, _en échelon_, about half a yard in length. Directing it upon the dark objects,--at the same time taking the precaution to keep his own head as low down as possible,--he at once proclaimed their character. "They're two bonny bodies," said he, "dressed in all the colors of the rainbow. I can see bright shawls, and red caps, and striped cloaks. One is mounted on a horse; the other bestrides a camel,--just such a one as this by our side. They're coming along slowly; and appear to be staring about them." "Ah, that be hit," said Old Bill. "It be the howners of this 'eer brute. They be on the sarch for her. Lucky the drift-sand hae covered her tracks,--else they'd come right on to us. Lie low, Masther Colin. We mayn't show our heeds over the combin' o' the sand. They'd be sure to see the size o' a saxpence. We maun keep awthegither oot o' sicht." One of the old sailor's peculiarities--or, perhaps, it may have been an eccentricity--was, that in addressing himself to his companions, he was almost sure to assume the national _patois_ of the individual spoken to. In anything like a continued conversation with Harry Blount, his "h's" were handled in a most unfashionable manner; and while talking with Terence, the Milesian came from his lips, in a brogue almost as pure as Tipperary could produce. In a _tête-à-tête_ with Colin, the listener might have sworn that Bill was more Scotch than the young Macpherson himself. Colin perceived the justice of the sailor's suggestion; and immediately ducked his head below the level of the parapet of sand. This placed our adventurers in a position at once irksome and uncertain. Curiosity, if nothing else, rendered them desirous to watch the movements of the men who were approaching. Without noting these, they would not be able to tell when they might again raise their heads above the ridge; and might do so, just at the time when the horseman and the rider of the maherry were either opposite or within sight of them. As the sailor had said, any dark object of the size of a sixpence would be seen if presented above the smooth combing of snow-white sand; and it was evident to all that for one of them to look over it might lead to their being discovered. While discussing this point, they knew that some time had elapsed; and, although the eyes they dreaded might still be distant, they could not help thinking, that they were near enough to see them if only the hair of their heads should be shown above the sand. They reflected naturally. They knew that these sons of the desert must be gifted with keen instincts; or, at all events, with an experience that would enable them to detect the slightest "fault" in the aspect of a landscape, so well known to them,--in short, that they would notice anything that might appear "abnormal" in it. From that time their situation was one of doubt and anxiety. They dared not give even as much as a glance over the smooth, snow white sand. They could only crouch behind it, in anxious expectation, knowing not when that dubious condition of things could be safely brought to a close. Luckily they were relieved from it, and sooner than they had expected. Colin it was who discovered a way to get out of the difficulty. "Ha!" exclaimed he, as an ingenious conception sprang up in his mind. "I've got an idea that'll do. I'll watch these fellows, without giving them a chance of seeing me. That will I." "How?" asked the others. Colin made no verbal reply; but instead, he was seen to insert his telescope into the sand-parapet, in such a way that its tube passed clear through to the other side, and of course commanded a view of the beach, along which the two forms were advancing. As soon as he had done so, he placed his eye to the glass, and, in a cautious whisper, announced that both the horseman and camel-rider were within his "field of view." CHAPTER XVII. THE TRAIL ON THE SAND. The tube of the telescope, firmly imbedded in the sand, kept its place without the necessity of being held in hand. It only required to be slightly shifted as the horseman and camel-rider changed place,--so as to keep them within its field of view. By this means our adventurers were able to mark their approach and note every movement they made, without much risk of being seen themselves. Each of them took a peep through the glass to satisfy their curiosity, and then the instrument was wholly intrusted to its owner, who was thenceforth constantly to keep his eye to it, and observe the movements of the strangers. This the young Scotchman did, at intervals communicating with his companions in a low voice. "I can make out their faces," muttered he, after a time; "and ugly enough are they. One is yellow, the other black. He must be a negro,--of course he is,--he's got woolly hair too. It's he that rides the camel,--just such another as this that stumbled over us. The yellow man upon the horse has a pointed beard upon his chin. He has a sharp look, like those Moors we've seen at Tetuan. He's an Arab, I suppose. He appears to be the master of the black man. I can see him make gestures, as if he was directing him to do something. There! they have stopped,--they are looking this way!" "Marcy on us!" muttered old Bill, "if they have speered the glass!" "Troth! that's like enough," said Terence. "It'll be flashing in the sun outside the sand. That sharp-eyed Arab is almost sure to see it." "Had you not better draw it in?" suggested Harry Blount. "True," answered Colin. "But I fear it would be too late now. If that's what halted them, it's all over with us, so far as hiding goes." "Slip it in, any how. If they don't see it any more, they mayn't come quite up to the ridge." Colin was about to follow the advice thus offered, when on taking what he intended to be a last squint through the telescope, he perceived that the travellers were moving on up the beach, as if they had seen nothing that called upon them to deviate from their course. Fortunately for the four "stowaways," it was not the sparkle of the lens that had caused them to make that stop. A ravine, or opening through the sand-ridges, much larger than that in which our adventurers were concealed, _emboucheed_ upon the beach, some distance below. It was the appearance of this opening that had attracted the attention of the two mounted men; and from their gestures Colin could tell they were talking about it, as if undecided whether to go that way or keep on up the strand. It ended by the yellow man putting spurs to his horse, and galloping off up the ravine, followed by the black man on the camel. From the way in which both behaved,--keeping their eyes generally bent upon the ground, but at intervals gazing about over the country,--it was evident they were in search of something, and this would be the she-camel that lay tethered in the bottom of the sand-gorge, close to the spot occupied by our adventurers. "They've gone off on the wrong track," said Colin, taking his eye from the glass as soon as the switch tail of the maherry disappeared behind the slope of a sand-dune. "So much the better for us. My heart was at my mouth just a minute ago. I was sure it was all over with us." "You think they haven't seen the shine of the lens?" interrogated Harry. "Of course not; or else they'd have come on to examine it. Instead, they've left the beach altogether. They've gone inland, among the hills. They're no longer in sight." "Good!" ejaculated Terence, raising his head over the ridge, as did also the others. "Och! good yez may well say, Masther Terence. Jist look fwhot fools we've been all four av us! We never thought av the thracks, nayther wan nor other av us!" As Bill spoke, he pointed down towards the beach, in the direction in which he had made his late crawling excursion. There, distinctly traceable in the half-wet sand, were the marks he had made both going and returning, as if a huge tortoise or crocodile had been dragging itself over the ground. The truth of his words was apparent to all. It was chance and not their cunning that had saved them from discovery. Had the owner of the camel but continued another hundred yards along the beach, he could not have failed to see the double "trail" made by the sailor, and of course would have followed it to the spot where they were hidden. As it was, the two mounted men had not come near enough to note the sign made by the old salt in his laborious flounderings; and perhaps fancying they had followed the strand far enough, they had struck off into the interior,--through the opening of the sand-hills, in the belief that the she-camel might have done the same. Whatever may have been their reason, they were now gone out of sight, and the long stretch of desert shore was once more under the eyes of our adventurers, unrelieved by the appearance of anything that might be called a living creature. CHAPTER XVIII. THE "DESERT SHIP." Though there was now nothing within sight between them, they did not think it prudent to move out of the gorge, nor even to raise their heads above the level of the sand-wreath. They did so only at intervals, to assure themselves that the "coast was clear"; and satisfied on this score, they would lower their heads again, and remain in this attitude of concealment. One with but slight knowledge of the circumstances--or with the country in which they were--might consider them over-cautious in acting thus, and might fancy that in their forlorn, shipwrecked condition they should have been but too glad to meet men. On the contrary, a creature of their own shape was the last thing they desired either to see or encounter; and for the reasons already given in their conversation, they could meet no men there who would not be their enemies,--worse than that, their tyrants, perhaps their torturers. Old Bill was sure of this from what he had heard. So were Colin and Harry from what they had read. Terence alone was incredulous as to the cruelty of which the sailor had given such a graphic picture. Terence, however rash he was by nature, allowed himself to be overruled by his more prudent companions; and therefore, up to the hour when the twilight began to em-purple the sea, no movement towards stirring from their place of concealment was made by any of the party. The patient camel shared their silent retreat; though they had taken precautions against its straying from them, had it felt so inclined, by tying its shanks securely together. Towards evening the animal was again milked, in the same fashion as in the morning; and, reinvigorated by its bountiful yield, our adventurers prepared to depart from a spot, of which, notwithstanding the friendly concealment it had afforded them, they were all heartily tired. Their preparations were easily made, and occupied scarce ten seconds of time. It was only to untether the camel and take to the road, or, as Harry jocosely termed it, "unmoor the desert ship and begin their voyage." Just as the last gleam of daylight forsook the white crests of the sand-hills, and went flickering afar over the blue waters of the ocean, they stole forth from their hiding-place, and started upon a journey of which they knew neither the length nor the ending. Even of the direction of that undetermined journey they had but a vague conception. They believed that the coast trended northward and southward, and that one of these points was the proper one to head for. It was almost "heads or tails" which of them they should take; and had they been better acquainted with their true situation, it might as well have been determined by a toss-up, for any chance they had of ever arriving at a civilized settlement. But they knew not that. They had a belief--the old sailor stronger than the rest--that there were Portuguese forts along the coast, chiefly to the southward, and that by keeping along shore they might reach one of these. There were such establishments it is true--still are; and though at that time there were some nearer to the point where their ship had been wrecked, none were near enough to be reached by the starving castaway, however perseveringly he might travel towards them. Ignorant of the impracticability of their attempt, our adventurers entered upon it with a spirit worthy of success,--worthy of the country from which they had come. For some time the maherry was led in hand, old Bill being its conductor. All four had been well rested during the day, and none of them cared to ride. As the tide, however, was now beginning to creep up into the sundry inlets, to avoid walking in water, they were compelled to keep well high up on the beach; and this forced them to make their way through the soft yielding sand, a course that required considerable exertion. Ore after another now began to feel fatigue, and talk about it as well; and then the proposal was made, that the maherry--who stepped over the unsure surface with as much apparent lightness as a cat would have done--should be made to carry at least one of the party. They could ride in turns, which would give each of them an opportunity of resting. No sooner was the proposition made than it was carried into execution. Terence, who had been the one to advance it, being hoisted in the hump of the camel. But though the young O'Connor had been accustomed to the saddle from childhood, and had ridden "across country" on many an occasion, it was not long before he became satisfied with the saddle of a maherry. The rocking, and jolting, and "pitching," as our adventurers termed it, from larboard to starboard, fore and aft, and alow and aloft, soon caused Terence to sing out "enough"; and he descended into the soft sand with a much greater desire for walking than the moment before he had had for riding. Harry Blount took his place, but although the young Englishman had been equally accustomed to a hunting-saddle, he found that his experience went but a little way towards making him easy on the hump of a maherry; and he was soon in the mood for dismounting. The son of Scotia next climbed upon the back of the camel. Whether it was that natural pride of prowess which oft impels his countrymen to perseverance and daring deeds,--whether it was that, or whether it arose from a sterner power of endurance,--certain it is that Colin kept his seat longer than either of his predecessors. But even Scotch sinews could not hold out against such a tension,--such a bursting and wrenching and tossing,--and it ended by Colin declaring that upon the whole he would prefer making the journey upon "Shank's mare." Saying this he slid down from the shoulders of the ungainly animal, resigning the creature once more to the conduct of Old Bill, who had still kept hold of the halter. CHAPTER XIX. HOMEWARD BOUND. The experience of his young companions might have deterred the sailor from imitating their example; more especially as Bill, according to his own statement, had never been "abroad" a saddle in his life. But they did not; and for special reasons. Awkward as the old salt might feel in a saddle, he felt not less awkward _afoot_. That is ashore,--on _terra firma_. Place him on the deck of a ship, or in the rigging of one, and no man in all England's navy could have been more secure as to his footing, or more difficult to dispossess of it; but set sailor Bill upon shore, and expect him to go ahead upon it, you would be disappointed: you might as well expect a fish to make progress on land; and you would witness a species of locomotion more resembling that of a manatee or a seal, than of a human biped. As the old man-o'-war's-man had now being floundering full five weeks through the soft shore-sand, he was thoroughly convinced that a mode of progression must be preferable to that; and as soon as the young Scotchman descended from his seat, he climbed into it. He had not much climbing to do,--for the well-trained maherry, when any one wished to mount him, at once knelt down,--making the ascent to his "summits" as easy as possible. Just as the sailor had got firmly into the saddle, the moon shone out with a brilliance that almost rivalled the light of day. In the midst of that desert landscape, against the ground of snow-white sand, the figures of both camel and rider were piquantly conspicuous; and although the one was figuratively a ship, and the other really a sailor, their juxtaposition offered a contrast of the queerest kind. So ludicrous did it seem, that the three "mids," disregarding all ideas of danger, broke forth with one accord into a strain of loud and continuous laughter. They had all seen camels, or pictures of these animals; but never before either a camel, or the picture of one, _with a sailor upon his back_. The very idea of a dromedary carries along with it the cognate spectacle of an Arab on its back,--a slim, sinewy individual of swarth complexion and picturesque garb, a bright burnouse steaming around his body, with a twisted turban on his head. But a tall camel surmounted by a sailor in dreadnought jacket and sou'-wester, was a picture to make a Solon laugh, let alone a tier of midshipmen; and it drew from the latter such a cachinnation as caused the shores of the Saära to echo with sounds of joy, perhaps never heard there before. Old Bill was not angry, he was only gratified to see these young gentlemen in such good spirits; and calling upon them to keep close after him, he gave the halter to his maherry and started off over the sand. For some time his companions kept pace with him, doing their best; but it soon became apparent, even to the sailor himself, that unless something was done to restrain the impetuosity of the camel, he must soon be separated from those following afoot. This something its rider felt himself incapable of accomplishing. It is true he still held the halter in his hand, but this gave him but slight control over the camel. It was not a mameluke bitt--not even a snaffle--and for directing the movements of the animal the old sailor felt himself as helpless as if standing by the wheel of a seventy-four that had unshipped her rudder. Just like a ship in such a situation did the maherry behave. Surging through the ocean of soft sand, now mounting the spurs that trended down to the beach, now descending headlong into deep gullies, like troughs between the ocean waves, and gliding silently, gently forward as a shallop upon a smooth sea. Such was the course that the sailor was pursuing. Very different, however, were his reflections to those he would have indulged in on board a man-o'-war; and if any man ever sneered at that simile which likens a camel to a ship, it was Sailor Bill upon that occasion. "Avast there!" cried he, as soon as the maherry had fairly commenced moving. "Shiver my old timbers! what do yez mean, you brute? Belay there! belay! 'Ang it, I must pipe all 'ands, an' take in sail. Where the deevil are ye steerin' to? Be jabers, yez may laugh, young gentlemen, but this ain't a fair weather craft, I tell yez. Thunder an' ouns! it be as much as I can do to keep her to her course. Hulloo! she's off afore the wind!" As the rider of the maherry gave out this declaration, the animal was seen suddenly to increase its speed, not only in a progressive ratio, but at once to double quick, as if impelled by some powerful motive. At the same time it was heard to utter a strange cry, half scream, half snort, which could not have been caused by any action on the part of its rider. It was already over a hundred yards in advance of those following on foot; but after giving out that startling cry, the distance became quickly increased, and in a few seconds of time the three astonished "mids" saw only the shadow of a maherry, with a sailor upon its back, first dissolving into dim outline until it finally disappeared behind the sand dunes that abutted upon the beach. CHAPTER XX. THE DANCE INTERRUPTED. Leaving the midshipmen to their mirth, which, however, was not of very long duration, we must follow Sailor Bill and the runaway camel. In reality the maherry had made off with him, though for what reason the sailor could not divine. He only knew that it was going at the rate of nine or ten knots an hour, and going its own way; for instead of keeping to the line of the coast,--the direction he would have wished it to take,--it had suddenly turned tail upon the sea, and headed towards the interior of the country. Its rider had already discovered that he had not the slightest control over it. He had tugged upon the hair halter and shouted "Avast!" until both his arms and tongue were tired. All to no purpose. The camel scorned his commands, lent a deaf ear to his entreaties, and paid not the slightest heed to his attempt to pull up, except to push on in the opposite direction, with its snout elevated in the air and its long ungainly neck stretched forward in the most determined and provoking fashion. There was not much force in the muscular efforts made to check it. It was just as much as its rider could do to balance himself on its hump, which, of course, he had to do Arab-fashion, sitting _upon_ the saddle as on a chair, with his feet resting upon the back of the animal's neck. It was this position that rendered his seat so insecure, but no other could have been adopted in the saddle of a maherry, and the sailor was compelled to keep it as well as he could. At the time the animal first started off, it had not gone at so rapid a pace but that he might have slipped down upon the soft sand without much danger of being injured. This for an instant he had thought of doing; but knowing that while "unhorsing" himself the camel might escape, he had voluntarily remained on its back, in the hope of being able to pull the animal up. On becoming persuaded that this would be impossible, and that the maherry had actually made off with him, it was too late to dismount without danger. The camel was now shambling along so swiftly that he could not slip down without submitting himself to a fall. It would be no longer a tumble upon soft sand, for the runaway had suddenly swerved into a deep gorge, the bottom of which was thickly strewed with boulders of rock, and through these the maherry was making way with the speed of a fast-trotting horse. Had its rider attempted to abandon his high perch upon the hump, his chances would have been good for getting dashed against one of the big boulders, or trodden under the huge hoofs of the maherry itself. Fully alive to this danger, Old Bill no more thought of throwing himself to the ground; but on the contrary, held on to the hump with all the tenacity that lay in his well-tarred digits. He had continued to shout for some time after parting with his companions; but as this availed nothing, he at length desisted, and was now riding the rest of his race in silence. When was it to terminate? Whither was the camel conducting him? These were the questions that now came before his mind. He thought of an answer, and it filled him with apprehension. The animal was evidently in eager haste. It was snuffing the wind in its progress forward; something ahead seemed to be attracting it. What could this something be but its home, the tent from which it had strayed, the dwelling of its owner? And who could that owner be but one of those cruel denizens of the desert they had been taking such pains to avoid? The sailor was allowed but little time for conjectures; for almost on the instant of his shaping this, the very first one, the maherry shot suddenly round the hip of a hill, bringing him in full view of a spectacle that realized it. A small valley, or stretch of level ground enclosed by surrounding ridges, lay before him; its gray, sandy surface interspersed by a few patches of darker color, which the moon, shining brightly from a blue sky, disclosed to be tufts of tussock-grass and mimosa bushes. These, however, did not occupy the attention of the involuntary visitor to that secluded spot; but something else that appeared in their midst,--something that proclaimed the presence of human beings. Near the centre of the little valley half a dozen dark objects stood up several feet above the level of the ground. Their size, shape, and color proclaimed their character. They were tents,--the tents of a Bedouin encampment. The old man-o'-war's-man had never seen such before; but there was no mistaking them for anything else,--even going as he was at a speed that prevented him from having a very clear view of them. In a few seconds, however, he was near enough to distinguish something more than the tents. They stood in a sort of circle of about twenty yards in diameter, and within this could be seen the forms of men, women, and children. Around were animals of different sorts,--horses, camels, sheep, goats, and dogs, grouped according to their kind, with the exception of the dogs, which appeared to be straying everywhere. This varied tableau was distinctly visible under the light of a full, mellow moon. There were voices,--shouting and singing. There was music, made upon some rude instrument. The human forms,--both of men and women,--were in motion, circling and springing about. The sailor saw they were dancing. He heard, and saw, all this in a score of seconds, as the maherry hurried him forward into their midst. The encampment was close to the bottom of the hill round which the camel had carried him. He had at length made up his mind to dismount _coute que coute_; but there was no time. Before he could make a movement to fling himself from the shoulders of the animal, he saw that he was discovered. A cry coming from the tents admonished him of this fact. It was too late to attempt a retreat, and, in a state of desponding stupor, he stuck to the saddle. Not much longer. The camel, with a snorting scream, responding to the call of its fellows, rushed on into the encampment,--right into the very circle of the dancers; and there amidst the shouts of men, the screeches of women, the yelling of children, the neighing of horses, the bleating of sheep and goats, and the barking of a score or two of cur dogs,--the animal stopped, with such abrupt suddenness that its rider, after performing a somersault through the air, came down on all-fours, in front of its projecting snout! In such fashion was Sailor Bill introduced to the Arab encampment. CHAPTER XXI. A SERIO-COMICAL RECEPTION. It need scarce be said that the advent of the stranger produced some surprise among the Terpsichorean crowd, into the midst of which he had been so unceremoniously projected. And yet this surprise was not such as might have been expected. One might suppose that an English man-o'-war's-man in pilot-cloth, pea-jacket, glazed hat, and wide duck trousers, would have been a singular sight to the eyes of the dark-skinned individuals who now encircled them--dressed as all of them were in gay colored floating shawl-robes, slipped or sandalled feet, and with fez caps or turbans on their heads. Not a bit of a singular sight: neither the color of his skin, nor his sailor-costume, had caused surprise to those who surrounded him. Both were matters with which they were well acquainted--alas! too well. The astonishment they had exhibited arose simply from the _sans façons_ manner of his coming amongst them; and on the instant after it disappeared, giving place to a feeling of a different kind. Succeeding to the shouts of surprise, arose a simultaneous peal of laughter from men, women, and children; in which even the animals seemed to join--more especially the maherry, who stood with its uncouth head craned over its dismounted rider, and looking uncontrollably comic! In the midst of this universal exclamation the sailor rose to his feet. He might have been disconcerted by the reception, had his senses been clear enough to comprehend what was passing. But they were not. The effects of that fearful somersault had confused him; and he had only risen to an erect attitude, under a vague instinct or desire to escape from that company. After staggering some paces over the ground, his thoughts returned to him; and he more clearly comprehended his situation. Escape was out of the question. He was prisoner to a party of wandering Bedouins,--the worst to be found in all the wide expanse of the Saäran desert,--the wreckers of the Atlantic coast. The sailor might have felt surprised at seeing a collection of familiar objects into the midst of which he had wandered. By the doorway of a tent,--one of the largest upon the ground,--there was a pile of _paraphernalia_, every article of which was tropical, not of the Saära, but the sea. There were "belongings" of the cabin and caboose,--the 'tween decks, and the forecastle,--all equally proclaiming themselves the _débris_ of a castaway ship. The sailor could have no conjectures as to the vessel to which they had belonged. He knew the articles by sight,--one and all of them. They were the spoils of the corvette, that had been washed ashore, and fallen into the hands of the wreckers. Among them Old Bill saw some things that had appertained to himself. On the opposite side of the encampment, by another large tent, was a second pile of ship's equipments, like the first, guarded by a sentinel who squatted beside it: the sailor looked around in expectation to see some of the corvette's crew. Some might have escaped like himself and his three companions by reaching the shore on cask, hoop, or spar. If so, they had not fallen into the hands of the wreckers; or if they had, they were not in the camp--unless, indeed, they might be inside some of the tents. This was not likely. Most probably they had all been drowned, or had succumbed to a worse fate than drowning--death at the hands of the cruel coast robbers, who now surrounded the survivor. The circumstances under which the old sailor made these reflections were such as to render the last hypothesis sufficiently probable. He was being pushed about and dragged over the ground by two men, armed with long curved scimitars, contesting some point with one another, apparently as to which should be first to cut off his head! Both of these men appeared to be chiefs; "sheiks" as the sailor heard them called by their followers, a party of whom--also with arms in their hands--stood behind each "sheik"--all seemingly alike eager to perform the act of decapitation. So near seemed the old sailor's head to being cut off, that for some seconds he was not quite sure whether it still remained upon his shoulders! He could not understand a word that passed between the contending parties, though there was talk enough to have satisfied a sitting of parliament, and probably with about the same quantity of sense in it. Before he had proceeded far, the sailor began to comprehend,--not from the speeches made, but the gestures that accompanied them,--that it was not the design of either party to cut off his head. The drawn scimitars, sweeping through the air, were not aimed at his neck, but rather in mutual menace of one another. Old Bill could see that there was some quarrel between the two sheiks, of which he was himself the cause; that the camp was not a unity consisting of a single chief, his family, and following; but that there were too separate leaders, each with his adherents, perhaps temporarily associated together for purposes of plunder. That they had collected the wreck of the corvette, and divided the spoils between them, was evident from the two heaps being kept carefully apart, each piled up near the tent of a chief. The old man-o'-war's-man made his observations in the midst of great difficulties: for while noting these particulars, he was pulled about the place, first by one sheik, then by the other, each retaining his disputed person in temporary possession. From the manner in which they acted, he could tell that it was his person that was the subject of dispute, and that both wanted to be the proprietor of it. CHAPTER XXII. THE TWO SHEIKS. There was a remarkable difference between the two men thus claiming ownership in the body of Old Bill. One was a little wizen-faced individual, whose yellow complexion and sharp, angular features proclaimed him of the Arab stock, while his competitor showed a skin of almost ebon blackness--a frame of herculean development--a broad face, with flat nose and thick lubberly lips--a head of enormous circumference, surmounted by a mop of woolly hair, standing erect several inches above his occiput. Had the sailor been addicted to ethnological speculations, he might have derived an interesting lesson from that contest, of which he was the cause. It might have helped him to a knowledge of the geography of the country in which he had been cast, for he was now upon that neutral territory where the true Ethiopian--the son of Ham--occasionally contests possession, both of the soil and the slave, with the wandering children of Japhet. The two men who were thus quarrelling about the possession of the English tar, though both of African origin, could scarce have been more unlike had their native country been the antipodes of each other. Their object was not so different, though even in this there was a certain dissimilation. Both designed making the shipwrecked sailor a slave. But the sheik of Arab aspects wished to possess him, with a view to his ultimate ransom. He knew that by carrying him northwards there would be a chance to dispose of him at a good price, either to the Jew merchants at Wedinoin, or the European consuls at Mogador. It would not be the first Saärian castaway he had in this manner restored to his friends and his country--not from any motives of humanity, but simply for the profit it produced. On the other hand, the black competitor had a different, though somewhat similar, purpose in view. His thoughts extended towards the south. There lay the emporium of his commerce,--the great mud-built town of Timbuctoo. Little as a white man was esteemed among the Arab merchants when considered as a _mere_ slave, the sable sheik knew that in the south of the Saära he would command a price, if only as a curiosity to figure among the followers of the sultan of some grand interior city. For this reason, therefore, was the black determined upon the possession of Bill, and showed as much eagerness to become his owner as did his tawny competitor. After several minutes spent in words and gestures of mutual menace, which, from the wild shouts and flourishing of scimitars, seemed as if it could only end in a general lopping off of heads, somewhat to the astonishment of the sailor, tranquillity became restored without any one receiving scratch or cut. The scimitars were returned to their scabbards; and although the affair did not appear to be decided, the contest was now carried on in a more pacific fashion by words. A long argument ensued, in which both sheiks displayed their oratorial powers. Though the sailor could not understand a word of what was said, he could tell that the little Arab was urging his ownership, on the plea that the camel which had carried the captive into the encampment was his property, and on this account was he entitled to the "waif." The black seemed altogether to dissent from this doctrine; on his side pointing to the two heaps of plunder; as much as to say that his share of the spoils--already obtained--was the smaller one. At this crisis a third party stepped between the two disputants--a young fellow, who appeared to have some authority with both. His behavior told Bill that he was acting as mediator. Whatever was the proposal made by him, it appeared to satisfy both parties, as both at once desisted from their wordy warfare--at the same time that they seemed preparing to settle the dispute in some other way. The mode was soon made apparent. A spot of smooth, even sand was selected by the side of the encampment, to which the two sheiks, followed by their respective parties, repaired. A square figure was traced out, inside of which several rows of little round holes were scooped in the sand, and then the rival sheiks sat down, one on each side of the figure. Each had already provided himself with a number of pellets of camels' dung, which were now placed in the holes, and the play of "helga" was now commenced. Whoever won the game was to become possessed of the single stake, which was neither more nor less than Sailor Bill. The game proceeded by the shifting of the dung pellets in a particular fashion, from hole to hole, somewhat similar to the moving of draughts upon the squares of a checker-board. During the play not a word was spoken by either party, the two sheiks squatting opposite each other, and making their moves with as much gravity as a pair of chess-players engaged in some grand tournament of this intellectual game. It was only when the affair ended, that the noise broke forth again, which it did in loud, triumphant shouts from the conquering party, with expressions of chagrin on the side of the conquered. By interpreting these shouts, Bill could tell that he had fallen to the black; and this was soon after placed beyond doubt by the latter coming up and taking possession of him. It appeared, however, that there had been certain subsiding conditions to the play, and that the sailor had been in some way or another _staked against his own clothes_; for before being fully appropriated by his owner he was stripped to his shirt, and his habiliments, shoes and sou'-wester included, were handed over to the sheik who had played second-best in the game of "helga." In this forlorn condition was the old sailor conducted to the tent of his sable master, and placed like an additional piece upon the pile of plunder already apportioned! CHAPTER XXIII. SAILOR BILL BESHREWED. Sailor Bill said not a word. He had no voice in the disposal of the stakes,--which were himself and his "toggery,"--and, knowing this, he remained silent. He was not allowed to remain undisturbed. During the progress of the game, he had become the cynosure of a large circle of eyes,--belonging to the women and children of the united tribes. He might have looked for some compassion,--at least, from the female portion of those who formed his _entourage_. Half famished with hunger,--a fact which he did not fail to communicate by signs,--he might have expected them to relieve his wants. The circumstance of his making them known might argue, that he did expect some sort of kind treatment. It was not much, however. His hopes were but slight, and sprang rather from a knowledge of his own necessities, and of what the women _ought_ to have done, than what they were likely to do. Old Bill had heard too much of the character of these hags of the Saära,--and their mode of conducting themselves towards any unfortunate castaway who might be drifted among them,--to expect any great hospitality at their hands. His hopes, therefore, were moderate; but, for all that, they were doomed to disappointment. Perhaps in no other part of the world is the "milk of human kindness" so completely wanting in the female breast, as among the women of the wandering Arabs of Africa. Slaves to their imperious lords,--even when enjoying the sacred title of wife,--they are themselves treated worse than the animals which they have to manage and tend,--even worse at times than their own bond-slaves, with whom they mingle almost on an equality. As in all like cases, this harsh usage, instead of producing sympathy for others who suffer, has the very opposite tendency; as if they found some alleviation of their cruel lot in imitating the brutality of their oppressors. Instead of receiving kindness, the old sailor became the recipient of insults, not only from their tongues,--which he could not understand,--but by acts and gestures which were perfectly comprehensible to him. While his ears were dinned by virulent speeches,--which, could he have comprehended them, would have told him how much he was despised for being an infidel, and not a follower of the true prophet,--while his eyes were well-nigh put out by dust thrown in his face,--accompanied by spiteful expectorations,--his body was belabored by sticks, his skin scratched and pricked with sharp thorns, his whiskers lugged almost to the dislocation of his jaws, and the hair of his head uprooted in fistfuls from his pericranium. All this, too, amid screams and fiendish laughter, that resembled an orgie of furies. These women--she-devils they better deserved to be called--were simply following out the teachings of their inhuman faith,--among religions, even that of Rome not excepted, the most inhuman that has ever cursed mankind. Had old Bill been a believer in their "Prophet," that false seer of the blood-stained sword, their treatment of him would have been directly the reverse. Instead of kicks and cuffs, hustlings and scratchings, he would have been made welcome to a share in such hospitality as they could have bestowed upon him. It was religion, not nature, made them act as they did. Their hardness of heart came not from _God_, but the _Prophet_. They were only carrying out the edicts of their "priests of a bloody faith." In vain did the old man-o'-war's-man cry out "belay" and "avast." In vain did he "shiver his timbers," and appeal against their scurvy treatment, by looks, words, and gesture. These seemed only to augment the mirth and spitefulness of his tormentors. In this scene of cruelty there was one woman conspicuous among the rest. By her companions she was called _Fatima_. The old sailor, ignorant of Arabic feminine names, thought "it a misnomer," for of all his she-persecutors she was the leanest and scraggiest. Notwithstanding the poetical notions which the readers of Oriental romance might associate with her name, there was not much poetry about the personage who so assiduously assaulted Sailor Bill,--pulling his whiskers, slapping his cheeks, and every now and then spitting in his face! She was something more than middle-aged, short, squat, and meagre; with the eye-teeth projecting on both sides, so as to hold up the upper lip, and exhibit all the others in their ivory whiteness, with an expression resembling that of the hyena. This is considered beauty,--a fashion in full vogue among her countrywomen, who cultivate it with great care,--though to the eyes of the old sailor it rendered the hag all the more hideous. But the skinning of eye-teeth was not the only attempt at ornament made by this belle of the Desert. Strings of black beads hung over her wrinkled bosom; circlets of white bone were set in her hair; armlets and bangles adorned her wrists and ankles, and altogether did her costume and behavior betoken one distinguished among the crowd of his persecutors,--in short, their sultana or queen. And such did she prove; for on the black sheik appropriating the old sailor as a stake fairly won in the game, and rescuing his newly-acquired property from the danger of being damaged, Fatima followed him to his tent with such demonstrations as showed her to be, if not the "favorite," certainly the head of the harem. CHAPTER XXIV. STARTING ON THE TRACK. As already said, the mirth of the three midshipmen was brought to a quick termination. It ended on the instant of Sailor Bill's disappearance behind the spur of the sand-hills. At the same instant all three came to a stop, and stood regarding one another with looks of uneasiness and apprehension. All agreed that the maherry had made away with the old man-o'-war's-man. There could be no doubt about it. Bill's shouts, as he was hurried out of their hearing, proved that he was doing his best to bring to, and that the "ship of the desert" would not yield obedience to her helm. They wondered a little why he had not slipped off, and let the animal go. They could not see why he should fear to drop down in the soft sand. He might have had a tumble, but nothing to do him any serious injury,--nothing to break a bone, or dislocate a joint. They supposed he had stuck to the saddle, from not wishing to abandon the maherry, and in hope of soon bringing it to a halt. This was just what he had done, for the first three or four hundred yards. After that he would only have been too well satisfied to separate from the camel, and let it go its way. But then he was among the rough, jaggy rocks through which the path led, and then dismounting was no longer to be thought of, without also thinking of danger, considering that the camel was nearly ten feet in height, and going at a pitching pace of ten miles to the hour. To have forsaken his saddle at that moment would have been to risk the breaking of his neck. From where they stood looking after him, the mids could not make out the character of the ground. Under the light of the moon, the surface seemed all of a piece,--all a bed of smooth soft sand! For this reason were they perplexed by his behavior. There was that in the incident to make them apprehensive. The maherry would not have gone off at such a gait, without some powerful motive to impel it. Up to that moment it had shown no particular _penchant_ for rapid travelling, but had been going, under their guidance, with a steady, sober docility. Something must have attracted it towards the interior. What could that something be, if not the knowledge that its home, or its companions, were to be found in this direction? This was the conjecture that came simultaneously into the minds of all three,--as is known, the correct one. There could be no doubt that their companion had been carried towards an encampment; for no other kind of settlement could be thought of in such a place. It was even a wonder that this could exist in the midst of a dreary, wild expanse of pure sand, like that surrounding them. Perhaps, thought they, there may be "land" towards the interior of the country,--a spot of firm soil, with vegetation upon it; in short, an _oasis_. After their first surprise had partially subsided, they took counsel as to their course. Should they stay where they were, and wait for Bill's return? Or should they follow, in the hope of overtaking him? Perhaps he might _not_ return. If carried into a camp of barbarous savages, it was not likely that he would. He would be seized and held captive to a dead certainty. But surely he would not be such a simpleton, as to allow the maherry to transport him into the midst of his enemies. Again sprang up their surprise at his not having made an effort to dismount. For some ten or fifteen minutes the midshipmen stood hesitating,--their eyes all the while bent on the moonlit opening, through which the maherry had disappeared. There were no signs of anything in the pass,--at least anything like either a camel or a sailor. Only the bright beams of the moon glittering upon crystals of purest sand. They thought they heard sounds,--the cries of quadrupeds mingling with the voices of men. There were voices, too, of shriller intonation, that might have proceeded from the throats of women. Colin was confident he heard such. He was not contradicted by his companions, who simply said, they could not be sure that they heard anything. But for the constant roar of the breakers,--rolling up almost to the spot upon which they stood,--they would have declared themselves differently; for at that moment there was a chorus being carried on at no great distance, in a variety of most unmusical sounds,--comprising the bark of the dog, the neigh of the horse, the snorting scream of the dromedary, the bleat of the sheep, and the sharper cry of its near kindred the goat,--along with the equally wild and scarce more articulate utterances of savage men, women, and children. Colin was convinced that he heard all these sounds, and declared that they could only proceed from some encampment. His companions, knowing that the young Scotchman was sharp-eared, made no attempt to question his belief; but, on the contrary, gave ready credence to it. Under any circumstances it seemed of no use to remain where they were. If Bill did not return, they were bound in honor to go after him; and, if possible, find out what had become of him. If, on the other hand, he should be coming back, they must meet him somewhere in the pass,--through which the camel had carried him off--since there was no other by which he might conveniently get back to them. This point determined, the three mids, setting their faces for the interior of the country, started off towards the break between the sand-hills. CHAPTER XXV. BILL TO BE ABANDONED. They proceeded with caution,--Colin even more than his companions. The young Englishman was not so distrustful of the "natives," whoever they might be, as the son of Scotia; and as for O'Connor, he still persisted in the belief that there would be little, if any, danger in meeting with men, and, in his arguments, still continued to urge seeking such an encounter as the best course they could pursue. "Besides," said Terence, "Coly says he hears the voices of women and children. Sure no human creature that's got a woman and child in his company would be such a cruel brute as you make out this desert Ethiopian to be? Sailors' stories, to gratify the melodramatic ears of Moll and Poll and Sue! Bah! if there be an encampment, let's go straight into it, and demand hospitality of them. Sure they must be Arabs; and sure you've heard enough of Arab hospitality?" "More than's true, Terry," rejoined the young Englishman. "More than's true, I fear." "You may well say that," said Colin, confirmingly. "From what I've heard and read,--ay, and from something I've seen while up the Mediterranean,--a more beggarly hospitality than that called Arab don't exist on the face of the earth. It's all well enough, so long as you are one of themselves, and, like them, a believer in their pretended prophet. Beyond that, an Arab has got no more hospitality than a hyena. You're both fond of talking about skin-flint Scotchmen." "True," interrupted Terence, who, even in that serious situation, could not resist such a fine opportunity for displaying his Irish humor. "I never think of a Scotchman without thinking of his skin. 'God bless the gude Duke of Argyle!'" "Shame, Terence!" interrupted Harry Blount; "our situation is too serious for jesting." "He--all of us--may find it so before long," continued Colin, preserving his temper unruffled. "If that yelling crowd--that I can now hear plainer than ever--should come upon us, we'll have something else to think of than jokes about 'gude Duke o' Argyle.' Hush! Do you hear that? Does it convince you that men and women are near? There are scores of both kinds." Colin had come to a stop, the others imitating his example. They were now more distant from the breakers,--whose roar was somewhat deadened by the intervention of a sand-spur. In consequence, the other sounds were heard more distinctly. They could no longer be mistaken,--even by the incredulous O'Connor. There were voices of men, women, and children,--cries and calls of quadrupeds,--each according to its own kind, all mingled together in what might have been taken for some nocturnal saturnalia of the Desert. The crisis was that in which Sailor Bill had become a subject of dispute between the two sheiks,--in which not only their respective followers of the biped kind appeared to take part, but also every quadruped in the camp,--dogs and dromedaries, horses, goats, and sheep,--as if each had an interest in the ownership of the old man-o'-war's-man. The grotesque chorus was succeeded by an interval of silence, uninterrupted and profound. This was while the two sheiks were playing their game of "helga,"--the "chequers" of the Saära, with Sailor Bill as their stake. During this tranquil interlude, the three midshipmen had advanced through the rock-strewn ravine, had crept cautiously inside the ridges that encircled the camp, and concealed by the sparse bushes of mimosa, and favored by the light of a full moon, had approached near enough to take note of what was passing among the tents. What they saw there, and then, was confirmatory of the theory of the young Scotchman; and convinced not only Harry Blount, but Terence O'Connor, that the stories of Arab hospitality were not only untrue, but diametrically opposed to the truth. There was old Bill before their faces, stripped to the shirt,--to the "buff,"--surrounded by a circle of short, squat women, dark-skinned, with black hair, and eyes sparkling in the moonlight, who were torturing him with tongue and touch,--who pinched and spat upon him,--who looked altogether like a band of infernal Furies collected around some innocent victim that had fallen among them, and giving full play to their fiendish instincts! Although they were witnesses to the subsequent rescue of Bill by the black sheik,--and the momentary release of the old sailor from his tormentors,--it did not increase their confidence in the crew who occupied the encampment. From the way in which the old salt appeared to be treated, they could tell that he was regarded by the hosts into whose hands he had fallen, not as a guest, but simply as a "piece of goods,"--just like any other waif of the wreck that had been washed on that inhospitable shore. In whispers the three mids made known their thoughts to one another. Harry Blount no longer doubted the truth of Colin's statements; and O'Connor had become equally converted from his incredulity. The conduct of the women towards the unfortunate castaway--which all three witnessed--told like the tongue of a trumpet. It was cruel beyond question. What, when exercised, must be that of their men? To think of leaving their old comrade in such keeping was not a pleasant reflection. It was like their abandoning him upon the sand-spit,--to the threatening engulfment of the tide. Even worse: for the angry breakers seemed less spiteful than the hags who surrounded him in the Arab camp. Still, what could the boys do? Three midshipmen,--armed only with their tiny dirks,--what chance would they have among so many? There were scores of these sinewy sons of the Desert,--without counting the shrewish women,--each armed with gun and scimitar, any one of whom ought to have been more than a match for a "mid." It would have been sheer folly to have attempted a rescue. Despair only could have sanctioned such a course. In a whispered consultation it was determined otherwise. The old sailor must be abandoned to his fate, just as he had been left upon the sand-spit. His youthful companions could only breathe a prayer in his behalf, and express a hope that, as upon the latter occasion, some providential chance should turn up in his favor, and he might again be permitted to rejoin them. After communicating this hope to one another, all three turned their faces shoreward, determined to put as much space between themselves and the Arab encampment as night and circumstances would permit. CHAPTER XXVI. A CAUTIOUS RETREAT. The ravine, up which the maherry had carried the old man-o'-war's-man, ran perpendicularly to the trending of the seashore, and almost in a direct line from the beach to the valley, in which was the Arab encampment. It could not, however, be said to debouch into this valley. Across its mouth the sand-drift had formed a barrier, like a huge "snow-wreath," uniting the two parallel ridges that formed the sides of the ravine itself. This "mouth-piece" was not so high as either of the flanking ridges; though it was nearly a hundred feet above the level of the beach on one side, and the valley on the other. Its crest, viewed _en profile_, exhibited a saddle-shaped curve, the concavity turned upward. Through the centre of this saddle of sand, and transversely, the camel had carried Bill; and over the same track the three midshipmen had gone in search of him. They had seen the Arab tents from the summit of the "pass"; and had it been daylight, need have gone no nearer to note what was being there done. Even by the moonlight, they had been able to make out the forms of the horses, camels, men, and women; but not with sufficient distinctness to satisfy them as to what was going on. For this reason had they descended into the valley,--creeping cautiously down the slope of the sand-wreath, and with equal caution advancing from boulder to bush, and bush to boulder. On taking the back track to regain the beach, they still observed caution,--though perhaps not to such a degree as when approaching the camp. Their desire to put space between themselves and the barbarous denizens of the Desert,--of whose barbarity they had now obtained both ocular and auricular proof,--had very naturally deprived them of that prudent coolness which the occasion required. For all that, they did not retreat with reckless rashness; and all three arrived at the bottom of the sloping sand-ridge, without having any reason to think they had been observed. But the most perilous point was yet to be passed. Against the face of the acclivity, there was not much danger of their being seen. The moon was shining on the other side. That which they had to ascend was in shadow,--dark enough to obscure the outlines of their bodies to an eye looking in that direction, from such a distance as the camp. It was not while toiling up the slope that they dreaded detection, but at the moment when they must cross the saddle-shaped summit of the pass. Then, the moon being low down in the sky, directly in front of their faces, while the camp, still lower, was right behind their backs, it was not difficult to tell that their bodies would be exactly aligned between the luminary of night and the sparkling eyes of the Arabs, and that their figures would be exhibited in conspicuous outline. It had been much the same way on their entrance to the oasis; but then they were not so well posted up in the peril of their position. They now wondered at their not having been observed while advancing; but that could be rationally accounted for, on the supposition that the Bedouins had been, at the time, too busy over old Bill to take heed of anything beyond the limits of their encampment. It was different now. There was quiet in the camp, though both male and female figures could be seen stirring among the tents. The _saturnalia_ that succeeded the castaway had come to a close. A comparative peacefulness reigned throughout the valley; but in this very tranquillity lay the danger which our adventurers dreaded. With nothing else to attract their attention, the occupants of the encampments would be turning their eyes in every direction. If any of them should look westward at a given moment,--that is, while the three mids should be "in the saddle,"--the latter could not fail to be discovered. What was to be done? There was no other way leading forth from the valley. It was on all sides encircled by steep ridges of sand,--not so steep as to hinder them from being scaled; but on every side, except that on which they had entered, and by which they were about to make their exit, the moon was shining in resplendent brilliance. A cat could not have crawled up anywhere, without being seen from the tents,--even had she been of the hue of the sand itself. A hurried consultation, held between the trio of adventurers, convinced them that there was nothing to be gained by turning back,--nothing by going to the right or the left. There was no other way--no help for it--but to scale the ridge in front, and "cut" as quickly as possible across the hollow of the "saddle." There _was_ one other way; or at least a deviation from the course which had thus recommended itself. It was to wait for the going down of the moon, before they should attempt the "crossing." This prudent project originated in the brain of the young Scotchman; and it might have been well if his companions had adopted the idea. But they would not. What they had seen of Saäran civilization had inspired them with a keen disgust for it; and they were only too eager to escape from its proximity. The punishment inflicted upon poor Bill had made a painful impression upon them; and they had no desire to become the victims of a similar chastisement. Colin did not urge his counsels. He had been as much impressed by what he had seen as his companions, and was quite as desirous as they to give the Bedouins a "wide berth." Withdrawing his opposition, therefore, he acceded to the original design; and, without further ado, all three commenced crawling up the slope. CHAPTER XXVII. A QUEER QUADRUPED. Half way up, they halted, though not to take breath. Strong-limbed, long-winded lads like them--who could have "swarmed" in two minutes to the main truck of a man-o'-war--needed no such indulgence as that. Instead of one hundred feet of sloping sand, any one of them could have scaled Snowdon without stopping to look back. Their halt had been made from a different motive. It was sudden and simultaneous,--all three having stopped at the same time, and without any previous interchange of speech. The same cause had brought them to that abrupt cessation in their climbing; and as they stood side by side, aligned upon one another, the eyes of all three were turned on the same object. It was an animal,--a quadruped. It could not be anything else if belonging to a sublunary world; and to this it appeared to belong. A strange creature notwithstanding; and one which none of the three remembered to have met before. The remembrance of something like it flitted across their brains, seen upon the shelves of a museum; but not enough of resemblance to give a clue for its identification. The quadruped in question was not bigger than a "San Bernard," a "Newfoundland," or a mastiff: but seen as it was, it loomed larger than any of the three. Like these creatures, it was canine in shape--lupine we should rather say--but of an exceedingly grotesque and ungainly figure. A huge square head seemed set without neck upon its shoulders; while its fore limbs--out of all proportion longer than the hind ones--gave to the spinal column a sharp downward slant towards the tail. The latter appendage, short and "bunchy," ended abruptly, as if either cut or "driven in,"--adding to the uncouth appearance of the animal. A stiff hedge of hard bristles upon the back continued its _chevaux de frise_ along the short, thick neck, till it ended between two erect tufted ears. Such was the shape of the beast that had suddenly presented itself to the eyes of our adventurers. They had a good opportunity of observing its outlines. It was on the ridge towards the crest of which they were advancing. The moon was shining beyond. Every turn of its head or body--every motion made by its limbs--was conspicuously revealed against the luminous background of the sky. It was neither standing, nor at rest in any way. Head, limbs, and body were all in motion,--constantly changing, not only their relative attitudes to one another, but their absolute situation in regard to surrounding objects. And yet the change was anything but arbitrary. The relative movements made by the members of the animal's body, as well as the absolute alterations of position, were all in obedience to strictly natural laws,--all repetitions of the same manoeuvre, worked with a monotony that seemed mechanical. The creature was pacing to and fro, like a well-trained sentry,--its "round" being the curved crest of the sand-ridge, from which it did not deviate to the licence of an inch. Backward and forward did it traverse the saddle in a longitudinal direction,--now poised upon the pommel,--now sinking downward into the seat, and then rising to the level of the coup,--now turning in the opposite direction, and retracing in long, uncouth strides, the path over which it appeared to have been passing since the earliest hour of its existence! Independent of the surprise which the presence of this animal had created, there was something in its aspect calculated to cause terror. Perhaps, had the mids known what kind of creature it was, or been in any way apprized of its real character, they would have paid less regard to its presence. Certainly not so much as they did: for, instead of advancing upon it, and making their way over the crest of the ridge, they stopped in their track, and held a whispered consultation as to what they should do. It is not to be denied that the barrier before them presented a formidable appearance. A brute, it appeared as big as a bull--for magnified by the moonlight, and perhaps a little by the fears of those who looked upon it, the quadruped was quite quadrupled in size. Disputing their passage too; for its movements made it manifest that such was its design. Backwards and forwards, up and down that curving crest, did it glide, with a nervous quickness, that hindered any hope of being able to rush past it--either before or behind--its own crest all the while erected, like that of the dragon subdued by St. George. With all his English "pluck"--even stimulated by this resemblance to the national knight--Harry Blount felt shy to approach that creature that challenged the passage of himself and his companions. Had there been no danger _en arrière_, perhaps our adventurers would have turned back into the valley, and left the ugly quadruped master of the pass. As it was, a different resolve was arrived at--necessity being the dictator. The three midshipmen, drawing their dirks, advanced in line of battle up the slope. The Devil himself could scarce withstand such an assault. England, Scotland, Ireland, abreast--_tres juncti in uno_--united in thought, aim, and action--was there aught upon earth--biped, quadruped, or _mille-pied_--that must not yield to the charge? If there was, it was not that animal oscillating along the saddle of sand, progressing from pommel to cantle, like the pendulum of a clock. Whether natural or supernatural, long before our adventurers got near enough to decide, the creature, to use a phrase of very modern mention, "skedaddled," leaving them free--so far as it was concerned--to continue their retreat unmolested. It did not depart, however, until after delivering a salute, that left our adventurers in greater doubt than ever of its true character. They had been debating among themselves whether it was a thing of the earth, of time, or something that belonged to eternity. They had seen it under a fair light, and could not decide. But now that they had heard it,--had listened to a strain of loud cachinnation,--scarce mocking the laughter of the maniac,--there was no escaping from the conclusion that what they had seen was either Satan himself, or one of his Ethiopian satellites! CHAPTER XXVIII. THE HUE AND CRY. As the strange creature that had threatened to dispute their passage was no longer in sight, and seemed, moreover, to have gone clear away, the three mids ceased to think any more of it,--their minds being given to making their way over the ridge without being seen by the occupants of the encampment. Having returned their dirks to the sheath, they continued to advance towards the crest of the transverse sand-spar, as cautiously as at starting. It is possible they might have succeeded in crossing, without being perceived, but for a circumstance of which they had taken too little heed. Only too well pleased at seeing the strange quadruped make its retreat, they had been less affected by its parting salutation,--weird and wild as this had sounded in their ears. But they had not thought of the effects which the same salute had produced upon the people of the Arab camp, causing all of them, as it did, to turn their eyes in the direction whence it was heard. To them there was no mystery in that screaming cachinnation. Unearthly as it had echoed in the ears of the three mids, it fell with a perfectly natural tone on those of the Arabs: for it was but one of the well-known voices of their desert home, recognized by them as the cry of the _laughing hyena_. The effect produced upon the encampment was twofold. The children straying outside the tents,--like young chicks frightened by the swooping of a hawk,--ran inward; while their mothers, after the manner of so many old hens, rushed forth to take them under their protection. The proximity of a hungry hyena,--more especially one of the _laughing_ species,--was a circumstance to cause alarm. All the fierce creature required was a chance to close his strong, vice-like jaws upon the limbs of one of those juvenile Ishmaelites, and that would be the last his mother should ever see of him. Knowing this, the screech of the hyena had produced a momentary commotion among the women and children of the encampment. Neither had the men listened to it unmoved. In hopes of procuring its skin for house or tent furniture, and its flesh for food,--for these hungry wanderers will eat anything,--several had seized hold of their long guns, and rushed forth from among the tents. The sound had guided them as to the direction in which they should go; and as they ran forward, they saw, not a hyena, but three human beings just mounting upon the summit of the sand-ridge, under the full light of the moon. So conspicuously did the latter appear upon the smooth crest of the wreath, that there was no longer any chance of concealment. Their dark blue dresses, the yellow buttons on their jackets, and the bands around their caps, were all discernible. It was the costume of the sea, not of the Saära. The Arab wreckers knew it at a glance; and, without waiting to give a second, every man of the camp sallied off in pursuit,--each, as he started, giving utterance to an ejaculation of surprise or pleasure. Some hurried forward afoot, just as they had been going out to hunt the hyena; others climbed upon their swift camels; while a few, who owned horses, thinking they might do better with them, quickly caparisoned them, and came galloping on after the rest; all three sorts of pursuers,--foot-men, horsemen, and maherrymen,--seemingly as intent upon a contest of screaming, as upon a trial of speed! It is needless to say that the three midshipmen were, by this time, fully apprised of the "hue and cry" raised after them. It reached their ears just as they arrived upon the summit of the sand-ridge; and any doubt they might have had as to its meaning, was at once determined, when they saw the Arabs brandishing their arms, and rushing out like so many madmen from among the tents. They stayed to see no more. To keep their ground could only end in their being captured and carried prisoners to the encampment; and after the spectacle they had just witnessed, in which the old man-o'-war's-man had played such a melancholy part, any fate appeared preferable to that. With some such fear all three were affected; and simultaneously yielding to it, they turned their backs upon the pursuit, and rushed headlong down the ravine, up which they had so imprudently ascended. CHAPTER XXIX. A SUBAQUEOUS ASYLUM. As the gorge was of no great length, and the downward incline in their favor, they were not long in getting to its lower end, and out to the level plain that formed the sea-beach. In their hurried traverse thither, it had not occurred to them to inquire for what purpose they were running towards the sea? There could be no chance of their escaping in that direction; nor did there appear to be much in any other, afoot as they were, and pursued by mounted men. The night was too clear to offer any opportunity of hiding themselves, especially in a country where there was neither "brake, brush, nor scaur" to conceal them. Go which way they would, or crouch wherever they might, they would be almost certain of being discovered by their lynx-eyed enemies. There was but one way in which they _might_ have stood a chance of getting clear, at least for a time. This was to have turned aside among the sand ridges, and by keeping along some of the lateral hollows, double back upon their pursuers. There were several such side hollows; for on going up the main ravine they had observed them, and also in coming down; but in their hurry to put space between themselves and their pursuers, they had overlooked this chance of concealment. At best it was but slim, though it was the only one that offered. It only presented itself when it was too late for them to take advantage of it,--only after they had got clear out of the gully and stood upon the open level of the sea-beach, within less than two hundred yards of the sea itself. There they halted, partly to recover breath and partly to hold counsel as to their further course. There was not much time for either; and as the three stood in a triangle with their faces turned towards each other, the moonlight shone upon lips and cheeks blanched with dismay. It now occurred to them for the first time, and simultaneously, that there was no hope of their escaping, either by flight or concealment. They were already some distance out upon the open plain, as conspicuous upon its surface of white sand as would have been three black crows in the middle of a field six inches under snow. They saw that they had made a mistake. They should have stayed among the sand-ridges and sought shelter in some of the deep gullies that divided them. They bethought them of going back; but a moment's deliberation was sufficient to convince them that this was no longer practicable. There would not be time, scarce even to re-enter the ravine, before their pursuers would be upon them. It was an instinct that had caused them to rush towards the sea--their habitual home, for which they had thoughtlessly sped--notwithstanding their late rude ejection from it. Now that they stood upon its shore, as if appealing to it for protection, it seemed still desirous of spurning them from its bosom, and leaving them without mercy to their merciless enemies! A line of breakers trended parallel to the water's edge--scarce a cable's length from the shore, and not two hundred yards from the spot where they had come to a pause. They were not very formidable breakers--only the tide rolling over a sand-bar, or a tiny reef of rocks. It was at best but a big surf, crested with occasional flakes of foam, and sweeping in successive swells against the smooth beach. What was there in all this to fix the attention of the fugitives--for it had? The seething flood seemed only to hiss at their despair! And yet almost on the instant after suspending their flight, they had turned their faces towards it--as if some object of interest had suddenly shown itself in the surf. Object there was none--nothing but the flakes of white froth and the black vitreous waves over which it was dancing. It was not an object, but a purpose that was engaging their attention--a resolve that had suddenly sprung up within their minds--almost as suddenly to be carried into execution. After all, their old home was not to prove so inhospitable. It would provide them with a place of concealment! The thought occurred to all three almost at the same instant of time; though Terence was the first to give speech to it. "By Saint Patrick!" he exclaimed, "let's take to the wather! Them breakers'll give us a good hiding-place. I've hid before now in that same way, when taking a moonlight bath on the coast of owld Galway. I did it to scare my schoolfellows--by making believe I was drowned. What say ye to our trying it?" His companions made no reply. They had scarce even waited for the wind-up of his harangue. Both had equally perceived the feasibility of the scheme; and yielding to a like impulse, all three started into a fresh run, with their faces turned towards the sea. In less than a score of seconds, they had crossed the strip of strand; and in a similarly short space of time were plunging--thigh deep--through the water; still striding impetuously onward, as if they intended to wade across the Atlantic! A few more strides, however, brought them to a stand--just inside the line of breakers--where the seething waters, settling down into a state of comparative tranquillity, presented a surface variegated with large clouts of floating froth. Amidst this mottling of white and black, even under the bright moonlight, it would have been difficult for the keenest eye to have detected the head of a human being--supposing the body to have been kept carefully submerged; and under this confidence, the mids were not slow in submerging themselves. Ducking down, till their chins touched the water, all three were soon as completely out of sight--to any eye looking from the shore--as if Neptune, pitying their forlorn condition, had stretched forth his trident with a bunch of seaweed upon its prongs, to screen and protect them. CHAPTER XXX. THE PURSUERS NONPLUSSED. Not a second too soon had they succeeded in making good their entry into this subaqueous asylum. Scarce had their chins come in contact with the water, when the voices of men--accompanied by the baying of dogs, the snorting of maherries, and the neighing of horses--were heard within the gorge, from which they had just issued; and in a few minutes after a straggling crowd, composed of these various creatures, came rushing out of the ravine. Of men, afoot and on horseback, twenty or more were seen pouring forth; all, apparently, in hot haste, as if eager to be in at the death of some object pursued,--that could not possibly escape capture. Once outside the jaws of the gully, the irregular cavalcade advanced scatteringly over the plain. Only for a short distance, however; for, as if by a common understanding rather than in obedience to any command, all came to a halt. A silence followed this halt,--apparently proceeding from astonishment. It was general,--it might be said universal,--for even the animals appeared to partake of it! At all events, some seconds transpired during which the only sound heard was the sighing of the sea, and the only motion to be observed was the sinking and swelling of the waves. The Saäran rovers on foot,--as well as those that were mounted,--their horses, dogs, and camels, as they stood upon that smooth plain, seemed to have been suddenly transformed into stone, and set like so many sphinxes in the sand. In truth it _was_ surprise that had so transfixed them,--the men, at least; and their well-trained animals were only acting in obedience to a habit taught them by their masters, who, in the pursuit of their predatory life, can cause these creatures to be both silent and still, whenever the occasion requires it. For their surprise,--which this exhibition of it proved to be extreme,--the Sons of the Desert had sufficient reason. They had seen the three midshipmen on the crest of the sand-ridge; had even noted the peculiar garb that bedecked their bodies,--all this beyond doubt. Notwithstanding the haste with which they had entered on the pursuit, they had not continued it either in a reckless or improvident manner. Skilled in the ways of the wilderness,--cautious as cats,--they had continued the chase; those in the lead from time to time assuring themselves that the game was still before them. This they had done by glancing occasionally to the ground, where shoe-tracks in the soft sand--three sets of them--leading to and fro, were sufficient evidence that the three mids must have gone back to the _embouchure_ of the ravine, and thither emerged upon the open sea-beach. _Where were they now?_ Looking up the smooth strand as far as the eye could reach, and down it to a like distance, there was no place where a crab could have screened itself; and these Saäran wreckers, well acquainted with the coast, knew that in neither direction was there any other ravine or gully into which the fugitives could have retreated. No wonder, then, that the pursuers wondered, even to speechlessness. Their silence was of short duration, though it was succeeded only by cries expressing their great surprise, among which might have been distinguished their usual invocations to Allah and the Prophet. It was evident that a superstitious feeling had arisen in their minds, not without its usual accompaniment of fear; and although they no longer kept their places, the movement now observable among them was that they gathered closer together, and appeared to enter upon a grave consultation. This was terminated by some of them once more proceeding to the _embouchure_ of the ravine, and betaking themselves to a fresh scrutiny of the tracks made by the shoes of the midshipmen; while the rest sat silently upon their horses and maherries awaiting the result. The footmarks of the three mids were still easily traceable--even on the ground already trampled by the Arabs, their horses, and maherries. The "cloots" of a camel would not have been more conspicuous in the mud of an English road, than were the shoe-prints of the three young seamen in the sands of the Saära. The Arab trackers had no difficulty in making them out; and in a few minutes had traced them from the mouth of the gorge, almost in a direct line to the sea. There, however, there was a breadth of wet sea-beach--where the springy sand instantly obliterated any foot-mark that might be made upon it--and there the tracts ended. But why should they have extended farther? No one could have gone beyond that point, without either walking straight into the water, or keeping along the strip of sea beach, upwards or downwards. The fugitives could not have escaped in either way--unless they had taken to the water, and committed suicide by drowning themselves! Up the coast, or down it, they would have been seen to a certainty. Their pursuers, clustering around the place where the tracks terminated, were no wiser than ever. Some of them were ready to believe that drowning had been the fate of the castaways upon their coast, and so stated it to their companions. But they spoke only conjectures, and in tones that told them, like the rest, to be under the influence of some superstitious fear. Despite their confidence in the protection of their boasted Prophet, they felt a natural dread of that wilderness of waters, less known to them than the wilderness of sand. Ere long they withdrew from its presence, and betook themselves back to their encampment, under a half belief that the three individuals seen and pursued had either drowned themselves in the great deep, or by some mysterious means known to these strange men of the sea, had escaped across its far-reaching waters! CHAPTER XXXI. A DOUBLE PREDICAMENT. Short time as their pursuers had stayed upon the strand, it seemed an age to the submerged midshipmen. On first placing themselves in position, they had chosen a spot where, with their knees resting upon the bottom, they could just hold their chins above water. This would enable them to hold their ground without any great difficulty, and for some time they so maintained it. Soon, however, they began to perceive that the water was rising around them,--a circumstance easily explained by the influx of the tide. The rise was slow and gradual: but, for all that, they saw that should they require to remain in their place of concealment for any length of time, drowning must be their inevitable destiny. A means of avoiding this soon presented itself. Inside the line of breakers, the water shoaled gradually towards the shore. By advancing in this direction they could still keep to the same depth. This course they adopted--gliding cautiously forward upon their knees, whenever the tide admonished them to repeat the manoeuvre. This state of affairs would have been satisfactory enough, but for a circumstance that, every moment, was making itself more apparent. At each move they were not only approaching nearer to their enemies, scattered along the strand; but as they receded from the line of the breakers, the water became comparatively tranquil, and its smooth surface, less confused by the masses of floating foam, was more likely to betray them to the spectators on the shore. To avoid this catastrophe--which would have been fatal--they moved shoreward, only when it became absolutely necessary to do so, often permitting the tidal waves to sweep completely over the crown of their heads, and several times threaten suffocation. Under circumstances so trying, so apparently hopeless, most lads--aye, most men--would have submitted to despair, and surrendered themselves to a fate apparently unavoidable. But with that true British pluck--combining the tenacity of the Scotch terrier, the English bulldog, and the Irish staghound--the three youthful representatives of the triple kingdom determined to hold on. And they held on, with the waves washing against their cheeks--and at intervals quite over their heads--with the briny fluid rushing into their ears and up their nostrils, until one after another began to believe, that there would be no alternative between surrendering to the cruel sea, or to the not less cruel sons of the Saära. As they were close together, they could hold council,--conversing all the time in something louder than a whisper. There was no risk of their being overheard. Though scarce a cable's length from the shore, the hoarse soughing of the surf would have drowned the sound of their voices, even if uttered in a much louder tone; but being skilled in the acoustics of the ocean, they exchanged their thoughts with due caution; and while encouraging one another to remain firm, they speculated freely upon the chances of escaping from their perilous predicament. While thus occupied, a _predicament_ of an equally perilous, and still more singular kind, was in store for them. They had been, hitherto advancing towards the water's edge,--in regular progression with the influx of the tide,--all the while upon their knees. This, as already stated, had enabled them to sustain themselves steadily, without showing anything more than three quarters of the head above the surface. All at once, however, the water appeared to deepen; and by going upon their knees they could no longer surmount the waves,--even with their eyes. By moving on towards the beach, they might again get into shallow water; but just at this point the commotion caused by the breakers came to a termination, and the flakes of froth, with the surrounding spray of bubbles, here bursting, one after another, left the surface of the sea to its restored tranquillity. Anything beyond--a cork, or the tiniest waif of seaweed--could scarce fail to be seen from the strand,--though the latter was itself constantly receding as the tide flowed inward. The submerged middies were now in a dilemma they had not dreamed of. By holding their ground, they could not fail to "go under." By advancing further, they would run the risk of being discovered to the enemy. Their first movement was to get up from their knees, and raise their heads above water by standing in a crouched attitude on their feet. This they had done before,--more than once,--returning to the posture of supplication only when too tired to sustain themselves. This they attempted again, and determined to continue it to the last moment,--in view of the danger of approaching nearer to the enemy. To their consternation they now found it would no longer avail them. Scarce had they risen erect before discovering that even in this position they were immersed to the chin, and after plunging a pace or two forward, they were still sinking deeper. They could feel that their feet were not resting on firm bottom, but constantly going down. "A quicksand!" was the apprehension that rushed simultaneously into the minds of all three! Fortunately for them, the Arabs at that moment, yielding to their fatalist fears, had faced away from the shore; else the plunging and splashing made by them in their violent endeavors to escape from the quicksand, could not have failed to dissipate these superstitions, and cause their pursuers to complete the capture they had so childlessly relinquished. As it chanced, the Saäran wreckers saw nothing of all this; and as the splashing sounds, which otherwise might have reached them, were drowned by the louder _sough_ of the sea, they returned toward their encampment in a state of perplexity bordering upon bewilderment! CHAPTER XXXII. ONCE MORE THE MOCKING LAUGH. After a good deal of scrambling and struggling, our adventurers succeeded in getting clear of the quicksand, and planting their feet upon firmer bottom,--a little nearer to the water's edge. Though at this point more exposed than they wished to be, they concealed themselves as well as they could, holding their faces under the water up to the eyes. Though believing that their enemies were gone for good, they dared not as yet wade out upon the beach. The retiring pursuers would naturally be looking back; and as the moon was still shining clearly as ever, they might be seen from a great distance. They feel that they would not be safe in leaving their place of concealment until the horde had recrossed the ridge, and descended once more into the oasis that contained their encampment. Making a rough calculation as to the time it would take for the return journey,--and allowing a considerable margin against the eventuality of any unforeseen delay,--the mids remained in their subaqueous retreat, without any material change of position. When at length it appeared to them that the "coast was clear," they rose to their feet, and commenced wading towards the strand. Though no longer believing themselves observed, they proceeded silently and with caution,--the only noise made among them being the chattering of their teeth, which were going like three complete sets of castanets. This they could not help. The night breeze playing upon the saturated garments,--that clung coldly around their bodies,--chilled them to the very bones; and not only their teeth, but their knees knocked together, as they staggered towards the beach. Just before reaching it, an incident arose that filled them with fresh forebodings. The strange beast that had threatened to intercept their retreat over the ridge, once more appeared before their eyes. It was either the same, or one of the same kind,--equally ugly, and to all appearance, equally determined to dispute their passage. It was now patrolling the strand close by the water's edge,--going backwards and forwards, precisely as it had done along the saddle-shaped sand wreath,--all the while keeping its hideous face turned towards them. With the moon behind their backs, they had a better view of it than before; but this, though enabling them to perceive that it was some strange quadruped, did not in any way improve their opinion of it. They could see that it was covered with a coat of long shaggy hair, of a brindled brown color; and that from a pair of large orbs, set obliquely in its head, gleamed forth a fierce, sullen light. How it had come there they knew not; but there it was. Judging from the experience of their former encounter with it they presumed it would again retreat at their approach; and, once more drawing their dirks, they advanced boldly towards it. They were not deceived. Long before they were near, the uncouth creature turned tail; and, again giving utterance to its unearthly cry, scampered off towards the ravine,--in whose shadowy depths it soon disappeared from their view. Supposing they had nothing further to fear, our adventurers stepped out upon the strand, and commenced consultation as to their future course. To keep on down the coast and get as far as possible from the Arab encampment,--was the thought of all three; and as they were unanimous in this, scarce a moment was wasted in coming to a determination. Once resolved, they faced southward; and started off as briskly as their shivering frames and saturated garments would allow them. There was not much to cheer them on their way,--only the thought that they had so adroitly extricated themselves from a dread danger. But even this proved only a fanciful consolation; for scarce had they made a score of steps along the strand, when they were brought to a sudden halt, by hearing a noise that appeared to proceed from the ravine behind them. It was a slight noise, something like a snort, apparently made by some animal; and, for the moment, they supposed it to come from the ugly quadruped that, after saluting them, had retreated up the gorge. On turning their eyes in that direction, they at once saw that they were mistaken. A quadruped had produced the noise; but one of a very different kind from the hairy brute with which they had parted. Just emerging from the shadow of the sand-hills, they perceived a huge creature, whose uncouth shape proclaimed it to be a camel. The sight filled them with consternation. Not that it was a camel; but because, at the same time, they discovered that there was a man upon its back, who, brandishing a long weapon, was urging the animal towards them. The three midshipmen made no effort to continue the journey thus unexpectedly interrupted. They saw that any attempt to escape from such a fast-going creature would be idle. Encumbered as they were with their wet garments, they could not have distanced a lame duck; and, resigning themselves to the chances of destiny, they stood awaiting the encounter. CHAPTER XXXIII. A CUNNING SHEIK. When the camel and its rider first loomed in sight,--indistinctly seen under the shadow of the sand dunes,--our adventurers had conceived a faint hope that it might be Sailor Bill. It was possible, they thought, that the old man-o-war's-man, left unguarded in the camp, might have laid hands on the maherry that had made away with him, and pressed it into service to assist his escape. The hope was entertained only for an instant. Bill had encountered no such golden opportunity; but was still a prisoner in the tent of the black sheik, surrounded by his shrewish tormentors. It was the maherry, however, that was seen coming back, for as it came near the three middies recognized the creature whose intrusion upon their slumbers of the preceding night had been the means, perhaps, of saving their lives. Instead of a Jack Tar now surmounting its high hunch, they saw a little wizen-faced individual with sharp angular features, and a skin of yellowish hue puckered like parchment. He appeared to be at least sixty years of age; while his costume, equipments, and above all, a certain authoritative bearing, bespoke him to be one of the head men of the horde. Such in truth was he,--one of the two sheiks,--the old Arab to whom the straying camel belonged; and who was now mounted on his own maherry. His presence on the strand at this, to our adventurers, most inopportune moment, requires explanation. He had been on the beach before, along with the others; and had gone away with the rest. But instead of continuing on to the encampment, he had fallen behind in the ravine; where, under the cover of some rocks, and favored by the obscure light within the gorge, he had succeeded in giving his comrades the slip. There he had remained,--permitting the rest to recross the ridge, and return to the tents. He had not taken these steps without an object. Less superstitious than his black brother sheik, he knew there must be some natural explanation of the disappearance of the three castaways; and he had determined to seek, and if possible, to discover it. It was not mere curiosity that prompted him to this determination. He had been all out of sorts, with himself, since losing Sailor Bill in the game of _helga_; and he was desirous of obtaining some compensation for his ill-luck, by capturing the three castaways who had so mysteriously disappeared. As to their having either drowned themselves, or walked away over the waste of waters, the old sheik had seen too many Saäran summers and winters to give credence either to one tale or the other. He knew they would turn up again; and though he was not quite certain of the where, he more than half suspected it. He had kept his suspicions to himself,--not imparting them even to his own special followers. By the laws of the Saära, a slave taken by any one of the tribe belongs not to its chief, but to the individual who makes the capture. For this reason, had the cunning sexagenarian kept his thoughts to himself, and fallen _solus_ into the rear of the returning horde. It might be supposed that he would have made some of his following privy to his plan,--for the sake of having help to effect such a wholesale capture. But no. His experience as a "Barbary wrecker" had taught him that there would be no danger,--no likelihood of resistance,--even though the castaways numbered thirty instead of three. Armed with this confidence, and his long gun, he had returned down the ravine; and laid in wait near its mouth,--at a point where he commanded a view of the coast line, to the distance of more than a mile on each side of him. His vigil was soon rewarded: by seeing the three individuals for whom it had been kept step forth from the sea,--as if emerging from its profoundest depths,--and stand conspicuously upon the beach. He had waited for nothing more; but, giving the word to his maherry, had ridden out of the ravine, and was now advancing with all speed upon the tracks of the retreating mids. CHAPTER XXXIV. A QUEER ENCOUNTER. In about threescore seconds from the time he was first seen pursuing them, the old sheik was up to the spot where our adventurers had awaited him. His first salute appeared to be some words of menace or command,--rendered more emphatic by a series of gestures made with his long gun; which was successively pointed at the heads of the three. Of course, none of them understood what was said; but his gesticulations made it clear enough, that he required their company to the Arab encampment. Their first impulse was to yield obedience to this command; and Terence had given a sign of assent, which was acquiesced in by Colin. Not so Master Blount, in whom the British bulldog had become aroused even to the showing of his teeth. "See him hanged first!" cried Harry. "What! yield up to an old monkey like that, and walk tamely to the camp at the tail of his camel? No such thing! If I am to become a prisoner, it will be to one who can take me." Terence, rather ashamed at having shown such facile submission, now rushed to the opposite extreme; and drawing his dirk, cried out,-- "By Saint Patrick! I'm with you, Harry! Let's die, rather than yield ourselves prisoners to such a queer old curmudgeon!" Colin, before declaring himself, glanced sharply around,--carrying his eye towards the _embouchure_ of the ravine, to assure himself that the Arab was alone. As there was nobody else in sight,--and no sound heard that would indicate the proximity of any one,--it was probable enough that the rider of the maherry was the only enemy opposed to them. "The devil take him!" cried Colin, after making his cautious reconnaissance. "If he take us, he must first fight for it. Come on, old skin-flint! you'll find we're true British tars,--ready for a score of such as you." The three youths had by this time unsheathed their shining daggers, and thrown themselves into a sort of triangle, the maherry in their midst. The old sheik--unprepared for such a reception--was altogether taken aback by it; and for some seconds sate upon his high perch seemingly irresolute how to act. Suddenly his rage appeared to rise to such a pitch, that he could no longer command his actions; and bringing the long gun to his shoulder, he levelled it at Harry Blount,--who had been foremost in braving him. The stream of smoke, pouring forth from its muzzle, for a moment enveloped the form of the youthful mariner; but from the midst of that sulphury _nimbus_ came forth a clear manly voice, pronouncing the word "Missed!" "Thank God!" cried Terence and Colin, in a breath; "now we have him in our power! He can't load again! Let's on him all together! Heave ho!" And uttering this nautical phrase of encouragement, the three mids, with naked dirks, rushed simultaneously towards the maherry. The Arab, old as he may have been, showed no signs either of stiffness or decrepitude. On the contrary he exhibited all the agility of a tiger-cat; along with a fierce determination to continue the combat he had initiated,--notwithstanding the odds that were against him. On discharging his gun, he had flung the useless weapon to the ground; and instead of it now grasped a long curving scimitar, with which he commenced cutting around him in every direction. Thus armed, he had the advantage of his assailants; for while he might reach any one of them by a quick cut, they with their short dirks could not come within thrusting-distance of him, without imminent danger of having their arms, or perchance their heads, lopped sheer off their shoulders. Defensively, too, had the rider of the maherry an advantage over his antagonists. While within distance of them, at the point of his curving blade, seated upon his high perch, he was beyond the reach of their weapons. Get close to him as they might, and spring as high as they were able, they could not bring the tips of their daggers in contact with his skin. In truth, there seemed no chance for them to inflict the slightest wound upon him; while at each fresh "wheel" of the maherry, and each new sweep of the scimitar, one or other of them was in danger of decapitation! On first entering upon the fight, our adventurers had not taken into account the impregnable position of their antagonist. Soon, however, did they discover the advantages in his favor, with their own proportionate drawbacks. To neutralize these was the question that now occupied them. If something was not done soon, one or other--perhaps all three--would have to succumb to that keen cutting of the scimitar. "Let's kill the camel!" cried Harry Blount, "that'll bring him within reach; and then--" The idea of the English youth was by no means a bad one; and perhaps would have been carried out. But before he could finish his speech, another scheme had been conceived by Terence,--who had already taken steps towards its execution. It was this that had interrupted Harry Blount in the utterance of his counsel. At school the young Milesian had been distinguished in the exercise of vaulting. "Leap-frog" had been his especial delight; and no mountebank could bound to a greater height than he. At this crisis he remembered his old accomplishment, and called it to his aid. Seeking an opportunity,--when the head of the maherry was turned towards his comrades, and its tail to himself,--he made an energetic rush; sprang half a score of feet from the ground; and flinging apart his feet, while in the air, came down "stride legs" upon the croup of the camel. [Illustration: THE SHEIK CAPTURED] It was fortunate for the old Arab that the effort thus made by the amateur _saltimbanque_ had shaken the dirk from his grasp,--else, in another instant, the camel would have ceased to "carry double." As it was, its two riders continued upon its back; but in such close juxtaposition, that it would have required sharp eyes and a good light to tell that more than one individual was mounted upon it. Fast enfolded in the arms of the vigorous young Hibernian, could scarce be distinguished the carcass of the old Arab sheik,--shrunken to half size by the powerful compression; while the scimitar, so late whistling with perilous impetuosity through the air, was now seen lying upon the sand,--its gleam no longer striking terror into the hearts of those whose heads it had been threatening to lop off! CHAPTER XXXV. HOLDING ON TO THE HUMP. The struggle between Terence and the sheik still continued, upon the back of the maherry. The object of the young Irishman was to unhorse, or rather _un-camel_, his antagonist, and get him to the ground. This design the old Arab resisted toughly, and with all his strength, knowing that dismounted he would be no match for the trio of stout lads whom he had calculated on capturing at his ease. Once _à pied_ he would be at their mercy, since he was now altogether unarmed. His gun had been unloaded; and the shining scimitar, of which he had made such a dangerous display, was no longer in his grasp. As already stated it had fallen to the ground, and at that precious moment was being picked up by Colin; who in all probability would have used it upon its owner, had not the latter contrived to escape beyond its reach. The mode of the sheik's escape was singular enough. Still tenaciously holding on to the hump, from which the young Irishman was using every effort to detach him, he saw that his only chance of safety lay in retreating from the spot, and, by this means, separating the antagonist who clutched him from the two others that threatened upon the ground below. A signal shout to the maherry was sufficient to effect his purpose. On hearing it, the well-trained quadruped wheeled, as upon a pivot, and in a shambling, but quick pace, started back towards the ravine, whence it had late issued. To their consternation Colin and Harry beheld this unexpected movement; and before either of them could lay hold of the halter,--now trailing along the sand,--the maherry was going at a rate of speed which they vainly endeavored to surpass. They could only follow in its wake,--as they did so, shouting to Terence to let go his hold of the sheik, and take his chance of a tumble to the ground. Their admonitions appeared not to be heeded. They were not needed,--at least after a short interval had elapsed. At first the young Irishman had been so intent on his endeavors to dismount his adversary, that he did not notice the signal given to the maherry, nor the retrograde movement it had inaugurated. Not until the camel was re-entering the ravine, and the steep sides of the sand dunes cast their dark shadows before him, did he observe that he was being carried away from his companions. Up to this time he had been vainly striving to detach the sheik from his hold upon the hump. On perceiving the danger, however, he desisted from this design, and at once entered upon a struggle of a very different kind,--to detach himself. In all probability this would have proved equally difficult, for, struggle as he might, the tough old Arab, no longer troubling himself about the control of his camel, had twisted his sinewy fingers under the midshipman's dirk-belt, and held the latter in juxtaposition to his own body, supported by the hump of the maherry, as if his very life depended on not letting go. A lucky circumstance--and this only--hindered the young Irishman from being carried to the Arab encampment; a circumstance very similar to that which on the preceding night had led to the capture of that same camel. Its halter was again trailing. Its owner, occupied with the "double" which it had so unexpectedly been called upon to carry, was conducting it only by his voice, and had neither thought nor hands for the halter. Once again the trailing end got into the split hoof--once again the maherry was tripped up; and came down neck foremost upon the sand. Its load was spilled--Bedouin and Hibernian coming together to the ground--both, if not dangerously hurt, at least so shaken, as, for some seconds, to be deprived of their senses. Neither had quite recovered from the shock, when Harry Blount and Colin, coming up in close pursuit, stooped over the prostrate pair; and neither Arab nor Irishman was very clear in his comprehension, when a crowd of strange creatures closed around them, and took possession of the whole party; as they did so yelling like a cohort of fiends. In the obfuscation of his "sivin" senses, the young Irishman may have scarcely understood what was passing around him. It was too clear to his companions,--clear as a catastrophe could be to those who are its victims. The shot fired by the sheik, if failing in the effects intended, had produced a result almost equally fatal to the three fugitives,--it had given warning to the Arabs in their encampment; who, again sallying forth, had arrived just in time to witness the "decadence" of the camel, and now surrounded the group that encircled it. The courageous representative of England and the cool young Scotchman were both taken by surprise, too much so to give them a chance of thinking either of resistance or flight; while the mind of the Irish middy, from a different cause, was equally in a hopeless "muddle." It resulted in all three being captured and conducted up the ravine towards the camp of the wreckers. CHAPTER XXXVI. OUR ADVENTURERS IN UNDRESS. Our adventurers made their approach to the _douar_,--for such is the title of an Arab encampment,--with as much unwillingness as Sailor Bill had done but an hour before. Equally _sans cérémonie_, or even with less ceremony, did they enter among the tents, and certainly in a less becoming costume,--since all three were stark naked with the exception of their shirts. This was the only article of clothing their captors had left upon their backs; and so far as comfort was concerned, they would have been as well without it: for there was not a thread of the striped cotton that was not saturated with sea-water. It was a wonder that even these scanty garments were not taken from them; considering the eagerness with which they had been divested of everything else. On the instant after being laid hold of, they had been stripped with as much rapidity, as if their bodies were about to be submitted to some ignominious chastisement. But they knew it was not that--only a desire on the part of their captors to obtain possession of their clothes--every article of which became the subject of a separate contention, and more than one leading to a dispute that was near terminating in a contest between two scimitars. In this way their jackets and dreadnought trowsers--their caps and shoes--their dirks, belts, and pocket paraphernalia--were distributed among nearly as many claimants as there were pieces. You may suppose that modesty interfered to reserve to them their shirts? Such a supposition would be altogether erroneous. There is no such word in the Bedouin vocabulary--no such feeling in the Bedouin breast. In the _douar_ to which they were conducted were lads as old as they, and lasses too, without the semblance of clothing upon their nude bodies; not even a shirt,--not even the orientally famed fig-leaf! The reason of their being allowed to retain their homely garments had nothing to do with any sentiment of delicacy. For the favor,--if such it could be called,--they were simply indebted to the avarice of the old sheik, who, having recovered from the stunning effects of his tumble, claimed all three as his captives, _and their shirts along with them_! His claim as to their persons was not disputed; they were his by Saäran custom. So, too, would their clothing, had his capture been complete; but as there was a question about this, a distribution of the garments had been demanded and acceded to. The sheik, however, would not agree to giving up the shirts; loudly declaring that they belonged to the skin; and after some discussion on this moot point, his claim was allowed; and our adventurers were spared the shame of entering the Arab encampment _in puris naturalibus_. In their shirts did they once more stand face to face with Sailor Bill, not a bit better clad than they: for though the old man-o'-war's-man was still "anchored" by the marquee of the black sheik, his "toggery" had long before been distributed throughout the _douar_; and scarce a tent but contained some portion of his "belongings." His youthful comrades saw, but were not permitted to approach him. They were the undisputed property of the rival chieftain,--to whose tent they were taken; but not until they had "run a muck" among the women and children, very similar to that which Bill had to submit to himself. It terminated in a similar manner: that is, by their _owner_ taking them under his protection,--not from any motives of humanity, but simply to save his property from receiving damage at the hands of the incarnate female furies, who seemed to take delight in maltreating them! The old sheik, after allowing his _fair_ followers, with their juvenile _neophites_, for some length of time to indulge in their customary mode of saluting strange captives, withdrew the latter beyond the reach of persecution, to a place assigned them under the shadow of his tent. There, with a sinewy Arab standing over them,--though as often squatted beside them,--they were permitted to pass the remainder of the night, if not in sleep at least in a state of tranquillity. CHAPTER XXXVII. THE CAPTIVES IN CONVERSATION. This tranquillity only related to any disturbance experienced from their captors. There was none. These had been on the eve of striking their tents, and moving off to some other oasis,--previous to the last incident that had arisen. As already stated, the two sheiks, by a mutual understanding, had been about to shake hands, and separate,--the son of Japhet going north, to the markets of Morocco, while the descendant of Ham was to face homeward to his more tropical and appropriate clime,--under the skies of Timbuctoo. The "windfall" that had so unexpectedly dropped into the _douar_; first in the shape of Sailor Bill,--and afterwards, in more generous guise, by the capture of the three "young gentlemen" of the gunroom,--had caused some change in the plans of their captors. By mutual understanding between the two sheiks, something was to be done in the morning; and their design of separating was deferred to another day. The order to strike tents had been countermanded: and both tribes retired to rest,--as soon as the captives had been disposed of for the night. The douar was silent,--so far as the children of Ham and Japhet were concerned. Even _their_ children had ceased to clamor and squall. At intervals might be heard the neigh of a Barbary horse, the barking of a dog, the bleating of a goat, or a sound yet more appropriate to the scene, the snorting of a maherry. In addition to these, human voices were heard. But they proceeded from the throats of the sons of Shem. For the most part they were uttered in a low tone, as the three midshipmen conversed seriously and earnestly together; but occasionally they became elevated to a higher pitch, when Sailor Bill, guarded on the opposite side of the encampment--took part in the conversation, and louder speech was necessary to the interchange of thought between him and his fellow-captives. The Arab watchers offered no interruption. They understood not a word of what was being said, and so long as the conversation of their captives did not disturb the douar, they paid no heed to it. "What have they done to you, Bill?" was the first question asked by the new comers, after they had been left free to make inquiries. "Faix!" responded the sailor, for it was Terry who had put the interrogatory: "iverything they cowld think av--iverything to make an old salt as uncomfortable as can be. They've not left a sound bone in my body; nor a spot on my skin that's not ayther pricked or scratched wid thar cruel thorns. My carcass must be like an old seventy-four after comin' out av action--as full av holes as a meal sieve." "But what did they do to you, Bill?" said Colin, almost literally repeating the interrogatory of Terence. The sailor detailed his experiences since entering the encampment. "It's very clear," remarked the young Scotchman, "that we need look for nothing but ill-treatment at the hands of these worse than savages. I suppose they intend making slaves of us." "That at least," quietly assented Harry. "Sartin," said the sailor. "They've let me know as much a'ready. There be two captains to their crew; one's the smoke-dried old sinner as brought yer in; the other a big nayger, as black as the ace o' spades. You saw the swab? He's inside the tent here. He's my master. The two came nigh quarrelling about which should have me, and settled it by some sort o' a game they played wi' balls of kaymal's dung. The black won me; an' that's why I'm kep by his tent. Mother av Moses! Only to think of a British tar being the slave o' a sooty nayger! I never thought it wud a come to this." "Where do you think they'll take us, Bill?" "The Lord only knows, an' whether we're all bound for the same port." "What! you think we may be separated?" "Be ma sang, Maister Colin, I ha'e ma fears we wull!" "What makes you think so?" "Why, ye see, as I've telt ye, I'm booked to ship wi' the black,--'sheik' I've heerd them ca' him. Well: from what I ha'e seed and heerd, there's nae doot they're gaein' to separate an' tak different roads. I did na ken muckle o' what they sayed, but I could mak oot two words I hae often heerd while cruisin' in the Gulf o' Guinea. They are the names o' two great toons, a lang way up the kintry,--Timbuctoo and Sockatoo. They are negro toons; an' for that reezun I ha'e a suspeshun my master's bound to one or other o' the two ports." "But why do you think that we are to be taken elsewhere?" demanded Harry Blount. "Why, because, Master 'Arry, you belong to the hold sheik, as is plainly a Harab, an' oose port of hentry lies in a different direction,--that be to the northart." "It is all likely enough," said Colin; "Bill's prognostication is but too probable." "Why, ye see, Maister Colin, they are only land sharks who ha'e got hold o' us. They're too poor to keep us; an' wull be sure to sell us somewhere, an' to somebody that ha'e got the tocher to gie for us. That's what they'll do wi' us poor bodies." "I hope," said Terence, "they'll not part us. No doubt slavery will be hard enough to bear under any circumstances; but harder if we have to endure it alone. Together, we might do something to alleviate one another's lot. I hope we shall not be separated!" To this hope all the others made a sincere response; and the conversation came to an end. They who had been carrying it on, worn out by fatigue, and watchfulness long protracted,--despite the unpleasantness of their situation,--soon after, and simultaneously, yielded their spirits to the soothing oblivion of sleep. CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE DOUAR AT DAWN. They could have slept for hours,--twenty-four of them,--had they been permitted such indulgence. But they were not. As the first streaks of daylight became visible over the eastern horizon, the whole douar was up and doing. The women and children of both hordes were seen flitting like shadows among the tents. Some squatted under camels, or kneeling by the sides of the goats, drew from these animals that lacteal fluid that may be said to form the staple of their food. Others might be observed emptying the precious liquid into skin bottles and sacks, and securing it against spilling in its transport through the deserts. The matrons of the tribes--hags they looked--were preparing the true _dejeûner_, consisting of _Sangleh_,--a sort of gruel, made with millet meal, boiled over a dull fire of camel's dung. The _Sangleh_ was to be eaten, by such of them as could afford it, mixed with goats' or camels' milk,--unstrained and hairy,--half curdled into a crab-like acidity, the moment it entered its stinking receptacle. Here and there men were seen milking their mares or maherries,--not a few indulging in the universal beverage by a direct application of their lips to the teats of the animal; while others, appointed to the task, were preparing the paraphernalia of the douar, for transportation to some distant oasis. Watching these various movements, were the three mids,--still stripped to their shirts,--and the old man-o'-war's-man, clad with like scantiness; since the only garment that clung to his sinewy frame was a pair of cotton drawers neither very clean nor very sound at the seams. All four shivered in the chill air of the morning; for hot as is the Saära under its noonday sun, in the night hours its thermometer frequently falls almost to the point of freezing! Their state of discomfort did not hinder them from observing what was passing around them. They could have slept on; but the discordant noises of the douar, and a belief that they would not be permitted any longer to enjoy their interrupted slumbers, hindered them from reclosing their eyes. Still recumbent, and occasionally exchanging remarks in a low tone of voice, they noted the customs of their captors. The young Scotchman had read many books relating to the _prairies_ of America, and their savage denizens. He was forcibly reminded of these by what he now saw in this oasis of the sandy Saära; the women treated like dogs, or worse,--doing all the work that might be termed labor,--tending the cattle, cooking the meals, pitching or striking the tents, loading the animals,--and themselves bearing such portions of the load as exceeded the transport strength of the tribal quadrupeds,--aided only by such wretched helots as misfortune had flung in the way of their common masters. The men, mostly idle,--ludicrously nonchalant,--reclining on their saddle-pads, or skins, inhaling the narcotic weed, apparently proud in the possession of that lordship of wretchedness that surrounded them. Colin was constrained to compare the savage life of two continents, separated by an ocean. He came to the conclusion, that under similar circumstances, mankind will ever be the same. In the Comanche of the _Llano Estacado_, or the Pawnee of the Platte, he would have found an exact counterpart of the Ishmaelitish wanderer over the sandy plains of the Saära. He was allowed but scant time to philosophize upon these ethnological phenomena. As the douar became stirred into general activity, he, along with his two companions, was rudely started from his attitude of observation, and ordered to take a share in the toils of the captors. At an earlier hour, and still more rudely, had Sailor Bill received the commands of his master; who, as the first rays of the Aurora began to dapple the horizon, had ordered the old man-o-war's-man to his feet, at the same time administering to him a cruel kick, that came very near shivering some of his stern timbers. Had the black sheik been acquainted with the English language,--as spoken in Ratcliff Highway,--he would have better understood Sailor Bill's reply to his rude matutinal salutation; which, along with several not very complimentary wishes, ended by devoting the "nayger's" eyes to eternal perdition. CHAPTER XXXIX. AN OBSTINATE DROMEDARY. The morning meal was eaten as soon as prepared. Its scantiness surprised our adventurers. Even the more distinguished individuals of the horde partook of only a very small quantity of milk, or sangleh. The two sheiks alone got anything like what might have been deemed an ordinary breakfast; while the more common class, as the half-breeds--_hassanes_--and the negro slaves had to content themselves with less than a pint of sour milk to each, half of which was water--the mixture denominated _cheni_. Could this meal be meant for breakfast? Harry Blount and Terence thought not. But Colin corrected them, by alleging that it was. He had read of the wonderful abstemiousness of these children of the desert: how they can live on a single meal a day, and this scarce sufficient to sustain life in a child of six years old; that is, an English child. Often will they go for several successive days without eating and when they do eat regularly, a drink of milk is all they require to satisfy hunger. Colin was right. It was their ordinary breakfast. He might have added, their dinner too, for they would not likely obtain another morsel of food before sundown. But where was the breakfast of Colin and his fellow-captives? This was the question that interested them far more than the dietary of the Bedouins. They were all hungering like hyenas, and yet no one seemed to think of them--no one offered them either bite or sup. Filthy as was the mess made by the Arab women, and filthily as they prepared it,--boiling it in pots, and serving it up in wooden dishes, that did not appear to have had a washing for weeks,--the sight of it increased the hungry cravings of the captives; and they would fain have been permitted to share the scanty _dejeûner_. They made signs of their desire; piteous appeals for food, by looks and gestures; but all in vain: not a morsel was bestowed on them. Their brutal captors only laughed at them, as though they intended that all four should go without eating. It soon became clear that they were not to starve in idleness. As soon as they had been started to their feet each of them was set to a task; one to collect camels' dung for the cooking fires; another to fetch water from the brackish muddy pool which had caused the oasis to become a place of encampment; while the third was called upon to assist in the loading of the tent equipage, along with the salvage of the wreck,--an operation entered upon as soon as the sangleh had been swallowed. Sailor Bill, in a different part of the douar, was kept equally upon the alert: and if he, or any of the other three, showed signs of disliking their respective tasks, one of the two sheiks made little ado about striking them with a leathern strap, a knotty stick, or any weapon that chanced to come readiest to hand. They soon discovered that they were under the government of taskmasters not to be trifled with, and that resistance or remonstrance would be alike futile. In short, they saw _that they were slaves_! While packing the tents, and otherwise preparing for the march, they were witnesses to many customs, curious as new to them. The odd equipages of the animals,--both those of burden and those intended to be ridden,--the oval panniers, placed upon the backs of the camels, to carry the women and younger children; the square pads upon the humps of the maherries; the tawny little piccaninnies strapped upon the backs of their mothers; the kneeling of the camels to receive their loads,--as if consenting to what could not be otherwise than disagreeable to them,--were all sights that might have greatly interested our adventurers, had they been viewing them under different circumstances. Out of the last mentioned of these sights, an incident arose, illustrating the craft of their captors in the management of their domestic animals. A refractory camel, that, according to usual habit, had voluntarily humiliated itself to receive its load, after this had been packed upon it, refused to rise to its feet. The beast either deemed the burden inequable and unjust,--for the Arabian camel, like the Peruvian llama, has a very acute perception of fair play in this respect,--or a fit of caprice had entered its mulish head. For one reason or another it exhibited a stern determination _not_ to oblige its owner by rising to its feet; but continued its genuflexion in spite of every effort to get it on all-fours. Coaxing and cajolery were tried to no purpose. Kicking by sandalled feet, scourging with whips, and beating with cudgels produced no better effect; and to all appearance the obstinate brute had made up its mind to remain in the oasis and let the tribe depart without it. At this crisis an ingenious method of making the camel change its mind suggested itself to its master; or perhaps he had practised it on some former occasion. Maddened by the obstinacy of the animal, he seized hold of an old burnouse, and rushing up, threw it over its head. Then drawing the rag tightly around its snout, he fastened it in such a manner as completely to stop up the nostrils. The camel finding its breathing thus suddenly interrupted, became terrified; and without further loss of time, scrambled to its feet--to the great amusement of the women and children who were spectators of the scene. CHAPTER XL. WATERING THE CAMELS. In an incredibly short space of time the tents were down, and the douar with all its belongings was no longer to be seen; or only in the shape of sundry packages balanced upon the backs of the animals. The last operation before striking out upon the desert track, was the watering of these; the supply for the journey having been already dipped up out of the pool, and poured into goat-skin sacks. The watering of the camels appeared to be regarded as the most important matter of all. In this performance every precaution was taken, and every attention bestowed, to ensure to the animals a full supply of the precious fluid,--perhaps from a presentiment on the part of their owners that they themselves might some day stand in need of, and make use of, the _same_ water! Whether this was the motive or not, every camel belonging to the horde was compelled to drink till its capacious stomach was quite full; and the quantity consumed by each would be incredible to any other than the owner of an African dromedary, Only a very large cask could have contained it. At the watering of the animals, our adventurers had an opportunity of observing another incident of the Saära,--quite as curious and original as that already described. It chanced that the pool that furnished the precious fluid, and which contained the only fresh water to be found within fifty miles, was just then on the eve of being dried up. A long season of drought--that is to say, _three or four years_--had reigned over this particular portion of the desert, and the lagoon, formerly somewhat extensive, had shrunk into the dimensions of a trifling tank, containing little more than two or three hundred gallons. This, during the stay of the two tribes united as wreckers, had been daily diminishing; and had the occupants of the douar not struck tents at the time they did, in another day or so they would have been in danger of suffering from thirst. This was in reality the cause of their projected migration. But for the fear of getting short in the necessary commodity of fresh water, they would have hugged the seashore a little longer, in hopes of picking up a few more "waifs" from the wreck of the English ship. At the hour of their departure from the encampment, the pool was on the eve of exhaustion. Only a few score gallons of not very pure water remained in it--about enough to fill the capacious stomachs of the camels; whose owners had gauged them too often to be ignorant of the quantity. It would not do to play with this closely calculated supply. Every pint was precious; and to prove that it was so esteemed, the animals were constrained to swallow it in a fashion, which certainly nature could never have intended. Instead of taking it in by the mouth the camels of these Saäran rovers were compelled to quench their thirst through the nostrils! You will wonder in what manner this could be effected? inquiring whether the quadrupeds voluntarily performed this nasal imbibing? Our adventurers, witnesses of the fact, wondered also--while struck with its quaint peculiarity. There is a proverb that "one man may take a horse to the water, but twenty cannot compel him to drink." Though this proverb may hold good of an English horse, it has no significance when applied to an African dromedary. Proof. Our adventurers saw the owner of each camel bring his animal to the edge of the pool; but instead of permitting the thirsty creature to step in and drink for itself, its head was held aloft, a wooden funnel was filled, the narrow end inserted into the nostril, and by the respiratory canal the water introduced to the throat and stomach! You may ask, why this selection of the nostrils instead of the mouth? Our adventurers so interrogated one another. It was only after becoming better acquainted with the customs of the Saära that they acquired a satisfactory explanation of one they had frequent occasion to observe. Though ordinarily of the most docile disposition, and in most of its movements the most tranquil of creatures, the dromedary, when drinking from a vessel, has the habit of repeatedly shaking its head, and spilling large quantities of the water placed before it. Where water is scarce,--and, as in the Saära, considered the most momentous matter of life,--a waste of it after such a fashion could not be tolerated. To prevent it, therefore, the camel-owner has contrived that this animal, so essential to his own safe existence, should drink through the orifices intended by nature for its respiration. CHAPTER XLI. A SQUABBLE BETWEEN THE SHEIKS. The process of watering the camels was carried on with the utmost diligence and care. It was too important to be trifled with, or negligently performed. While filling the capacious stomachs of the quadrupeds, their owners were but laying in a stock for themselves. As Sailor Bill jocularly remarked, "it was like filling the water-casks of a man-of-war previous to weighing anchor for a voyage." In truth, very similar was the purpose for which these ships of the desert were being supplied; for, when filling the capacious stomachs of the quadrupeds, their owners were not without the reflection that the supply might yet pass into their own. Such a contingency was not improbable, neither would it be new. For this reason the operation was conducted with diligence and care,--no camel being led away from the pool until it was supposed to have had a "surfeit," and this point was settled by seeing the water poured in at its nostrils running out at its mouth. As each in turn got filled, it was taken back to the tribe to which it belonged; for the united hordes had by this time become separated into two distinct parties, preparatory to starting off on their respective routes. Our adventurers could now perceive a marked difference between the two bands of Saära wanderers into whose hands they had unfortunately fallen. As already stated, the black sheik was an African of the true negro type, with thick lips, flattened nostrils, woolly hair, and heels projecting several inches to the rear of his ankle-joints. Most of his following were similarly "furnished," though not all of them. There were a few of mixed color, with straight hair, and features almost Caucasian, who submitted to his rule, or rather to his ownership, since these last all appeared to be his slaves. Those who trooped after the old Arab were mostly of his own race, mixed with a remnant of mongrel Portuguese,--descendants of the peninsular colonists who had fled from the coast settlements after the conquest of Morocco by the victorious "Sheriffs." Of such mixed races are the tribes who thinly people the Saära,--Arabs, Berbers, Ethiopians of every hue; all equally Bedoweens,--wanderers of the pathless deserts. It did not escape the observation of our adventurers that the slaves of the Arab sheik and his followers were mostly pure negroes from the south, while those of the black chieftain,--as proclaimed by the color of their skin,--showed a Shemitic or Japhetic origin. The philosophic Colin could perceive in this a silent evidence of the retribution of races. The supply of water being at length laid in, not only in the skins appropriated to the purpose, but also within the stomachs of the camels, the two tribes seemed prepared to exchange with each other the parting salute,--to speak the "Peace be with you!" And yet there was something that caused them to linger in each other's proximity. Their new-made captives could tell this, though ignorant of what it might be. It was something that had yet to be settled between the two sheiks, who did not appear at this moment of leave-taking to entertain for each other any very cordial sentiment of friendship. Could their thoughts have found expression in English words, they would have taken shape somewhat as follows:-- "That lubberly nigger," (we are pursuing the train of reflections that passed through the mind of the Arab sheik,) "old Nick burn him!--thinks I've got more than my share of this lucky windfall. He wants these boys bad,--I know that. The Sultan of Timbuctoo has given him a commission to procure _white slaves_,--that's clear; and _boy slaves_ if he can,--that's equally certain. This lot would suit him to a T. I can tell that he don't care much for the old salt he has tricked me out of by his superior skill at that silly game of helga. No; His Majesty of the mud-walled city don't want such as him. It's boys he's after,--as can wait smartly at his royal table, and give _éclat_ to his ceremonial entertainments. Well, he can have these _three at a price_." "Ay, but a big price," continued the cunning old trafficker in human flesh, after a short reflection, "a wopping big price. The togs we've stripped from them were no common clothing. Good broadcloth in their jackets, and bullion bands on their caps. They must be the sons of great sheiks. At Wedmoon the old Jew will redeem them. So, too, the merchants at Suse; or maybe I had best take them on to Mogador, where the consul of their country will come down handsomely for such as they. Yes, that's the trick!" At this parting scene the thoughts of Fatima's husband were equally occupied with trading speculations, in which he was assisted by the amiable Fatima herself. Translated also into English, they would have read as follows:-- "The Sultan would give threescore of his best blacks for those three tripe-colored brats." "I know it, Fatty dear; he's told me so himself." "Then why not get them, and bring 'em along?" "Ah, that's easy to say. How can I? You know they belong to the old Arab by right,--at least, he claims them, though not very fairly, for if we hadn't come up in good time they would have taken him instead of his taking them; no matter for that, they're his now by the laws of the Saära." "Bother the laws of the Saära!" exclaimed Fatima, with a disdainful toss of her head, and a scornful turning up of her two protruding teeth; "all stuff and nonsense! There's no law in the Saära; and if there was, you know we're never coming into it again. The price you'd get for those three hobbledehoys would keep us comfortable for the balance of our lives; and we need never track the Devil's Desert again. Take 'em by force from old Yellow-face, if you can't get 'em otherwise; but you may 'chouse' him out of them at a game of _helga_,--you know you can beat him at that. If he won't play again, try your hand at bargaining against your blacks; offer him two to one." Thus counselled by the partner of his bosom, the black sheik, instead of bidding the _saleik aloum_ to his Arab _confrère_, raised his voice aloud, and demanded from the latter a parley upon business of importance. CHAPTER XLII. THE TRIO STAKED. The parley that followed was of course unintelligible to our adventurers, the _Boy Slaves_. But although they did not understand the words that were exchanged between the two sheiks, they were not without having a conjecture as to their import. The gestures made by the two men, and their looks cast frequently towards themselves, led them to believe that the conversation related to their transference from one to the other. There was not much to choose between the two masters. Both appeared to be unfeeling savages, and so far had treated their captives with much cruelty. They could only hope, in case of a transfer taking place, that it would not be partial, but would extend to the trio, and that they would be kept together. They had been already aware that old Bill was to be parted from them, and this had caused them a painful feeling; but to be themselves separated, perhaps never to meet again, was a thought still more distressing. The three youths had long been shipmates,--ever since entering the naval service of their country. They had become fast friends; and believed that whatever might be the fate before them, they could better bear it in each other's company. Companionship would at least enable them to cheer one another; mutual sympathy would, to some extent, alleviate the hardest lot; while alone, and under such cruel taskmasters, the prospect was gloomy in the extreme. With feelings of keen anxiety, therefore, did they listen to the palaver, and watch the countenances of their captors. After a full half-hour spent in loud talking and gesticulating, some arrangement appeared to have been arrived at between the two sheiks. Those most interested in it could only guess what it was by what followed. Silence having been partially restored, the old Arab was seen to step up to the spot where the slaves of the black sheik were assembled; and, after carefully scrutinizing them, pick out three of the stoutest, plumpest, and healthiest young negroes in the gang. These were separated from the others, and placed on the plain some distance apart. "We're to be exchanged," muttered Terence, "we're to belong to the ugly black nagur. Well, perhaps it's better. We'll be with old Bill." "Stay a wee," said Colin; "there's something more to come yet, I think." The black sheik at this moment coming up, interrupted the conversation of the captives. What was he going to do? Take them with him, they supposed. The old Arab had himself led out the three young "darkies"; and the black sheik was about to act in like manner with the trio of white captives. So reasoned they; and, as it was a matter of indifference to them with which they went, they would offer no opposition. To their chagrin, however, instead of all three, only one of them was led off; the other two being commanded by gestures to keep their ground. It was O'Connor to whom this partiality was shown; the black sheik having selected him after a short while spent in scrutinizing and comparing the three. The Irish youth was of stouter build than either of his shipmates; and this, perhaps, guided the black sheik in making his choice. By all appearances, the conditions of the exchange were to be different from what our adventurers had anticipated. It was not to be man for man, or boy for boy; but three for one,--three blacks to a white. This was, in reality, the terms that had been agreed upon. The avaricious old Arab, not caring very much to part with his share of the spoil, would not take less than three to one; and to this the black sheik, after long and loud bargaining, had consented. Terence was led up, and placed alongside the three young darkies, who, instead of taking things as seriously as he, were exhibiting their ivories in broad grins of laughter, as if the disposal of their persons was an affair to be treated only as a joke! Our adventurers were now apprehensive that they were to be separated. Their only hope was that the bargaining would not end there; but would extend to a further exchange of six blacks for the two remaining whites. Their conjectures were interrupted by their seeing that the "swop" was not yet considered complete. What followed, in fact, showed them that it was not a regular trade at all; but a little bit of gambling between the two sheiks, in which Terence and the three young blacks were to be the respective stakes. Old Bill was able to explain the proceedings, from his experience of the preceding night; and as he saw the two sheiks repair to the place where his own proprietorship had been decided, he cried out:-- "Yere goin' to be gambled for, Masther Terry! Och! ye'll be along wid me,--for the black can bate the owld Arab at that game, all hollow." The holes in which the _helga_ had been played on the preceding night were now resorted to. The proper number of dung pellets were procured, and the game proceeded. It ended as the old man-o'-war's-man had prognosticated, by the black sheik becoming the winner and owner of Terence O'Connor. The Arab appeared sadly chagrined, and by the way in which he strutted and stormed over the ground, it was evident he would not rest satisfied with his loss. When did gamester ever leave gaming-table so long as a stake was left him to continue the play? Two of the midshipmen still belonged to the old sheik. With these he might obtain a _revanche_. He made the trial. He was unfortunate, as before. Either the luck was against him, or he was no match at "desert draughts" for his sable antagonist. It ended in the black sheik becoming the owner of the three midshipmen, who, restored to the companionship of Sailor Bill, in less than twenty minutes after the conclusion of the game, were trudging it across the desert in the direction of Timbuctoo! CHAPTER XLIII. GOLAH. In their journey over the sea of sand, our four adventurers formed part of a company of sixteen men and women, along with six or seven children. All were the property of one man,--the huge and dusky sheik who had won Sailor Bill and the three middies at "desert draughts." It soon became known to his white captives that his name was Golah, a name which Terence suggested might probably be an African abbreviation of the ancient name of Goliah. Golah was certainly a great man,--not in bone and flesh alone, but in intellect as well. We do not claim for him the gigantic mind that by arranging a few figures and symbols, by the light of a lamp in a garret, could discover a new planet in the solar system, and give its dimensions, weight, and distance from the dome of St. Paul's. Neither do we claim that the power of his intellect, if put forth in a storm of eloquence, could move the masses of his fellow-creatures, as a hurricane stirs up the waters of the sea; yet for all this Golah had a great intellect. He was born to rule, and not a particle of all the propensities and sentiments constituting his mind was ever intended to yield to the will of another. The cunning old sheik, who had the first claim to the three mids, had been anxious to retain them; but they were also wanted by Golah, and the Arab was compelled to give them up, after having been fairly beaten at the game; parting with his sable competitor in a mood that was anything but agreeable. The black sheik had three wives, all of whom possessed the gift of eloquence in a high degree. For all this a simple glance from him was enough to stop any one of them in the middle of a monosyllable. Even Fatima, the favorite, owed much of her influence to the ability she displayed in studying her lord's wishes to the neglect of her own. Golah had seven camels, four of which were required for carrying himself and his wives, with their children, trappings, tent utensils, and tents. The three other camels were laden with the spoils which had been collected from the wreck. Twelve of the sixteen adults in the company were compelled to walk, being forced to keep up with the camels the best way they could. One of these was Golah's son, a youth about eighteen years of age. He was armed with a long Moorish musket, a heavy Spanish sword, and the dirk that had been taken from Colin. He was the principal guard over the slaves, in which duty he was assisted by another youth, whom our adventurers afterwards learnt was a brother of one of Golah's wives. This second youth was armed with a musket and scimitar, and both he and Golah's son seemed to think that their lives depended on keeping a constant watch over the ten slaves; for there were six others besides Sailor Bill and his young companions. They had all been captured, purchased, or won at play, during Golah's present expedition, and were now on the way to some southern market. Two of the six were pronounced by Sailor Bill to be Kroomen,--a race of Africans with whose appearance he was somewhat familiar, having often seen them acting as sailors in ships coming from the African coast. The other slaves were much lighter in complexion, and by the old man-o'-war's-man were called "Portugee blacks." All had the appearance of having spent some time in bondage on the great Saära. On the first day of their journey the white captives had learnt the relations existing between the majority of the company and the chief Golah; and each of them felt shame as well as indignation at the humiliating position in which he was placed. Those feelings were partly excited and greatly strengthened by hunger and thirst, as well as by the painful toil they had to undergo in dragging themselves over the sandy plain beneath a scorching sun. "I have had enough of this," said Harry Blount to his companions. "We might be able to stand it several days longer, but I've no curiosity to learn whether we can or not." "Go on! you are thinking and speaking for me, Harry," said Terence. "There are four of us," continued Harry,--"four of that nation whose people boast they _never will be slaves_; besides, there are six others, who are our fellow-bondsmen. They're not much to look at, but still they might count for something in a row. Shall we four British tars, belong to a party of ten,--all enslaved by three men,--black men at that?" "That's just what I've been thinking about for the last hour or two," said Terence. "If we don't kill old Golah, and ride off with his camels, we deserve to pass every day of our lives as we're doing this one--in slavery." "Just say the word,--when and how," cried Harry "I'm waiting. There are seven camels. Let us each take one; but before we go we must eat and drink the other three. I'm starving." "Pitch on a plan, and I'll pitch into it," rejoined Terence. "I'm ready for anything,--from pitch and toss up to manslaughter." "Stay, Master Terence," interrupted the old sailor. "Av coorse ye are afther wantin' to do somethin', an' thin to think aftherwards why ye did it. Arry, my lad, yer half out o yer mind. Master Colin be the only yin o' ye that keeps his seven senses about him. Suppose all av ye, that the big chief was dead, an' that his son was not alive, and that the other nager was a ristin' quietly wid his black heels turned from the place where the daisies hought to grow,--what should we do thin? We 'ave neyther chart nor compass. We could'ner mak oot our reckonin'. Don't ye see a voyage here is just like one at sea, only it be just the revarse. When men are starvin' at sea, they want to find land, but when they are starvin' in the desert they want to find water. The big nager, our captain, can navigate this sea in safety,--we can't. We must let him take us to some port and then do the best we can to escape from him." "You are quite right," said Colin, "in thinking that we might be unable to find our way from one watering-place to another; but it is well for us to calculate all the chances. After reaching some _port_, as you call it, may we not find ourselves in a position more difficult to escape from,--where we will have to contend with a hundred or more of these negro brutes in place of only three?" "That's vary likely," answered the sailor; "but they're only men, and we 'av a chance of beatin' 'em. We may fight with men, and conquer 'em, an' we may fight with water an' conquer that; but when we fight against no water that will conquer us. Natur is sure to win." "Bill's right there," said Terence, "and I feel that Nature is getting the best of me already." While they were holding this conversation, they noticed that one of the Kroomen kept near them, and seemed listening to all that was said. His sparkling eyes betrayed the greatest interest. "Do you understand us?" asked old Bill, turning sharply towards the African, and speaking in an angry tone. "Yus, sa,--a lilly bit," answered the Krooman, without seeming to notice the unpleasant manner in which the question had been put. "And what are you listening for?" "To hear what you tell um. I like go in Ingleesh ship. You talk good for me. I go long with you." With some difficulty the sailor and his companions could comprehend the Krooman's gibberish. They managed to learn from him that he had once been in an English ship, and had made a voyage along the African coast, trading for palm-oil. While on board he had picked up a smattering of English. He was afterwards shipwrecked in a Portuguese brig. Cast away on the shores of the Saära, just as our adventurers had been, and had passed four years in the desert,--a slave to its denizens. He gratified our adventurers by telling them that they were in no danger of having to endure a prolonged period of captivity, as they would soon be sold into liberty, instead of slavery. Golah could not afford to keep slaves; and was only a kidnapper and dealer in the article. He would sell them to the highest bidder, and that would be some English consul on the coast. The Krooman said there was no such hope for him and his companions, for their country did not redeem its subjects from slavery. When he saw that Golah had obtained some English prisoners, he had been cheered with the hope that he might be redeemed along with them, as an English subject, to which right he had some claim from having served on an English ship! During the day the black slaves--well knowing the duty they were expected to perform, had been gathering pieces of dried camels' dung along the way; this was to supply fuel for the fire of the douar at night. Soon after sunset Golah ordered a halt, when the camels were unloaded and the tents set up. About one quarter the quantity of _sangleh_ that each required, was then served out to the slaves for their dinner, and as they had eaten nothing since morning, this article of food appeared to have greatly improved, both in appearance and flavor. To the palate of our adventurers it seemed delicious. Golah, after examining his human property, and evidently satisfied with the condition of all, retired to his tent; from which soon after issued sounds that resembled a distant thunder-storm. The black sheik was snoring! The two young men--his son and brother-in-law--relieved each other during the night in keeping watch over the slaves. Their vigil was altogether unnecessary. Weak, and exhausted with hunger and fatigue, the thoughts of the captives were not of the future, but of present repose; which was eagerly sought, and readily found, by all four of them. CHAPTER XLIV. A DAY OF AGONY. An hour before sunrise the next morning, the slaves were given some _cheni_ to drink, and then started on their journey. The sun, as it soared up into a cloudless sky, shot forth its rays much warmer than upon the day before, while not a breath of air fanned the sterile plain. The atmosphere was as hot and motionless as the sands under their feet. They were no longer hungry. Thirst--raging, burning thirst--extinguished or deadened every other sensation. Streams of perspiration poured from their bodies, as they struggled through the yielding sand; yet, with all this moisture streaming from every pore, their throats, tongues, and lips became so parched that any attempt on their part to hold converse only resulted in producing a series of sounds that resembled a death-rattle. Golah, with his family, rode in the advance, and seemed not to give himself any concern whether he was followed by others or not. His two relatives brought up the rear of the _kafila_, and any of the slaves exhibiting a disposition to lag behind was admonished to move on with blows administered by a thick stick. "Tell them I must have water or die," muttered Harry to the Krooman in a hoarse whisper. "I am worth money, and if old Golah lets me die for want of a drop of water, he's a fool." The Krooman refused to make the communication--which he declared would only result in bringing ill treatment upon himself. Colin appealed to Golah's son, and by signs gave him to understand that they must have water. The young black, in answer, simply condescended to sneer at him. He was not suffering himself, and could have no sympathy for another. The hides of the blacks, besmeared with oil, seemed to repel the scorching beams of the sun; and years of continual practice had no doubt inured them to the endurance of hunger and thirst to a surprising degree. To their white fellow-captives they appeared more like huge reptiles than human beings. The sand along the route on this, the second day, was less compact than before, and the task of leg-lifting, produced a weariness such as might have arisen from the hardest work. Added to the agony of their thirst, the white sufferers dwelt frequently on thoughts of death--that great antidote to human miseries; yet so constrained were their actions by force of circumstances, that only by following their leader and owner, Golah, could they hope to find relief. Had he allowed them to turn back to the coast, whence they had started, or even to repose for a few hours on the way, they could not have done so. They were compelled to move on, by a power that could not be resisted. That power was Hope,--the hope of obtaining some _sangleh_ and a little dirty water. To turn back, or to linger behind, would bring them nothing but more suffering,--perhaps death itself. A man intent on dying may throw himself into the water to get drowned, and then find himself involuntarily struggling to escape from the death he has courted. The same irresistible antipathy to death compelled his white captives to follow the black sheik. They were unwilling to die,--not for the sole reason that they had homes and friends they wished to see again,--not solely for that innate love of life, implanted by Nature in the breasts of all; but there was a pleasure which they desired to experience once more,--aye, yearned to indulge in it: the pleasure of quenching their terrible thirst. To gratify this pleasure they must follow Golah. One of Golah's wives had three children; and, as each wife was obliged to look after her own offspring, this woman could not pursue her journey without a little more trouble than her less favored companions. The eldest of her children was too young to walk a long distance; and, most of the time, was carried under her care upon the maherry. Having her three restless imps, to keep balanced upon the back of the camel, requiring her constant vigilance to prevent them from falling off, she found her hands full enough. It was a sort of travelling that did not at all suit her; and she had been casting about for some way of being relieved from at least a portion of her trouble. The plan she devised was to compel some one of the slaves to carry her eldest child, a boy about four years of age. Colin was the victim selected for this duty. All the attempts made by the young Scotchman to avoid the responsibilities thus imposed upon him proved vain. The woman was resolute, and Colin had to yield; although he resisted until she threatened to call Golah to her assistance. This argument was conclusive; and the young darkey was placed upon Colin's shoulders, with its legs around his neck, and one of its hands grasping him tightly by the hair. When this arrangement was completed, night had drawn near; and the two young men who acted as guards hastened forward to select a place for the douar. There was no danger of any of the slaves making an attempt to escape; for all were too anxious to receive the small quantity of food that was to be allowed them at the night halt. Encumbered with the "piccaninny," and wearied with the long, ceaseless struggle through the sand, Colin lingered behind his companions. The mother of the child, apparently attentive to the welfare of her first-born, checked the progress of her maherry, and rode back to him. After the camels had been unloaded, and the tents pitched, Golah superintended the serving out of their suppers, which consisted only of _sangleh_. The quantity was even less than had been given the evening before; but it was devoured by the white captives with a pleasure none of them had hitherto experienced. Sailor Bill declared that the brief time in which he was employed in consuming the few mouthfuls allowed him, was a moment of enjoyment that repaid him for all the sufferings of the day. "Ah, Master Arry!" said he, "it's only now we are larnin' to live, although I did think, one time to-day, we was just larnin' to die. I never mean to eat again until I'm hungry Master Terry," he added, turning to the young Irishman, "isn't this foine livin' intirely? and are yez not afther bein' happy?" "'T is the most delicious food man ever ate," answered Terence, "and the only fault I can find is that there is not enough of it." "Then you may have what is left of mine," said Colin, "for I can't say that I fancy it." Harry, Terence, and the sailor gazed at the young Scotchman with expressions of mingled alarm and surprise. Small as had been the amount of _sangleh_ with which Colin had been served, he had not eaten more than one half of it. "Why, puir Maister Colly, what is wrang wi' ye?" exclaimed Bill, in a tone expressing fear and pity. "If ye dinna eat, mon, ye'll dee." "I'm quite well," answered Colin, "but I have had plenty, and any of you can take what is left." Though the hunger of Colin's three companions was not half satisfied, they all refused to finish the remainder of his supper, hoping that he might soon find his appetite, and eat it himself. The pleasure they had enjoyed in eating the small allowance given them rendered it difficult for them to account for the conduct of their companion. His abstemiousness caused them uneasiness, even alarm. CHAPTER XLV. COLIN IN LUCK. The next morning, when the caravan started, Colin again had the care of the young black. He did not always have to carry him, as part of the time the boy trotted along by his side. During the fore-part of the day, the young Scotchman with his charge easily kept up with his companions, and some of the time might be seen a little in advance of them. His kind attentions to the boy were observed by Golah, who showed some sign of human feeling, by exhibiting a contortion of his features intended for a smile. Towards noon, Colin appeared to become fatigued with the toil of the journey, and then fell back to the rear, as he had done the evening before. Again the anxious mother, ever mindful of the welfare of her offspring, was seen to check her camel, and wait until Colin and the boy overtook her. Sailor Bill had been much surprised at Colin's conduct the evening before, especially at the patient manner in which the youth had submitted to the task of looking after the child. There was a mystery in the young Scotchman's behavior he could not comprehend,--a mystery that soon became more profound. It had also attracted the attention of Harry and Terence, notwithstanding the many unpleasant circumstances of the journey calculated to abstract their thoughts from him and his charge. Shortly after noon, the woman was seen driving Colin up to the _kafila_, urging him forward with loud screams, and blows administered with the knotted end of the rope by which she guided her maherry. After a time Golah, apparently annoyed by her shrill, scolding voice, ordered her to desist, and permit the slave to continue his journey in peace. Although unable to understand the meaning of her words, Colin must have known that the woman was not using terms of endearment. The screaming, angry tone, and the blows of the rope might have told him this; and yet he submitted to her reproaches and chastisements with a meekness and a philosophic resignation which surprised his companions. When his thoughts were not too much absorbed by painful reveries over the desire for food and water, Harry endeavored to converse with the Krooman already mentioned. He now applied to the man for an interpretation of the words so loudly vociferated by the angry negress, and launched upon the head of the patient young Scotchman. The Krooman said that she had called the lad a lazy pig, a Christian dog, and an unbelieving fool; and that she threatened to kill him unless he kept up with the _kafila_. On the third day of their journeying, it chanced not to be quite so hot as on the one preceding it; and consequently the sufferings of the slaves, especially from thirst, were somewhat less severe. "I shall never endure such agony again," said Harry, speaking of his experience of the previous day. "Perhaps I may die for the want of water, and on this desert; but I can never suffer so much real pain a second time." "'Ow is that, Master Arry?" asked Bill. "Because I cannot forget, after my experience of last night, that the greater the desire for water, the more pleasure there is in gratifying it; and the anticipation of such happiness will go far to alleviate anything I may hereafter feel." "Well, there be summat in that, for sartin," answered the sailor, "for I can't 'elp thinkin' about 'ow nice our supper was last night, and only 'ope it will taste as well to-night again." "We have learnt something new," said Terence, "new, at least, to me; and I shall know how to live when I get where there is plenty. Heretofore I have been like a child--eating and drinking half my time, not because I required it, but because I knew no better. There is Colly, now, he don't seem to appreciate the beauty of this Arabian style of living; or he may understand it better than we. Perhaps he is waiting until he acquires a better appetite, so that he may have all the more pleasure in gratifying it. Where is he now?" They all looked about. They saw that Colin had once more fallen behind; and that the mother of the child was again waiting for him. Harry and Terence walked on, expecting that they would soon see their companion rudely driven up by the angry negress. Sailor Bill stopped, as though he was interested in being a witness to the scene thus anticipated. In a few minutes after, the young Scotchman, with the child, was hurried forward by the enraged hag--who once more seemed in a great rage at his inability or unwillingness to keep up with the others. "I ken it 'a noo," said Bill, after he had stood for some time witnessing the ill-treatment heaped upon Colin. "Our freen Colly's in luck. I've no langer any wonder at his taking a' this tribble wi' the blackey bairn." "What is it, Bill? what have you learnt now?" asked Terence and Harry in a breath. "I've larnt why Colly could not eat his dinner yesterday." "Well, why was it?" "I've larnt that the nager's anger with Colly is all a pretince, an' that she's an old she schemer." "Nonsense, Bill; that is all a fancy of yours," said Colin, who, with the child on his shoulders, was now walking alongside his companions. "It is no fancy of mine, mon," answered Bill, "but a fancy o' the woman for a bra' fair luddie. What is it that she gives you to eat, Maister Colly?" Seeing that it was idle to conceal his good fortune any longer, Colin now confessed it,--informing them that the woman, whenever she could do so without being seen, had given him a handful of dried figs, with a drink of camel's milk from a leathern bottle which she carried under her cloak. Notwithstanding the opinion they had just expressed, on the enjoyment attending prolonged thirst and hunger, Colin's companions congratulated him on his good fortune,--one and all declaring their willingness to take charge of the little darkey, on the condition of being similarly rewarded. They had no suspicion at that moment that their opinions might soon undergo a change; and that Colin's supposed good fortune would ere long become a source of much uneasiness to all of them. CHAPTER XLVI. SAILOR BILL'S EXPERIMENT. The afternoon of this day was very warm, yet Golah rode on at such a quick pace, that it required the utmost exertion of the slaves to keep up with him. This manner of travelling, under the circumstances in which he was required to pursue it, proved too severe for Sailor Bill to endure with any degree of patience. He became unable, as he thought, to walk any farther; or, if not wholly unable, he was certainly unwilling, and he therefore sat down. A heavy shower of blows produced no effect in moving him from the spot where he had seated himself, and the two young men who acted as guards, not knowing what else to do, and having exhausted all their arguments, accompanied by a series of kicks, at length appealed to Golah. The sheik instantly turned his maherry, and rode back. Before he had reached the place, however, the three mids had used all their influence in an endeavor to get their old companion to move on. In this they had been joined by the Krooman, who entreated Bill, if he placed any value on his life, to get up before Golah should arrive, for he declared the monster would show him no mercy. "For God's sake," exclaimed Harry Blount, "if it is possible for you to get up and go a little way farther, do so." "Try to move on, man," said Terence, "and we will help you. Come, Bill, for the sake of your friends try to get up. Golah is close by." While thus speaking, Terence, assisted by Colin, took hold of Bill and tried to drag him to his feet; but the old sailor obstinately persisted in remaining upon the ground. "Perhaps I could walk on a bit farther," said he, "but I won't. I've 'ad enough on it. I'm goin' to ride, and let Golah walk awhile. He's better able to do it than I am. Now don't you boys be so foolish as to get yersels into trouble on my account. All ye've got to do is to look on, an' ye'll larn somethin'. If I've no youth an' beauty, like Colly, to bring me good luck, I've age and experience, and I'll get it by schamin'." On reaching the place where the sailor was sitting, Golah was informed of what had caused the delay, and that the usual remedy had failed of effect. He did not seem displeased at the communication. On the contrary, his huge features bore an expression that for him might have been considered pleasant. He quietly ordered the slave to get up, and pursue his journey. The weary sailor had blistered feet; and, with his strength almost exhausted by hunger and thirst, had reached the point of desperation. Moreover, for the benefit of himself and his young companions, he wished to try an experiment. He told the Krooman to inform the sheik that he would go on, if allowed to ride one of the camels. "You want me to kill you?" exclaimed Golah, when this communication was made to him; "you want to cheat me out of the price I have paid for you; but you shall not. You must go on. I, Golah, have said it." The sailor, in reply, swore there was no possible chance for them to take him any farther, without allowing him to ride. This answer to the sheik's civil request was communicated by the Krooman; and, for a moment, Golah seemed puzzled as to how he should act. He would not kill the slave after saying that he must go on; nor would he have him carried, since the man would then gain his point. He stood for a minute meditating on what was to be done. Then a hideous smile stole over his features. He had mastered the difficulty. Taking its halter from the camel, he fastened one end of it to the saddle, and the other around the wrists of the sailor. Poor old Bill made resistance to being thus bound, but he was like an infant in the powerful grasp of the black sheik. The son and brother-in-law of Golah stood by with their muskets on full cock, and the first move any of Bill's companions could have made to assist him, would have been a signal for them to fire. When the fastenings were completed, the sheik ordered his son to lead the camel forward, and the sailor, suddenly jerked from his attitude of repose, was rudely dragged onward over the sand. "You are going now!" exclaimed Golah, nearly frantic with delight; "and we are not carrying you, are we? Neither are you riding? _Bismillah!_ I am your master!" The torture of travelling in this manner was too great to be long endured, and Bill had to take to his feet and walk forward as before. He was conquered; but as a punishment for the trouble he had caused, the sheik kept him towing at the tail of the camel for the remainder of that day's journey. Any one of the white slaves would once have thought that he possessed too much spirit to allow himself or a friend to be subjected to such treatment as Bill had that day endured. None of them was deficient in true courage; yet the proud spirit, of which each had once thought himself possessed, was now subdued by a power to which, if it be properly applied, all animate things must yield. That power was the feeling of hunger; and there is no creature so wild and fierce but will tamely submit to the dominion of the man who commands it. It is a power that must be used with discretion, or the victims to it, urged by desperation, may destroy their keeper. Golah had the wisdom to wield it with effect; for by it, with the assistance of two striplings, he easily controlled those who, under other circumstances, would have claimed the right to be free. CHAPTER XLVII. AN UNJUST REWARD. The next morning on resuming the journey Golah condescended to tell his captives that they should reach a well or spring that afternoon, and stay by it for two or three days. This news was conveyed to Harry by the Krooman; and all were elated at the prospect of rest, with a plentiful supply of water. Harry had a long conversation with the Krooman as they were pursuing their route. The latter expressed his surprise that the white captives were so contented to go on in the course in which the sheik was conducting them. This was a subject about which Harry and his companions had given themselves no concern; partly because that they had no idea that Golah was intending to make a very long journey, and partly that they supposed his intentions, whatever they were, could not be changed by anything they might propose. The Krooman thought different. He told Harry that the route they were following, if continued, would lead them far into the interior of the country--probably to Timbuctoo; and that Golah should be entreated to take them to some port on the coast, where they might be ransomed by an English consul. Harry perceived the truth of these suggestions; and, after having a conversation with his companions, it was determined between them that they should have a talk with Golah that very night. The Krooman promised to act as interpreter, and to do all in his power to favor their suit. He might persuade the sheik to change his destination, by telling him that he would find a far better market in taking them to some place where vessels arrive and depart, than by carrying them into the interior of the country. The man then added, speaking in a mysterious manner, that there was one more subject on which he wished to give them warning. When pressed to mention it, he appeared reluctant to do so. He was at last prevailed upon to be more communicative; when he proclaimed his opinion, that their companion, Colin, would never leave the desert. "Why is that?" asked Harry. "Bom-by he be kill. De sheik kill um." Although partly surmising his reasons for having formed this opinion, Harry urged him to further explain himself. "Ef Golah see de moder ob de piccaninny gib dat lad one lilly fig,--one drop ob drink, he kill um, sartin-sure. I see, one, two,--seb'ral more see. Golah no fool. Bom-by he see too, and kill um bof,--de lad an' de piccaninny moder." Harry promised to warn his companion of the danger, and save him before the suspicions of Golah should be aroused. "No good, no good," said the Krooman. In explanation of this assertion, Harry was told that, should the young Scotchman refuse any favor from the woman, her wounded vanity would change her liking to the most bitter hatred, and she would then contrive to bring down upon him the anger of Golah,--an anger that would certainly be fatal to its victim. "Then what must I do to save him?" asked Harry. "Noting," answered the Krooman. "You noting can do. Ony bid him be good man, and talk much,--pray to God. Golah wife lub him, and he sure muss die." Harry informed the sailor and Terence of what the Krooman had told him, and the three took counsel together. "I believes as how the darkey be right," said Bill. "Of course, if the swab Goliarh larns as 'ow one av 'is wives ha' taken a fancy to Master Colly, 't will be all up wi' the poor lad. He will be killed,--and mayhap eaten too, for that matter." "Like enough," assented Terence. "And should he scorn her very particular attentions, her resentment might be equally as dangerous as Golah's. I fear poor Colin has drifted into trouble." "What ye be afther sayin' about the woman," said Bill, "'minds me o' a little story I wunce heeard whin I was a boy. I read it in a book called the Bible. It was about a young man, somethin' like Master Colly, barrin' his name was Joseph. A potter's wife tuck a fancy to him; but Joseph, bein' a dacent an' honest youngster, treted her wid contimpt, an' came to great grief by doin' that same. You must 'ave read that story, Master 'Arry," continued Bill, turning from Terence to the young Englishman, and changing his style of pronunciation. "Did it not 'appen summers in this part o' the world? Hif I remember rightly, it did. I know 't was summers in furrin parts." "Yes," answered Harry, "that little affair did happen in this part of the world,--since it was in Africa,--and our comrade has a fair prospect of being more unfortunate than Joseph. In truth, I don't see how we shall be able to assist him." "There he is, about a hundred cable lengths astern," said Bill, looking back. "And there's the old 'oman, too, lookin' sharp afther him, while Colly is atin' the figs and drinkin' the camel's milk; and while I'm dying for a dhrop of that same, old Goliarh is no doubt proud wid the great care she's takin' of his child. Bud won't there be a row when he larns summat more? Won't there, Master 'Arry?" "There will, indeed," answered Harry. "Colin will soon be up with us, and we must talk to him." Harry was right, for Colin soon after overtook them,--having been driven up as usual by the negress, who seemed in great anger at the trouble he was causing her. "Colin," said Harry, when their companion and the child had joined them, "you must keep that woman away from you. Her partiality for you has already been noticed by others. The Krooman has just been telling us that you will not live much longer; that Golah is neither blind nor foolish; and that, on the slightest suspicion he has of the woman showing you any favor,--even to giving you a fig,--he will kill you." "But what can I do?" asked Colin. "If the woman should come to you and offer you a handful of figs and a drink of milk, could you refuse them?" "No, I certainly could not. I only wish such an alternative would present itself; but you must manage in some way or other to keep away from her. You must not linger behind, but remain all the time by us." "If you knew," asked Colin, "that you could quench your thirst by lagging a few paces behind, would you not do so?" "That would be a strong temptation, and I should probably yield; but I tell you that you are in danger." Neither of Colin's companions could blame him. Suffering, as he was, from the ceaseless agony of hunger and thirst, any indiscretion, or even crime, seemed justifiable, for the sake of obtaining relief. The day became hotter and hotter, until in the afternoon the sufferings of the slaves grew almost unendurable. Sailor Bill appeared to be more severely affected than any of his companions. He had been knocking about the world for many long years, injuring his constitution by dissipation and exposure in many climes; and the siege that thirst and hunger were now making to destroy his strength became each hour more perceptible in its effect. By the middle of the afternoon it was with the utmost difficulty he could move along; and his tongue was so parched that in an attempt to speak he wholly failed. His hands were stretched forth towards Colin; who, since the warning he had received, had kept up along with the rest. Colin understood the signal; and placed the boy on the old man's shoulders. Bill wished to learn if the mother would reward him for taking care of her child, as she had his predecessor in the office. To carry out the experiment he allowed himself to be left in the rear of the caravan. Golah's son and the other guard had noticed the old sailor's suffering condition, and objected to his being incumbered with the child. They pointed to Harry and Terence; but Bill was resolute in holding on to his charge; and cursing him for an unbelieving fool, they allowed him to have his own way. Not long after, the mother of the child was seen to stop her camel, and the three mids passed by her unnoticed. The old sailor hastened up as fast as his weary limbs would allow to receive the hoped-for reward; but the poor fellow was doomed to a cruel disappointment. When the woman perceived who had been entrusted with the carrying of her child, she pronounced two or three phrases in a sharp, angry tone. Understanding them, the child dismounted from the sailor's back and ran with all speed towards her. Bill's reward was a storm of invectives, accompanied by a shower of blows with the knotted end of the halter. He strove to avoid the punishment by increasing his speed; but the camel seemed to understand the relative distance that should be maintained between its rider and the sailor, so that the former might deliver and the latter receive the blows with the most painful effect. This position it kept until Bill had got up to his companions; his naked shoulders bearing crimson evidence of the woman's ability in the handling of a rope's end. As she rode past Colin, who had again taken charge of the child, she gave the young Scotchman a look that seemed to say, "You have betrayed me!" and without waiting for a look in return, she passed on to join her husband at the head of the caravan. The black slaves appeared highly amused at the sailor's misfortunes. The incident had aroused their expiring energies, and the journey was pursued by them with more animation than ever. Bill's disappointment was not without some beneficial effect upon himself. He was so much revived by the beating, that he soon after recovered his tongue; and as he shuffled on alongside his companions, they could hear him muttering curses, some in good English, some in bad, some in a rich Irish brogue, and some in the broadest Scotch. CHAPTER XLVIII. THE WATERLESS WELL. Golah expected to reach the watering-place early in the evening; and all the caravan was excited by the anticipation of soon obtaining a plentiful supply of water. It was well they were inspired by this hope. But for that, long before the sun had set, Sailor Bill and three or four others would have dropped down in despair, physically unable to have moved any further. But the prospect of plenty of water, to be found only a few miles ahead, brought, at the same time, resolution, strength, and life. Faint and feeble, they struggled on, nearly mad with the agony of nature's fierce demands; and soon after sunset they succeeded in reaching the well. It was dry! Not a drop of the much desired element was shining in the cavity where they had expected to find it. Sailor Bill and some of the other slaves sank upon the earth, muttering prayers for immediate death. Golah was in a great rage with everything, and his wives, children, slaves, and camels, that were most familiar with his moods, rushed here and there to get out of his way. Suddenly he seemed to decide on a course to be taken in this terrible emergency, and his anger to some extent subsided. Unbuckling the last goat-skin of water from one of the camels, he poured out a small cup for each individual of the _kafila_. Each was then served with a little _sangleh_ and a couple of dried figs. All were now ordered to move on towards the west, Golah leading the way. The new route was at right angles to the course they had been following during the earlier part of the day. Some of the slaves who declared that they were unable to go further, found out, after receiving a few ticklings of the stick, that they had been mistaken. The application of Golah's cudgel awakened dormant energies of which they had not deemed themselves possessed. After proceeding about two miles from the scene of their disappointment, Golah suddenly stopped,--as he did so, giving to his followers some orders in a low tone. The camels were immediately brought into a circle, forced to kneel down, while their lading was removed from them. While this was going on, the white captives heard voices, and the trampling of horses' hoofs. The black sheik, with his highly educated ear, had detected the approach of strangers. This had caused him to order the halt. When the noises had approached a little nearer Golah called out in Arabic: "Is it peace?" "It is," was the answer; and as the strangers drew nearer, the salutations of "Peace be with you!"--"Peace be with all here, and with your friends!" were exchanged. The caravan they had met consisted of between fifteen and twenty men, some horses and camels; and the sheik who commanded it inquired of Golah from whence he came. "From the west," answered Golah, giving them to understand that he was travelling the same way as themselves. "Then why did you not keep on to the well?" was the next inquiry. "It is too far away," answered Golah. "We are very weary." "It is not far," said the chief, "not more than half a league. You had better go on." "No. I think it is more than two leagues, and we shall wait till morning." "_We_ shall not. I know the well is not far away, and we shall reach it to-night." "Very well," said Golah, "go, and may God be with you. But stay, masters, have you a camel to sell?" "Yes, a good one. It is a little fatigued now, but will be strong in the morning." Golah was aware that any camel they would sell him that night would be one that could only move with much difficulty,--one that they despaired of getting any further on the way. The black sheik knew his own business best; and was willing they should think they had cheated him in the bargain. After wrangling for a few minutes, he succeeded in buying their camel,--the price being a pair of blankets, a shirt, and the dirk that had been taken from Terence. The camel had no cargo; and had for some time been forced onward at considerable trouble to its owner. The strangers soon took their departure, going off in the direction of the dry well. As soon as they were out of sight Golah gave orders to reload the animals, and resume the interrupted march. To excite the slaves to a continuance of the journey, he promised that the camel he had purchased should be slaughtered on the next morning for their breakfast; and that they should have a long rest in the shade of the tents during the following day. This promise, undoubtedly, had the anticipated effect in revivifying their failing energies, and they managed to move on until near daybreak, when the camel lately purchased laid itself down, and philosophically resisted every attempt at compelling it to continue the journey. It was worn out with toil and hunger, and could not recover its feet. The other animals were stopped and unladen, the tents were pitched, and preparations made for resting throughout the day. After some dry weeds had been collected for fuel, Golah proceeded to fulfil his promise of giving them plenty of food. A noose was made at the end of a rope, and placed around the camel's lower jaw. Its head was then screwed about, as far as it would reach, and the rope was made fast to the root of its tail,--the long neck of the camel allowing its head to be brought within a few inches of the place where the rope was tied. Fatima, the favorite, stood by holding a copper kettle; while Golah opened a vein on the side of the animal's neck near the breastbone. The blood gushed forth in a stream; and before the camel had breathed its last, the vessel held to catch it had become filled more than half full. The kettle was then placed over the fire, and the blood boiled and stirred with a stick until it had become as thick as porridge. It was then taken off, and when it had cooled down, it resembled, both in color and consistency, the liver of a fresh killed bullock. This food was divided amongst the slaves, and was greedily devoured by all. The heart and liver of the camel, Golah ordered to be cooked for his own family; and what little flesh was on the bones, was cut into strips, and hung up in the sun to dry. In one portion of the camel's stomach was about a gallon and a half of water, thick and dirty with the vegetation it had last consumed; but all was carefully poured into a goat's skin, and preserved for future use. The intestines were also saved, and hung out in the sun to get cured by drying, to be afterwards eaten by the slaves. During the day Harry and Terence asked for an interview with Golah; and, accompanied by the Krooman, were allowed to sit down by the door of his tent while they conversed with him. Harry instructed the Krooman to inform their master, that if they were taken to some seaport, a higher ransom would be paid for them than any price for which they could be sold elsewhere. Golah's reply to this information was, that he doubted its truth; that he did not like seaport towns; that his business lay away from the sea; and that he was anxious to reach Timbuctoo as soon as possible. He further stated, that if all his slaves were Christian dogs, who had reached the country in ships, it might be worth his while to take them to some port where they would be redeemed; but as the most of them were of countries that did not pay ransoms for their subjects, there would be no use in his carrying them to the coast,--where they might escape from him, and he would then have had all his trouble for nothing. He was next asked if he would not try to sell the white captives along with the two Kroomen, to some slave dealer, who would take them to the coast for a market. Golah would not promise this. He said, that to do so, he should have to sell them on the desert, where he could not obtain half their value. The only information they were able to obtain from him was, that they were quite certain of seeing that far-famed city, Timbuctoo,--that was if they should prove strong enough to endure the hardships of the journey. After thanking Golah for his condescension in listening to their appeal, the Krooman withdrew, followed by the others, who now for the first time began to realize the horror of their position. A plentiful supply of food, along with the day's rest, had caused all the white slaves to turn their thoughts from the present to the future. Harry Blount and Terence, after their interview with Golah, found Colin and Sailor Bill anxiously awaiting their return. "Well, what's the news?" asked Bill, as they drew near. "Very bad," answered Terence. "There is no hope for us: we are going to Timbuctoo." "No, I'm no going there," said Bill, "if it was in another world I might see the place soon enough, but in this, niver,--niver!" CHAPTER XLIX. THE WELL. At an early hour next morning the caravan started on its journey, still moving westward. This direction Golah was compelled to pursue to obtain a supply of water, although it was taking him no nearer his destination. Two days' journey was before them ere they could reach another well. While performing it, Golah, vexed at the delay thus occasioned, was in very ill-humor with things in general. Some of his displeasure was vented upon the camel he was riding, and the animal was usually driven far ahead of the others. The sheik's wrath also fell upon his wives for lingering behind, and then upon the slaves for not following closer upon the heels of his camel. His son, and brother-in-law, would at intervals be solemnly cursed in the name of the Prophet for not driving the slaves faster. Before the well had been reached, the four white slaves were in a very wretched condition. Their feet were blistered and roasted by the hot sand, and as the clothing allowed them was insufficient protection against the blazing sun, their necks and legs were inflamed and bleeding. The intestines and most of the flesh of the slaughtered camel had been long ago consumed, as well as the filthy water taken from its stomach. Colin had again established himself in the favor of the sheik's wife, and was allowed to have the care of the child; but the little food and drink he received for his attention to it were dearly earned. The weight of the young negro was a serious incumbrance in a weary journey through what seemed to be a burning plain; moreover the "darkey," in keeping its seat on the young Scotchman's shoulders, had pulled a quantity of hair out of his head, besides rendering his scalp exceedingly irritable to further treatment of a like kind. Hungry, thirsty, weak, lame, and weary, the wretched captives struggled on until the well was reached. On arriving within sight of a small hill on which were growing two or three sickly bushes, Golah pointed towards it, at the same time turning his face to those who were following him. All understood the signal, and seemed suddenly inspired with hope and happiness. The travellers pressed forward with awakened energy, and after passing over the hill came in sight of the well at its foot. The eagerness exhibited by the slaves to quench their thirst might have been amusing to any others than those who beheld them; but their master seemed intent on giving them a further lesson in the virtue of patience. He first ordered the camels to be unladen, and the tents to be pitched. While some were doing this, he directed others to seek for fuel. Meanwhile, he amused himself by collecting all the dishes and drinking-vessels, and placing them contiguous to the well. He then attached a rope to a leathern bucket, and, drawing water from the reservoir, he carefully filled the utensils, with the least possible waste of the precious fluid his followers were so anxious to obtain. When his arrangements were completed, he called his wives and children around him. Then, serving out to each of them about a pint of the water, and giving them a few seconds for swallowing it, he ordered them off. Each obeyed without a murmur, all apparently satisfied. The slaves were next called up, and then there was a rush in real earnest. The vessels were eagerly seized, and their contents greedily swallowed. They were presented for more, refilled, and again emptied. The quantity of water swallowed by Sailor Bill and his three young companions, and the rapacity with which it was gulped down, caused Golah to declare that there was but one God, that Mahomet was his Prophet, and that four of the slaves about him were Christian swine. After all had satisfied the demands of nature, Golah showed them the quantity of water he deemed sufficient for a thirsty individual by drinking about a pint himself--not more than a fifth of the amount consumed by each of his white slaves. Long years of short allowance had accustomed the negro sheik to make shift with a limited allowance of the precious commodity, and yet continue strong and active. About two hours after they had reached the well, and just as they had finished watering the camels, another caravan arrived. Its leader was hailed by Golah with the words, "Is it peace?"--the usual salutation when strangers meet on the desert. The answer was, "It is peace"; and the new comers dismounted, and pitched their camp. Next morning Golah had a long talk with their sheik, after which he returned to his own tents in much apparent uneasiness. The caravan newly arrived consisted of eleven men, with eight camels and three Saäran horses. The men were all Arabs--none of them being slaves. They were well armed, and carried no merchandise. They had lately come from the northwest, for what purpose Golah knew not: since the account the stranger sheik had given of himself was not satisfactory. Though very short of provisions, Golah resolved not to leave the well that day; and the Krooman learnt that this resolution was caused by his fear of the strangers. "If he is afraid of them," said Harry, "I should suppose that would make him all the more anxious to get out of their company." The Krooman, in explanation, stated that if the Arabs were robbers--pirates of the desert--they would not molest Golah so long as he remained at the well. In this the Krooman was correct. Highway robbers do not waylay their victims at an inn, but on the road. Pirates do not plunder ships in a harbor, but out on the open ocean. Custom, founded on some good purpose, has established a similar rule on the great sandy ocean of the Saära. "I wish they were robbers, and would take us from Golah!" said Colin. "We should then perhaps be carried to the north, where we might be ransomed some time or other. As it is, if we are to be taken to Timbuctoo, we shall never escape out of Africa." "We shall not be taken there," cried Terence. "We shall turn robbers ourselves first. I will for one; and when I do, Golah shall be robbed of one of his slaves at least." "An' that wan will be Misther Terence O'Connor, ov coorse?" said Bill. "Yes." "Thin ye will 'ave done no more than Master Colly, who has already robbed 'im ov twa--the haffections ov 'is wife an' bairn." "That will do, Bill," said Colin, who did not like hearing any allusion made to the woman. "We have something else that should engage our attention. Since we have learnt that they intend taking us to Timbuctoo, it is time we began to act. We must not go there." "That is understood," said Harry; "but what can we do? Something should be done immediately. Every day we journey southward carries us farther from home, or the chance of ever getting there. Perhaps these Arabs may buy us, and take us north. Suppose we get the Krooman to speak to them?" All consented to this course. The Krooman was called, and when informed of their wishes he said that he must not be seen speaking to the Arabs, or Golah would be displeased. He also stated--what the white captives had already observed--that Golah and his son were keeping a sharp watch over them, as well as over the strangers; and that an opportunity of talking to the Arab sheik might not be easily obtained. While he was still speaking, the latter was observed proceeding towards the well to draw some water. The Krooman instantly arose, and sauntered after. He was observed by the quick eye of Golah, who called to him to come away; which he did, but not before quenching his thirst, that did not appear to be very great. On the Krooman's return from the well, he informed Harry that he had spoken to the Arab sheik. He had said, "Buy us. You will get plenty of money for us in Swearah;" and that the reply of the sheik was, "The white slaves are dogs, and not worth buying." "Then we have no hope from that source!" exclaimed Terence. The Krooman shook his head; not despondently, but as if he did not agree in the opinion Terence had expressed. "What! do you think there is any hope?" asked Harry. The man gave a nod of assent. "How? In what way?" The Krooman vouchsafed no explanation, but sauntered silently away. When the sun was within two or three hours of setting over the Saära, the Arabs struck their tents, and started off in the direction of the dry well--from whence Golah and his caravan had just come. After they had disappeared behind the hill, Golah's son was sent to its top to watch them, while his women and slaves were ordered to strike the tents as quickly as possible. Then waiting till the shades of night had descended over the desert, and the strangers were beyond the reach of vision, Golah gave orders to resume the march once more in a southeasterly direction--which would carry them away from the seacoast--and, as the white slaves believed, from all chances of their ever recovering their freedom. The Krooman, on the contrary, appeared to be pleased at their taking this direction, notwithstanding the objections he had expressed to going inland. CHAPTER L. A MOMENTOUS INQUIRY. During the night's journey Golah still seemed to have some fear of the Arabs; and so great was his desire to place as much ground as possible between himself and them, that he did not halt, until the sun was more than two hours above the horizon. For some time before a halt had been planned, Fatima, his favorite wife, had been riding by his side, and making, what seemed, from the excited movements of both, an important communication. After the tents had been pitched, and food was about being served out, Golah commanded the mother of the boy carried by Colin to produce the bag of figs that had been intrusted to her keeping. Trembling with apprehension, the woman rose to obey. The Krooman glanced at the white captives with an expression of horror; and although they had not understood Golah's command, they saw that something was going wrong. The woman produced the bag; which was not quite half full. There were in it about two quarts of dried figs. The figs that had been served out three days before at the dry well had been taken from another bag kept in the custody of Fatima. The one now produced by the second wife should have been full: and Golah demanded to know why it was not. The woman tremblingly asseverated that she and her children had eaten them. At this confession Fatima uttered a scornful laugh, and spoke a few words that increased the terror of the delinquent mother,--at the same time causing the boy to commence howling with affright. "I tell you so," said the Krooman, who was standing near the white slaves; "Fatima say to Golah, 'Christian dog eat the figs'; Golah kill him now; he kill da woman too." In the opinion of those who travel the great desert, about the greatest crime that can be committed is to steal food or drink, and consume either unknown to their companions of the journey. Articles of food intrusted to the care of any one must be guarded and preserved,--even at the expense of life. Under no circumstances may a morsel be consumed, until it is produced in the presence of all, and a division, either equitable or otherwise, has been made. Even had the story told by the woman been true, her crime would have been considered sufficiently great to have endangered her life; but her sin was greater than that. She had bestowed favor upon a slave,--a Christian dog,--and had aroused the jealousy of her Mahometan lord and master. Fatima seemed happy; for nothing less than a miracle could, in her opinion, save the life of her fellow-wife, who chanced to be a hated rival. After drawing his scimitar from its sheath, and cocking his musket, Golah ordered all the slaves to squat themselves on the ground, and in a row. This order was quickly comprehended and obeyed,--the whites seating themselves together at one end of the line. Golah's son and the other guard--each with his musket loaded and cocked--were stationed in front of the row: and were ordered by the sheik to shoot any one who attempted to get up from the ground. The monster then stepped up to Colin, and, seizing the young Scotchman by the auburn locks, dragged him a few paces apart from his companions. There, for a time, he was left alone. Golah then proceeded to serve out some cheni to every individual on the ground; but none was given to the woman who had aroused his anger, nor to Colin. In the sheik's opinion, to have offered them food would have been an act as foolish as to have poured it upon the sands. Food was intended to sustain life, and it was not designed by him that they should live much longer. And yet it was evident from his manner that he had not quite determined as to how they were to die. The two guards, with the muskets in their grasp, kept a sharp eye on the slaves, while Golah became engaged in a close consultation with Fatima. "What shall we do?" asked Terence; "the old villain means mischief, and how can we prevent it? We must not let him kill poor Colly?" "We must do something immediately," said Harry. "We have neglected it too long, and shall now have to act under the disadvantage of their being prepared for an attack. Bill, what should we do?" "I was just thinking," said Bill, "that if we all made a rush at 'em, at the words _One--two--three!_ not more 'n two or three of us might be killed afore we grappled with 'em. Now, this might do, if these black fellows would only jine us." The Krooman here expressed himself as one willing to take his chance in any action they should propose, and believed that his countrymen would do the same. He feared, however, that the other blacks could not be trusted, and that any proposal he might make to them would be in a language the two guards would understand. "Well, then," said Harry, "there will be six of us against three. Shall I give the word?" "All right!" said Terence, drawing his feet under his body, by way of preparation for rising suddenly. The scheme was a desperate one, but all seemed willing to undertake it. Since leaving the well, they had felt convinced that life and liberty depended on their making a struggle; though circumstances seemed to have forced that struggle upon them when there was the least hope of success. "Now all make ready," muttered Harry, speaking in a calm voice, so as not to excite the attention of the guards. "_One!_" "Stop!" exclaimed Colin, who had been listening attentively to all that was said. "I'm not with you. We should all be killed. Two or three would be shot, and the sheik himself could finish all the rest with his scimitar. It is better for him to kill me, if he really means to do so, than to have all four destroyed in the vain hope of trying to save one." "It is not for you alone that we are going to act," interposed Harry. "It is as much for ourselves." "Then act when there is a chance of succeeding," pursued Colin. "You cannot save me, and will only lose your own lives." "De big black sheik am going to kill someb'dy, dat berry sure," said the Krooman, as he sat with his eyes fixed upon Golah. The latter was still in consultation with Fatima, his face wearing an expression that was horrible for all except herself to behold. Murder by excruciating torture seemed written on every feature of his countenance. The woman, upon whose manner of death they were deliberating, was in the act of caressing her children, apparently conscious that she had but a few minutes more to remain in their company. Her features wore an expression of calm and hopeless resignation, as if she had yielded herself up to the decree of an inevitable fate. The third wife had retired a short distance from the others. With her child in her arms, she sat upon the ground, contemplating the scene before her with a look of mingled surprise, curiosity, and regret. From the appearance of the whole caravan, a stranger could have divined that some event of thrilling interest was about to transpire. "Colin," cried Terence, encouragingly, "we won't sit here quietly, and see you meet death. We had better do something while yet we have a chance. Let Harry give the word." "I tell you it's madness," expostulated Colin. "Wait till we see what he intends doing. Perhaps he'll keep me a while for future vengeance, and ye may have a chance of a rescue when there are not two men standing over us ready to blow our brains out." Colin's companions saw there was truth in this remark, and for a while they waited in silence, with their eyes fixed upon the tent of the sheik. They had not long to wait, for, soon after, Golah came forth, having finished his consultation with Fatima. On his face appeared a hideous smile,--a smile that made most of those who beheld it shudder with a sensation of horror. CHAPTER LI. A LIVING GRAVE. Golah's first act after coming forth was to take some thongs from his saddle. Having done this, he beckoned to the two who guarded the slaves, giving them some admonition in an unknown tongue. The effect was to excite their greater vigilance. The muzzles of their muskets were turned towards the white captives, and they seemed anxiously waiting the order to fire. Golah then looked towards Terence, and made a sign for the young Irishman to get up and come towards him. Terence hesitated. "Go on, Terry," muttered Colin "He don't mean _you_ any harm." At this instant Fatima stepped out from the tent, armed with her husband's scimitar, and apparently anxious for an opportunity of using it. Acting under the advice of the others, Terence sprang to his feet: and advanced to the spot where the sheik was standing. The Krooman who spoke English was then called up; and Golah, taking him and the midshipman each by a hand, led them into his tent,--whither they were followed by Fatima. The sheik now addressed a few words to the Krooman, who then told Terence that his life depended on perfect obedience to Golah's orders. His hands were to be tied; and he must not call out so as to be heard by the others. "He say," said the Krooman, "if you no make fight, and no make noise, he no kill you." The man further counselled Terence to submit quietly,--saying that the least resistance would lead to all the white slaves being killed. Though possessing more than average strength and power for a youth of his age, Terence knew that, in a strife with the gigantic black sheik, he would not have the slightest chance of being victor. Should he shout to his companions, and have them all act in concert,--as they had already proposed? No. Such an act would most likely lead to two of them being shot; to the third having his brains knocked out with the butt-end of a musket; and to the fourth,--himself,--being strangled in the powerful grasp of Golah, if not beheaded with the scimitar in the hands of Fatima. On reflection, the young Scotchman yielded, and permitted his hands to be tied behind his back; so, too, did the Krooman. Golah now stepped out of the tent: and immediately after returned, leading Harry Blount along with him. On reaching the opening, and seeing Terence and the Krooman lying bound upon the floor, the young Englishman started back, and struggled to free himself from the grasp of the hand that had hold of him. His efforts only resulted in his being instantly flung to the earth, and fast held by his powerful adversary, who at the same time was also employed in protecting his victim from the fury of Fatima. Terence, Harry, and the Krooman were now conducted back over the ground, and placed in their former position in the row,--from which they had been temporarily taken. Sailor Bill and Colin were next treated in a similar fashion,--both being fast bound like their companions. "What does the ould divil mane?" asked Bill when Golah was tying his hands together. "Will he murder us all?" "No," answered the Krooman, "He no kill but one of your party." His eyes turned upon Colin as he spoke. "Colin! Colin!" exclaimed Harry; "see what you have done by opposing our plan! We are all helpless now." "And so much the better for yourselves," answered Colin. "You will now suffer no further harm." "If he means no harm, why has he bound us?" asked Bill. "It's a queer way of showing friendship." "Yes, but a safe one," answered Colin. "You cannot now bring yourselves into danger by a foolish resistance to his will." Terence and Harry understood Colin's meaning; and now, for the first time, comprehended the reason why they had been bound. It was to prevent them from interfering with Golah's plans for the disposal of his two victims. Now that the white slaves were secured, no danger was apprehended from the others; and the two who had been guarding them, retired to the shade of a tent to refresh themselves with a drink of cheni. While the brief conversation above related was being held, Golah had become busily engaged in overhauling the lading of one of his camels. The object of his search was soon discovered: for, the moment after, he came towards them carrying a long Moorish spade. Two of the black slaves were then called from the line; the spade was placed in the hands of one, and a wooden dish was given to the other. They were then ordered to make a large hole in the sand,--to accomplish which they at once set to work. "They are digging a grave for me, or that of the poor woman,--perhaps for both of us?" suggested Colin, as he calmly gazed on the spectacle. His companions had no doubt but that it was as he had said; and sat contemplating the scene in melancholy silence. While the slaves were engaged in scooping up the hole, Golah called the two guards, and gave them some orders about continuing the journey. The blacks set about the work were but a few minutes in making an excavation in the loose sand of some four feet in depth. They were then directed to dig another. "It's all over with me," said Colin; "he intends to kill two, and of course I must be one of them." "He _should_ kill us all," exclaimed Terence. "We deserve it for leaving the well last night. We should have made an effort for our lives, while we had the chance." "You are right," replied Harry; "we _are_ fools, cowardly fools! We deserve neither pity in this world nor happiness in the next. Colly, my friend, if you meet with any harm, I swear to avenge it, whenever my hands are free." "And I'll be with you," added Terence. "Never mind me, old comrades," answered Colin, who seemed less excited than the others. "Do the best you can for yourselves, and you may some time escape from this monster." The attention of Harry was now attracted to Sailor Bill, who had turned his back toward one of the black slaves sitting near him, and was by signs entreating the man to untie his hand. The man refused, evidently fearing the anger of Golah should he be detected. The second Krooman, who was unbound, now offered to loose the hands of his countryman; but the latter seemed satisfied with his want of freedom, and refused the proffered aid. He also feared death at the hands of Golah. If left to divine the ultimate intentions of the black sheik by the knowledge of human nature they had acquired before falling into his hands, the white captives would not have been seriously alarmed for the welfare of any one of their number. But Golah was a specimen of natural history new to them; and their apprehensions were excited to the highest pitch by the conduct of those whom they knew to be better acquainted with his character. The behavior of the woman who had aroused his anger showed that she was endeavoring to resign herself to some fearful mode of death. The wild lamentations of her children denoted that they were conscious of some impending misfortune. Fatima seemed about to realize the fulfilment of some long-cherished hope,--the hope of revenge on a detested rival. The care Golah had taken to hinder any interference with his plans,--the words of the Krooman, the looks and gestures of the guards and of Golah himself, the digging of two graves in the sand,--all gave warning that some fearful tragedy was about to be enacted. Our adventurers were conscious of this, and conscious, also, that they could do nothing to prevent it. Nearly frantic with the helplessness of their position, they could only wait--"trembling for the birth of Fate." CHAPTER LII. THE SHEIK'S PLAN OF REVENGE. The second sand-pit was dug a short distance from the first; and when it had been sunk to the depth of about four and a half feet, Golah commanded the blacks to leave off their labor,--one of them being sent back to the line to be seated along with his fellow-slaves. By this time the tents had been struck, the camels loaded; and all but Golah and Fatima appeared willing and anxious to depart from the spot. These were not: for their business at that camping-place had not yet been completed. When the two guards had again resumed their former stations in front of the line,--as before with their muskets at full cock,--Golah advanced towards the woman, who, disengaging herself from her children, stood up at his approach. Then succeeded a moment of intense interest. Was he going to kill her? If so, in what manner? All looked on with painful anticipation of some dire event. It soon transpired. The woman was seized by Golah himself; dragged towards the pits that had been dug; and thrust into one of them. The slave who wielded the spade was then commanded to fill up the excavation around her. Terence was the first to speak. "God help her!" he exclaimed; "the monster is going to bury her alive! Can't we save her?" "We are not men if we do not try!" exclaimed Harry, as he suddenly sprang to his feet. His example was immediately followed by his white companions. The two muskets were instantly directed towards them; but at a shout from Golah their muzzles were as quickly dropped. The sheik's son then, at his father's command, ran to the pit to secure the woman, while Golah himself rushed forward to meet the helpless men who were advancing towards him. In an instant the four were thrown prostrate to the earth. With their hands tied, the powerful sheik upset them as easily as though they had been bags of sand. Raising Harry by the hair of his head with one hand and Terence with the other, he dragged them back to their places in the line where they had been already seated. Sailor Bill saved himself from like treatment by rolling over and over until he had regained his former place. Colin was allowed to lie on the ground where the sheik had knocked him over. Golah now returned to the pit where the woman stood half buried. She made no resistance--she uttered no complaint--but seemed calmly to resign herself to a fate that could not be averted. Golah apparently did not intend to behold her die, for, when the earth was filled in around her body, her head still remained above ground. She was to be starved to death! As the sheik was turning away to attend to other matters, the woman spoke. Her words were few, and produced no effect upon him. They did, however, upon the Krooman, whose eyes were seen to fill with tears that rapidly chased each other down his mahogany-colored cheeks. Colin, who seemed to notice everything except the fate threatening himself, observed the Krooman's excitement, and inquired its cause. "She ask him to be kind to her little boy," said the man, in a voice trembling with emotion. Are tears unmanly?--No. The shining drops that rolled from that man's eyes, and sparkled adown his dusky cheeks, on hearing the unfortunate woman's prayer for her children, proved that he was not a brute, but a man,--a man with a soul that millions might envy. After leaving the place where the woman was buried, Golah walked up to Colin; and, dragging him to his feet, led him away to the other pit. His intentions were now evident to all. The two individuals, who had aroused his anger and jealousy, were to be left near each other, buried alive, to perish in this fearful fashion. "Colin! Colin! what can we do to save you?" exclaimed Harry, in a tone expressing despair and anguish. "Nothing," answered Colin; "don't attempt it, or you will only bring trouble on yourselves. Leave me to my fate." At this moment the speaker was thrown into the pit, and held in an upright attitude by Golah, while the black slave proceeded to fill in the earth around him. Following the philosophical example set by the woman, Colin made no useless resistance; and was soon submerged under the sand piled up to his shoulders. His companions sat gazing with speechless horror, all suffering the combined anguish of shame, regret, and despair. The sheik was now ready to depart; and ordered the slave who had been assisting him in his diabolical work to mount the camel formerly ridden by the woman who was thus entombed. The black obeyed, pleased to think that his late task was to be so agreeably rewarded; but a sudden change came over his features when Golah and Fatima passed up the three children, and placed them under his care. Golah had but one more act to perform before leaving the spot. It was an act worthy of himself, although suggested by Fatima. After filling a bowl about half full of water, he placed it midway between Colin and the woman, but so distant from each that neither could possibly reach it! This Satanic idea was executed with the design of tantalizing the sufferers in their dying hours with the sight of that element the want of which would soon cause them the most acute anguish. By the side of the bowl he also placed a handful of figs. "There," he tauntingly exclaimed; "I leave you two together, and with more food and drink than you will ever consume. Am I not kind? What more can you ask? _Bismillah!_ God is great, and Mahomet is his prophet; and I am Golah, the kind, the just!" Saying this, he gave orders to resume the march. "Don't move!" exclaimed Terence; "we will give him some trouble yet." "Of course we'll not go, and leave Colin there," said Harry. "The sheik is too avaricious to kill all his slaves. Don't move a step, Bill, and we may have Colly liberated yet." "I shall do as you say, ov coorse," said Bill; "but I expect we shall 'ave to go. Golah has got a way of making a man travel, whether he be willing or not." All started forward from the place but the three white slaves and the two whom Golah intended to remain. "Cheer up, lad," said Bill to Colin; "we'll never go, and leave you there." "Go on, go on!" exclaimed Colin. "You can do me no good, and will only injure yourselves." Golah had mounted his camel and ridden forward, leaving to his two guards the task of driving on the slaves; and, as if apprehensive of trouble from them, he had directed Terence, Harry, Bill, and the Krooman to be brought on with their hands tied behind them. The three refused to move; and when all efforts to get them on had been tried in vain, the guards made a loud appeal to their sheik. Golah came riding back in a great rage. Dismounting from his camel he drew the ramrod from his musket; then, rushing up to Terence, who was the nearest to him, administered to him a shower of blows that changed the color of his shirt from an untidy white to the darker hue of blood. The two guards, following the example of their lord and master, commenced beating Harry and Bill, who, unable to make any resistance, had to endure the torture in silence. "Go on, my friends!" exclaimed Colin; "for God's sake, go, and leave me! You cannot do anything to avert my fate!" Colin's entreaties, as well as the torture from the blows they received, were alike without effect. His shipmates could not bring themselves to desert their old comrade, and leave him to the terrible death that threatened him. Rushing up to Bill and Harry, Golah caught hold of each, and hurled them to the ground by the side of Terence. Keeping all three together, he now ordered a camel to be led up; and the order was instantly obeyed by one of the guards. The halter was then taken from the head of the animal. "We 'ave got to go now," said Bill. "He's going to try the same dodge as beat me the other day. I shall save him the trouble." Bill tried to rise, but was prevented. He had refused to walk when earnestly urged to do so; and now, when he was willing to go on, he had to wait the pleasure of his owner as to the manner in which his journey should be continued. While Golah was fastening the rope to Harry's hands, the sharp shrill voice of Fatima called his attention to some of the people who had gone on before. The two women, who led the camels loaded with articles taken from the wreck, had advanced about three hundred yards from the place; and were now, along with the black slaves, surrounded by a party of men mounted on maherries and horses. CHAPTER LIII. CAPTURED AGAIN. Golah's fear of the Arabs met by the well had not been without a cause. His forced night march, to avoid meeting them again, had not secured the object for which it had been made. Approaching from the direction of the rising sun, the Arabs had not been discovered in the distance; and Golah, occupied in overcoming the obstinate resistance of the white slaves, had allowed them to come quite near before they had been observed by him. Leaving his captives, the sheik seized his musket; and, followed by his son and brother-in-law, rushed forward to protect his wives and property. He was too late. Before he could reach them they were in the possession of others; and as he drew near the spot where they had been captured, he saw a dozen muskets presented towards himself, and heard some one loudly commanding him, in the name of the Prophet, to approach in peace! Golah had the discretion to yield to a destiny that could not be averted,--the misfortune of being made a prisoner and plundered at the same time. Calmly saying, "It is the will of God," he sat down, and invited his captors to a conference on the terms of capitulation. As soon as the caravan had fallen into the possession of the robbers, the Krooman's hands were unbound by his companion, and he hastened to the relief of the white slaves. "Golah no our massa now," said he, while untying Harry's wrists; "our massa is Arab dat take us norf. We get free. Dat why dis Arab no buy us,--he know us he hab for noting." The cords were quickly untied, and the attention of the others was now turned to disinterring Colin and the woman from their living graves. To do this, Harry wanted to use the water-bowl the sheik had left for the purpose of tantalizing his victims with the sight of its contents. "Here, drink this water," said he, holding the vessel to Colin's lips. "I want to make use of the dish." "No, no; dig me out without that," answered Colin. "Leave the water as it is; I have a particular use for it when I get free. I wish the old sheik to see me drink it." Bill, Harry, and the Krooman set to work: and Colin and the woman were soon uncovered and dragged out. Terence was then awakened to consciousness by a few drops of the water poured over his face. Owing to the cramped position in which he had been placed and so long held, Colin was for a few minutes unable to walk. They waited, to give him time to recover the use of his limbs. The slave who had the care of the woman's children was now seen coming back with them, and the woman ran to meet him. The delight of the wretched mother at again embracing her offspring was so great, that the gentle-souled Krooman was once more affected to tears. In the conference with the Arab robbers, Golah was unable to obtain the terms he fancied a sheik should be entitled to. They offered him two camels and the choice of one wife out of the three, on condition he should go back to his own country, and return to the desert no more. These terms Golah indignantly refused, and declared that he would rather die in defence of his rights. Golah was a pure negro, and one of a class of traders much disliked by the Arabs. He was a lawless intruder on their grounds,--a trespasser upon their special domain, the Great Desert. He had just acquired a large amount of wealth in goods and slaves, that had been cast on their coast; and these they were determined he should not carry back with him to his own country. Though he was as much a robber as themselves, they had no sympathies with him, and would not be satisfied with merely a share of his plunder. They professed to understand all his doings in the past; and accused him of not being a _fair trader_! They told him that he never came upon the desert with merchandise to exchange, but only with camels, to be driven away, laden with property justly belonging to them, the real owners of the land. They denied his being a true believer in the Prophet; and concluded their talk by declaring that he should be thankful for the liberal terms they had offered him. Golah's opposition to their proposal became so demonstrative, that the Arabs were obliged to disarm and bind him; though this was not accomplished without a fierce struggle, in which several of his adversaries were overthrown. A blow on the head with the stock of a musket at length reduced him to subjection, after which his hands were fast tied behind his back. During the struggle, Golah's son was prevented from interfering in behalf of his father, by the black slaves who had been so long the victims of his cruel care; while the brother-in-law, as well as Fatima and the third wife, remained passive spectators of the scene. On Golah being secured, the white slaves, with old Bill at their head, came up and voluntarily surrendered themselves to their new masters. Colin had in his hands the bowl of water, and the dried figs that had been placed beside it. Advancing towards Golah, he held the figs up before his eyes, and then, with a nod and an expression that seemed to say, "Thank you for this," he raised the bowl to his lips with the intention of drinking. The expression on the sheik's features became Satanic, but suddenly changed into a glance of pleasure, as one of the Arabs snatched the vessel out of Colin's hands, and instantly drank off its contents. Colin received the lesson meekly, and said not a word. The Arabs speedily commenced making arrangements for leaving the place. The first move was to establish a communication between Golah and the saddle of one of his camels. This was accomplished by using a rope as a medium; and the black giant was compelled to walk after the animal with his hands tied behind him,--in the same fashion as he had lately set for Sailor Bill. His wives and slaves seemed to comprehend the change in their fortunes, and readily adapted their conduct to the circumstances. The greatest transformation of all was observable in the behavior of the favorite Fatima. Since his capture she had kept altogether aloof from her late lord, and showed not the slightest sympathy for his misfortunes. By her actions she seemed to say: "The mighty Golah has fallen, and is no longer worthy of my distinguished regard." Very different was the behavior of the woman whom the cruel sheik would have left to die a lingering death. Her husband's misfortune seemed to have awakened within her a love for the father of her children: and her features, as she gazed upon the captive,--who, although defeated, was unsubdued in spirit,--wore a mingled expression of pity and grief. Hungry, thirsty, weary and bleeding--enslaved on the Great Desert, still uncertain of what was to be their fate, and doubtful of surviving much longer the hardships they might be forced to endure--our adventurers were far from being happy; but, with all their misery, they felt joyful when comparing their present prospects with those before them but an hour ago. With the exception of Golah, the Arabs had no trouble with their captives. The white and black slaves knew they were travelling towards the well; and the prospect of again having plenty of water was sufficient inducement to make them put forth all their strength in following the camels. Early in the evening a short halt was made; when each of the company was served with about half a pint of water from the skins. The Arabs, expecting to reach the well soon after, could afford to be thus liberal; but the favor so granted, though thankfully received by the slaves was scornfully refused by their late master--the giant bodied and strong-minded Golah. To accept of food and drink from his enemies in his present humiliating position--bound and dragged along like a slave--was a degradation to which he scorned to submit. On Golah contemptuously refusing the proffered cup of water, the Arab who offered it simply ejaculated, "Thank God!" and then drank it himself. The well was reached about an hour after midnight; and after quenching their thirst, the slaves were allowed to go to rest and sleep,--a privilege they stood sorely in need of having been over thirty hours afoot, upon their cheerless and arduous journey. CHAPTER LIV. AN UNFAITHFUL WIFE. On waking up the next morning, our adventurers were gratified with a bit of intelligence communicated by the Krooman: that they were to have a day of rest. A camel was also to be killed for food. The Arabs were going to divide amongst themselves the slaves taken from Golah; and the opportunity was not to be lost of recruiting their strength for a long journey. As Sailor Bill reflected upon their sufferings since leaving that same place two days before, he expressed regret that they had not been captured before leaving the well, and thus spared the horrors they had endured. Stimulated by the remembrance of so much suffering needlessly incurred, he asked the Krooman to explain the conduct of their new masters. The Krooman's first attempt at satisfying his curiosity was to state, that the Arabs had acted after a manner peculiar to themselves,--in other words, that it was "a way they had." The old sailor was not satisfied with this answer; and pressed for a further explanation. He was then told that the robbers on the desert were always in danger of meeting several caravans at a watering-place; and that any act of violence committed there would bring upon the perpetrators everlasting disgrace, as well as the enmity of all desert travellers. The Krooman explained himself by saying, that should a caravan of a hundred men arrive at the well, they would not now interfere in behalf of Golah, but would only recognize him as a slave. On the contrary, had they found him engaged in actual strife with the robbers they would have assisted him. This was satisfactory to all but Bill. Even Colin, who had been buried alive, and Terence, who had been so unmercifully beaten, were pleased at their change of masters on any terms; but the old sailor, sailor-like, would not have been himself without some cause of complaint. Before their newly acquired wealth could be divided, the Arabs had to come to some resolution as to the disposal of the black sheik; who still remained so unmanageable that he had to be kept bound, with a guard placed over him. The Arabs could not agree amongst themselves as to what should be done with him. Some of them urged that, despite the color of his skin, he might be a true believer in the Prophet; and that, notwithstanding his manner of trading and acquiring wealth--a system nearly as dishonest as their own--he was entitled to his liberty, with a certain portion of his property. Others claimed that they had a perfect right to add him and his large family to the number of their slaves. He was not an Arab, but an Ethiopian, like most of his following; and, as a slave, would bring a high price in any of the markets where men were bought and sold. Those who argued thus were in the minority; and Golah was at length offered his wives and their children, with a couple of camels and his scimitar. This offer the black sheik indignantly refused,--much to the astonishment of those who had been so eloquent in his behalf. His decision produced another debate; in which the opinions of several of his captors underwent such a change, that it was finally determined to consider him as one of the slaves. Every article that had been obtained from the wreck was now exposed to view, and a fixed price set upon it. The slaves were carefully examined and valued,--as well as the camels, muskets, and everything that had belonged to Golah or his dependants. When these preliminary arrangements had been completed, the Arabs proceeded to an equitable partition of the property. This proved a very difficult matter to manage, and occupied their time for the rest of the day. Three or four would covet the same article; and long and noisy discussions would take place before the dispute could be settled to their mutual satisfaction. The Krooman, who understood the desert language, was attentive to all that transpired; and from time to time informed the white slaves of what was being done. At an early period in the discussions, he discovered that each of the four was to fall to different masters. "You and me," said he to Harry, "we no got two massas--only one." His words were soon after proved to be true. They were carried apart from each other, evidently with the designs of being appropriated by different owners; and the fear that they might also be separated again came over them. When the slaves, camels, tents, and articles that had been gathered from the wreck were distributed amongst the eleven Arabs, each one took the charge of his own; but there still remained Golah, his wives and their children, to be disposed of. No one seemed desirous of becoming the owner of the black sheik and his wives. Even those who had said that he would make a valuable slave, appeared unwilling to take him, although induced to do so by the taunts of their companions. The fact was, that they were afraid of him. He would be too difficult to manage; and none of them wished to be the master of one who obstinately refused both food and drink, and who so defiantly invoked upon the heads of his captors the curse of Mahomet, and swore by the beard of the Prophet that the moment his hands were free, he would kill the man who should dare to own or claim him as a slave. Golah, with all his faults, was neither cunning nor deceitful, and, having a spirit too great to affect submission, he did not intend to yield. He was arrogant, cruel, avaricious, and vindictive; but the wrongs he did were always accomplished in a plain, open-handed way, and never by stratagem or treachery. By accepting the terms the Arabs had offered him, his strength, courage, and unconquerable will might afterwards have enabled him to obtain revenge upon his captors, and regain a portion of his property; but it was not in his nature to sham submission, even for the sake of gaining a future advantage. As not one of the Arabs was willing to accept of him, at the value at which he had been appraised, or to allow another to have him for less, it was finally decided that he should be retained as the common property of all, until he could be sold to some other tribe, when a distribution might be made of the proceeds of the sale. His wives and children were to be disposed of in like manner. This arrangement was satisfactory to all but Golah himself, who expressed himself greatly displeased with it. Nevertheless, he seemed a little disposed to yield to circumstances; for, soon after the decision of his captors was made known to him, he called to Fatima, and commanded her to bring him a bowl of water. The favorite refused, under the plea that she had been forbidden to give him anything. This was true; for, as he had declined to accept of anything at the hands of those claiming to be his masters, they had determined to starve him into submission. Fatima's refusal to obey him caused Golah his greatest chagrin. Ever accustomed to prompt and slavish obedience from others, the idea of his own wife--his favorite too--denying his modest request, almost drove him frantic. "I am your husband," he cried, "and whom should you obey but me? Fatima! I command you to bring me some water!" "And I command you not to do it," said the Arab sheik, who, standing near by, had heard the order. Fatima was an artful, selfish woman, who had gained some influence over her husband by flattering his vanity, and professing a love she had never felt. She had acted with slavish obedience to him when he was all-powerful; but now that he was himself a slave, her submission had been transferred with perfect facility to the chief of the band who had captured him. It was now that Golah began to realize the fact that he was a conquered man. His heart was nearly bursting with rage, shame, and disappointment; for nothing could so plainly awaken him to the comprehension of his real position, as the fact that Fatima, his favorite, she who had ever professed for him so much love and obedience, now refused to attend to his simplest request. After making one more violent and ineffectual effort at breaking his bonds, he sank down upon the earth and remained silent--bitterly contemplating the degraded condition into which he had fallen. The Krooman, who was a very sharp observer of passing events, and had an extensive knowledge of peculiar specimens of human nature, closely watched the behavior of the black sheik. "He no like us," he remarked to the whites. "He nebba be slave. Bom-by you see him go dead." CHAPTER LV. TWO FAITHFUL WIVES. While Golah's mind appeared to be stunned almost to unconsciousness by the refusal of Fatima to obey his orders, his other two wives were moving about, as if engaged in some domestic duty. Presently the woman he had buried in the sand was seen going towards him with a calabash of water, followed by the other who carried a dish of _sangleh_. One of the Arabs perceiving their intention, ran up, and, in an angry tone, commanded them to retire to their tents. The two women persisted in their design, and in order to prevent them, without using violence, the Arab offered to serve the food and drink himself. This they permitted him to do; but when the water was offered to Golah it was again refused. The black sheik would not receive either food or drink from the hand of a master. The _sangleh_ was then consumed by the Arab with a real or sham profession of gratitude; the water was poured into a bucket, and given to one of the camels; and the two calabashes were returned to the women. Neither a keen longing for food, nor a burning thirst for water, could divert Golah's thoughts from the contemplation of something that was causing his soul extreme anguish. His physical tortures seemed, for the time, extinguished by some deep mental agony. Again the wives--the unloved ones--advanced towards him, bearing water and food; and again the Arab stepped forward to intercept them. The two women persisted in their design, and, while opposing the efforts of the Arab to turn them back, they called on the two youths, the relatives of the black sheik, as also on Fatima, to assist them. Of the three persons thus appealed to, only Golah's son obeyed their summons; but his attempt to aid the women was immediately frustrated by the Arab, who claimed him as a slave, and who now commanded him to stand aside. His command having no effect, the Arab proceeded to use force. At the risk of his life the youth resisted. He dared to use violence against a master--a crime that on the desert demands the punishment of death. Aroused from his painful reverie by the commotion going on around him, Golah, seeing the folly of the act, shouted to his son to be calm, and yield obedience; but the youth, not heeding the command of his father, continued his resistance. He was just on the point of being cut down, when the Krooman ran forward, and pronouncing in Arabic two words signifying "father and son," saved the youth's life. The Arab robber had sufficient respect for the relationship to stay his hand from committing murder; but to prevent any further trouble with the young fellow, he was seized by several others, fast bound, and flung to the ground by the side of his father. The two women, still persisting in their design to relieve the wants of their unfortunate husband, were then knocked down, kicked, beaten, and finally dragged inside the tents. This scene was witnessed by Fatima; who, instead of showing sympathy, appeared highly amused by it,--so much so as even to give way to laughter! Her unnatural behavior once more roused the indignation of her husband. The wrong of being robbed--the humiliation of being bound--the knowledge that he himself, along with his children, would be sold into slavery--the torture of hunger and thirst--were sources of misery no longer heeded by him; all were forgotten in the contemplation of a far greater anguish. Fatima, the favorite, the woman to whom his word should have been law,--the woman who had always pretended to think him something more than mortal,--now not only shunning but despising him in the midst of his misfortunes! This knowledge did more towards subduing the giant than all his other sufferings combined. "Old Golah looks very down in the mouth," remarked Terence to his companions. "If it was not for the beating he gave me yesterday, I could almost pity him. I made an oath, at the time he was thwacking me with the ramrod, that if my hands were ever again at liberty, I'd see if it was possible to kill him; but now that they are free, and his are bound, I've not the heart to touch him, bad as he is." "That is right, Terry," said Bill; "it's only wimin an' bits o' boys as throws wather on a drowned rat,--not as I mane to say the owld rascal is past mischief yet. I believe he'll do some more afore the Devil takes 'im intirely; but I mane that Him as sits up aloft is able to do His own work without your helping Him." "You speak truth, Bill," said Harry; "I don't think there is any necessity for seeking revenge of Golah for his cruel treatment of us; he is now as ill off as the rest of us." "What is that you say?" inquired Colin. "Golah like one of us? Nothing of the kind. He has more pluck, endurance, obstinacy, and true manly spirit about him than there is in the four of us combined." "Was his attempt to starve you dictated by a manly spirit?" asked Harry. "Perhaps not, but it was the fault of the circumstances under which he has been educated. I don't think of that now; my admiration of the man is too strong. Look at his refusing that drink of water when it had been several times offered him!" "There is something wonderful about him, certainly," assented Harry; "but I don't see anything in him to admire." "No more do I," said Bill. "He might be as comfortable now as we are; and I say a man's a fool as won't be 'appy when he can." "What you call his folly," rejoined Colin, "is but a noble pride that makes him superior to any of us. He has a spirit that will not submit to slavery, and we have not." "That be truth," remarked the Krooman; "Golah nebbar be slave." Colin was right. By accepting food and drink from his captors, the black sheik might have satisfied the demands of mere animal nature, but only at the sacrifice of all that was noble in his nature. His self-respect, along with the proud, unyielding spirit by which everything good and great is accomplished, would have been gone from him for ever. Sailor Bill and his companions, the boy slaves, had been taught from childhood to yield to circumstances, and still retain some moral feeling; but Golah had not. The only thing he could yield to adverse fate was _his life_. At this moment the Krooman, by a gesture, called their attention towards the captive sheik, at the same time giving utterance to a sharp ejaculation. "Look!" exclaimed he, "Golah no stay longer on de Saära. You him see soon die now--look at him!" At the same instant Golah had risen to his feet, inviting his Arab master to a conference. "There is but one God," said he, "Mahomet is his prophet; and I am his servant. I will never be a slave. Give me one wife, a camel, and my scimitar, and I will go. I have been robbed; but God is great, and it is his will, and my destiny." Golah had at length yielded, though not because that he suffered for food and water; not that he feared slavery or death; not that his proud spirit had become weak or given way; but rather that it had grown stronger under the prompting of _Revenge_. The Arab sheik conferred with his followers; and there arose a brief controversy among them. The trouble they had with their gigantic captive, the difficulty they anticipated in disposing of him, and their belief that he was a good Mussulman, were arguments in favor of granting his request, and setting him at liberty. It was therefore decided to let him go--on the condition of his taking his departure at once. Golah consented; and they proceeded to untie his hands. While this was being done, the Krooman ran up to Colin's master, and cautioned him to protect his slave, until the sheik had departed. This warning was unnecessary, for Golah had other and more serious thoughts to engage his mind than that of any animosity he might once have felt against the young Scotchman. "I am free," said Golah, when his hands were untied. "We are equals, and Mussulmen. I claim your hospitality. Give me some food and drink." He then stepped forward to the well, and quenched his thirst, after which some boiled camel meat was placed before him. While he was appeasing an appetite that had been two days in gaining strength, Fatima, who had observed a strange expression in his eyes, appeared to be in great consternation. She had believed him doomed to a life of slavery, if not to death; and this belief had influenced her in her late actions. Gliding up to the Arab sheik, she entreated to be separated from her husband; but the only answer she received was, that Golah should have either of the three wives he chose to take; that he (the sheik) and his companions were men of honor, who would not break the promise they had given. A goat-skin of water, some barley meal, for making _sangleh_, and a few other necessary articles, were placed on a camel, which was delivered over to Golah. The black sheik then addressed a few words in some African language to his son; and, calling Fatima to follow him, he started off across the desert. CHAPTER LVI. FATIMA'S FATE. A complete change had come over the fortunes of Fatima. Vain, cruel, and tyrannical but the moment before, she was now humbled to the dust of the desert. In place of commanding her fellow wives, she now approached them with entreaties, begging them to take charge of her child, which she seemed determined to leave behind her. Both willingly assented to her wishes. Our adventurers were puzzled by this circumstance, for there appeared to be no reason that Fatima should leave her offspring behind her. Even the Krooman could not explain it; and as the shades of night descended over the desert, the mother separated from her child, perhaps never more to embrace it in this world of wickedness and woe. About two hours before daybreak, on the morning after the departure of Golah, there was an alarm in the douar, which created amongst the Arabs a wonderful excitement. The man who had been keeping guard over the camp was not to be seen; and one of the fleetest camels, as well as a swift desert horse, was also gone. The slaves were instantly mustered, when it was found that one of them was likewise missing. It was Golah's son. His absence accounted for the loss of the camel, and perhaps the horse, but what had become of the Arab guard? He certainly would not have absconded with the slave, for he had left valuable property behind him. There was no time for exchanging surmises over this mystery. Pursuit must be instantly made for the recovery of slave, camel, and horse. The Arab sheik detailed four of his followers to this duty, and they hastened to make ready for their departure. They would start as soon as the light of day should enable them to see the course the missing animals had taken. All believed that the fugitives would have to be sought for in a southerly direction; and therefore the caravan would have to be further delayed in its journey. While making preparations for the pursuit, another unpleasant discovery was made. Two ship's muskets, that had been taken from Golah's party were also missing. They had been extracted from a tent in which two of the Arabs had slept,--two of the four who were now preparing to search for the missing property. The sheik became alarmed. The camp seemed full of traitors; and yet, as the guns were the private property of the two men who slept in the tent, they could not, for losing them, reasonably be accused of anything more than stupidity. Contrary to the anticipations of all, the tracks of the lost animals were found to lead off in a north-westerly direction; and at about two hundred yards from the camp a dark object was seen lying upon the ground. On examination it proved to be the Arab who had been appointed night-guard over the douar. He was stone dead; and by his side lay one of the missing muskets, with the stock broken, and covered with his own brains. The tragedy was not difficult to be explained. The man had seen one or two of the hoppled animals straying from the camp. Not thinking that they were being led gently away, he had, without giving any alarm, gone out to bring them back. Golah's son, who was leading them off, by keeping concealed behind one of the animals, had found an opportunity of giving the guard his death-blow, without any noise to disturb the slumbering denizens of the douar. No doubt he had gone to rejoin his father, and the adroit manner in which he had made his departure, taking with him a musket, a camel, and a horse, not only excited the wonder, but the admiration of those from whom he had stolen them. In the division of the slaves, young Harry Blount and the Krooman had become the property of the Arab sheik. The Krooman having some knowledge of the Arabic language, soon established himself in the good opinion of his new master. While the Arabs were discussing the most available mode to obtain revenge for the murder of their companion, as well as to regain possession of the property they had lost, the Krooman, skilled in Golah's character, volunteered to assist them by a little advice. Pointing to the south, he suggested to them that, by going in that direction, they would certainly see or hear something of Golah and his son. The sheik could the more readily believe this, since the country of the black chief lay to the southward, and Golah, on leaving the douar, had gone in that direction. "But why did his dog of a son not go south?" inquired the Arabs, pointing to the tracks of the stolen horse, which still appeared to lead towards the northwest. "If you go north," replied the Krooman, "you will be sure to see Golah; or if you stay here, you will learn something of him?" "What! will he be in both directions at the same time, and here likewise?" "No, not that; but he will follow you." The Arabs were willing to believe that there was a chance of recovering their property on the road they had been intending to follow, especially as the stolen horse and camel had been taken in that direction. They determined, therefore, to continue their journey. Too late they perceived their folly in treating Golah as they had done. He was now beyond their reach, and, in all likelihood, had been rejoined by his son. He was an enemy against whom they would have to keep a constant watch; and the thought of this caused the old Arab sheik to swear by the Prophet's beard that he would never again show mercy to a man whom he had plundered. For about an hour after resuming their march, the footprints of the camel could be traced in the direction they wished to go; but gradually they became less perceptible, until at length they were lost altogether. A smart breeze had been blowing, which had filled the tracks with sand, which was light and easily disturbed. Trusting to chance, and still with some hope of recovering the stolen property, they continued on in the same direction, and, not long after losing the tracks, they found some fresh evidence that they were going the right way. The old sheik, who was riding in advance of the others, on looking to the right, perceived an object on the sand that demanded a closer inspection. He turned and rode towards it, closely followed by the people of his party. On drawing near to the object it proved to be the body of a human being, lying back upwards, and yet with the face turned full towards the heavens. The features were at once recognized as those of Fatima, the favorite! The head of the unfortunate woman had been severed from her body, and then placed contiguous to it, with the face in an inverted position. The ghastly spectacle was instructive. It proved that Golah, although going off southward, must have turned back again, and was now not far off, hovering about the track he believed his enemies would be likely to take. His son, moreover, was, in all likelihood, along with him. When departing along with her husband, Fatima had probably anticipated the terrible fate that awaited her; and, for that reason, had left her child in the care of the other wives. Neither of these seemed in the least surprised on discovering the body. Both had surmised that such would be Fatima's fate; and it was for that reason they had so willingly taken charge of her child. The caravan made a short halt, which was taken advantage of by the two women to cover the body with sand. The journey was then resumed. CHAPTER LVII. FURTHER DEFECTION. Notwithstanding that Golah's brother-in-law, who had formerly been a freeman, was now a slave, he seemed well satisfied with the change in his circumstances. He made himself very useful to his new masters in looking after the camel, and doing all the other necessary work which his knowledge of Saäran life enabled him effectually to execute. When the Arab caravan came to a halt on the evening of his first day's journey along with it, he assisted in unloading the camels, putting the hopples on them, pitching the tents, and doing anything else which was required to be done. While the other slaves were eating the small portion of food allowed them, one of the camels formerly belonging to Golah--a young and fleet maherry that had been ridden by Fatima, strayed a short distance from the douar. Seeing it the black sheik's brother-in-law, who had been making himself so useful, ran after the animal as if to fetch it back. He was seen passing beyond the camel, as though he intended turning it toward the camp; but in another instant it was discovered that he had no such design. The youth was seen to spring to the back of the maherry, lay hold of its hump, and ride rapidly away. Accustomed to hearing the sound of his voice, the faithful and intelligent animal obeyed his words of command. Its neck was suddenly craned out towards the north; and its feet were flung forward in long strides that bore its rider rapidly away from the rest. The incident caused a tremendous commotion in the caravan. It was so wholly unexpected, that none of the Arabs were prepared to intercept the fugitive. The guard for the night had not been appointed. They were all seated on the ground, engaged in devouring their evening repast, and before a musket could be discharged at the runaway, he had got so far into the glimmering twilight that the only effect of two or three shots fired after him was to quicken the pace of the maherry on which he was fleeing. Two fleet horses were instantly saddled and mounted, one by the owner of the camel that had been stolen, and the other by the owner of the slave who had stolen it. Each, arming himself with musket and scimitar, felt sure of recapturing the runaway. Their only doubt arose from the knowledge of the swiftness of the maherry, and that its rider was favored by the approaching darkness. The whole encampment was by this time under arms and after the departure of the pursuers, the sheik gathered all the slaves together, and swore by the beard of the Prophet that they should all be killed, and that he would set the example by killing the two belonging to himself, which were Harry Blount and the Krooman. Several of his followers proceeded to relieve their excitement by each beating the slave or slaves that were his own property, and amongst these irate slave-owners was the master of Sailor Bill. The old man-o-war's-man was cudgelled till his objections to involuntary servitude were loudly expressed, and in the strongest terms that English, Scotch, and Irish could furnish for the purpose. When the rage of the old sheik had to some extent subsided, he procured a leathern thong, and declared that his two slaves should be fast bound, and never released as long as they remained in his possession. "Talk to him," exclaimed Harry to the Krooman; "tell him, in his own language, that God is great, and that he is a fool! We don't wish to escape,--certainly not at present." Thus counselled, the Krooman explained to the sheik that the white slaves, as well as himself, who had sailed in English ships, had no intention of running away, but wished to be taken north, where they might be ransomed; and that they were not such fools as to part from him in a place where they would certainly starve. The Krooman also informed the sheik that they were all very glad at being taken out of the hands of Golah, who would have carried them to Timbuctoo, whence they never could have returned, but must have ended their days in slavery. While the Krooman was talking to the sheik, several of the others came up and listened. The black further informed them that the white slaves had friends living in Agadeer and Swearah (Santa Cruz and Mogador),--friends who would pay a large price to ransom them. Why, then, should they try to escape while journeying towards the place where those friends were living? The Krooman went on to say that the young man who had just made off was Golah's brother-in-law; that, unlike themselves, in going north he would not be seeking freedom but perpetual slavery, and for that reason he had gone to rejoin Golah and his son. This explanation seemed so reasonable to the Arabs, that their fears for the safety of their slaves soon subsided, and the latter were permitted to repose in peace. As a precautionary measure, however, two men were kept moving in a circle around the douar throughout the whole of the night; but no disturbance arose, and morning returned without bringing back the two men who had gone in pursuit of the cunning runaway. The distance to the next watering-place was too great to admit of any delay being made; and the journey was resumed, in the hope that the two missing men would be met on the way. This hope was realized. All along the route the old sheik, who rode in advance, kept scanning the horizon, not only ahead, but to the right and left of their course. About ten miles from their night's halting-place he was seen to swerve suddenly from his course, and advance towards something that had attracted his attention. His followers hastened after him,--all except the two women and their children, who lingered a long way behind. Lying on the ground, their bodies contiguous to each other, were the two Arabs who had gone in pursuit of the runaway. They were both dead. One of them had been shot with a musket ball that had penetrated his skull, entering directly between his temples. The other had been cut down with a scimitar, his body being almost severed in twain. The youth who had fled the night before, had evidently come up with Golah and his son; and the two men who had pursued him had lost their lives, their animals, muskets, and scimitars. Golah now had two accomplices, and the three were well mounted and well armed. The anger of the Arabs was frightful to behold. They turned towards the two women whom they knew to be Golah's wives. The latter had thrown themselves on their knees and were screaming and supplicating for mercy. Some of the Arabs would have killed them on the instant; but were prevented by the old sheik, who, although himself wild with rage, had still sufficient reason left to tell him that the unfortunate women were not answerable for the acts of their husband. Our adventurers found reason to regret the misfortune that had befallen their new masters; for they could not but regard with alarm the returning power of Golah. "We shall fall into his hands again," exclaimed Terence. "He will kill all these Arabs one after another, and obtain all he has lost, ourselves included. We shall yet be driven to Timbuctoo." "Then we should deserve it," cried Harry, "for it will partly be our own fault, if ever we fall into Golah's power again." "I don't think so," said Bill, "Golah is a wondersome man, and as got somethin' more nor human natur' to 'elp 'im. I think as 'ow if we should see 'im 'alf a mile off, signalizin' for us to follow 'im, we should 'ave to go. I've tried my hand at disobeyin' his orders, and don't do it again,--not if I knows it." The expressions of anger hitherto portrayed on the countenances of the Arabs, had given place to those of anxiety. They knew that an enemy was hovering around them,--an enemy whom they had wronged,--whose power they had undervalued, and whom they had foolishly restored to liberty. The bodies of their companions were hastily interred in the sand, and their journey northward was once more resumed. CHAPTER LVIII. A CALL FOR TWO MORE. The sufferings of the slaves for water and food again commenced, while the pace at which they were compelled to travel, to keep up with the camels, soon exhausted the little strength they had acquired from the rest by the well. During the long afternoon following the burial of the two Arabs, each of the boy slaves at different times declared his utter inability to proceed any farther. They were mistaken; and had yet to learn something of the power which love of life exerts over the body. They knew that to linger behind would be death. They did not desire to die, and therefore struggled on. Like men upon a treadmill, they were compelled to keep on moving, although neither able nor willing. The hour of sunset found them wading through sand that had lately been stirred by a storm. It was nearly as light and loose as snow; and the toil of moving through it was so wearisome, that the mounted Arabs, having some pity on those who had walked, halted early for the night. Two men were appointed to guard the camp in the same manner as upon the night before; and with the feelings of hunger and thirst partly appeased, weary with the toils of day, our adventurers were soon in a sound slumber. Around them, and half-buried in the soft sand, lay stretched the other denizens of the douar, all slumbering likewise. Their rest remained undisturbed until that darkest hour of the night, just before the dawning of day. They were then startled from sleep by the report of a musket,--a report that was immediately followed by another in the opposite direction. The douar was instantly in wild confusion. The Arabs seized their weapons, and rushed forth from among the tents. One of the party that ran in the direction in which the first shot was heard, seeing a man coming towards them, in the excitement of the moment fired his musket, and shot the individual who was advancing, who proved to be one of those entrusted with the guard of the camp. No enemies could be discovered. They had fled, leaving the two camp-guards in the agonies of death. Some of the Arabs would have rushed wildly hither and thither, in search of the unseen foe, but were prevented by the sheik, who, fearing that all would be lost, should the douar be deserted by the armed men, shouted the signal for all his followers to gather around him. The two wounded men were brought into a tent, where, in a few minutes, one of them--the man who had been shot by one of his companions--breathed his last. He had also received a wound from the first shot that had been heard, his right arm having been shattered by a musket-ball. The spine of the other guard had been broken by a bullet, so that recovery was clearly impossible. He had evidently heard the first shot fired at his companion from the opposite side of the camp: and was turning his back upon the foe that had attacked himself. The light of day soon shone upon the scene, and they were able to perceive how their enemies had approached so near the camp without being observed. About a hundred paces from where the guards had been standing at the time the first two shots were fired, was a furrow or ravine running through the soft sand. This ravine branched into two lesser ones, including within their angle the Arab camp, as also the sentinels stationed to guard it. Up the branches the midnight murderers had silently stolen, each taking a side; and in this way had got within easy distance of the unsuspecting sentries. In the bottom of one of the furrows, where the sand was more firmly compacted, was found the impression of human footsteps. The tracks had been made by some person hurriedly leaving the spot. "Dis be de track ob Golah," said the Krooman to Harry, after he had examined it. "He made um when runnin' 'way after he fire da musket." "Very likely," said Harry; "but how do you know it is Golah's track?" "'Cause Golah hab largess feet in all de world, and no feet but his make dat mark." "I tell you again," said Terence, who overheard the Krooman's remark, "we shall have to go with Golah to Timbuctoo. We belong to him. These Arabs are only keeping us for a few days, but they will all be killed yet, and we shall have to follow the black sheik in the opposite direction." Harry made no reply to this prophetic speech. Certainly, there was a prospect of its proving true. Four Arabs out of the eleven of which their party was originally composed, were already dead, while still another was dying! Sailor Bill pronounced Golah, with his son and brother-in-law, quite a match for the six who were left. The black sheik, he thought, was equal to any four of their present masters in strength, cunning, and determination. "But the Arabs have us to help them," remarked Colin. "We should count for something." "So we do,--as merchandise," replied Harry; "we have hitherto been helpless as children in protecting ourselves. What can we do? The boasted superiority of our race or country cannot be true here in the desert. We are out of our element." "Yes, that's sartain!" exclaimed Bill; "but we're not far from it. Shiver my timbers if I don't smell salt water. Be Jabers! if we go on towards the west we shall see the say afore night." During this dialogue the Arabs were holding a consultation as to what they should do. To divide the camp, and send some after their enemies, was pronounced impolitic: the party sent in pursuit, and that left to guard the caravan,--either would be too weak if attacked by their truculent enemy. In union alone was strength, and they resolved to remain together, believing that they should have a visit from Golah again, while better prepared to receive him. The footprints leading out from the two ravines were traced for about a mile in the direction they wished to follow. The tracks of camels and horses were there found; and they could tell by the signs that their enemies had mounted and ridden off towards the west. They possibly might have avoided meeting Golah again by going eastward; but, from their knowledge of the desert, no water was to be found in that direction in less than five days' journey. Moreover, they did not yet wish to avoid him. They thirsted for revenge, and were impatient to move on; for a journey of two days was still before them before they could hope to arrive at the nearest water. When every preparation had been made to resume their route, there was one obstacle in the way of their taking an immediate departure. Their wounded companion was not yet defunct. They saw it would be impossible for him to live much longer; for the lower part of his body,--all below the shattered portion of the spine,--appeared already without life. A few hours at most would terminate his sufferings; but for the expiration of those few hours,--or minutes, as fate should decide,--his companions seemed unwilling to wait! They dug a hole in the sand near where the wounded man was lying. This was but the work of a few minutes. As soon as the grave was completed, the eyes of all were once more turned upon the wretched sufferer. He was still alive, and by piteous moans expressing the agony he was enduring. "Bismillah!" exclaimed the old sheik, "why do you not die, my friend? We are waiting for the fulfilment of your destiny." "I am dead," ejaculated the sufferer, speaking in a faint voice, and apparently with great difficulty. Having said this, he relapsed into silence, and remained motionless as a corpse. The sheik then placed one hand upon his temples. "Yes!" he exclaimed, "the words of our friend are those of truth and wisdom. He is dead." The wounded man was then rolled into the cavity which had been scooped out, and they hastily proceeded to cover him with sand. As they did so, his hands were repeatedly uplifted, while a low moaning came from his lips; but his movements were apparently unseen, and his cries of agony unnoticed! His companions remained both deaf and blind to any evidence that might refute his own assertion that he was dead. The sand was at length heaped up, so as completely to cover his body, when, by an order from the old sheik, his followers turned away from the spot and the Kafila moved on. CHAPTER LIX. ONCE MORE BY THE SEA. Sailor Bill's conjecture that they were not far from the sea proved correct. On the evening of that same day they saw the sun sink down into a shining horizon, which they knew was not that of the burning sand-plain over which they had been so long moving. That faint and distant view of his favorite element was a joyful moment for the old sailor. "We are in sight of home!" he exclaimed. "Shiver my timbers if I ever lose sight of it again! I shan't be buried in the sand. If I must go under alive, it shall be under water, like a Christyun. If I could swim, I'd start right off for Hold Hingland as soon as we get to yonder shore." The boy slaves were alike inspired with hope and joy at the distant view. The sea was still too far off to be reached that night, and the douar was pitched about five miles from the shore. During this night, three of the Arabs were kept constantly on guard; but the camp was not disturbed, and next morning they resumed their journey, some with the hope, and others with the fear, that Golah would trouble them no more. The Arabs wished to meet him during the hours of daylight, and secure the property they had lost; and from their knowledge of the part of the desert they were now traversing, they were in hopes of doing this. They knew there was but one place within two days' journey where fresh water could be obtained; and should they succeed in reaching this place before Golah, they could lie in wait for his arrival. They were certain he must visit this watering-place to save his animals from perishing with thirst. At noonday a halt was made not far from the beach. It was only for a short while; for they were anxious to reach the well as soon as possible. The few minutes spent at the halting-place were well employed by the boy slaves in gathering shell-fish and bathing their bodies in the surf. Refreshed by this luxurious food, as well as by the washing, of which they were greatly in need, they were able to proceed at a better pace; so that about an hour before sunset the caravan arrived at the well. Just before reaching it, the old sheik and one of his companions had dismounted and walked forward to examine such tracks as might be found about the place. They were chagrined to find that Golah had been before. He had been to the well, and obtained a supply of water. His footmarks were easily identified. They were fresh, having been made but an hour or two before the arrival of the caravan; and in place of their having to wait for Golah, he was undoubtedly waiting for them. They felt sure that the black sheik was not far off, watching for a favorable opportunity of again paying them a nocturnal visit. They could now understand why he had not attempted to molest them on the preceding night. He had been hastening forward, in order to reach the well in advance of them. The apprehensions of the Arabs became keener and keener after this discovery. They were also much puzzled as to what they should do; and a diversity of opinion arose as to the best plan for guarding the camp against their implacable foe. Some were in favor of staying by the well for several days, until the supply of water which their enemy had taken with him should be exhausted. Golah would then have to revisit the well, or perish of thirst upon the desert. The idea was an ingenious one, but unfortunately their stock of provisions would not admit of any delay, and it was resolved that the journey should be resumed at once. Just as they were preparing to move away from the well, a caravan of traders arrived from the south, and the old sheik made anxious inquiries as to whether the new-comers had seen any one on their route. The traders, to whom the caravan belonged, had that morning met three men who answered to the description of Golah and his companions. They were journeying south, and had purchased a small supply of food from the caravan. Could it be that Golah had given up the hope of recovering his lost property? relinquished his deadly purpose of revenge? The Arabs professed much unwillingness to believe it. Some of them loudly proposed starting southward in pursuit. But this proposition was overruled, and it was evident that the old sheik, as well as most of his followers, were in reality pleased to think that Golah would trouble them no more. The sheik decreed that the property of those who had perished should be divided amongst those who survived. This giving universal satisfaction, the Arab Kafila took its departure, leaving the caravan of the traders by the well, where they were intending to remain for some time longer. Shortly after leaving the well, the old sheik ordered a halt by the seashore, where he stopped long enough for his slaves to gather some shell-fish, enough to satisfy the hunger of all his followers. A majority of the Arabs were under the belief that the black sheik had started at last for his own country--satisfied with the revenge he had already taken. They seemed to think that keeping watch over the camp would no longer be necessary. With this opinion their Krooman captive did not agree; and, fearing to fall again into the possession of Golah, he labored to convince his new master that they were as likely that night to receive a visit from the black sheik as they had ever been before. He argued that, if Golah had entertained a hope of defeating his foes--eleven in number--when alone, and armed only with a scimitar, he certainly would not be likely to relinquish that hope after having succeeded in killing nearly half of them, and being strengthened by a couple of able assistants. The Krooman believed that Golah's going south,--as reported by the party met at the well,--was proof that he really intended proceeding north; and he urged the Arab sheik to set a good guard over the douar through the night. "Tell him," said Harry, "if they are not inclined to keep guard for themselves, that we will stand it, if they will only allow us to have weapons of some kind or other." The Krooman made this communication to the Arab sheik, who smiled only in reply. The idea of allowing slaves to guard an Arab douar, especially to furnish them with fire-arms, was very amusing to the old chieftain of the Saära. Harry understood the meaning of his smile. It meant refusal; but the young Englishman had also become impressed with the danger suggested by Terence, that Golah would yet kill the Arabs, and take the boy slaves back to Timbuctoo. "Tell the sheik that he is an old fool," said he to the interpreter; "tell him that we have a greater objection to falling into the hands of Golah than he has of losing either us or his own life. Tell him that we wish to go north, where we can be redeemed; and that for this reason alone we should be far more careful than any of his own people in guarding the camp against surprise." When this communication was made to the old sheik it seemed to strike him as having some reason in it; and, convinced by the Krooman's arguments that there was still danger to be apprehended from Golah's vengeance, he directed that the douar should be strictly guarded, and that the white slaves might take part in the duty. "You shall be taken north, and sold to your countrymen," promised he, "if you give us no trouble in the transit. There are but few of my people left now, and it is hard for us to travel all day and keep watch all night. If you are really afraid of falling into the hands of this Prophet-accursed negro, and will help us in guarding against his murderous attacks, you are welcome to do so; but if any one of you attempt to play traitor, the whole four of you shall lose your heads. I swear it by the beard of the Prophet!" The Krooman assured him that none of the white slaves had any desire to deceive him, adding that self-interest, if nothing else, would cause them to be true to those who would take them to a place where they would have a chance of being ransomed out of slavery. Darkness having by this time descended over the desert, the sheik set about appointing the guard for the night. He was too suspicious of his white slaves to allow all the four of them to act as guards at the same time, while he and his companions were asleep. He was willing, however, that one of them should be allowed to keep watch in company with one of his own followers. In choosing the individual for this duty, he inquired from the Krooman which of the four had been most ill-used by the black sheik. Sailor Bill was pointed out as the man, and the interpreter gave some details of the cruel treatment to which the old man-o'-war's-man had been subjected at the hands of Golah. "Bismillah! that is well," said the sheik. "Let him keep the watch. After what you say, revenge should hinder him from closing his eyes in sleep for a whole moon. There's no fear that he will betray us." CHAPTER LX. GOLAH CALLS AGAIN. In setting the watch for the night one of the sentinels was stationed on the shore about a hundred yards north of the douar. His instructions were to walk a round of about two hundred paces, extending inward from the beach. Another was placed about the same distance south of the camp, and was to pace backwards and forwards after a similar fashion. Sailor Bill was stationed on the land side of the camp, where he was to move to and fro between the beats of the two Arab guards, each of whom, on discovering him at the termination of his round, was to utter the word "_Akka_," so that the sailor should distinguish them from an enemy. The Arabs themselves were supposed to be sufficiently intelligent to tell a friend from a foe without requiring any countersign. Before Bill was sent upon his beat, the old sheik went into a tent, and soon after reappeared with a large pistol, bearing a strong likeness to a blunderbuss. This weapon he placed in the sailor's hand, with the injunction--translated to him by the interpreter--not to discharge it until he should be certain of killing either Golah or one of his companions. The old sailor, although sorely fatigued with the toil of the day's journey, had so great a horror of again becoming the property of the black sheik, that he cheerfully promised to "walk the deck all night, and keep a good lookout for breakers," and his young companions sought repose in full confidence that the promise would be faithfully kept. Any one of the boy slaves would willingly have taken his place, and allowed their old comrade to rest for the night; but Bill had been selected by the old sheik, and from his decree there was no appeal. The two Arabs doing duty as sentinels knew, from past experience, that if the Kafila was still followed by Golah, they would be the individuals most exposed to danger; and this knowledge was sufficient to stimulate them to the most faithful discharge of their trust. Neither of them wished to become victims to the fate which had befallen their predecessors in office. For two or three hours both paced slowly to and fro; and Bill, each time he approached the end of his beat, could hear distinctly pronounced the word "_Akka_" which proved that his co-sentinels were fully on the alert. It so chanced that one of them had no faith in the general belief that the enemy had relinquished his purposes sanguinary of vengeance. He drew his deductions from Golah's conduct in the past, and during the long silent hours of the night his fancy was constantly dwelling on the manner in which the dreaded enemy had approached the douar on former occasions. This sentry was the one stationed to the south of the douar; and with eyes constantly striving to pierce the darkness that shrouded the sand plain, the water, on which a better light was reflected, received no attention from him. He believed the douar well protected on the side of the sea, for he had no idea that danger could come from that direction. He was mistaken. Had their enemies been, like himself and his companions, true children of the Saära, his plan of watching for their approach might have answered well enough; but the latter chanced to be the offspring of a different country and race. About three hours after the watch had been established, the sentinel placed on the southern side of the douar was being closely observed by the black sheik, yet knew it not. Golah had chosen a singular plan to secure himself against being observed, similar to that selected by the three mids for the like purpose soon after their being cast away upon the coast. He had stolen into the water, and with only his woolly occiput above the surface, had approached within a few yards of the spot where the Arab sentry turned upon his round. In the darkness of the night, at the distance of twelve or fifteen paces, he might have been discovered, had a close survey been made of the shining surface. But there was no such survey, and Golah watched the sentinel, himself unseen. The attention of the Arab was wholly occupied in looking for the approach of a foe from the land side; and while he was in continual fear of hearing the report of a musket, or feeling the stroke of its bullet. This disagreeable surprise he never expected could come from the sea, but was so fully anticipated from the land, that he paid but little or no attention to the restless waves that were breaking with low moans against the beach. As he turned his back upon the water for the hundredth time, with the intention of walking to the other end of his beat, Golah crept gently out of the water and hastened after him. The deep sighing of the waves against the shingly shore hindered the sound of footsteps from being heard. Golah was only armed with a scimitar; but it was a weapon that, in his hands, was sure to fall with deadly effect. It was a weapon of great size and weight, having been made expressly for himself; and with this upraised, he silently but swiftly glided after the unconscious Arab. Adding the whole strength of his powerful arm to the weight of the weapon, the black sheik brought its sharp edge slantingly down upon the neck of the unsuspecting sentinel. With a low moan, that sounded in perfect harmony with the sighing of the waves, the Arab fell to the earth, leaving his musket in the huge hand his assassin had stretched forth to grasp it. Putting the gun to full cock, Golah walked on in the direction in which the sentry had been going. He intended next to encounter the man who was guarding the eastern side of the douar. Walking boldly on, he took no trouble to avoid the sound of his footsteps being heard, believing that he would be taken for the sentry he had just slain. After going about a hundred paces without seeing any one, he paused, and with his large fiercely gleaming eyes strove to penetrate the surrounding gloom. Still no one was to be seen, and he laid himself along the earth to listen for footfalls. Nothing could be heard; but after glancing for some moments along the ground, he saw a dark object outlined above the surface. Unable, from the distance, to form a correct idea of what it was, he cautiously advanced towards it, keeping on all fours, till he could see that the object was a human being, prostrate on the ground, and apparently listening, like himself. Why should the man be listening? Not to note the approach of his companion, for that should be expected without suspicion, as his attitude would indicate. He might be asleep, reasoned Golah. If so, Fortune seemed to favor him, and with this reflection he steadily moved on towards the prostrate form. Though the latter moved not, still Golah was not quite sure that the sentry was asleep. Again he paused, and for a moment fixed his eyes on the body with a piercing gaze. If the man was not sleeping, why should he allow an enemy to approach so near? Why lie so quietly, without showing any sign or giving an alarm? If Golah could despatch this sentinel as he had done the other, without making any noise, he would, along with his two relatives (who were waiting the result of his adventure), afterwards steal into the douar, and all he had lost might be again recovered. The chance was worth the risk, so thought Golah, and silently moved on. As he drew nearer, he saw that the man was lying on his side, with his face turned towards him, and partly concealed by one arm. The black sheik could see no gun in his hands, and consequently there would be but little danger in an encounter with him, if such should chance to arise. Golah grasped the heavy scimitar in his right hand, evidently intending to despatch his victim as he had done the other, with a single blow. The head could be severed from the body at one stroke, and no alarm would be given to the slumbering camp. The heavy blade of shining steel was raised aloft; and the gripe of the powerful hand clutching its hilt became more firm and determined. Sailor Bill! has your promise to keep a sharp lookout been broken so soon? Beware! Golah is near with strength in his arm, and murder in his mind! CHAPTER LXI. SAILOR BILL STANDING SENTRY. After two hours had been passed in moving slowly to and fro, hearing the word "_Akka_" and seeing nothing but gray sand, Sailor Bill began to feel weary, and now regretted that the old sheik had honored him with his confidence. For the first hour of his watch he had kept a good lookout to the eastward, and had given the whole of his attention to his sentinel's duty. Gradually his intense alertness forsook him, and he began to think of the past and future. Themes connected with these subjects seldom troubled Bill,--his thoughts generally dwelling upon the present; but, in the darkness and solitude in which he was now placed, there was but little of the present to arrest his attention. For the want of something else to amuse his mind, it was turned to the small cannon he was carrying in his hand. "This 'ere thing," thought he, "aint o' much use as a pistol, though it might be used as a war-club at close quarters. I hope I shan't 'ave to fire it hoff. The barrel is thin, and the bullet hinside it must be a'most as large as an 'en's heg. It ud be like enough to bust. Preaps 't aint loaded, and may 'ave been given to me for amusement. I may as well make sure about that." After groping about for some time, the sailor succeeded in finding a small piece of stick, with which he measured the length of the barrel on the outside; then, by inserting the stick into the muzzle, he found that the depth of the barrel was not quite equal to its length. There must be something inside therefore, but he was positive there was no ball. He next examined the pan, and found the priming all right. "I see 'ow 'tis," muttered he, "the old sheik only wants me to make a row with it, in case I sees anything as is suspicious. He was afeard to put a ball in it lest I should be killin' one of themselves. That's his confidence. He on'y wants me to bark without being able to bite. But this don't suit me at all, at all. Faix, I'll find a bit of a stone and ram it into the barrel." Saying this he groped about the ground in search of a pebble of the proper size; but for some time could find none to his liking. He could lay his hand on nothing but the finest sand. While engaged in this search he fancied he heard some one approaching from the side opposite to that in which he was expecting to hear the word "_Akka_." He looked in that direction, but could see nothing save the gray surface of the sea-beach. Since being on the desert Bill had several times observed the Arabs lay themselves along the earth to listen for the sound of footsteps. This plan he now tried himself. With his eyes close to the ground, the old sailor fancied he was able to see to a greater distance than when standing upright. There seemed to be more light on the surface of the earth than at four or five feet above it; and objects in the distance were placed more directly between his eyes and the horizon. While thus lying extended along the sand, he heard footsteps approaching from the shore; but, believing they were those of the sentinel, he paid no attention to them. He only listened for a repetition of those sounds he fancied to have come from the opposite direction. But nothing was now heard to the eastward; and he came to the conclusion that he had been deceived by an excited fancy. Of one thing, however, he soon became certain. It was, that the footsteps which he supposed to be those of the Arab who kept, what Bill called, the "larboard watch," were drawing nearer than usual, and that the word "_Akka_" was not pronounced as before. The old sailor slewed himself around, and directed his gaze towards the shore. The sound of footsteps was no longer heard, but the figure of a man was perceived at no great distance from the spot. He was not advancing nearer, but standing erect, and apparently gazing sharply about him. Could this man be the Arab sentinel? The latter was known to be short and of slight frame, while the man now seen appeared tall and of stout build. Instead of remaining in his upright attitude, and uttering, as the sentry should have done, the word "_Akka_," the stranger was seen to stoop down, and place his ear close to the earth as if to listen. During a moment or two while the man's eyes appeared to be turned away from him, the sailor took the precaution to fill the barrel of his pistol with sand. Should he give the alarm by firing off the pistol, and then run towards the camp? No! he might have been deceived by an excited imagination. The individual before him might possibly be the Arab guard trying to discover his presence before giving the sign. While the sailor was thus undecided, the huge form drew nearer, approaching on all fours. It came within eight or ten paces of the spot, and then slowly assumed an upright position. Bill now saw it was not the sentinel but the black sheik! The old man-o'-war's-man was never more frightened in his life. He thought of discharging the pistol, and running back to the douar; but then came the thought that he would certainly be shot down the instant he should rise to his feet; and fear held him motionless. Golah drew nearer and nearer, and the sailor seeing the scimitar uplifted suddenly formed the resolution to act. Projecting the muzzle of his huge pistol towards the black, he pulled the trigger, and at the same instant sprang to his feet. There was a loud deafening report, followed by a yell of wild agony. Bill stayed not to note the effect of his fire: but ran as fast as his legs would carry him towards the camp,--already alarmed by the report of the pistol. The Arabs were running to and fro in terrible fear and confusion, shouting as they ran. Amidst these shouts was heard,--in the direction from which the sailor had fled,--a loud voice frantically calling, "Muley! Muley!" "'Tis the voice of Golah!" exclaimed the Krooman in Arabic. "He is calling for his son,--Muley is his son's name!" "They are going to attack the douar," shouted the Arab sheik, and his words were followed by a scene of the wildest terror. The Arabs rushed here and there, mingling their cries with those of the slaves; while women shrieked, children screamed, dogs barked, horses neighed, and even the quiet camels gave voice to their alarm. In the confusion the two wives of Golah, taking their children along with them, hurried away from the camp, and escaped undiscovered in the darkness. They had heard the voice of the father of their children, and understood that accent of anguish in which he had called out the name of his son. They were women,--women who, although dreading their tyrant husband in his day of power, now pitied him in his hour of misfortune. The Arabs, anxiously expecting the appearance of their enemy, in great haste made ready to meet him; but they were left unmolested. In a few minutes all was quiet: not a sound was heard in the vicinity of the douar; and the late alarm might have appeared only a panic of groundless fear. The light of day was gradually gathering in the east when the Arab sheik, recovering from his excitement, ventured to make an examination of the douar and its denizens. Two important facts presented themselves as evidence, that the fright they had experienced was not without a cause. The sentry who had been stationed to guard the camp on its southern side was not present, and Golah's two wives and their children were also absent! There could be no mystery about the disappearance of the women. They had gone to rejoin the man whose voice had been heard calling "Muley." But where was the Arab sentry? Had another of the party fallen a victim to the vengeance of Golah? CHAPTER LXII. GOLAH FULFILS HIS DESTINY. Taking the Krooman by one arm, the Arab sheik led him up to the old man-o'-war's-man, who, sailor-like having finished his watch, had gone to sleep. After being awakened by the sheik, the Krooman was told to ask the white man why he fired his pistol. "Why, to kill Golah,--the big nager!" answered Bill; "an' I'm mighty desaved if I 'ave not done it." This answer was communicated to the sheik, who had the art of expressing unbelief with a peculiar smile, which he now practised. Bill was asked if he had seen the black sheik. "Seen him! sartinly I did," answered the sailor. "He was not more nor four paces from me at the time I peppered 'im. I tell you he is gone and done for." The sheik shook his head, and again smiled incredulously. Further inquiries were interrupted by the discovery of the body of the Arab sentinel whom Golah had killed, and all clustered around it. The man's head was nearly severed from his body; and the blow--which must have caused instant death--had evidently been given by the black sheik. Near the corpse, tracks were observed in the sand such as no other human being but Golah could have made. It was now broad daylight; and the Arabs, glancing along the shore to southward, made another discovery. Two camels with a horse were seen upon the beach about half a mile off; and, leaving one of their number to guard the douar, the old sheik with his followers started off in the hope of recovering some of the property they had lost. They were followed by most of the slaves; who, by the misfortunes of their master, were under less restraint. On arriving near the place where the camels were, the young man we have described as Golah's brother-in-law, was found to be in charge of them. He was lying on the ground; but on the approach of the Arabs, he sprang to his feet, at the same time holding up both his hands. He carried no weapon; and the gesture signified, "It is peace." The two women, surrounded by their children, were near by, sitting silent and sorrowful on the sea-beach. They took no heed of the approach of the Arabs; and did not even look up as the latter drew near. The muskets and other weapons were lying about. One of the camels was down upon the sand. It was dead; and the young negro was in the act of eating a large piece of raw flesh he had severed from its hump. The Arab sheik inquired after Golah. He to whom the inquiry was directed pointed to the sea, where two dark bodies were seen tumbling about in the surf as it broke against the shingle of the beach. The three midshipmen, at the command of the sheik, waded in, and dragged the bodies out of the water. They were recognized as those of Golah and his son, Muley. Golah's face appeared to have been frightfully lacerated; and his once large fierce eyes were altogether gone. The brother-in-law was called on to explain the mysterious death of the black sheik and his son. His explanation was as follows:-- "I heard Golah calling for Muley after hearing the report of a gun. From that I knew that he was wounded. Muley ran to assist him, while I stayed behind with the horse and camels. I am starving! Very soon Muley came running back, followed by his father, who seemed possessed of an evil spirit. He ran this way and that way, swinging his scimitar about, and trying to kill us both as well as the camels. He could not see, and we managed to keep out of his way. I am starving!" The young negro here paused, and, once more picking up the piece of camel's flesh, proceeded to devour it with an alacrity that proved the truth of his assertion. "Pig!" exclaimed the sheik, "tell your story first, and eat afterwards." "Praise be to Allah!" said the youth, as he resumed his narrative, "Golah ran against one of the camels and killed it." His listeners looked towards the dead camel. They saw that the body bore the marks of Golah's great scimitar. "After killing the camel," continued the young man, "the sheik became quiet. The evil spirit had passed out of him; and he sat down upon the sand. Then his wives came up to him; and he talked to them kindly, and put his hands on each of the children, and called them by name. They screamed when they looked at him, and Golah told them not to be frightened; that he would wash his face and frighten them no more. The little boy led him to the water and he rushed into the sea as far as he could wade. He went there to die. Muley ran after to bring him out, and they were both drowned. I could not help them, for I was starving!" The emaciated appearance of the narrator gave strong evidence of the truth of the concluding words of his story. For nearly a week he had been travelling night and day, and the want of sleep and food could not have been much longer endured. At the command of the Arab chief, the slaves now buried the bodies of Golah and his son. Gratified at his good fortune, in being relieved from all further trouble with his implacable foeman, the sheik determined to have a day of rest, which to his slaves was very welcome, as was also the flesh of the dead camel, now given them to eat. About the death of Golah there was still a mystery the Arabs could not comprehend; and the services of the Krooman as interpreter were again called into requisition. When the sheik learnt what the sailor had done,--how the pistol had been made an effective weapon by filling the barrel with sand,--he expressed much satisfaction at the manner in which the old man-o'-war's-man had performed his duty. Full of gratitude for the service thus rendered him, he promised that not only the sailor himself, but the boy slaves, his companions, should be taken to Mogador, and restored to their friends. CHAPTER LXIII. ON THE EDGE OF THE SAÄRA. After a journey of two long dreary days--days that were to the boy slaves periods of agonizing torture, from fatigue, hunger, thirst, and exposure to a burning sun--the kafila arrived at another watering-place. As they drew near the place, our adventurers perceived that it was the same where they had first fallen into the hands of Golah. "May God help us!" exclaimed Harry Blount, as they approached the place. "We have been here before. We shall find no water, I fear. We did not leave more than two bucketfuls in the hole; and as there has been no rain since, that must be dried up, long ago." An expression of hopeless despair came over the countenances of his companions. They had seen, but a few days before, nearly all the water drawn out of the pool, and given to the camels. Their fears were soon removed, and followed by the real gratification of a desire they had long been indulging--the desire to quench their thirst. There was plenty of water in the pool--a heavy deluge of rain having fallen over the little valley since they had left it. The small supply of food possessed by the travellers would not admit of their making any delay at this watering-place; and the next morning the journey was resumed. The Arabs appeared to bear no animosity towards the young man who had assisted Golah in killing their companions; and now that the black sheik was dead, they had no fear that the former would try to escape. The negro was one of those human beings who cannot own themselves, and who never feel at home unless with some one to control them. He quietly took his place along with the other slaves,--apparently resigned to his fate,--a fate that doomed him to perpetual slavery, though a condition but little lower than that he had occupied with his brother-in-law. Eight days were now passed in journeying in a direction that led a little to the east of north. To the white slaves they were days of indescribable agony, from those two terrible evils that assail all travellers through the Saära,--hunger and thirst. Within the distance passed during these eight days they found but one watering-place, where the supply was not only small in quantity but bad in quality. It was a well, nearly dried up, containing a little water, offensive to sight and smell, and only rendered endurable to taste by the irresistible power of thirst. The surface of the pool was covered nearly an inch thick with dead insects, which had to be removed to reach the discolored element beneath. They were not only compelled to use, but were even thankful to obtain, this impure beverage. The route followed during these eight days was not along the seashore; and they were therefore deprived of the opportunity of satisfying their hunger with shell-fish. The Arabs were in haste to reach some place where they could procure food for their animals, and at the pace at which they rode forward, it required the utmost exertion on the part of their slaves to keep up with them. The old man-o'-war's-man, unused to land travelling, could never have held out, had not the Arabs allowed him, part of the time, to ride on a camel. The feat he had performed, in ridding them of that enemy who had troubled them so much--and who, had he not been thwarted in his attack upon the camp, would probably have killed them all--had inspired his masters with some slight gratitude. The sailor, therefore, was permitted to ride, when they saw that otherwise they would have to leave him behind to die upon the desert. During the last two days of the eight, our adventurers noticed something in the appearance of the country, over which they were moving, that inspired them with hope. The face of the landscape became more uneven; while here and there stunted bushes and weeds were seen, as if struggling between life and death. The kafila had arrived on the northern border of the great Saära; and a few days more would bring them to green fields, shady groves, and streams of sparkling water. Something resembling the latter was soon after discovered. At the close of the eighth day they reached the bed of what appeared to be a river recently dried up. Although there was no current they found some pools of stagnant water: and beside one of these the douar was established. On a hill to the north were growing some green shrubs to which the camels were driven; and upon these they immediately commenced browsing. Not only the leaves, but the twigs and branches were rapidly twisted off by the long prehensile lips of the animals, and as greedily devoured. It was twilight as the camp had been fairly pitched; and just then two men were seen coming towards them leading a camel. They were making for the pools of water, for the purpose of filling some goat skins which were carried on their camel. They appeared both surprised and annoyed to find the pools in possession of strangers. Seeing they could not escape observation, the men came boldly forward, and commenced filling their goat-skins. While thus engaged they told the Arab sheik that they belonged to a caravan near at hand that was journeying southward; and that they should continue their journey early the next morning. After the departure of the two men the Arabs held a consultation. "They have told us a lie," remarked the old sheik, "they are not on a journey, or they would have halted here by the water. By the beard of our Prophet they have spoken falsely!" With this opinion his followers agreed; and it was suggested that the two men they had seen were of some party encamped by the seashore, and undoubtedly amusing themselves with a wreck, or gathering wealth in some other unusual way. Here was an opportunity not to be lost; and the Arabs determined to have a share in whatever good fortune Providence might have thrown in the way of those already upon the ground. If it should prove to be a wreck there might be serious difficulty with those already in possession; it was resolved, therefore, to wait for the morning, when they could form a better opinion of their chances of success, should a conflict be necessary to secure it. CHAPTER LXIV. THE RIVAL WRECKERS. Early next morning the kafila was _en route_ for the seashore, which was discovered not far distant. On coming near a douar of seven tents was seen standing upon the beach: and several men stepped forward to receive them. The usual salutations were exchanged, and the new comers began to look about them. Several pieces of timber lying along the shore gave evidence that their conjecture, as to a wreck having taken place, had been a correct one. "There is but one God, and He is kind to us all," said the old sheik; "He casts the ships of unbelievers on our shores, and we have come to claim a share of His favors." "You are welcome to all you can justly claim," answered a tall man, who appeared to be the leader of the party of wreckers. "Mahomet is the prophet of Him who sends favors to all, both good and bad. If he has sent anything for you, look along the sea-beach and find it." On this invitation the camels of the kafila were unloaded, and the tents pitched. The new-comers then set about searching for the _débris_ of the wrecked vessel. They discovered only some spars, and other pieces of ship-timbers, which were of no value to either party. A consultation now took place between the old sheik and his followers. They were unanimous in the belief that a sunken ship was near them, and that they had only to watch the rival wreckers, and learn where she was submerged. Desisting from their search, they resolved to keep a lookout. When this determination became known to the other party, its chief, after conferring with his companions, came forward, and, announcing himself as the representative of his people, proposed a conference. "I am Sidi Hamet," said he, "and the others you see here are my friends and relatives. We are all members of the same family, and faithful followers of the Prophet. God is great, and has been kind to us. He has sent us a prize. We are about to gather the gifts of His mercy. Go your way, and leave us in peace." "I am Rais Abdallah Yezzed," answered the old sheik, "and neither my companions nor myself are so bad but that we, too, may be numbered among those who are entitled to God's favor, when it pleases Him to cast on our shores the ships of the infidel." In rejoinder Sidi Hamet entered upon a long harangue; in which he informed the old sheik that in the event of a vessel having gone to pieces, and the coast having been strown with merchandise, each party would have been entitled to all it could gather; but unfortunately for both, those pleasant circumstances did not now exist; although it was true, that the hulk of a vessel, containing a cargo that could not wash ashore was lying under water near by. They had discovered it, and therefore laid claim to all that it contained. Sidi Hamet's party was a strong one, consisting of seventeen men; and therefore could afford to be communicative without the least danger of being disturbed in their plans and prospects. They acknowledged that they had been working ten days in clearing the cargo out of the sunken vessel, and that their work was not yet half done--the goods being very difficult to get at. The old sheik inquired of what the cargo consisted; but could obtain no satisfactory answer. Here was a mystery. Seventeen men had been fourteen days unloading the hulk of a wrecked ship, and yet no articles of merchandise were to be seen near the spot! A few casks, some pieces of old sail, with a number of cooking utensils that had belonged to a ship's galley, lay upon the beach; but these could not be regarded as forming any portion of the cargo of a ship. The old sheik and his followers were in a quandary. They had often heard of boxes full of money having been obtained from wrecked ships. Sailors cast away upon their coast had been known to bury such commodities, and afterwards under torture to reveal the spot where the interment had been made. Had this vessel, on which the wreckers were engaged, been freighted with money, and had the boxes been buried as soon as brought ashore? It was possible, thought the new comers. They must wait and learn; and if there was any means by which they could claim a share in the good fortune of those who had first discovered the wreck, those means must be adopted. The original discoverers were too impatient to stay proceedings till their departure; and feeling secure in the superiority of numbers, they recommenced their task of discharging the submerged hulk. They advanced to the water's edge, taking along with them a long rope that had been found attached to the spars. At one end of this rope they had made a running noose, which was made fast to a man, who swam out with it to the distance of about a hundred yards. The swimmer then dived out of sight. He had gone below to visit the wreck, and attach the rope to a portion of the cargo. A minute after his head was seen above the surface, and a shout was sent forth. Some of his companions on the beach now commenced hauling in the rope, the other end of which had been left in their hands. When the noose was pulled ashore, it was found to embrace a large block of sandstone, weighing about twenty-five or thirty pounds! The Krooman had already informed Harry Blount and his companions of something he had learnt from the conversation of the wreckers; and the three mids had been watching with considerable interest the movements of the diver and his assistants. When the block of sandstone was dragged up on the beach, they stared at each other with expressions of profound astonishment. No wonder: the wreckers were employed in clearing the ballast out of a sunken ship! What could be their object? Our adventurers could not guess. Nor, indeed, could the wreckers themselves have given a good reason for undergoing such an amount of ludicrous labor. Why they had not told the old sheik what sort of cargo they were saving from the wreck, was because they had no certain knowledge of its value, or what in reality it was they were taking so much time and trouble to get safely ashore. As they believed that the white slaves must have a perfect knowledge of the subject upon which they were themselves so ignorant, they closely scanned the countenances of the latter, as the block of ballast was drawn out upon the dry sand. They were rewarded for their scrutiny. The surprise exhibited by Sailor Bill and the three mids confirmed the wreckers in their belief that they were saving something of grand value; for, in fact, had the block of sandstone been a monstrous nugget of gold, the boy slaves could not have been more astonished at beholding it. Their behavior increased the ardor of the salvors in the pursuit in which they were engaged, along with the envy of the rival party, who, by the laws of the Saäran coast, were not allowed to participate in their toil. The Krooman now endeavored to undeceive his master as to the value of the "salvage,"--telling him that what their rivals were taking out of the sunken ship was nothing but worthless stone. But his statement was met with a smile of incredulity. Those engaged in getting the ballast ashore regarded the Krooman's statements with equal contempt. He was either a liar or a fool, and therefore unworthy of the least attention. With this reflection they went on with their work. After some time spent in reconsidering the subject, the old sheik called the Krooman aside; and when out of hearing of the wreckers, asked him to give an explanation of the real nature of what he himself persisted in calling the "cargo" of the wreck,--as well as a true statement of its value. The slave did as he was desired; but the old sheik only shook his head, once more declaring his incredulity. He had never heard of a ship that did not carry a cargo of something valuable. He thought that no men would be so stupid and foolish as to go from one country to another in ships loaded only with worthless stones. As nothing else in the shape of cargo was found aboard the wreck, the stones must be of some value. So argued the Arab. While the Krooman was trying to explain the real purpose for which the stones had been placed in the hold of the vessel, one of the wreckers came up and informed him that a white man was in one of their tents, that he was ill, and wished to see and converse with the infidel slaves, of whose arrival he had just heard. The Krooman communicated this piece of intelligence to our adventurers; and the tent that contained the sick white man having been pointed out to them, they at once started towards it, expecting to see some unfortunate countryman, who, like themselves, had been cast away on the inhospitable shores of the Saära. CHAPTER LXV. ANOTHER WHITE SLAVE. On entering within the tent to which they had been directed, they found, lying upon the ground, a man about forty years of age. Although he appeared a mere skeleton, consisting of little more than skin and bones, he did not present the general aspect of a man suffering from ill health; nor yet would he have passed for a _white_ man anywhere out of Africa. "You are the first English people I've seen for over thirty years," said he, as they entered the tent: "for I can tell by your looks that every one of you are English. You are my countrymen. I was white once myself; and you will be as black as I am when you have been sun-scorched here for forty-three years, as I have been." "What!" exclaimed Terence; "have you been a slave in the Saära so long as that? If so, God help us! What hope is there of our ever getting free?" The young Irishman spoke in a tone of despair. "Very little chance of your ever seeing home again, my lad," answered the invalid; "but _I_ have a chance now, if you and your comrades don't spoil it. For God's sake don't tell these Arabs that they are the fools they are for making salvage of the ballast. If you do, they'll be sure to make an end of me. It's all my doing. I've made them believe the stones are valuable, so that they may take them to some place where I can escape. It is the only chance I have had for years,--don't destroy it, as you value the life of a fellow-countryman." From further conversation with the man, our adventurers learned that he had been shipwrecked on the coast many years before, and had ever since been trying to get transported to some place where he might be ransomed. He declared that he had been backward and forward across the desert forty or fifty times; and that he had belonged to not less than fifty masters! "I have only been with these fellows a few weeks," said he, "and fortunately when we came this way we were able to tell where the sunken ship was by seeing her foremast then sticking out of the water. The vessel was in ballast; and the crew probably put out to sea in their boats, without being discovered. It was the first ship my masters had ever heard of without a cargo; and they would not believe but what the stones were such, and must be worth something--else why should they be carried about the world in a ship. I told them it was a kind of stone from which gold was obtained; but that it must be taken to some place where there was plenty of coal or wood, before the gold could be melted out of it, and then intrusted to white men who understood the art of extracting the precious metal from the rocks. "They believe all this; for they can see shining particles in the sandstone which they think is really gold, or something that can be converted into it. For four days they forced me to toil, at diving and assisting them; but that didn't suit my purpose; and I've at length succeeded in making them believe that I am not able to work any longer." "But do you really think," asked Harry Blount, "that they will carry the ballast any distance without learning its real value?" "Yes; I did think that they might take it to Mogador, and that they would let me go along with them." "But some one will meet them, and tell them that their lading is worthless?" suggested Colin. "No, I think that fear of losing their valuable freight will keep them from letting any one know what they've got. They are hiding it in the sand now, as fast as they get it ashore, for fear some party stronger than themselves should come along and take it away from them. I intend to tell them after they have started on their journey, not to let any one see or know what they have, until they are safe within the walls of Mogador, where they will be under the protection of the governor. They have promised to take me along with them, and if I once get within sight of a seaport, not all the Arabs in Africa will hinder me from recovering my liberty." While the pretended invalid was talking to them, Sailor Bill had been watching him, apparently with eager interest. "Beg pardon for 'aving a small taste o' difference wid you in the mather ov your age," said the sailor, as soon as the man had ceased speaking; "but I'll never belave you've been about 'ere for forty years. It can't be so long as that." The two men, after staring at each other for a moment, uttered the words "Jim!" "Bill!" and then, springing forward, each grasped the hand of the other. Two brothers had met! The three mids remembered that Bill had told them of a brother, who, when last heard from, was a slave somewhere in the Saära, and they needed no explanation of the scene now presented to them. The two brothers were left alone; and after the others had gone out of the tent they returned to the Krooman--who had just succeeded in convincing the sheik, that the stones being fished out of the sunken ship were, at that time and place, of no value whatever. All attempts on the part of the old sheik to convince the wreckers, as he had been convinced himself, proved fruitless. The arguments he used to them were repeated to the sailor, Bill's brother; and by him were easily upset with a few words. "Of course they will try to make you believe the cargo is no good," retorted Jim. "They wish you to leave it, so that they can have it all to themselves. Does not common sense tell you that they are liars?" This was conclusive; and the wreckers continued their toil, extracting stone after stone out of the hold of the submerged ship. Sailor Bill, at his brother's request, then summoned his companions to the tent. "Which of you have been trying to do me an injury?" inquired Jim. "I told you not to say that the stones were worthless." It was explained to him how the Krooman had been enlightening his master. "Call the Krooman," said Jim, "and I'll enlighten him. If these Arabs find out that they have been deceived, I shall be killed, and your master--the old sheik--will certainly lose all his property. Tell him to come here also. I must talk to him. Something must be done immediately, or I shall be killed." The Krooman and the old sheik were conducted into the tent; and Jim talked to them in the Arabic language. "Leave my masters alone to their folly," said he to the sheik; "and they will be so busy that you can depart in peace. If not, and you convince them that they have been deceived, they will rob you of all you have got. You have already said enough to excite their suspicions, and they will in time learn that I have been humbugging them. My life is no longer safe in their company. You buy me, then; and let us all take our departure immediately." "Are the stones in the wreck really worth nothing?" asked the sheik. "No more than the sand on the shore; and when they find out that such is the case, some one will be robbed. They have come to the seacoast to seek wealth, and they will have it one way or the other. They are a tribe of bad men. Buy me, and leave them to continue the task they have so ignorantly undertaken." "You are not well," replied the sheik; "and if I buy you, you cannot walk." "Let me ride on a camel until I get out of sight of these my masters," answered Jim; "you will then see whether I can walk or not. They will sell me cheap; for they think I am done up. But I am not; I was only weary of diving after worthless stones." The old sheik promised to follow Jim's advice; and ordered his companions to prepare immediately for the continuance of their journey. Sidi Hamet was called, and asked by Rais Abdallah if he would sell some of the stones they had saved from the infidel ship. "Bismillah! No!" exclaimed the wrecker. "You say they are of no value, and I do not wish to cheat any true believer of the prophet." "Will you _give_ me some of them, then?" "No! Allah forbid that Sidi Hamet should ever make a worthless present to a friend!" "I am a merchant," rejoined the old sheik; "and wish to do business. Have you any slaves, or other property you can sell me?" "Yes! You see that Christian dog," replied the wrecker, pointing to Sailor Bill's brother; "I will sell him." "You have promised to take me to Swearah," interrupted Jim. "Do not sell me, master; I think I shall get well some time, and will then work for you as hard as I can." Sidi Hamet cast upon his infidel slave a look of contempt at this allusion to his illness; but Jim's remark, and the angry glance, were both unheeded by the Arab sheik. The slave's pretended wishes not to be sold were disregarded; and for the consideration of an old shirt and a small camel-hair tent, he became the property of Rais Abdallah Yezzed. The old sheik and his followers then betook themselves to their camels; and the kafila was hurried up the dry bed of the river,--leaving the wreckers to continue their toilsome and unprofitable task. CHAPTER LXVI. SAILOR BILL'S BROTHER. After leaving the coast, the travellers kept at a quick pace, and Sailor Bill and his brother had but little opportunity of holding converse together. When the douar had been pitched for the night, the old salt and the "young gentlemen," his companions, gathered around the man whose experience in the miseries of Saäran slavery so far exceeded their own. "Now, Jim," began the old man-o'-war's-man, "you must spin us the yarn of all your cruising since you've been here. We've seen somethin' o' the elephant since we've been cast ashore, and that's not long. I don't wonder at you sayin' you 'ave been aboard this craft forty-three years." "Yes, that is the correct time according to my reckoning," interrupted Jim; "but, Bill, you don't look much older than when I saw you last. How long ago was it?" "About eleven years." "Eleven years! I tell you that I've been here over forty." "'Ow can that be?" asked Bill. "Daze it, man, you'll not be forty years old till the fourteenth o' the next month. You 'ave lost yer senses, an' in troth, it an't no wonder!" "That is true, for there is nothing in the Saära to help a man keep his reckoning. There are no seasons; and every day is as like another as two seconds in the same minute. But surely I must have been here for more than eleven years." "No," answered Bill, "ye 'ave no been here only a wee bit langer than tin; but afther all ye must 'ave suffered in that time, it is quare that ye should a know'd me at all, at all." "I did not know you until you spoke," rejoined Jim "Then I couldn't doubt that it was you who stood before me, when I heard our father's broad Scotch, our mother's Irish brogue, and the talk of the cockneys amongst whom your earliest days were passed, all mingled together." "You see, Master Colly," said Bill, turning to the young Scotchman. "My brother Jim has had the advantage of being twelve years younger than I; and when he was old enough to go to school, I was doing something to help kape 'im there, and for all that I believe he is plased to see me." "Pleased to see you!" exclaimed Jim. "Of course I am." "I'm sure av it," said Bill. "Well, then, brother, go ahead, an' spin us your yarn." "I have no one yarn to spin," replied Jim, "for a narrative of my adventures in the desert would consist of a thousand yarns, each giving a description of some severe suffering or disappointment. I can only tell you that it seems to me that I have passed many years in travelling through the sands of the Saära, years in cultivating barley on its borders, years in digging wells, and years in attending flocks of goats, sheep, and other animals. I have had many masters,--all bad, and some worse,--and I have had many cruel disappointments about regaining my liberty. I was once within a single day's journey of Mogador, and was then sold again and carried back into the very heart of the desert. I have attempted two or three times to escape; but was recaptured each time, and nearly killed for the unpardonable dishonesty of trying to rob my master of my own person. I have often been tempted to commit suicide; but a sort of womanly curiosity and stubbornness has prevented me. I wished to see how long Fortune would persecute me, and I was determined not to thwart her plans by putting myself beyond their reach. I did not like to give in, for any one who tries to escape from trouble by killing himself, shows that he has come off sadly worsted in the war of life." "You are quite right," said Harry Blount; "but I hope that your hardest battles in that war are now over. Our masters have promised to carry us to some place where we may be ransomed by our countrymen, and you of course will be taken along with us." "Do not flatter yourselves with that hope," said Jim. "_I_ was amused with it for several years. Every master I have had gave me the same promise, and here I am yet. I did think when my late owners were saving the stones from the wreck, that I could get them to enter the walls of some seaport town, and that possibly they might take me along with them. But that hope has proved as delusive as all others I have entertained since shipwrecked on the shore of this accursed country. I believe there are a few who are fortunate enough to regain their liberty; but the majority of sailors cast away on the Saäran coast never have the good fortune to get away from it. They die under the hardships and ill-treatment to which they are exposed upon the desert--without leaving a trace of their existence any more than the dogs or camels belonging to their common masters. "You have asked me to give an account of my life since I have been shipwrecked. I cannot do that; but I shall give you an easy rule by which you may know all about it. We will suppose you have all been three months in the Saära, and Bill here says that I have been here ten years; therefore I have experienced about forty times as long a period of slavery as one of yourselves. Now, multiply the sum total of your sufferings by forty, and you will have some idea of what I have undergone. "You have probably witnessed some scenes of heartless cruelty--scenes that shocked and wounded the most sensitive feelings of your nature. I have witnessed forty times as many. While suffering the agonies of thirst and hunger, you may have prayed for death as a relief to your anguish. Where such have been your circumstances once, they have been mine for forty times. "You may have had some bright hopes of escaping, and once more revisiting your native land; and then have experienced the bitterness of disappointment. In this way I have suffered forty times as much as any one of you." Sailor Bill and the young gentlemen,--who had been for several days under the pleasant hallucination that they were on the high road to freedom,--were again awakened to a true sense of their situation by the words of a man far more experienced than they in the deceitful ways of the desert. Before separating for the night, the three mids learnt from Bill and his brother that the latter had been first officer of the ship that had brought him to the coast. They could perceive by his conversation that he was an intelligent man,--one whose natural abilities and artificial acquirements were far superior to those of their shipmate,--the old man-of-war's-man. "If such an accomplished individual," reasoned they, "has been for ten years a slave in the Saära, unable to escape or reach any place where his liberty might be restored, what hope is there for us?" CHAPTER LXVII. A LIVING STREAM. Every hour of the journey presented some additional evidence that the kafila was leaving the great desert behind, and drawing near a land that might be considered fertile. On the day after parting from the wreckers a walled town was reached, and near it, on the sides of some of the hills, were seen growing a few patches of barley. At this place the caravan rested for the remainder of the day. The camels and horses were furnished with a good supply of food, and water drawn from deep wells. It was the best our adventurers had drunk since being cast away on the African coast. Next morning the journey was continued. After they had been on the road about two hours, the old sheik and a companion, riding in advance of the others, stopped before what seemed, in the distance, a broad stream of water. All hastened forward, and the Boy Slaves beheld a sight that filled them with much surprise and considerable alarm. It was a stream,--a stream of living creatures moving over the plain. It was a migration of insects,--the famed locusts of Africa. They were young ones,--not yet able to fly; and for some reason, unknown perhaps even to themselves, they were taking this grand journey. Their march seemed conducted in regular order, and under strict discipline. They formed a living moving belt of considerable breadth, the sides of which appeared as straight as any line mathematical science could have drawn. Not one could be seen straggling from the main body, which was moving along a track too narrow for their numbers,--scarce half of them having room on the sand, while the other half were crawling along on the backs of their _compagnons du voyage_. Even the Arabs appeared interested in this African mystery, and paused for a few minutes to watch the progress of the glittering stream presented by these singular insects. The old sheik dismounted from his camel; and with his scimitar broke the straight line formed by the border of the moving mass--sweeping them off to one side. The space was instantly filled up again by those advancing from behind, and the straight edge restored, the insects crawling onward without the slightest deviation. The sight was not new to Sailor Bill's brother. He informed his companions that should a fire be kindled on their line of march, the insects, instead of attempting to pass around it, would move right into its midst until it should become extinguished with their dead bodies. After amusing himself for a few moments in observing these insects, the sheik mounted his camel, and, followed by the kafila, commenced moving through the living stream. A hoof could not be put down without crushing a score of the creatures; but immediately on the hoof being lifted, the space was filled with as many as had been destroyed! Some of the slaves, with their naked feet, did not like wading through this living crawling stream. It was necessary to use force to compel them to pass over it. After looking right and left, and seeing no end to the column of insects, our adventurers made a rush, and ran clear across it. At every step their feet fell with a crunching sound, and were raised again, streaming with the blood of the mangled locusts. The belt of the migratory insects was about sixty yards in breadth; yet, short as was the distance, the Boy Slaves declared that it was more disagreeable to pass over than any ten miles of the desert they had previously traversed. One of the blacks, determined to make the crossing as brief as possible, started in a rapid run. When about half way through, his foot slipped, and he fell full length amidst the crowd of creepers. Before he could regain his feet, hundreds of the disgusting insects had mounted upon him, clinging to his clothes, and almost smothering him by their numbers. Overcome by disgust, horror, and fear, he was unable to rise; and two of his black companions were ordered to drag him out of the disagreeable company into which he had stumbled. After being rescued and delivered from the clutch of the locusts, it was many minutes before he recovered his composure of mind, along with sufficient nerve to resume his journey. Sailor Bill had not made the crossing along with the others; and for some time resisted all the attempts of the Arabs to force him over the insect stream. Two of them at length laid hold of him; and, after dragging him some paces into the crawling crowd, left him to himself. Being thus brought in actual contact with the insects, the old sailor saw that the quickest way of getting out of the scrape was to cross over to the other side. This he proceeded to do in the least time, and with the greatest possible noise. His paces were long, and made with wonderful rapidity; and each time his foot came to the ground, he uttered a horrible yell, as though it had been planted upon a sheet of red-hot iron. Bill's brother had now so far recovered from his feigned illness, that he was able to walk along with the Boy Slaves. Naturally conversing about the locusts, he informed his companions, that the year before he had been upon a part of the Saäran coast where a cloud of these insects had been driven out to sea by a storm, and drowned. They were afterwards washed ashore in heaps; the effluvia from which became so offensive that the fields of barley near the shore could not be harvested, and many hundred acres of the crop were wholly lost to the owners. CHAPTER LXVIII. THE ARABS AT HOME. Soon after encountering the locusts, the kafila came upon a well-beaten road, running through a fertile country, where hundreds of acres of barley could be seen growing on both sides. That evening, for some reason unknown to the slaves, their masters did not halt at the usual hour. They saw many walled villages, where dwelt the proprietors of the barley fields; but hurried past them without stopping either for water or food--although their slaves were sadly in need of both. In vain the latter complained of thirst, and begged for water. The only reply to their entreaties was a harsh command to move on faster, frequently followed by a blow. Towards midnight, when the hopes and strength of all were nearly exhausted, the kafila arrived at a walled village, where a gate was opened to admit his slaves. The old sheik then informed them that they should have plenty of food and drink, and would be allowed to rest for two or three days in the village. A quantity of water was then thickened with barley meal; and of this diet they were permitted to have as much as they could consume. It was after night when they entered the gate of the village, and nothing could be seen. Next morning they found themselves in the centre of a square enclosure surrounded by about twenty houses, standing within a high wall. Flocks of sheep and goats, with a number of horses, camels, and donkeys, were also within the inclosure. Jim informed his companions that most of the Saäran Arabs have fixed habitations, where they dwell the greater part of the year,--generally walled towns, such as the one they had now entered. The wall is intended for a protection against robbers, at the same time that it serves as a pen to keep their flocks from straying or trespassing on the cultivated fields during the night time. It was soon discovered that the Arabs had arrived at their home; for as soon as day broke, they were seen in company with their wives and families. This accounted for their not making halt at any of the other villages. Being so near their own, they had made an effort to reach it without extending their journey into another day. "I fear we are in the hands of the wrong masters for obtaining our freedom," said Jim to his companions. "If they were traders, they might take us farther north and sell us; but it's clear they are not! They are graziers, farmers, and robbers, when the chance arises,--that's what they be! While waiting for their barley to ripen, they have been on a raiding expedition to the desert, in the hope of capturing a few slaves, to assist them in reaping their harvest." Jim's conjecture was soon after found to be correct. On the old sheik being asked when he intended taking his slaves on to Swearah, he answered:-- "Our barley is now ripe, and we must not leave it to spoil. You must help us in the harvest, and that will enable us to go to Swearah all the sooner." "Do you really intend to take your slaves to Swearah?" asked the Krooman. "Certainly!" replied the sheik. "Have we not promised? But we cannot leave our fields now. Bismillah! our grain must be gathered." "It is just as I supposed," said Jim. "They will promise anything. They do not intend taking us to Mogador at all. The same promise has been made to me by the same sort of people a score of times." "What shall we do?" asked Terence. "We must do nothing," answered Jim. "We must not assist them in any way, for the more useful we are to them the more reluctant they will be to part with us. I should have obtained my liberty years ago, had I not tried to gain the good-will of my Arab masters, by trying to make myself useful to them. That was a mistake, and I can see it now. We must not give them the slightest assistance in their barley-cutting." "But they will compel us to help them?" suggested Colin. "They cannot do that if we remain resolute; and I tell you all that you had better be killed at once than submit. If we assist in their harvest, they will find something else for us to do, and your best days, as mine have been, will be passed in slavery! Each of you must make himself a burden and expense to whoever owns him, and then we may be passed over to some trader who has been to Mogador, and knows that he can make money by taking us there to be redeemed. That is our only chance. These Arabs don't know that we are sure to be purchased for a good price in any large seaport town, and they will not run any risk in taking us there. Furthermore, these men are outlaws, desert robbers, and I don't believe that they dare enter the Moorish dominions. We must get transferred to other hands, and the only way to do that is to refuse work." Our adventurers agreed to be guided by Jim's counsels, although confident that they would experience much difficulty in following them. Early on the morning of the second day after the Arabs reached their home, all the slaves, both white and black, were roused from their slumbers; and after a spare breakfast of barley-gruel, were commanded to follow their masters to the grain fields, outside the walls of the town. "Do you want us to work?" asked Jim, addressing himself directly to the old sheik. "Bismillah! Yes!" exclaimed the Arab. "We have kept you too long in idleness. What have you done, or who are you, that we should maintain you? You must work for your living, as we do ourselves!" "We cannot do anything on land," said Jim. "We are sailors, and have only learnt to work on board a ship." "By Allah, you will soon learn! Come, follow us to the barley fields!" "No; we have all agreed to die rather than work for you! You promised to take us to Swearah; and we will go there or die. We will not be slaves any longer!" Most of the Arabs, with their wives and children, had now assembled around the white men, who were ordered instantly to move on. "It will not do for us to say we will not or can't move on," said Jim, speaking to his companions in English. "We must go to the field. They can make us do that; but they can't make us work. Go quietly to the field; but don't make yourselves useful when you get there." This advice was followed; and the Boy Slaves soon found themselves by the side of a large patch of barley, ready for the reaping-hook. A sickle of French manufacture was then placed in the hands of each, and they were instructed how to use them. "Never mind," said Jim. "Go to work with a will, mates! We'll show them a specimen of how reaping is done aboard ship!" Jim proceeded to set an example by cutting the grain in a careless manner--letting the heads fall in every direction, and then trampling them under foot as he moved on. The same plan was pursued by his brother Bill, the Krooman, and Harry Blount. In the first attempt to use the sickle, Terence was so awkward as to fall forward and break the implement into two pieces. Colin behaved no better: since he managed to cut one of his fingers, and then apparently fainted away at the sight of the blood. The forenoon was passed by the Arabs in trying to train their slaves to the work, but in this they were sadly unsuccessful. Curses, threats, and blows were expended upon them to no purpose, for the Christian dogs seemed only capable of doing much harm and no good. During the afternoon they were allowed to lie idle upon the ground, and watch their masters cutting the barley; although this indulgence was purchased at the expense of lacerated skins and aching bones. Nor was this triumph without the cost of further suffering: for they were not allowed a mouthful of food or a drop of water, although an abundance of both had been distributed to the other laborers in the field. All five, however, remained obstinate; withstanding hunger and thirst, threats, cursings, and stripes,--each one disdaining to be the first to yield to the wishes of their Arab masters. CHAPTER LXIX. WORK OR DIE. That night, after being driven within the walls of the town, the white slaves, along with their guard and the Krooman, were fastened in a large stone building partly in ruins, that had been recently used as a goat-pen. They were not allowed a mouthful of food nor a drop of water, and sentinels walked around all night to prevent them from breaking out of their prison. No longer targets for the beams of a blazing sun, they were partly relieved from their sufferings; but a few handfuls of barley they had managed to secrete and bring in from the field, proved only sufficient to sharpen an appetite which they could devise no means of appeasing. A raging thirst prevented them from having much sleep; and, on being turned out next morning, and ordered back to the barley fields, weak with hunger and want of sleep, they were strongly tempted to yield obedience to their masters. The black slaves had worked well the day before; and, having satisfied their masters, had received plenty of food and drink. Their white companions in misery saw them eating their breakfast before being ordered to the field. "Jim," said Sailor Bill, "I've 'alf a mind to give in. I must 'ave somethin' to heat an' drink. I'm starvin' all over." "Don't think of it, William," said his brother. "Unless you wish to remain for years in slavery, as I have done, you must not yield. Our only hope of obtaining liberty is to give the Arabs but one chance of making anything by us,--the chance of selling us to our countrymen. They won't let us die,--don't think it! We are worth too much for that. They will try to make us work if they can; but we are fools if we let them succeed." Again being driven to the field, another attempt was made by the Arabs to get some service out of them. "We can do nothing now," said Jim to the old sheik; "we are dying with hunger and thirst. Our life has always been on the sea, and we can do nothing on land." "There is plenty of food for those who earn it," rejoined the sheik; "and we cannot give those food who do not deserve it." "Then give us some water." "Allah forbid! We are not your servants to carry water for you." All attempts to make the white slaves perform their task having failed, they were ordered to sit down in the hot sun; where they were tantalized with the sight of the food and water of which they were not permitted to taste. During the forenoon of the day, all the eloquence Jim could command was required to prevent his brother from yielding. The old man-o'-war's-man was tortured by extreme thirst, and was once or twice on the eve of selling himself in exchange for a cooling draught. Long years of suffering on the desert had inured Jim to its hardships; and not so strongly tempted as the others, it was easier for him to remain firm. Since falling into the company of his countrymen, his hope of freedom had revived, and he was determined to make a grand effort to regain it. He knew that five white captives were worth the trouble of taking to some seaport frequented by English ships; and he believed, if they refrained from making themselves useful, there was a prospect of their being thus disposed of. Through his influence, therefore, the refractory slaves remained staunch in their resolution to abstain from work. Their masters now saw that they were better off in the field than in the prison. They could not be prevented from obtaining a few heads of the barley, which they greedily ate, nor from obtaining a little moisture by chewing the roots of the weeds growing around them. As soon as this was noticed, two of the Arabs were sent to conduct them back to the place where they had been confined on the night before. It was with the utmost exertion that Sailor Bill and Colin were able to reach the town; while the others, with the exception of Jim, were in a very weak and exhausted state. Hunger and thirst were fast subduing them--in body, if not in spirit. On reaching the door of the goat-pen, they refused to go in, all clamoring loudly for food and water. Their entreaties were met with the declaration: that it was the will of God that those who would not work should suffer starvation. "Idleness," argued their masters, "is always punished by ill-health"; and they wound up by expressing their thanks that such was the case. It was not until the two Arabs had obtained the assistance of several of the women and boys of the village that they succeeded in getting the white slaves within the goat-pen. "Jim, I tell you I can't stand this any longer," said Sailor Bill. "Call an' say to 'em as I gives in, and will work to-morrow, if they will let me have water." "And so will I," said Terence. "There is nothing in the future to compensate for this suffering, and I can endure it no longer." "Nor will I," exclaimed Harry; "I must have something to eat and drink immediately. We shall all be punished in the next world for self-murder in this unless we yield." "Courage! patience!" exclaimed Jim. "It is better to suffer for a few hours more than to remain all our lives in slavery." "What do I care for the future?" muttered Terence; "the present is everything. He is a fool who kills himself to-day to keep from being hungry ten years after. I will try to work to-morrow, if I live so long." "Yes, call an' tell 'em, Jem, as 'ow we gives in, an' they'll send us some refreshment," entreated the old sailor. "It ain't in human nature to die of starvation if one can 'elp it." But neither Jim nor the Krooman would communicate to the Arabs the wishes of their companions; and the words and signals the old sailor made to attract the attention of those outside were unheeded. Early in the evening, both Colin and the Krooman also expressed themselves willing to sacrifice the future for the present. "We have nothing to do with the future," said Colin; in answer to Jim's entreaties that they should remain firm. "The future is the care of God, and we are only concerned with the present. We ought to promise anything if we can obtain food by it." "I tink so too now," said the Krooman; "for it am worse than sure dat if we starve now we no be slaves bom by." "They will not quite starve us to death," said Jim. "I have told you before that we are worth too much for that. If we will not work they will sell us, and we may reach Mogador. If we do work, we may stay here for years. I entreat you to hold out one day longer." "I cannot," answered one. "Nor I," exclaimed another. "Let us first get something to eat, and then take our liberty by force," said Terence, "I fancy that if I had a drink of water, I could whip all the Arabs on earth." "And so could I," said Colin. "And I, too," added Harry Blount. Sailor Bill had sunk upon the floor, hardly conscious of what the others were saying; but, partly aroused by the word water, repeated it, muttering, in a hoarse whisper, "Water! Water!" The Krooman and the three youths joined in the cry; and then all, as loudly as their parched throats would permit, shouted the word, "Water! Water!" The call for water was apparently unheeded by the Arab men, but it was evidently music to many of the children of the village, for it attracted them to the door of the goat-pen, around which they clustered, listening with strong expressions of delight. Through a long night of indescribable agony, the cry of "Water! Water!" was often repeated in the pen, and at each time in tones fainter and more supplicating than before. The cry at length became changed from a demand to a piteous prayer. CHAPTER LXX. VICTORY! Next morning, when the Arabs opened the door of the prison, Sailor Bill and Colin were found unable to rise; and the old salt seemed quite unconscious of all efforts made to awaken his attention. Not till then did Jim's resolution begin to give way. He would now submit to save them from further suffering; but although knowing it was the wish of all that he should tender their submission on the terms the Arabs required, for a while be delayed doing so, in order to discover the course their masters designed adopting towards them. "Are you Christian dogs willing to earn your food now?" inquired the old sheik, as he entered the goat-pen. Faint and weak with hunger, nearly mad with thirst, alarmed for the condition of his brother, and pitying the agony of the others, Jim was about to answer the sheik's question in the affirmative; but there was something in the tone in which the question had been put, that determined him to refrain for a little longer. The earthly happiness of six men might depend upon the next word he should utter, and that word he should not speak without some deliberation. With an intellect sharpened by torture, Jim turned his gaze from the old sheik upon several other Arabs that had come near. He could see that they had arrived at some decision amongst themselves, as to what they should do, and that they did not seem much interested in the ultimatum demanded by the sheik's inquiry. This lack of excitement or interest did not look like further starvation and death; and in place of telling the Arabs that they were willing to submit, Jim informed the old sheik that all were determined to die rather than remain slaves. "There is not one of us that wishes to live," he added, "except for the purpose of seeing our native land again. Our bodies are now weak, but our spirits are still strong. We will die!" On receiving this answer, the Arabs departed, leaving the Christians in the pen. The Krooman, who had been listening during the interview, then faintly called after them to return; but he was stopped by Jim, who still entertained the hope that his firmness would yet be rewarded. Half an hour passed, and Jim began to doubt again. He might not have correctly interpreted the expressions he had noted upon the faces of the Arabs. "What did you tell them?" muttered Terence. "Did you tell them that we were willing to work, if they would give us water?" "Yes--certainly!" answered Jim, now beginning to regret that he had not tendered their submission before it might be too late. "Then why do they not come and relieve us?" asked Terence, in a whisper--hoarse from despair. Jim vouchsafed no answer; and the Krooman seemed in too much mental and bodily anguish to heed what had been said. Shortly after, Jim could hear the flocks being driven out of the town; and looking through a small opening in the wall of the pen, he could see some of the Arabs going out towards the barley fields. Could it be that he had been mistaken--that the Arabs were going to apply the screw of starvation for another day? Alarmed by this conjecture, he strove to hail them, and bring them back; but the effort only resulted in a hoarse whisper. "May God forgive me!" thought he. "My brother, as well as all the others, will die before night! I have murdered them, and perhaps myself!" Driven frantic with the thought, frenzy furnished him with the will and strength to speak out. His voice could now be heard, for the walls of the stone building rang with the shouts of a madman! He assailed the door with such force that the structure gave way, and Jim rushed out, prepared to make any promises or terms with their masters, to save the lives he had endangered by his obstinacy. His submission was not required: for on looking out, two men and three or four boys were seen coming towards the pen, bearing bowls of water, and dishes filled with barley-gruel. Jim had conquered in the strife between master and man. The old sheik had given orders for the white slaves to be fed. Jim's frenzy immediately subsided into an excitement of a different nature. Seizing a calabash of water, he ran to his brother Bill; and raising him into a sitting posture, he applied the vessel to the man-o'-war's-man's lips. Bill had not strength even to drink, and the water had to be poured down his throat. Not until all of his companions had drunk, and swallowed a few mouthfuls of the barley-gruel, did Jim himself partake of anything. The effect of food and water in restoring the energies of a starving man is almost miraculous; and he now congratulated his companions on the success of his scheme. "It is all right!" he exclaimed. "We have conquered them! We shall not have to reap their harvest! We shall be fed, fattened, and sold; and perhaps be taken to Mogador. We should thank God for bringing us all safely through the trial. Had we yielded, there would have been no hope of ever regaining our liberty!" CHAPTER LXXI. SOLD AGAIN. Two days elapsed, during which time our adventurers were served with barley-gruel twice a day. They were allowed a sufficient quantity of water, with only the trouble of bringing it from the well, and enduring a good deal of insult and abuse from the women and children whom they chanced to meet on their way. The second Krooman, who, in a moment of weakness inspired by the torture of thirst, had assisted the other slaves at their task, now tried in vain to get off from working. He came each evening to the pen to converse with his countryman; and at these meetings bitterly expressed his regret that he had submitted. There was no hope for him now, for he had given proof that he could be made useful to his owners. On the evening of the second day after they had been relieved from starvation, the white slaves were visited in their place of confinement by three Arabs they had not before seen. These were well-armed, well-dressed, fine-looking fellows, having altogether a more respectable appearance than any inhabitants of the desert they had yet encountered. Jim immediately entered into conversation with them; and learned that they were merchants, travelling with a caravan; and that they had claimed the hospitality of the town for that night. They were willing to purchase slaves; and had visited the pen to examine those their hosts were offering for sale. "You are just the men we are most anxious to see," said Jim, in the Arabic language, which, during his long residence in the country, he had become acquainted with, and could speak fluently. "We want some merchant to buy us, and take us to Mogador, where we may find friends to ransom us." "I once bought two slaves," rejoined one of the merchants, "and at great expense took them to Mogador. They told me that their consul would be sure to redeem them; but I found that they had no consul there. They were not redeemed; and I had to bring them away again,--having all the trouble and expense of a long journey." "Were they Englishmen?" asked Jim. "No: Spaniards." "I thought so. Englishmen would certainly have been ransomed." "That is not so certain," replied the merchant; "the English may not always have a consul in Mogador to buy up his countrymen." "We do not care whether there is one or not!" answered Jim. "One of the young fellows you see here has an uncle--a rich merchant in Mogador, who will ransom not only him, but all of his friends. The three young men you see are officers of an English ship-of-war. They have rich fathers in England,--all of them grand sheiks,--and they were learning to be captains of war-ships, when they were lost on this coast. The uncle of one of them in Mogador will redeem the whole party of us." "Which is he who has the rich uncle?" inquired one of the Arabs. Jim pointed to Harry Blount, saying, "That is the youngster. His uncle owns many great vessels, that come every year to Swearah, laden with rich cargoes." "What is the name of this uncle?" To give an appearance of truth to his story, Jim knew that it was necessary for some of the others to say something that would confirm it; and turning towards Harry, he muttered, "Master Blount, you are expected to say something--only two or three words--any thing you like!" "For God's sake, get them to buy us!" said Harry, in complying with the singular request made to him. Believing that the name he must give to the Arabs should something resemble in sound the words Harry had spoken, Jim told them that the name of the Mogador merchant was "For God's sake buy us." After repeating these words two or three times, the Arabs were able to pronounce them--after a fashion. "Ask the young man," commanded one of them, "if he is sure the merchant 'For God's sake bias' will ransom you all?" "When I am done speaking to you," said Jim, whispering to Harry, "say Yes! nod your head, and then utter some words!" "Yes!" exclaimed Harry, giving his head an abrupt inclination. "I think I know what you are trying to do, Jim. All right!" "Yes!" said Jim, turning to the Arab; "the young fellow says that he is quite certain his uncle will buy us all. Our friends at home will repay him." "But how about the black man?" asked one of the merchants. "He is not an Englishman?" "No; but he speaks English. He has sailed in English ships, and will certainly be redeemed with the rest." The Arabs now retired from the pen, after promising to call and see our adventurers early in the morning. After their departure, Jim related the whole of the conversation to his companions, which had the effect of inspiring them with renewed hope. "Tell them anything," said Harry, "and promise anything; for I think there is no doubt of our being ransomed, if taken to Mogador, although I'm sure I have no uncle there, and don't know whether there's any English consul at that port." "To get to Mogador is our only chance," said Jim; "and I wish I were guilty of no worse crime than using deception, to induce some one to take us there. I have a hope that these men will buy us on speculation; and if lies will induce them to do so, they shall have plenty of them from me. And you," continued he, turning to the Krooman, "you must not let them know that you speak their language, or they will not give a dollar for you. When they come here in the morning, you must converse with the rest of us in English,--so that they may have reason to think that you will also be redeemed." Next morning, the merchants again came to the pen, and the slaves, at their request, arose and walked out to the open space in front, where they could be better examined. After becoming satisfied that all were capable of travelling, one of the Arabs, addressing Jim, said:-- "We are going to purchase you, if you satisfy us that you are not trying to deceive us, and agree to the terms we offer. Tell the nephew of the English merchant that we must be paid one hundred and fifty Spanish dollars for each of you." Jim made the communication to Harry; who at once consented that this sum should be paid. "What is the name of his uncle?" asked one of the Arabs. "Let the young man tell us." "They wish to know the name of your uncle," said Jim, turning to Harry. "The name I told you yesterday. You must try and remember it; for I must not be heard repeating it to you." "For God's sake buy us!" exclaimed Harry. The Arabs looked at each other with an expression that seemed to say, "It's all right!" "Now," said one of the party, "I must tell you what will be the penalty, if we be deceived. If we take you to Mogador, and find that there is no one there to redeem you, if the young man, who says he has an uncle, be not telling the truth, then we shall cut his throat, and bring the rest of you back to the desert, to be sold into perpetual slavery. Tell him that." "They are going to buy us," said Jim to Harry Blount; "but if we are not redeemed in Mogador, you are to have your throat cut for deceiving them." "All right!" said Harry, smiling at the threat, "that will be better than living any longer a slave in the Saära." "Now look at the Krooman"; suggested Sailor Bill, "and say something about him." Harry taking the hint, turned towards the African. "I hope," said he, "that they will purchase the poor fellow; and that we may get him redeemed. After the many services he has rendered us, I should not like to leave him behind." "He consents that you may kill the Krooman, if we are not ransomed"; said Jim, speaking to the Arab merchants, "but he does not like to promise more than one hundred dollars for a negro. His uncle might refuse to pay more." For some minutes the Arabs conversed with each other in a low tone; and then one of them replied, "It is well. We will take one hundred dollars for the negro. And now get ready for the road. We shall start with you to-morrow morning by daybreak." The merchants then went off to complete their bargain with the old sheik, and make other arrangements for their departure. For a few minutes the white slaves kept uttering exclamations of delight at the prospect of being once more restored to liberty. Jim then gave them a translation of what he had said about the Krooman. "I know the Arab character so well," said he, "that I did not wish to agree to all their terms without a little haggling, which prevents them from entertaining the suspicion that we are trying to deceive them. Besides, as the Krooman is not an English subject, there may be great difficulty in getting him redeemed; and we should therefore bargain for him as cheaply as possible." Not long after the Arab merchants had taken their departure from the pen, a supply of food and drink was served out to them: which, from its copiousness, proved that it was provided at the expense of their new owners. This beginning augured well for their future treatment; and that night was spent by the Boy Slaves in a state of contentment and repose, greater than they had experienced since first setting foot on the inhospitable shores of the Saära. CHAPTER LXXII. ONWARD ONCE MORE. Early next morning our adventurers were awakened and ordered to prepare for the road. The Arab merchants had purchased from their late hosts three donkeys, upon which the white slaves were allowed to ride in turns. Harry Blount, however, was distinguished from the rest. As the nephew of the rich merchant, "For God's sake buy us!" he was deemed worthy of higher favor, and was permitted to have a camel. In vain he protested against being thus _elevated_ above his companions. The Arabs did not heed his remonstrances, and at a few words from Jim he discontinued them. "They think that we are to be released from slavery by the money of your relative," said Jim, "and you must do nothing to undeceive them. Not to humor them might awaken their suspicions. Besides, as you are the responsible person of the party,--the one whose throat is to be cut if the money be not found,--you are entitled to a little distinction, as a compensation for extra anxiety." The Krooman, who had joined the slaves in cutting the grain, was in the field at work when the merchants moved off, and was not present to bid farewell to his more fortunate countryman. After travelling about twelve miles through a fertile country, much of which was in cultivation, the Arab merchants arrived at a large reservoir of water, where they encamped for the night. The water was in a stone tank, placed so as to catch all the rain that fell in a long narrow valley, gradually descending from some hills to the northward. Jim had visited the place before, and told his companions that the tank had been constructed by a man whose memory was much respected, and who had died nearly a hundred years ago. During the night the Krooman, who had been left behind, entered the encampment, confident in the belief that he had escaped from his taskmasters. At sunset he had contrived to conceal himself among the barley sheaves until his masters were out of sight, when he had started off on the track taken by the Arab merchants. He was not allowed long indulgence in his dream of liberty. On the following morning, as the kafila was about to continue its journey, three men were seen approaching on swift camels; and shortly after Rais Abdallah Yessed, and two of his followers rode up. They were in pursuit of the runaway Krooman, and in great rage at the trouble which he had caused them. So anxious were the Boy Slaves that the poor fellow should continue along with them, that, for their sake, the Arab merchants made a strenuous effort to purchase him; but Rais Abdallah obstinately refused to sell him at anything like a reasonable price. The Krooman had given proof that he could be very useful in the harvest-field; and a sum much greater than had been paid for any of the others, was demanded for him. He was worth more to his present owners than what the Arab merchants could afford to give; and was therefore dragged back to the servitude from which he had hoped to escape. "You can see now, that I was right," said Jim. "Had we consented to cut their harvest, we should never have had an opportunity of regaining our liberty. Our labor for a single year would have been worth as much to them as the price they received for us, and we should have been held in perpetual bondage." Jim's companions could perceive the truth of this observation, but not without being conscious that their good fortune was, on their part, wholly undeserved, and that had it not been for him, they would have yielded to the wishes of their late masters. After another march, the merchants made halt near some wells, around which a large Arab encampment was found already established,--the flocks and herds wandering over the adjacent plain. Here our adventurers had an opportunity of observing some of the manners and customs of this nomadic people. Here, for the first time, they witnessed the Arab method of making butter. A goat's skin, nearly filled with the milk of camels, asses, sheep, and goats, all mixed together, was suspended to the ridge pole of a tent, and then swung to and fro by a child, until the butter was produced. The milk was then poured off, and the butter clawed out of the skin by the black dirty fingers of the women. The Arabs allege that they were the first people who discovered the art of making butter,--though the discovery does not entitle them to any great credit, since they could scarce have avoided making it. The necessity of carrying milk in these skin bags, on a journey, must have conducted them to the discovery. The agitation of the fluid, while being transported on the backs of the camels, producing the result, naturally suggested the idea of bringing it about by similar means when they were not travelling. At this place the slaves were treated to some barley-cakes, and were allowed a little of the butter; and this, notwithstanding the filthy mode in which it had been prepared, appeared to them the most delicious they had ever tasted. During the evening, the three merchants, along with several other Arabs, seated themselves in a circle; when a pipe was lit and passed round from one to another. Each would take a long draw, and then hand the pipe to his left-hand neighbor. While thus occupied, they kept up an animated conversation, in which the word "Swearah" was often pronounced. Swearah of course meant "Mogador." "They are talking about us," said Jim, "and we must learn for what purpose. I am afraid there is something wrong. Krooman!" he continued, addressing himself to the black, "they don't know that you understand their language. Lie down near them, and pretend to be asleep; but take note of every word they say. If I go up to them they will drive me away." The Krooman did as desired; and carelessly sauntering near the circle, appeared to be searching for a soft place on which to lay himself for the night. This he discovered some seven or eight paces from the spot where the Arabs were seated. "I have been disappointed about obtaining my freedom so many times," muttered Jim, "that I can scarce believe I shall ever succeed. Those fellows are talking about Mogador; and I don't like their looks. Hark! what is that about 'more than you can get in Swearah!' I believe these new Arabs are making an offer to buy us. If so, may their prophets curse them!" CHAPTER LXXIII. ANOTHER BARGAIN. The conversation amongst the Arabs was kept up until a late hour; and during the time it continued, our adventurers were impatiently awaiting the return of the Krooman. He came at length, after the Arabs had retired to their tents; and all gathered around him, eager to learn what he had heard. "I find out too much," said he, in answer to their inquiries; "too much, and no much good." "What was it?" "Two of you be sold to-morrow." "What two?" "No one know. One man examine us all in the morning, but take only two." After suffering a long lesson teaching the virtue of patience, they learnt from the Krooman that one of those who had been conversing with their masters was a grazier, owning large droves of cattle; and that he had lately been to Swearah. He had told the merchants that they would not be able to get a large price for their slaves in that place; and that the chances were much against their making more than the actual expenses incurred in so long a journey. He assured the Arab merchants that no Christian consul or foreign merchant in Mogador would pay a dollar more for redeeming six slaves than what they could be made to pay for two or three; that they were not always willing or prepared to pay anything; and that whenever they did redeem a slave, they did not consider his value, but only the time and expense that had been incurred in bringing him to the place. Under the influence of these representations, the Arab merchants had agreed to sell two of their white slaves to the grazier,--thinking they would get as much for the remaining four as they would by taking all six to the end of the journey. The owner of the herds was to make his choice in the morning. "I thought there was a breaker ahead," exclaimed Jim, after the Krooman had concluded his report. "We must not be separated except by liberty or death. Our masters must take us all to Mogador. There is trouble before us yet; but we must be firm, and overcome it. Firmness has saved us once, and may do so again." After all had promised to be guided in the coming emergency by Jim, they laid themselves along the ground, and sought rest in sleep. Next morning, while they were eating their breakfast, they were visited by the grazier who was expected to make choice of two of their number. "Which is the one who speaks Arabic?" he inquired from one of the merchants. Jim was pointed out, and was at once selected as one of the two to be purchased. "Tell 'im to buy me, too, Jim," said Bill, "We'll sail in company, you and I, though I don't much like partin' with the young gentlemen here." "You shall not part either with them or me, if I can help it," answered Jim; "but we must expect some torture. Let all bear it like devils; and don't give in. That's our only chance!" Glancing his eyes over the other slaves, the grazier selected Terence as the second for whom he was willing to pay a price. His terms having been accepted by the merchants, they were about concluding the bargain, when they were accosted by Jim. He assured them that he and his companions were determined to die, before they should be separated,--that none of them would do any work if retained in slavery,--and that all were determined to be taken to Swearah. The merchants and the buyer only smiled at this interruption; and went on with the negotiation. In vain did Jim appeal to their cupidity,--reminding them that the merchant, "for God's sake bias," would pay a far higher price for himself and his companions. His arguments and entreaties failed to change their determination,--the bargain was concluded; and Jim and Terence were made over to their new master. The merchants then mounted their camels, and ordered the other four to follow them. Harry Blount, Colin, and Sailor Bill answered this command by sulkily sitting down upon the sand. Another command from the merchants was given in sharp tones that betrayed their rising wrath. "Obey them!" exclaimed Jim. "Go on; and Master Terence and I will follow you. We'll stand the brunt of the battle. They shall not hold me here alive!" Colin and Bill each mounted a donkey, and Harry his camel--the Arab merchants seeming quite satisfied at the result of their slight exhibition of anger. Jim and Terence attempted to follow them; but their new master was prepared for this; and, at a word of command, several of his followers seized hold of and fast bound both of them. Jim's threat that they should not hold him alive, had thus proved but an idle boast. Harry, Colin, and Bill, now turned back, dismounted, and showed their determination to remain with their companions, by sitting down alongside of them. "These Christian dogs do not wish for liberty!" exclaimed one of the merchants. "Allah forbid that we should force them to accept it. Who will buy them?" These words completely upset all Jim's plans. He saw that he was depriving the others of the only opportunity they might ever have of obtaining their liberty. "Go on, go on!" he exclaimed. "Make no further resistance. It is possible they may take you to Mogador. Do not throw away the chance." "We are not goin' to lave you, Jim," said Bill, "not even for liberty,--leastways, I'm not. Don't you be afeerd of that!" "Of course we will not, unless we are forced to do so," added Harry. "Have you not said that we must keep together?" "Have you not all promised to be guided by me?" replied Jim. "I tell you now to make no more resistance. Go on with them if you wish ever to be free!" "Jim knows what he is about," interposed Colin; "let us obey him." With some reluctance, Harry and Bill were induced to mount again; but just as they were moving away, they were recalled by Jim, who told them not to leave; and that all must persevere in the determination not to be separated. "The man has certainly gone mad," reflected Harry Blount, as he turned back once more. "We must no longer be controlled by him; but Terence must not be left behind. We cannot forsake _him_." Again the three dismounted, and returning to the spot where Jim and Terence lay fast bound along the sand, sat determinedly down beside them. CHAPTER LXXIV. MORE TORTURE. The sudden change of purpose and the counter-orders given by Jim were caused by something he had just heard while listening to the conversation of the Arabs. Seeing that the merchants, rather than have any unnecessary trouble with them, were disposed to sell them all, Jim had been unwilling to deprive his brother and the others of an opportunity of obtaining their freedom. For this reason had he entreated them to leave Terence and himself to their fate. But just as he had prevailed on Harry and his companion to go quietly, he learnt from the Arabs that the man who had purchased Terence and himself refused to have any more of them; and also that the other Arabs present were either unable or unwilling to buy them. The merchants, therefore, would have to take them farther before they could dispose of them. In Jim's mind then revived the hope that, by opposing the wishes of his late masters, he and Terence might be bought back again and taken on to Mogador. It was this hope that had induced him to recall his companions after urging them to depart. A few words explained his apparently strange conduct to Harry and Colin, and they promised to resist every attempt made to take them any farther unless all should go in company. The merchants in vain commanded and entreated that the Christian dogs should move on. They used threats, and then resorted to blows. Harry, to whom they had hitherto shown much respect, was beaten until his scanty garments were saturated with blood. Unwilling to see others suffering so much torture unsupported by any selfish desire, Jim again counselled Harry and the others to yield obedience to their masters. In this counsel he was warmly seconded by Terence. But Harry declared his determination not to desert his old shipmate Colin, and Bill remained equally firm under the torture; while the Krooman, knowing that his only chance of liberty depended on remaining true to the white slaves, and keeping in their company, could not be made to yield. Perceiving that all his entreaties--addressed to his brother, Harry, and Colin--could not put an end to the painful scene he was compelled to witness, Jim strove to effect some purpose by making an appeal to his late masters. "Buy us back, and take us all to Swearah as you promised," said he. "If you do so, we will go cheerfully as we were doing before. I tell you, you will be well paid for your trouble." One of the merchants, placing some confidence in the truth of this representation, now offered to buy Jim and Terence on his own account; but their new master refused to part with his newly-acquired property. A crowd of men, women, and children had now gathered around the spot; and from all sides were heard shouts of "Kill the obstinate Christian 'dogs.' How dare they resist the will of true believers!" This advice was given by those who had no pecuniary interest in the chattels in question; but the merchants, who had invested a large sum in the purchase of the white slaves, had no idea of making such a sacrifice for the gratification of a mere passion. There was but one way for them to overcome the difficulty that had so unexpectedly presented itself. This was to separate the slaves by force, taking the four along with them; and leaving the other two to the purchaser who would not revoke his bargain. To accomplish this, the assistance of the bystanders was required and readily obtained. Harry was first seized and placed on the back of his camel, to which he was firmly bound. Colin, Bill, and the Krooman were each set astride of a donkey, and then made fast by having their feet tied under the animal's belly. For a small sum the merchants then engaged two of the Arabs to accompany them and guard the white slaves to the frontier of the Moorish empire, a distance of two days' journey. While the party was about to move away from the spot, one of the merchants, addressing himself to Jim, made the following observations. "Tell the young man, the nephew of the merchant, 'For God's sake bias,' that since we have started for Swearah in the belief that his story is true, we shall now take him there whether he is willing or not, and if he has in anyway deceived us, he shall surely die." "He has not deceived you," said Jim, "take him and the others there, and you will certainly be paid." "Then why do they not go willingly?" "Because they do not wish to leave their friends." "Ungrateful dogs! cannot they be thankful for their own good fortune? Do they take us for slaves, that we should do their will?" While the conversation was going on, the other two merchants had headed their animals to the road; and in a minute after Harry Blount and Colin had parted with their old messmate Terence, without a hope of ever meeting him again. CHAPTER LXXV. EN ROUTE. And now away for the Moorish frontier. Away,--trusting that the last hasty promise of the merchant to test their earnest story, and yield to the importunate desires which they had so long cherished, might not be unfulfilled. Away,--out into the desert again; into that broad, barren wilderness of sand, stretching wearily on as far as eye could reach, and beyond the utmost limit of human steps, where the wild beasts almost fear to tread. Away,--under the glare of the tropic sun, whose torrid beams fall from heavens that glow like hot walls of brass, and beat down through an atmosphere whose faint undulations in the breath of the desert wind ebb and flow over the parched travellers, like waves of a fiery sea; under a sun that seems to grow ever larger and brighter as the tired eyes, sick with beholding its yellow splendor overflowing all the world, yet turn toward it their fascinated gaze, and faint into burning dryness at its sight. Away,--from the coolness of city walls, and the dark shadows of narrow, high-built streets, where the sunlight comes only at the height of noon, where men hide within doors as the hot hours draw nigh, and rest in silent chambers, or drowse away the time with _tchibouque_ or _narghileh_, whose softened odor of the rich Eastern tobacco floats up through perfumed waters and tubes of aromatic woods to leisurely lips, and curls in dim wreaths before restful eyelids half dropping to repose. Away,--from the association of men in street, lane, bazaar, and market-place. No very profitable or happy association for the poor captives, one might think; and yet not so. For in every group of bystanders, or bevy of passers, they perchance might see him who should prove their angel of deliverance,--a kindly merchant, a new speculator, or even, by some event of gracious fortune, a countryman or a friend. Away,--from all that they had borne and hoped, and borne and seen and suffered, into the desert whose paths lay invisible to them, mapped out in the keen intellects of their guides and guards, who read the streaming sand of Saära as sailors read the wilds of sweeping seas, but whose dusky faces, as inscrutable as the barren wastes, revealed no trace of the secret of the path they led,--whether indeed the great Moorish Empire were their destination, or whether they turned their steps to some unknown and untried goal. Away,--from the hum of business, from the gossip of idlers and the staid speech of a city into the silence of the vast desolation wherein they moved, the only reasoning, thinking beings it contained. Silence all around, unbroken save by the smothered tread of the beasts in their little train, the shouts of the drivers, the chattering of the attendants, the rattling of harness and burdens, and the soft sough of the sand as it sank back into the hot level from which the passing hoofs had disturbed it. Away, away,--and who shall attempt to paint the feelings of the captives as their wanderings began again? It would need a brilliant pen to convey the sensations with which the _voyageur_, eager for scenes of adventure and fresh from the hived-up haunts of civilization, would enter upon a desert jaunt, to whom all was full of novelty and interest, whose companions were subjects for curious study, speaking in accents the unfamiliar Oriental cadence of which fell pleasantly upon his ear, and who found in every hour some fresh cause for wonder or pleasure. But a pen of marvellous power and pathos must be invoked to portray the mingled emotions that swayed in swift succession the minds of our Boy Slaves! No charm existed for them in the strangeness of desert scenery, Arab comradeship, and the murmur of Eastern tongues; they had long passed the time for that, while their bitter familiarity with all these made even a deep revulsion of feeling in their sorely tried souls. Hope, fear, doubt, fatigue, anxious yearning, and vague despair,--all in turn swept through their thoughts, even as the dust of their pitiless pathway swept over their scorched faces, and covered with effacing monotony every vestige of their passage. Mine is no such potent pen, and so let us leave them, bound to their beasts of burden, going down from the abodes of men into the depths again; and so let us leave them, journeying ever onward,--away, away! CHAPTER LXXVI. HOPE DEFERRED. For the first hour of their journey, Harry, Colin, and Sailor Bill, were borne along fast bound upon the backs of their animals. So disagreeable did they find this mode of locomotion, that the Krooman was requested to inform their masters, that they were willing to accompany them without further opposition, if allowed the freedom of their limbs, this was the first occasion on which the Krooman had made known to the Arab merchants that he could speak their language. After receiving a few curses and blows for having so long concealed his knowledge of it, the slaves were unbound, and the animals they bestrode were driven along in advance of the others, while the two hired guards were ordered to keep a short watch over them. The journey was continued until a late hour of the night; when they reached the gate of a high wall enclosing a small town. Here a long parley ensued, and at first the party seemed likely to be turned back upon their steps to pass the night in the desert, but at last the guardians of the village, being satisfied with the representations of the Arabs, unbarred the portals and let them enter. After the slaves had been conducted inside, and the gate fastened behind them, their masters, relieved of all anxiety about losing their property, accepted the hospitality of the sheik of the village, and took their departure for his house, directing only that the white slaves should be fed. After the latter had eaten a hearty meal, consisting of barley-bread and milk; they were conducted to a pen, which they were told was to be their sleeping-place, and there they passed the greater part of the night in fighting fleas. Never before had either of them encountered these insects, either so large in size or of so keen appetites. It was but at the hour at which their journey should have been resumed, that they forgot their hopes and cares in the repose of sleep. Weary in body and soul, they slept on till a late hour; and when aroused to consciousness by an Arab bringing some food, they were surprised to see that the sun was high up in the heavens. Why had they not been awakened before? Why this delay? In the mind of each was an instinctive fear that there must be something wrong,--that some other obstacle had arisen, blocking up their road to freedom. Hours passed, and their masters came not near them. They remained in much anxiety, vainly endeavoring to surmise what had caused the interruption to their journey. Knowing that the merchants had expressed an intention to conduct them to Mogador as soon as possible, they could not doubt but what the delay arose from some cause affecting their own welfare. Late in the afternoon they were visited by their masters; and in that interview their worst fears were more than realized. By the aid of the Krooman, one of the merchants informed Harry that they had been deceived,--that the sheik, of whose hospitality they had been partaking, had often visited Swearah, and was acquainted with all the foreign residents there. He had told them that there was no one of the name "For God sake byas." He had assured them that they were being imposed upon; and that by taking the white slaves to Swearah, they would certainly lose them. "We shall not kill you," said one of the masters to Harry, "for we have not had the trouble of carrying you the whole distance; and besides, we should be injuring ourselves. We shall take you all to the borders of the desert, and there sell you for what you will fetch." Harry told the Krooman to inform his masters that he had freely pledged his existence on the truth of the story he had told them; that he certainly had an uncle and friend in Mogador, who would redeem them all; but that, should his uncle not be in Swearah at the time they should arrive there, it would make no difference, as they would certainly be ransomed by the English Consul. "Tell them," added Harry, "that if they will take us to Swearah, and we are not ransomed as I promised, they shall be welcome to take my life. I will then willingly die. Tell them not to sell us until they have proved my words false; and not to injure themselves and us by trusting too much to the words of another." To this communication the merchants made reply:--That they had been told that slaves brought from the desert into the Empire of Morocco could, and sometimes did, claim the protection of the government, which set them free without paying anything; and those who were at the expense of bringing them obtained nothing for their trouble. One of the merchants, whose name was Bo Musem, seemed inclined to listen with some favor to the representations of Harry; but he was overruled by the other two, so that all his assertions about the wealth of his parents at home, and the immense worth he and his comrades were to this country, as officers in its navy, failed to convince his masters that they would be redeemed. The merchants at length went away, leaving Harry and Colin in an agony of despair; while Sailor Bill and the Krooman seemed wholly indifferent as to their future fate. The prospect of being again taken to the desert, seemed to have so benumbed the intellect of both, as to leave them incapable of emotion. Hope, fear, and energy seemed to have forsaken the old sailor, who, usually so fond of thinking aloud, had not now sufficient spirit left, even for the anathematizing of his enemies. CHAPTER LXXVII. EL HAJJI. Late in the evening of the second night spent within the walls of the town, two travellers knocked at the gate for admittance. One of them gave a name which created quite a commotion in the village, all seeming eager to receive the owner with some show of hospitality. The merchants sat up to a late hour in company with these strangers and the sheik of the place. Kids were caught and killed, and a savory stew was soon served up for their guests, while, with coffee, pipes, and many customary civilities, the time slipped quickly by. Notwithstanding this, they were astir upon the following morning before daybreak, busied in making preparations for their journey. The slaves, on being allowed some breakfast, were commanded to eat it in all haste, and then assist in preparing the animals for the road. They were also informed that they were to be taken south, and sold. "Shall we go, or die?" asked Colin. "I, for one, had rather die than again pass through the hardships of a journey in the desert." Neither of the others made any reply to this. The spirit of despair had taken too strong a hold upon them. The merchants themselves were obliged to caparison their animals; and just as they were about to use some strong arguments to induce their refractory slaves to mount, they were told that "El Hajji" ("the pilgrim") wished to see the Christians. Soon after, one of the strangers who had entered the town so late on the night before was seen slowly approaching. He was a tall, venerable-looking Arab, with a long white beard reaching down to the middle of his breast. His costume, by its neatness and the general costliness of the articles of which it was composed, bespoke him a man of the better class, and his bearing was nowise inferior to his guise. Having performed the pilgrimage to the Prophet's Tomb, he commanded the respect and hospitality of all good Mussulmans whithersoever he wandered. With the Krooman as interpreter, he asked many questions, and seemed to be much interested in the fate of the miserable-looking objects before him. After his curiosity had been satisfied as to the name of the vessel in which they had reached the country, the time they had passed in slavery, and the manner of their treatment which had produced their emaciated and wretched appearance, he made inquiries about their friends and relatives at home. Harry informed him that Colin and himself had parents, brothers, and sisters, who were now probably mourning them as lost: that they and their two companions were sure to be ransomed, could they find some one who would take them to Mogador. He also added, that their present masters had promised to take them to that place, but were now prevented from doing so through the fear that they would not be rewarded for their trouble. "I will do all I can to assist you," said El Hajji, after the Krooman had given the interpretation of Harry's speech. "I owe a debt of gratitude to one of your countrymen, and I shall try to repay it. When in Cairo I was unwell, and starving for the want of food. An officer of an English ship of war gave me a coin of gold. That piece of money proved both life and fortune to me; for with it I was able to continue my journey, and reach my friends. We are all the children of the true God; and it is our duty to assist one another. I will have a talk with your masters." The old pilgrim then turning to the three merchants, said,-- "My friends, you have promised to take these Christian slaves to Swearah, where they will be redeemed. Are you bad men who fear not God, that your promise should be thus broken?" "We think they have deceived us," answered one of the merchants, "and we are afraid to carry them within the emperor's dominions for fear they will be taken from us without our receiving anything. We are poor men, and nearly all our merchandise we have given for these slaves. We cannot afford to lose them." "You will not lose the value of them," said the old man, "if you take them to Swearah. They belong to a country the government of which will not allow its subjects to remain in bondage; and there is not an English merchant in Swearah that would not redeem them. A merchant who should refuse to do so would scarce dare return to his own country again. You will make more by taking them to Swearah than anywhere else." "But they can give themselves up to the governor when they reach Swearah," urged one of the merchants, "and we may be ordered out of the country without receiving a single cowrie for all. Such has been done before. The good sheik here knows of an Arab merchant who was treated so. He lost all, while the governor got the ransom, and put it in his own pocket." This was an argument El Hajji was unable to answer but he was not long in finding a plan for removing the difficulty thus presented. "Do not take them within the Empire of Morocco," said he, "until after you have been paid for them. Two of you can stay with them here, while the other goes to Swearah with a letter from this young man to his friends. You have as yet no proof that he is trying to deceive you; and therefore, as true men, have no excuse for breaking your promise to him. Take a letter to Swearah; and if the money be not paid, then do with them as you please, and the wrong will not rest upon you." Bo Muzem, one of the merchants, immediately seconded the pilgrim's proposal, and spoke energetically in its favor. He said that they were but one day's journey from Agadeez, a frontier town of Morocco; and that from there Swearah could be reached in three days. The merchants for a few minutes held consultation apart, and then one of them announced that they had resolved upon following El Hajji's advice. Bo Muzem should go to Swearah as the bearer of a letter from Harry to his uncle. "Tell the young man," said one of the merchants, addressing himself to the interpreter, "tell him, from me, that if the ransom be not paid, he shall surely die on Bo Muzem's return. Tell him that." The Krooman made the communication, and Harry accepted the terms. A piece of dirty crumpled paper, a reed, and some ink was then placed before Harry; and while the letter was being written, Bo Muzem commenced making preparations for his journey. Knowing that their only hope of liberty depended on their situation being made known to some countrymen resident in Mogador, Harry took up the pen, and, with much difficulty, succeeded in scribbling the following letter:-- "SIR,--Two midshipmen of H. M. S. ---- (lost a few weeks ago north of Cape Blanco), and two seamen are now held in slavery at a small town one day's journey from Santa Cruz. The bearer of this note is one of our masters. His business in Mogador is to learn if we will be ransomed and if he is unsuccessful in finding any one who will pay the money to redeem us, the writer of this note is to be killed. If you cannot or will not pay the money they require (one hundred and fifty dollars for each slave), direct the bearer to some one whom you think will do so. "There is a midshipman from the same vessel, and another English sailor one day's journey south of this place. "Perhaps the bearer of this note, Bo Muzem, may be induced to obtain them, so that they also may be ransomed. "Henry Blount." This letter Harry folded, and directed to "Any English merchant in Mogador." By the time it was written, Bo Muzem was mounted, and ready for the road. After receiving the letter, he wished Harry to be informed once more, that, should the journey to Swearah be fruitless, nothing but his (Harry's) life would compensate him for the disappointment. After promising to be back in eight days, and enjoining upon his partners to look well after their property during his absence, Bo Muzem took his departure from the town. CHAPTER LXXVIII. BO MUZEM'S JOURNEY. Although an Arab merchant, Bo Muzem was an honest man,--one who in all business transactions told the truth, and expected to hear it from others. He pursued his journey towards Mogador with but a faint hope that the representations made by Harry Blount would prove true, and with the determination of taking the life of the latter, should he find himself deceived. He placed more faith in the story told him by the sheik, than in the mere supposition of the pilgrim, that the white slaves would find some one to ransom them. For often,--alas too often!--the hopes which captives have dwelt on for tedious months, until they have believed them true, have proved, when put to the test, but empty and fallacious dreams. His journey was partly undertaken through a sense of duty. After the promise made to the slaves, he thought it but right to become fully convinced that they would not be redeemed before the idea of taking them to Mogador should be relinquished. He pressed forward on his journey with the perseverance and self-denial so peculiar to the race. After crossing the spurs of the Atlas Mountain near Santa Cruz, he reached, on the evening of the third day, a small walled town, within three hours ride of Mogador. Here he stopped for the night, intending to proceed to the city early on the next morning. Immediately after entering the town, Bo Muzem met a person whose face wore a familiar look. It was the man to whom but a few days before, he had sold Terence and Jim. "Ah! my friend, you have ruined me," exclaimed the Arab grazier, after their first salutations had passed. "I have lost those two useless Christian dogs you sold me, and I am ruined." Bo Muzem asked him to explain. "After your departure," said the grazier, "I tried to get some work out of the infidels; but they would not obey, and I believe they would have died before doing anything to make themselves useful. As I am a poor man, I could not afford to keep them in idleness, nor to kill them, which I had a strong inclination to do. The day after you left me, I received intelligence from Swearah which commanded me to go there immediately on business of importance; and thinking that possibly some Christian fool in that place might give something for their infidel countrymen, I took the slaves along with me. "They promised that if I would take them to the English Consul, he would pay a large price for their ransom. When we entered Mogador, and reached the Consul's house, the dogs told me that they were free, and defied me trying to take them out of the city, or obtaining anything for my trouble or expense. The governor of Swearah and the Emperor of Morocco are on good terms with the infidel's government, and they also hate us Arabs of the desert. There is no justice there for us. If you take your slaves into the city you will lose them." "I shall not take them into the empire of Morocco," said Bo Muzem, "until I have first received the money for them." "You will never get it in Swearah. Their consul will not pay a dollar, but will try to get them liberated without giving you anything." "But I have a letter from one of my slaves to his uncle,--a nut merchant in Swearah. The uncle must pay the money." "The slave has lied to you. He has no uncle there, and I can soon convince you that such is the case. There is lying in this place a Mogador Jew, who is acquainted with every infidel merchant in that place, and he also understands the languages they speak. Let him see the letter." Anxious to be convinced as to whether he was being deceived or not, Bo Muzem readily agreed to this proposition; and in company with the graziers, he repaired to the house where the Jew was staying for the night. The Jew, on being shown the letter, and asked to whom it was addressed, replied,-- "To any English merchant in Mogador." "_Bismillah!_" exclaimed Bo Muzem. "All English merchants cannot be uncles to the young dog who wrote this letter." "Tell me," added he, "did you ever hear of an English merchant in Swearah named 'For God sake byas?'" The Jew smiled, and with some difficulty restraining an inclination to laugh outright at the question, gave the Arab a translation of the words, "For God's sake buy us." Bo Muzem was now satisfied that he had been "sold." "I shall go no farther," said he, after they had parted with the Jew. "I shall return to my partners. We will kill the Christian dog who wrote the letter, and sell the rest for what we can get for them." "That is your best plan," rejoined the grazier. "They do not deserve freedom, and may Allah forbid that hereafter any true believers should try to help them to it." Early the next morning Bo Muzem set out on his return journey, thankful for the good fortune that had enabled him so early to detect the imposture that was being practised upon him. He was accompanied by the grazier, who chanced to be journeying in the same direction. "The next Christian slaves I see for sale I intend to buy them," remarked the latter, as they journeyed along. "Bismallah!" exclaimed Bo Muzem, "that is strange. I thought you had had enough of them?" "So I have," answered the grazier; "but that's just why I want more of them. I want revenge on the unbelieving dogs; and will buy them for the purpose of obtaining it. I work them until they are too old to do anything and then let them die of hunger." "Then buy those we have for sale," proposed Bo Muzem. "We are willing to sell them cheap, all but one. The one who wrote this letter I shall kill. I have sworn it by the prophet's beard." As both parties appeared anxious for a bargain, they soon came to an understanding as to the terms; and the grazier promised to give ten dollars in money, and four head of horses for each of the slaves that were for sale. He also agreed that one of his herdsmen should assist in driving the cattle to any Arab settlement where a market might be found for them. The simple Bo Muzem had now in reality been "sold," for the story he had been told about the escape of the two slaves, Terence and Jim, was wholly and entirely false. CHAPTER LXXIX. RAIS MOURAD. Six days passed, during which the white slaves were comparatively well treated, far better than at any other time since their shipwreck. They were not allowed to suffer with thirst, and were supplied with nearly as much food as they required. On the sixth day after the departure of Bo Muzem, they were visited by their masters, accompanied by a stranger, who was a Moor. They were commanded to get upon their feet; and were then examined by the Moor in a manner that awakened suspicion that he was about to buy them. The Moor wore a caftan richly embroidered on the breast and sleeves; and confined around the waist with a silken vest or girdle. A pair of small yellow Morocco-leather boots were seen beneath trowsers of great width, made of the finest satin, and on his head was worn a turban of scarlet silk. Judging from the respect shown to him by the merchants, he was an individual of much importance. This was also evident from the number of his followers, all of whom were mounted on beautiful Arabian horses, the trappings of which were made from the finest and most delicately shaded leathers, bestudded beautifully with precious metals and stones. The appearance of his whole retinue gave evidence that he was some personage of wealth and influence. After he had examined the slaves, he retired with the two merchants; and shortly afterwards the Krooman learnt from one of the followers that the white slaves had become the property of the wealthy Moor. The bright anticipations of liberty that had filled their souls for the last few days, vanished at this intelligence. Each felt a shock of pain,--of hopeless despair,--that for some moments stunned them almost to speechlessness. Harry Blount was the first to awaken to the necessity of action. "Where are our masters the merchants?" he exclaimed. "They cannot--they shall not sell us. Come, all of you follow me!" Reaching forth from the pens that had been allowed them for a residence, the young Englishman, followed by his companions, started towards the dwelling of the sheik, to which the merchants and the Moor had retired. All were now excited with disappointment and despair; and on reaching the sheik's house, the two Arab merchants were called out to witness a scene of anger and grief. "Why have you sold us?" asked the Krooman when the merchant came forth. "Have you not promised that we should be taken to Swearah, and has not one gone there to obtain the money for our ransom?" The merchants were on good terms with themselves and all the world besides. They had made what they believed to be a good bargain; and were in a humor for being agreeable. Moreover they did not wish to be thought guilty of a wrong, even by Christian slaves, and they therefore condescended to give some explanation. "Suppose," said one of them, "that our master Bo Muzem should find a man in Swearah who is willing to ransom you, how much are we to get for you?" "One hundred dollars for me," answered the Krooman, "and one hundred and fifty for each of the others." "True; and for that we should have to take you to Swearah, and be at the expense of feeding you along the road?" "Yes." "Well, Rais Mourad, a wealthy Moor, has paid us one hundred and fifty dollars for each of you; and would we not be fools to take you all the way to Swearah for less money? Besides we might never get paid at Swearah,--whereas we have received it in cash from Rais Mourad. You are no longer our slaves, but his." When the Krooman had made this communication to the others, they saw that all further parley with the Arab merchants was useless; and that their fate was now in the hands of Rais Mourad. At Harry's request, the Krooman endeavored to ascertain in what direction the Moor was going to take them; but the only information they received was that Rais Mourad knew his own business, and was not in the habit of conferring with his slaves as to what he should do with them. Some of the followers of the Moor now came forward; and the slaves were ordered back to their pen, where they found some food awaiting them. They were commanded to eat it immediately, as they were soon to set forth upon a long journey. Not one of them, after their cruel disappointment, had any appetite for eating; and Sailor Bill doggedly declared that he would never taste food again. "Don't despair, Bill," said Harry; "there is yet hope for us." "Where?--where is it?" exclaimed Colin; "I can't perceive it." "If we are constantly changing owners," argued Harry, "we may yet fall into the hands of some one who will take us to Mogador." "Is that your only hope?" asked Colin, in a tone of disappointment. "Think of poor Jim," added Bill; "he's 'ad fifty masters,--been ten years in slavery, and not free yet; and no hope on it neyther." "Shall we go quietly with our new master?" asked Colin. "Yes," answered Harry; "I have had quite enough of resistance, and the beating that is sure to follow it. My back is raw at this moment. The next time I make any resistance, it shall be when there is a chance of gaining something by it, besides a sound thrashing." Rais Mourad being unprovided with animals for his slaves to ride upon, and wishing to travel at a greater speed than they could walk, purchased four small horses from the sheik, and it was during the time these horses were being caught and made ready for the road, that the slaves were allowed to eat their dinner. Although Harry, as well as the others, had determined on making no opposition to going away with Rais Mourad, they were very anxious to learn where he intended to take them. All the inquiries made by the Krooman for the purpose of gratifying their curiosity, only produced the answer, "God knows, and will not tell you. Why should we do more than Him?" Just as the horses were brought out, and all were nearly ready for a start, there was heard a commotion at the gate of the town; and next moment Bo Muzem, accompanied by three other Arabs, rode in through the gateway. CHAPTER LXXX. BO MUZEM BACK AGAIN. As soon as the white slaves recognized Bo Muzem, they all rushed forward to meet him. "Speak, Krooman!" exclaimed Harry. "Ask him if the money for our ransom will be paid? If so, we are free, and they dare not sell us again." "Here,--here!" exclaimed Bill, pointing to one of the Arabs who came with Bo Muzem. "Ax this man where be brother Jim an' Master Terence?" Harry and Colin turned towards the man from whom Bill desired this inquiry to be made, and recognized in him the grazier, to whom Terence and Jim had been sold. The Krooman had no opportunity for putting the question; for Bo Muzem, on drawing near to the gate of the town, had allowed his passion to mount into a violent rage; and as he beheld the slaves, shouted out, "Christian dogs! you have deceived me. Let every man, woman, and child, in this town assemble, and be witnesses of the fate that this lying Christian so richly deserves. Let all witness the death of this young infidel, who has falsely declared he has an uncle in Swearah, named 'For God's sake buy us.' Let all witness the revenge Bo Muzem will take on the unbelieving dog who has deceived him." As soon as Bo Muzem's tongue was stopped sufficiently to enable him to hear the voices of those around him, he was informed that the slaves were all sold,--the nephew of "For God's sake buy us," among the rest, and on better terms than he and his partners had expected to get at Swearah. Had Harry Blount been rescued, Bo Muzem would have been much pleased at this news; but he now declared that his partners had no right to sell without his concurrence,--that he owned an interest in them; and that the one who had deceived him should not be sold, but should suffer the penalty incurred, by sending him on his long and fruitless journey. Rais Mourad now came upon the ground. The Moor was not long in comprehending all the circumstances connected with the affair. He ordered his followers to gather around the white slaves and escort them outside the walls of the town. Bo Muzem attempted to prevent this order from being executed. He was opposed by everybody, not only by the Moor, but his own partners, as well as the sheik of the town, who declared that there should be no blood spilled among those partaking of his hospitality. The slaves were mounted on the horses that had been provided for them, and then conducted through the gateway leaving Bo Muzem half frantic with impotent rage. There was but one man to sympathize with him in his disappointment, the grazier to whom Terence and Jim had been sold, and who had made arrangements for the purchase of the others. Riding up to the Moor, this man declared that the slaves were his property; that he had purchased them the day before, and had given four horses and ten dollars in money for each. He loudly protested against being robbed of his property, and declared that he would bring two hundred men, if necessary, for the purpose of taking possession of his own. Rais Mourad, paying no attention to this threat, gave orders to his followers to move on; and, although it was now almost night, started off in the direction of Santa Cruz. Before they had proceeded far, they perceived the Arab grazier riding at full speed in the opposite direction, and towards his own home. "I wish that we had made some inquiries of that fellow about Jim and Terence," said Colin; "but it's too late now." "Yes, too late," echoed Harry, "and I wish that he had obtained possession of us instead of our present master. We should then have all come together again. But what are we to think of this last turn of Fortune's wheel?" "I am rather pleased at it," answered Colin. "A while ago we were in despair, because the Moor had bought us. That was a mistake. If he had not done so, you Harry would have been killed." "Bill!" added the young Scotchman, turning to the old sailor, "what are you dreaming about?" "Nothing," answered Bill, "I'm no goin to drame or think any mair." "We ah gwine straight for Swearah," observed the Krooman as he spoke, glancing towards the northwest. "That is true," exclaimed Harry, looking in the same direction. "Can it be that we are to be taken into the empire of Morocco? If so, there is hope for us yet." "But Bo Muzem could find no one who would pay the money for our ransom," interposed Colin. "He nebba go thar," said the Krooman. "He nebba had de time." "I believe the Krooman is right," said Harry. "We have been told that Mogador is four days' journey from here, and the Arab was gone but six days." The conversation of the slaves was interrupted by the Moors, who kept constantly urging them to greater speed. The night came on very dark, but Rais Mourad would not allow them to move at a slower pace. Sailor Bill, being as he declared unused to "navigate any sort o' land craft," could only keep his seat on the animal he bestrode, by allowing it to follow the others, while he clutched its mane with a firm grasp of both hands. The journey was continued until near midnight, when the old sailor, unable any longer to endure the fatigue, managed to check the pace of his horse, and dismount. The Moors endeavored to make him proceed, but were unsuccessful. Bill declared that should he again be placed on the horse, he should probably fall off and break his neck. This was communicated to Rais Mourad, who had turned back in a rage to inquire the cause of the delay. It was the Krooman who acted as interpreter. The Moor's anger immediately subsided on learning that one of the slaves could speak Arabic. "Do you and your companions wish for freedom?" asked the Moor, addressing himself to the Krooman. "We pray for it every hour." "Then tell that foolish man that freedom is not found here--that to obtain it he must move on with me." The Krooman made the communication as desired. "I don't want to hear any more about freedom," answered Bill; "I've 'eard enough ov it. If any on 'em is goin' to give us a chance for liberty, let 'em do it without so many promises." The old sailor remained obstinate. Neither entreaties nor threats could induce him to go farther; and Rais Mourad gave orders to his followers to halt upon the spot, as he intended to stay there for the remainder of the night. The halt was accordingly made, and a temporary camp established. Although exhausted with their long, rough ride, Harry and Colin could not sleep. The hope of liberty was glowing too brightly within their bosoms. This hope had not been inspired by anything that had been said or done by Rais Mourad; for they now placed no trust in the promises of any one. Their hopes were simply based upon the belief that they were now going towards Mogador, that the Moor, their master, was an intelligent man--a man who might know that he would not lose his money by taking English subjects to a place where they would be sure of being ransomed. CHAPTER LXXXI. A PURSUIT. At the first appearance of day, Rais Mourad ordered the march to be resumed, over a long ridge of sand. The sun soon after rising, on a high hill about four leagues distant were seen the white walls of the city of Santa Cruz, or, as it is called by the Arabs, Agadez. Descending the sand ridge, the cavalcade moved over a level plain covered with grain crops, and dotted here and there with small walled villages surrounded by plantations of vines and date-trees. At one of the villages near the road the cavalcade made a halt, and was admitted within the walls. Throwing themselves down in the shade of some date-trees, the white slaves soon fell into a sound slumber. Three hours after they were awakened to eat a small compound of hot barley-cakes and honey. Before they had finished their repast, Rais Mourad came up to the spot, and began a conversation with the Krooman. "What does the Moor say?" inquired Harry. "He say dat if we be no bad, and we no cheat him, he take us to Sweareh, to de English Consul." "Of course we will promise that, or anything else," assented Harry, "and keep the promise too, if we can. He will be sure to be well paid for us. Tell him that!" The Krooman obeyed: and the Moor, in reply, said that he was well aware that he would be paid something by the Consul, but that he required a written promise from the slaves themselves as to the amount. He wanted them to sign an agreement that he should be paid two hundred dollars for each one of them. This they readily assented to, and the Moor then produced a piece of paper, a reed, and some ink. Rais Mourad wrote the agreement himself in Arabic, on one side of the paper, and then, reading it sentence by sentence, requested the Krooman to translate it to his companions. The translation given by the Krooman was-- "To English Consul,-- "We be four Christian slave. Rais Mourad buy us of Arab. We promise to gib him two hundred dollar for one, or eight hundred dollar for four, if he take us to you. Please pay him quick." Harry and Colin signed the paper without any hesitation, and it was then handed with the pen to Sailor Bill. The old sailor took the paper; and, after carefully surveying every object around him, walked up to one of the saddles lying on the ground a few paces off. Spreading the paper on the saddle, he sat down, and very deliberately set about the task of making his autograph. Slowly as the hand of a clock moving over the face of a dial, Bill's hand passed over the paper, while his head oscillated from side to side as each letter was formed. After Bill had succeeded in painting a few characters which, in his opinion, expressed the name of William McNeal, Harry was requested to write a similar agreement on the other side of the paper, which they were also to sign. Rais Mourad was determined on being certain that his slaves had put their names to such an agreement as he wished, and therefore had written it himself, so that he might not be deceived. About two hours before sunset all were again in the saddle; and, riding out of the gateway, took a path leading up the mountain on which stands the city of Santa Cruz. When about half-way up, a party of horsemen, between twenty and thirty in number, was seen coming after them at full speed. Rais Mourad remembered the threat made by the grazier who claimed the slaves as his property, and every exertion was made to reach the city before his party could be overtaken. The horses ridden by the white slaves were small animals, in poor condition, and were unable to move up the hill with much speed, although their riders had been reduced by starvation to the very lightest of weights. Before reaching the level plain on the top of the hill, the pursuers gained on them rapidly, and had lessened the distance between the two parties by nearly half a mile. The nearest gate of the city was still more than a mile ahead, and towards it the Moors urged their horses with all the energy that could be inspired by oaths, kicks, and blows. As they neared the gate the herds of their pursuers were seen just rising over the crest of the hill behind them. But as Rais Mourad saw that his slaves were now safe, he checked his steed, and the few yards that remained of the journey were performed at a slow pace, for the Moor did not wish to enter the gate of a strange city in a hasty or undignified manner. No delay on passing the sentinels, and in five minutes more the weary slaves dismounted from their nearly exhausted steeds, and were commanded by Rais Mourad to thank God that they had arrived safe in the Empire of Morocco. In less than a quarter of an hour after Bo Muzem and the grazier rode through the gateway, accompanied by a troop of fierce-looking Arab horsemen. The wrath of the merchant seemed to have waxed greater in the interval, and he appeared as if about to make an immediate attack upon Harry Blount, the chief object of his spiteful vengeance. In this he was prevented by Rais Mourad, who appealed to an officer of the city guard to protect him. The officer informed the merchant that while within the walls of the city he must not molest other people, and Bo Muzem was compelled to give his word that he would not do so: that is to say, he was bound over to keep the peace. The other Arabs, in whose company they had come, were also given to understand that they were in a Moorish city; and, as they saw that they were powerless to do harm without meeting with punishment, their fierce deportment soon gave way to a demeanor more befitting the streets of a civilized town. Both pursued and pursuers were cautioned against any infringement of the laws of the place; and as a different quarter was assigned to each party, all chances of a conflict were, for the time, happily frustrated. CHAPTER LXXXII. MOORISH JUSTICE. The next morning, Rais Mourad was summoned to appear before the governor of the city. He was ordered, also, to bring his slaves along with him. He had no reluctance in obeying these orders, and a soldier conducted him and his followers to the governor's house. Bo Muzem and the grazier were there before them; and the governor soon after made his appearance in the room where both parties were waiting. He was a fine-looking man, of venerable aspect, about sixty-five years of age, and, from his appearance, Harry and Colin had but little fear of the result of his decision in an appeal that might be made against them. Bo Muzem was the first to speak. He stated that, in partnership with two other merchants, he had purchased the four slaves then present. He had never given his consent to the sale made by his partners to the Moor; and there was one of them whom it had been distinctly understood was not to be sold at all. That slave he now claimed as his own property. He had been commissioned by his partners to go to Swearah, and there dispose of the slaves. He had sold the other two to his friend Mahommed, who was present. He had no claim on them. Mahommed, the grazier was their present owner. The grazier was now called upon to make his statement. This was soon done. All he had to say was, that he had purchased three Christian slaves from his friend, Bo Muzem, and had given four horses and ten dollars in money for each of them. They had been taken away by force by the Moor, Rais Mourad, from whom he now claimed them. Rais Mourad was next called upon to answer the accusation. The question was put, why he retained possession of another man's property. In reply, he stated that he had purchased them of two Arab merchants, and had paid for them on the spot; giving one hundred and fifty silver dollars for each. After the Moor had finished his statement, the governor remained silent for an interval of two or three minutes. Presently, turning to Bo Muzem, he asked, "Did your partners offer you a share of the money they received for the slaves?" "Yes," answered the merchant, "but I would not accept it." "Have you, or your partners, received from the man, who claims three of the slaves, twelve horses and thirty dollars?" After some hesitation, Bo Muzem answered in the negative. "The slaves belong to the Moor, Rais Mourad, who has paid the money for them," said the governor, "and they shall not be taken from him here. Depart from my presence, all of you." All retired, and, as they did so, the grazier was heard to mutter that there was no justice for Arabs in Morocco. Rais Mourad gave orders to his followers to prepare for the road; and just as they were ready to start, he requested Bo Muzem to accompany him outside the walls of the city. The merchant consented, on condition that his friend Mahommed the grazier should go along with them. "My friend," said Rais Mourad, addressing Bo Muzem, "you have been deceived. Had you taken these Christians to Swearah, as you promised, you would have certainly been paid for them all that you could reasonably have asked. I live in Swearah, and was obliged to make a journey to the south upon urgent business. Fortunately, on my return, I met with your partners, and bought their slaves from them. The profit I shall make on them will more than repay me all the expenses of my journey. The man Mahommed, whom you call your friend, has bought two other Christians. He has sold them to the English Consul. Having made two hundred dollars by that transaction, he was anxious to trade you out of these others, and make a few hundred more. He was deceiving you for the purpose of obtaining them. There is but one God, Mahomet is his prophet, and you are a fool!" Bo Muzem required no further evidence in confirmation of the truth of this statement. He could not doubt that the Moor was an intelligent man, who knew what he was about when buying the slaves. The grazier Mahommed had certainly purchased the two slaves spoken of, had acknowledged having carried them to Swearah, and was now anxious to obtain the others. All was clear to him now; and for a moment he stood mute and motionless, under a sense of shame at his own stupidity. This feeling was succeeded by one of wild rage against the man who had so craftily outwitted him. Drawing his scimitar, he rushed towards the grazier, who, having been attentive to all that was said, was not wholly unprepared for the attack. The Arabs never acquire much skill in the use of the scimitar, and an affair between them with these weapons is soon decided. The contest between the merchant and his antagonist was not an exception to other affrays between their countrymen. It was a strife for life or death, witnessed by the slaves who felt no sympathy for either of the combatants. A mussulman in a quarrel generally places more dependence on the justice of his cause than either on his strength or skill; and when such is not the case much of his natural prowess is lost to him. Confident in the rectitude of his indignation, Bo Muzem, with his Mohammedan ideas of fatalism, was certain that the hour had not yet arrived for him to die; nor was he mistaken. His impetuous onset could not be resisted by a man unfortified with the belief that he had acted justly: and Mahommed the grazier was soon sent to the ground, rolling in the dust in the agonies of death. "There's one less on 'em anyhow," exclaimed Sailor Bill, as he saw the Arab cease to live. "I wish he had brought brother Jem and Master Terence here. I wonder what he has done wi' 'em?" "We should learn, if possible," answered Harry, "and before we get any farther away from them. Suppose we speak to the Moor about them? He may be able to obtain them in some way." At Harry's request, the Krooman proceeded to make the desired communication, but was prevented by Rais Mourad ordering the slaves into their places for the purpose of continuing the journey which this tragic incident had interrupted. After cautioning Bo Muzem to beware of the followers of Mahommed, who now lay dead at their feet, the Moor, at the head of his kafila, moved off in the direction of Mogador. CHAPTER LXXXIII. THE JEW'S LEAP. The road followed by Rais Mourad on the day after leaving Santa Cruz was through a country of very uneven surface. Part of the time the kafila would be in a narrow valley by the seashore, and in the next hour following a zigzag path on the side of some precipitous mountain. In such places the kafila would have to proceed in single file, while the Moors would be constantly cautioning the slaves against falling from the backs of their animals. While stopping for an hour at noon for the horses to rest, the Krooman turned over a flat stone, and underneath it found a large scorpion. After making a hole in the sand about six inches deep, and five or six in diameter, he put the reptile into it. He then went in search of a few more scorpions to keep the prisoner company. Under nearly every stone he turned over, one or two of these reptiles were found, all of which were cast into the hole where he had placed the first. When he had secured about a dozen within the prison from which they could not escape, he began teasing them with a stick. Enraged at this treatment the reptiles commenced a mortal combat among themselves, a sight which was witnessed by the white slaves with about the same interest as that between the two Arabs in the morning. In other words, they did not care which got the worst of it. A battle between two scorpions would commence with much active skirmishing on both sides, each seeking to fasten its claws on the other. When one of the reptiles would succeed in getting a fair grip, its adversary would exhibit every disposition to surrender, apparently begging for its life, but all to no purpose, as no quarter would be given. The champion would inflict the fatal sting; and the unfortunate reptile receiving it would die immediately after. After all the scorpions had been killed except one, the Krooman himself finished the survivor with a blow of his stick. When rebuked by Harry for what the latter regarded as an act of wanton cruelty, he answered that it was the duty of every man to kill scorpions. In the afternoon they reached a place called the Jew's Leap. It was a narrow path along the side of a mountain, the base of which was washed by the sea. The path was about half a mile long and not more than four or five feet broad. The right hand side was bounded by a wall of rocks, in some places perpendicular and rising to a height of several hundred feet. On the left hand side was the sea, about four hundred feet below the level of the path. There was no hope for any one who should fall from this path,--no hope but heaven. Not a bush, tree, or any obstacle was seen to offer the slightest resistance to the downward course of a falling body. The Krooman had passed this way before, and informed his companions that no one ever ventured on the path in wet weather; that it was at all times considered dangerous; but that, as it saved a tiresome journey of seven miles around the mountain, it was generally taken in dry weather. He also told them that the name of "Jew's Leap" was given to the precipice, from a party of Jews having once been forced over it. It was in the night-time. They had met a numerous party of Moors coming in the opposite direction. Neither party could turn back, a contest arose, and several on both sides were hurled over the precipice into the sea. On this occasion as many Moors as Jews had been thrown from the path; but it had pleased the former to give the spot the name of the "Jew's Leap," which it still bears. Before venturing upon this dangerous road, Rais Mourad was careful to see that no one was coming from the opposite direction. After shouting at the top of his voice, and hearing no reply, he led the way, bidding his followers to trust more to their animals than to themselves. As the white slaves entered on the pass, two Moors were left behind to follow them, and when all had proceeded a short distance along the ledge, the horse ridden by Harry Blount became frightened. It was a young animal, and having been reared on the plains of the desert, was unused to mountain-road. While the other horses were walking along very cautiously, Harry's steed suddenly stopped, and refused to go any farther. In such a place a rider has good cause to be alarmed at any eccentricity of behavior in the animal he bestrides, and Harry was just preparing to dismount, when the animal commenced making a retrograde movement, as if determined to turn about. Harry was behind his companions, and closely followed by one of the Moors. The latter becoming alarmed for his own safety, struck the young Englishman's horse a blow with his musket to make it move forward. The next instant the hind legs of the refractory animal were over the edge of the precipice, and its body, with the weight of its rider clinging to his neck, was about evenly balanced as on the brink. The horse made a violent struggle to avoid going over, with its nose and fore feet laid close along the path, and vainly striving to regain the position from which it had so imprudently parted. At this moment its rider determined to make a desperate exertion for his life. Seizing the horse by the ears, and drawing himself up, he placed one foot on the brink of the precipice, and then sprang clear over the horse's head, just as the animal relinquished its hold! In another instant the unfortunate quadruped was precipitated into the sea, its body striking the water with a dull plunge, as if the life had already gone out of it. The remainder of the ledge was traversed without any difficulty; and after all had got safely over, Harry's companions were loud in congratulating him upon his narrow escape. The youth remained silent. His soul was too full of gratitude to God to give any heed to the words of man. CHAPTER LXXXIV. CONCLUSION. On the evening of the second day after passing the Jew's Leap, Rais Mourad, with his following, reached the city of Mogador; but too late to enter its gates, which were closed for the night. For a great part of the night, Harry, Colin, and Sailor Bill were unable to sleep. They were kept awake by the memory of the sufferings they had endured in slavery, but more by the anticipation of liberty, which they believed to be now near. They arose with the sun call, impatient to enter the city, and learn their fate. Rais Mourad, knowing that no business could be done until three or four hours later, would not permit them to pass into the gate. For three hours they waited with the greatest impatience. So strongly had their minds been elated with the prospect of getting free, that the delay was creating the opposite extreme of despair, when they were again elated at the sight of Rais Mourad returning to them. Giving the command to his followers, he led the way into the city. After passing through several narrow streets, on turning a corner, they saw waving over the roof of one of the houses a sight that filled them with joy inexpressible. It was the flag of Old England! It indicated the residence of the English consul. On seeing it all three gave forth a loud simultaneous cheer, and hastened forward, in the midst of a crowd of Moorish men, women, and children. Rais Mourad knocked at the gate of the consulate, which was opened; and the white slaves were ushered into the court-yard. At the same instant two individuals came running forth from the house. They were Terence and Jim! A fine looking man about fifty years of age, now stepped forward; and taking Harry and Colin by the hand, congratulated them on the certainty of soon recovering their liberty. The presence of Terence and Jim in the consulate at Mogador, was soon explained. The Arab grazier, after buying them, had started immediately for Swearah, taking his slaves with him. On bringing them to the English consul he was paid a ransom, and they were at once set free. At the same time he had given his promise to purchase the other slaves and bring them to Mogador. The consul made no hesitation in paying the price that had been promised for Harry, Colin, and Bill; but he did not consider himself justified in expending the money of his government in the redemption of the Krooman, who was not an English subject. The poor fellow was overwhelmed with despair at the prospect of being restored to a life of slavery. His old companions in misfortune could not remain tranquil spectators of his grief. They promised he should be free. Each of the middies had wealthy friends on whom he could draw for money, and they were in hopes that some English merchant in the city would advance the amount. They were not disappointed. On the very next day the Krooman's difficulty was settled to his satisfaction. The consul having mentioned his case to several foreign merchants, a subscription-list was opened, and the amount necessary to the purchase of his freedom was easily obtained. The three mids were furnished with plenty of everything they required, and only waited the arrival of some English ship to carry them back to the shores of their native land. They had not long to wait; for shortly after, the tall masts of a British man-of-war threw their shadows athwart the waters of Mogador Bay. The three middies were once more installed in quarters that befitted them: while Sailor Bill and his brother, as well as their Krooman comrade, found a welcome in the forecastle of the man-of-war. All three of the young officers rose to rank and distinction in the naval service of their country. It was their good fortune often to come in contact with each other, and talk laughingly of that terrible time, no longer viewed with dread or aversion, when all three of them were serving their apprenticeship as Boy Slaves in the Saära. 
40994	----	Zoraida A Romance of the Harem and the Great Sahara By William Le Queux Illustrations by Harold Piffard Published by Tower Publishing Co Ltd, London. Zoraida, by William Le Queux. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ ZORAIDA, BY WILLIAM LE QUEUX. CHAPTER ONE. ALI BEN HAFIZ. The adventure was strange, the mystery inexplicable. A blazing noontide in the month of Moharram. Away across the barren desert to the distant horizon nothing met the aching eye but a dreary waste of burning red-brown sand under a cloudless sky shining like burnished copper. Not an object relieved the wearying monotony of the waterless region forsaken by nature, not a palm, not a rock, not a knoll, not a vestige of herbage; nothing but the boundless silent expanse of that wild and wonderful wilderness, the Great Sahara, across which the sand-laden wind swept ever and anon in short stifling gusts hot as the breath from an oven. Far beyond the Atlas mountains, under the fiery rays of the African sun, I was riding with all speed in order to overtake a caravan which I had been informed by the cadi at Wargla had started for Noum-en-Nas, the small town in the Touat Oasis, two days before my arrival. The caravan, I learned, was composed of camels, therefore, mounted as I was on a fleet Arab stallion, and guiding myself by my pocket compass and the very inadequate map of the Depot de la Guerre, I expected to come upon them ere two suns had set. Four long breathless days had now passed, yet I could detect no living thing. In the far south of Algeria the intense dry heat of summer always affects Europeans, and although clad lightly in haick and burnouse, with my feet thrust into rough slippers, I was no exception. Alone in that trackless, arid desert, with my food and water nearly consumed and my brain aflame with fever, I was bound to admit my position decidedly unenviable. I was afflicted by a hundred miseries. Into my face the glaring noonday heat was reflected by the sand; I was hungry, my throat was parched, the racking pain of fatigue cramped my bones, and my horse, weary and jaded, stumbled now and then as he plodded slowly onward under the fierce, pitiless rays. The two Chasseurs d'Afrique who had been sent with me for protection by my friend the General of Division, had foolishly partaken of melons soon after leaving Tuggurt, and had been stricken down with illness in consequence; therefore I had been compelled to set out upon my journey into the Areg alone. Suddenly, about an hour after noon, my eager eyes were rewarded by a sight in the far distance of a cloud of dust. Spurring my horse, I galloped onward, and in half an hour the bells of the camels and the jingle of the horses' trappings fell upon my ears. The dense whirling cloud of sand preceded the cavalcade, and whenever a gust of wind parted it, slow-plodding camels heavily laden with merchandise, glittering arms, and flowing scarlet and white burnouses could be seen. In this way the caravan presented itself as I pressed on towards its flank. Within fifty paces of the vanguard I dug my heels into the horse's sides and bounded across to the head of the convoy of a dozen Spahis. A solitary rider journeying across the desert is such an unusual spectacle that the ferocious-looking advance guard, fearing attack, shouted and lowered their rifles. "_Phtaris_! Peace be upon thee!" I cried in Arabic, seeing myself received in such a hostile manner. "Cowards! Thou seemest afraid that a single Englishman will attack thy caravan!" The guards, thus reproached, muttering that they were pressing through the turbulent country of the Beni Zougs, raised their weapons with a look of shame upon their dark-bearded faces, while their chief reined his horse to interrogate me. "Whose is this caravan?" I asked, disregarding his string of rapidly-uttered inquiries. "It belongeth to Ali Ben Hafiz, the merchant of Biskra," he replied. "And thou art on thy way to Noum-en-Nas?" "True," he answered, with a puzzled look. "But how dost thou know? What dost thou want with us?" "Conduct me to thy master," I said. "It is imperative that I should speak with him." As I uttered these words, an elderly grave-faced man, with a long white beard flowing over his spotless burnouse, rode up, and, judging him to be the merchant for whom I had been searching, I greeted him and gave him peace. "_Aish ism arrajol di_?" ("What is the name of this man?") he asked suspiciously of the chief of the convoy. "My name," I exclaimed, "is Cecil Holcombe, an Englishman who desireth to travel to the Touat Oasis. The Director of Fate turned the bridle of my horse towards thee and allowed me to hear the bells of thy camels from afar; the Guide of the Reins of Destiny moved my intention so that I came hither to meet thee. Behold! I bear unto thee a letter from our mutual friend, General Malezieux, Chief of Division." The name of that high official caused him to open his keen dark eyes wider, and, taking the letter from me, he quickly read it. In Arabic my friend the General greeted his brother Ali Ben Hafiz with strings of salutations and references to the Prophet, and implored him to take under his protection the adventurous Englishman. When the old merchant had read it through twice, he slowly stroked his patriarchal beard. Then, looking up, he said in his own language-- "M'sieur Holcombe, be welcome to our shade. Allah, the One Merciful, is mighty: Allah, Lord of the Three Worlds, is wise. He ordaineth that although thou art an unbeliever, we should nevertheless be companions. It giveth me pleasure to succour thee--but before all take salt with us." The order was given to halt, a tent was quickly pitched, and we took salt and ate our kousskouss together, afterwards smoking our long haschish pipes until the noon was far spent. About five o'clock we resumed our journey again over the barren plain, the venerable-looking old Arab, in whom I found a most prayerful, pious, and entertaining host, riding by my side. The convoy of dark-faced Spahis, who, picturesque in their scarlet burnouses, had viewed me with such distrust, now regarded me as a distinguished guest, and were ready at every moment to do my bidding. To those who, like myself, have learned in the desert to regard life steadily, nothing temporal seems of moment when travelling by caravan, and our civilisation, of which we in Western Europe pride ourselves, seems but a frivolous thing of yesterday. Desert life to-day is the same as it was ten centuries ago; the same as it will ever be. Free and charming in its simplicity, yet with certain terrors ever-present, it offers many attractions to those in search of change and excitement. Thus, with the fiery sunset flooding the boundless wilderness, we wended our way due westward in the blood-red track of the departing day. When the last rays were fading, another halt was made, the mats were spread, and Ali Ben Hafiz with his convoy and camel-drivers knelt, and, turning their faces towards Mecca, repeated their evening prayer, afterwards reciting with fervent devotion the Fatiha: "Praise be to Allah, Lord of all creatures; the most merciful, King of the day of Judgment, Thee do we worship, and of Thee do we beg assistance. Direct us in the Right Way, in the way of those to whom Thou hast been gracious; not of those against whom Thou art incensed, nor of those who go astray." Then in the falling gloom we again moved on. Slowly our camels plodded, the rhythmic movement of their heads causing their bells to jingle, and now and then an Arab would chant a weird Bedouin song, or goad on his animals, administering heavy blows emphasised by sundry forcible imprecations with frequent references to Eblis. Old Ali--who was a native of Morocco and still acknowledged Mulai Hassan as his ruler, although he lived under the French flag--asked me to relate my history, and tell him of England and the Great White Queen; therefore, as we rode together, I entertained him with descriptions of my distant home, explaining to him our insular manners and customs, until the bright moon rose and the stars twinkled like diamonds in the cloudless vault of blue. At last, having entered a wild ravine, where some prickly acacias, dusty aloes, and patches of coarse hulfa grass grew, under the shadow of the rocks we encamped for the night. Our kousskouss was cooked and eaten, our horses fed and watered at the well, and while the Spahis were posted as sentinels to raise the alarm in the event of a raid by any of the fierce marauding bands that constantly prowl about that region, we wrapped ourselves in the ample folds of our burnouses and rested our weary heads upon our saddles. CHAPTER TWO. THE OMEN OF THE CAMEL'S HOOF. On over the barren sand-hills, always in the track of the setting sun, each day passed much as its predecessor. I was no stranger to Northern Africa, for the wild, free life, unshackled by conventionalities, had a fascination for me, and consequently I had accompanied caravans through Tunis and Tripoli, and had wandered a good deal in Morocco. In the course of these journeys I had learned to love the Arabs, and had formed the acquaintance of many powerful Sheikhs, several of whom I now counted among my most faithful and devoted friends. Indeed, it was to join one of them, the head of the Tedjehe-N'ou-Sidi, that I was now on my way south to Zamlen, in the Afelele region. After three years among the True Believers, I had at last overcome most of the difficulties of language, and could converse with them in their own tongue. It may have been this which commended itself to pious old Ali Ben Hafiz, for throughout our journey he was particularly gracious, though he bored me sometimes with his constant objurgatory remarks regarding Infidels in general and myself in particular. Once in exuberance of spirits I so far forgot myself as to whistle a popular English air, and although we were excellent friends, he reprimanded me so severely that I am not likely to forget that among the followers of the Prophet whistling is forbidden. One morning, while riding together soon after dawn, he surprised me by suddenly observing in a grave tone-- "Thou art young and of good stature. It surpriseth me that thou dost not return to thine own people and take a wife from among them." "Why should I marry?" I asked, laughing. "While I am alone, I wander at my own inclination; if I married, my actions would be ruled by another." "Because ere the sun had risen this morning a camel had placed its hoof upon thy spittle," he answered, looking at me with his keen serious eyes that age had not dimmed. "It is an omen. _'Ty-ib bi'chire Allah yosallimak_!" "An omen! Of what?" I asked. "Of impending evil." "But we English believe not in superstition; neither have we witches nor sorcerers," I replied, smiling. "Infidels have no need of them," he retorted, angrily. "Only True Believers will behold the great lote tree, or quench their thirst at Salsabil, Allah be thanked!" "But this strange omen--what particular misfortune is it supposed to presage?" I inquired eagerly, astonished at the vehemence of his denunciation. "Hearken, and take heed," he said, earnestly. "Thou art young, and as yet no woman hath captivated thee. Do I give utterance to the truth?" "Yes," I answered. "As yet I have never been enmeshed." "Then beware! There will be a day when thy life will be lightened by the rays of a woman's face, rivalled only by the sun. Her eyes will be brilliant as the gazelle's, her cheeks will bear the bloom of the peach, and her lips will be sweet as the fresh-blown rose. In those eyes the love-light will flash, those cheeks will blush at thine approach, and those lips will meet with passion thy caress. Then remember the words of Ali Ben Hafiz. Remember the Omen of the Camel's Hoof!" We rode on together in silence for some minutes. I was pondering over his strange words. "On the auspicious day when I meet this paragon of beauty which you prophesy, how am I to act?" I asked presently. "Act?" he cried. "Do nothing. Return not her caresses. Cast her from thee even though she be one of the houris of Paradise, and--" "Will she be a Moor, an Arab, or one of mine own people?" I inquired, interrupting him. "Ask me not. I am no prophet, though this is not the first time I have seen similar cases to thine. The Omen of the Camel's Hoof hath been revealed--and it is fatal." "Fatal?" I cried in alarm. "What dost thou mean? Am I to die?" "It resulteth in death--sometimes. It is always fatal to love." "Have others succumbed, then?" I asked. "Yes, alas!" he said, with knit brows and a curiously thoughtful expression. "One case occurred in mine own family. My nephew, who was of about the same age as thou art, had the distinctive mark between the eyes, the same as thou hast upon thy countenance. After the last Fast of Ramadan, he took the caravan of his father and journeyed for one moon west to Duera, in Morocco. Before the sun had risen on the last day of Doul Hadja, the camel he was riding, alas! stepped upon his spittle. His tent-man, a Biskri well versed in anthroposcopy, told him of the ominous warning, but he ridiculed it, saying that Kamra Fathma, the daughter of the cadi at Bona, was already betrothed unto him, and that he could never look with admiration upon another woman's face. The Omen had been revealed; its warning was, alas! disregarded." "What was the result?" I inquired, rather alarmed at my friend's extraordinary prophetic demeanour. "Ah, the result? It was fatal! A week later he who scoffed at the humble tent-man's words crossed the Figuig into the land of our lord the Sultan. There, at Sidi Mumen, he chanced to pass the daughter of the Basha on foot. An ill wind blew aside her veil, and he gazed for a second upon her uncovered face. The lines of her fatal beauty were in that instant graven deeply upon his heart, and he loved her violently, casting aside the pretty Kamra, his betrothed at Bona. Tarrying long near the woman who had fascinated him, he succeeded in earning the good graces of the Basha, and at length married her." He paused, and, drawing a long breath, pulled his burnouse more tightly around his shoulders. "Well, if he succeeded in marrying her, the Omen of the Camel's Hoof could not have been fatal to love," I argued. "But it was!" he replied quickly. "After his marriage, he remained in Sidi Mumen, and set up a large house, and his wife had many slaves." "Was he not happy?" "For three moons, and then--" "And then?" "The prophecy was fulfilled. He took a cup of tea too much. [An expression used by the Moors, poison being invariably administered in tea.] The woman who had entranced him and obtained his money was verily a daughter of Eblis. She poisoned him!" "Horrible!" I said. "I hope mine will not be a similar fate." The old man, who, before setting out on his journey, had without doubt promised a feast to his favourite marabout in return for the latter's all-powerful prayers for his safety, shrugged his shoulders, but answered nothing. CHAPTER THREE. ENTRAPPED. The curiously prophetic utterances of Ali Ben Hafiz caused me to reflect. I knew much of Moslem superstition,--in fact, I had collected many of the strange beliefs of the Arabs, Moors, and Koulouglis, with the intention of including them in a book I was writing,--but this extraordinary _avant-coureur_ of evil was new to me. During the blazing day, as we toiled on over the sun-baked plain, again and again I recalled his ominous words. The prophecy made me feel uncomfortable. Somehow, try how I would, I could not rid myself of the thought that some untoward event would ere long occur. In this record of facts I am compelled to speak briefly of myself. Life had indeed been a strange series of ups and downs. Being left an orphan, I had early in life imbibed the reckless Bohemianism of the Quartier Latin, and my later years had been almost equally divided between the conventionalities of London and Paris and the wild, free life of the Bedouins of Northern Africa. Truth to tell, civilisation, with its hollow shams and its _decollete_ and frock-coated _beau monde_, had no charm for me. The leaden skies of London and the glitter and artificiality of Paris were alike hateful. I only enjoyed happiness when, attired in haick and slippers, I sat cross-legged with the people of Al-Islam, studying their grave, interesting characteristics, and perfecting my knowledge of that most wonderful of languages, Arabic. Fettered no longer by the shackles of Society, I wandered, explored, and studied, the reason of this restlessness being most likely due to the fact that I had never gazed upon a woman with thoughts of love. The Bohemianism of the Seine-bank had distorted my views of life, so that I regarded woman as a heartless coquette, and perhaps had become cynical, even misanthropic. Therefore, on thinking over old Ali's warning, I grew at length to regard it as a mere superstition of the mystic Moslem, and succeeded at last in dismissing it from my mind. The blazing day wore on, and was succeeded by a glorious evening. We were in that wild, inhospitable region known as the Adjemor, about midway between the little Arab settlement of El Biodh and the palms of Ain-el-Redjem. Away on the misty horizon the rising ground of the great plateau of Tademait was tinged with orange and gold, but as my fellow wanderers knelt upon their carpets, cast dust over their feet, and, salaaming, droned forth passages of the Saba in a monotone, the deep well of the west was still ablaze with crimson and silver. It was a bad sign, for the thin haze which hung upon the ground warned us that ere long we should be overwhelmed by one of the terrors of the desert--the sandstorm. Its stifling clouds of whirling sand might sweep down upon us immediately, or might not reach us for twelve or fourteen hours; but we were all aware that assuredly it must come, therefore, before throwing ourselves down to rest, we took necessary precautions to ensure our safety. Alone in my tent, I lay unable to sleep, for before the sirocco the heat always becomes unbearable. The dead silence of the wilderness was only broken by the champing of the camels and the jingle of the single Spahi, who, mounting guard over us, marched slowly up and down, his footsteps sounding muffled in the sand. Through the open door of the tent I could see how clear and bright was the night, how brilliantly the big moon of the East shone white over the desert, and for a long time I lay thinking of home and of the strange words of Ali, until sleep at length came to my aching eyes. Loud shouting and rifle-shots rapidly exchanged awakened me. For a moment I was dazed by the weird, exciting scene. White-robed figures on horseback tearing past my tent were firing their long-barrelled guns, and our men were repelling the assault vigorously with their Winchesters. We were being attacked by a band of marauders; I knew it would be a fight to the death! Grasping my revolver, I sprang to my feet and rushed forth. As I did so, a gigantic Arab barred my passage. The fierce, dark-faced fellow had just swung himself from his horse, and in his sinewy hand there gleamed a long curved knife. In a second we had closed in deadly embrace. Clutching me by the throat, he forced me backwards, at the same moment uttering a curse and raising the keen blade above his head. For a second it was poised in mid air, but quick as thought I managed to wrench away my right hand, and, bringing it across my breast, fired my revolver full into his dark, sinister face. With a cry he staggered. The knife fell, but I evaded it, and, gradually loosening his hold upon my throat, he stumbled backwards, and, tottering, sank heavily to the ground. Leaving him, I rushed out to assist my companions, for the rattle of musketry was incessant, and bullets were singing about us in a manner that was particularly disconcerting. Dashing forward, I saw our Spahis had apparently been taken completely by surprise, four of them having fallen dead, and two were lying near, writhing under the agony of their wounds. The shouting and firing were deafening, the flashing of guns shedding a lurid glare, while, to add to the horror of those moments, the storm had burst upon us, choking clouds of sand enveloping both enemy and friend. Once only, amid the whirling cloud of dust and smoke, I caught sight of the hospitable old merchant. Two of the robbers had seized him, and were securing his arms and legs with cords, when suddenly he turned upon them with the ferocity of a tiger, and, drawing a knife from his crimson sash, plunged it into the heart of one of his captors. The man staggered and fell backwards dead, like a stone. A second later there was a bright flash from a rifle fired by a man near me, and Ali Ben Hafiz, throwing up his arms with a cry, fell forward over the corpse of the man he had killed. Just at that moment I felt myself seized from behind. Turning quickly, intending to use my revolver, the weapon was snatched from my hand, and a cord with a noose passed quickly over my head. I fought hard; but how long can one fight against a score? The flash of the guns illumined for a second the faces of the fierce bandits into whose power I had unfortunately fallen. All were big, desperate-looking Bedouins of the tribe of the Ennitra, who live away south in the Ahaggar region, and whose men, reputed to be the worst of desperadoes, were the terror of the caravans. While they forced my hands behind me and secured them, my brave companions, the Spahis and camel-drivers, after making a most desperate resistance, were one after another shot down before my eyes. The band outnumbered us by six to one, and already the camels, with Ali's valuable packs of textile fabrics, arms and ammunition, had been captured and driven off. "Devils!" I cried, as I watched the sickening slaughter. "Why not complete thine hideous work and shoot me also?" "Behold! he hath a pale face!" cried one of my captors, peering into my eyes and showing his white teeth as he grinned viciously. "See! he is not an Arab! He is a dog of an Infidel!" "Kill him! kill him!" cried one of the others, excitedly brandishing a knife. "His touch will contaminate. The Roumi will bring the curse of Sajin upon us!" His words and threatening attitude alarmed me, for, remembering that these men were of the sect of the Aissawa, the wildest of the fanatics of Al-Islam, I knew they were not likely to show much mercy to one who had not embraced their religion or gone through their hideous rites. Whoever Sidi ben Aissa, the patron saint of this strange sect, might have been, he certainly numbers among his followers some of the worst malefactors of Algeria. Any Mohammedan may be initiated into the Aissawa. He makes a pilgrimage to Mequinez, in Morocco, calls upon the representative of Sidi ben Aissa's family, to whom he offers prayers and money. This over, the priest blows upon him, and the devotee arises and departs, firmly believing that however many venomous snakes may bite him, no harm will befall him. Although in a frenzy of excitement over their terrible work of slaughter, they seemed in no mood to kill me. As the sandstorm abated, and dawn spread, the scene was awful. The whole of our men had, I saw, been ruthlessly massacred, and I alone remained the sole survivor. Breathlessly I stood, my arms bound so tightly as to cause me pain, awaiting my fate. How, I wondered, would it end? Presently, when the contents of our camels' packs had been cursorily inspected, I was tied to a mule, and dragged on over the desert in the direction of the rising sun. Through the long hot day I was forced to trudge wearily onward into that region of the Ahaggar where no Bedouins dare penetrate. Jeering, they refused my request for water to moisten my parched throat, and it was not until long after noon that they tossed me a handful of dates to satisfy my hunger. Just before sundown we came upon an oasis where the palms grew high, and there came out to meet us a dirty, ferocious rabble, shouting, gesticulating, and rejoicing that the raid had been successful. My captors were cheered again and again, while I, as an unbeliever, was cuffed and spat upon. Between two tall bronzed ruffians I was led straightway among the scattered tents to the Sheikh of the marauders, whom I afterwards learned was Hadj Absalam, the notorious outlaw upon whose head a price had long been set by the French Government. He was a sinister-looking old man, with a pair of black, gleaming eyes, a long grey beard, and an ugly cicatrix across his tawny forehead. As his name denoted, he had made the pilgrimage earlier in life, but the criminal was stamped in every line of his face, and I could quite believe him capable of the many barbarous cruelties attributed to him. The marauders explained how they had attacked and captured our caravan, and, finding that I was an Englishman, they had spared my life and brought me to him. The robber Sheikh of the Ennitra heard all without removing his long pipe from his lips or betraying the least excitement. Suddenly turning his piercing eyes upon me, he exclaimed-- "Thou art an unbeliever that Allah hath delivered into our hands for punishment. Verily, Allah hath cursed the Infidels, and hath prepared for them in Al-Hawiyat a fierce fire wherein they shall remain for ever. They shall find no patron or defender. Death by the knife is too merciful an end for dogs of thy mongrel breed." "But, my father," I exclaimed, "I have not offended against thee. I am merely journeying here to study thy tongue." "Silence, Infidel!" he roared. "Speak not to Allah's chosen. Thine accursed body shall be racked by the torture ere thou goest unto the Kingdom of Shades." Then, turning to the men who held me, he said, "Take him out among the rocks and let the punishment commence." Heedless of my vigorous protests, I was hurried along, followed by the ragged crowd of excited fanatics, who still jeered and spat upon me, until we reached the edge of the oasis, which, as I afterwards learned, was named the Igharghar. It was die game, or die coward. I remembered the strange Omen of the Camel's Hoof! At a spot where great grey rocks cropped out of the sand, my captors halted, and, forcing me to the ground, lashed me to the trunk of a date palm. The rope was passed under my arms and fastened to the base of the trunk, leaving about four feet of slack rope between my head and the tree. Then, my feet being bound, they drove a stake into the ground and tied them to it. Thus I lay stretched upon the ground, and, struggle as I would, I was unable to move. The cords sank into my flesh, and the crowd around me laughed and shouted when they saw my face distorted by pain. I knew no mercy would be shown me by Hadj Absalam's band, who delighted in cruelty to their victims, and whose religious rites were practised amid scenes of horror and bloodshed. Yet if they meant to simply leave me there to starve and die under the blazing sun, why did they secure me in this fashion? They could have maimed my feet and hands, and there would have been no need of this elaborate preparation. A sudden shout caused me to try and look up. Several men were running towards me, their white burnouses flowing behind them. One of them carried in his hand a little stick with a noose on the end, and in the noose there writhed a large black asp, one of the deadly denizens of the rocks. The sight froze my blood. I knew that they meant to kill me. Amid the wild excitement of the crowd, who had now gone half mad at the prospect of seeing an Infidel done to death, two long thin thongs of mule-skin were placed through the skin and muscles of the snake, close to its tail. The serpent squirmed under the pain, but his head was held fast in the loop. Within four feet of my face another stake was driven into the ground, and to this the loose ends of the thongs were fastened. The Arabs sprang back. The snake was free from the noose, but bound fast by the thong through its tail. My face was directly before it; yet I could not move! In an instant the snake was in a half coil, with its bead-like eyes fixed upon mine. As I held my breath in that brief second, the warning of Ali Ben Hafiz again flashed through my mind. The sweat stood upon my brow. The crowd pressing around me became hushed in expectancy. To have been murdered with my fellow-travellers would have been far preferable to this torture. The horror of that moment was awful. The serpent, enraged by pain, raised its flat head ready to strike. I set my teeth and closed my eyes, waiting to feel its deadly fangs upon my cheek. Another instant, and its venom would be coursing through my veins! CHAPTER FOUR. A VEILED FACE. But my cruel captors intended to torture me; to delay my death as long as possible. Like a flash the head of the gliding serpent shot out. The thong withstood its spring. It fell two inches short of my face. A tiny drop of liquid spurted upon my temple and ran down my cheek. It was the venom from the fangs that failed to reach! The Arabs roared with laughter. But they were wasting time. From their conversation I gathered that a squadron of Spahis were in search of them to punish them for the many robberies and murders they had committed, and that they were moving at dawn towards the Tanezrouft, a waterless desert that has never been wholly explored by Europeans. They had to examine the packs of Ali Ben Hafiz's camels, so, after laughing and jeering at me for some time, they teased the asp, and then returned to their encampment. Through the long brilliant evening I lay there alone, the snake's head playing before my eyes, more of the venom being spat into my face. The sun at last disappeared in a blaze of crimson, and the clouds covered the heavens. The snake had learned that it could not reach my face. It lay coiled at the foot of the stake watching. For a while longer it struck each time I moved my head, but presently it lay again in its sullen coil. The strain of holding my head back, back, until the cords fairly cracked, was awful. How long, I wondered, would it be before my mind would give way and madness relieve me from this deadly terror? Darkness crept on. Above the low Iraouen hills the moon rose, and shone full upon my face. The beating of _derboukas_, the playing of _kanoons_, and sounds of singing and dancing made it plain that the marauders had discovered the great value of the merchandise they had stolen, and were making merry. Slowly the moments dragged. Time after time I struggled to get free, but in vain. The outlaws had bound me in such a manner that the more I struggled the deeper sank the cords into my flesh. Presently I heard shuffling footsteps, and, looking up, saw approaching two of the villainous men who had assisted to bind me. One of them carried a pitcher of water he had procured from the well. "Take thy knife and kill me," I cried. "Death is better than this horrible torment." They both laughed derisively, and, bending, poured water upon the rope that held me and upon the serpent's thongs. "Thou wilt be claimed by Eblis soon enough," one of the men replied, grimly. "My throat is dry. Give me a drop of water--one mouthful--that I may quench this terrible thirst consuming me," I implored. But again they only laughed, and, flinging the water from the battered copper pitcher upon the sand, the man said, "Thou art accursed of Allah, and our father hath decreed that thou shalt die." "Then kill me! kill me!" I cried in agony. "I am going mad." "That is part of thy punishment," replied the other man, unconcernedly shrugging his shoulders and walking away, followed by his laughing companion. My heart sank within me. The cool wind that had sprung up revived me, and I felt the pangs of hunger. Still before me I saw those coils and that flat head. In the white moonlight I could distinguish the snake's tongue darting out; he was preparing for another spring. He struck, but still he could not reach. An inch more, and his venomous fangs would have buried themselves in my cheek! I rubbed my face in the sand to clear it of the horrible poison now thickening upon it. I must have lapsed into unconsciousness for a long time, but on awaking, all was silent as the grave. The nomads of the Ennitra, who had long been hunted in vain by the Algerian soldiers, were asleep. I felt the strain of the rope growing more painful. I had been pulling back on it with all my force, but now I felt a counter-pull that was slowly drawing me towards the asp and death. Why did I not push my face towards the serpent and end the torture? I had a presentiment that I should die from the moment I had fallen into the hands of these robbers. I knew that I must succumb to hunger and thirst, even if the asp did not reach me. But life is always sweet. I could not bring myself to die. My mad brain refused to order the muscles to meet the reptile. The rope pulled harder. Then I knew. The water those brutes had poured upon it was shrinking it! The distance between my face and the fangs of my black enemy was gradually being lessened. An inch more would mean death! I dug my toes into the ground. I pulled back until the rope cut deeply into my flesh and the blood flowed. The cords that bound me were shortening! Water had also been poured upon the thongs that held the snake. The mule-hide swelled and stretched, while the hempen rope shrank. The snake tried to crawl away. The strings in its flesh held it back. The pain enraged it, and its head shot forth once again. Its tongue came within half an inch of my forehead! Closing my eyes, I must have once more lapsed into a state of half-consciousness, knowing that the thongs which held the reptile were stretching, and that in a few minutes death would release me from the torture. Suddenly the _frou-frou_ of silk greeted my ears, and a second later I became aware of someone leaning over me. "Hist! Peace be upon thee!" exclaimed a soft voice in tuneful Arabic. "_Lissa fih wakt_!" ("There is yet time.") The face bending over me was closely veiled, but above the _adjar_ a pair of bright sparkling eyes peered into mine, while across the white forehead hung rows of golden sequins. I was amazed. Whether my strange visitant were young or old I could not tell, but her splendid eyes had a curious fascination in them such as I had never before experienced. Her arm, bare to the shoulder, was white and well rounded; on her slim wrists were heavy Arab bracelets of gold and silver, studded with jacinths and turquoises, and in her hand was a long thin knife, the blade of which flashed in the moonlight. "What art thou?" I gasped. "Who art thou?" "Thy friend," she replied, quietly. "Make not a sound, for my life as well as thine is at stake. See! I cut the cords that bind thee!" and so saying, she severed my bonds quickly and deftly with her curved dagger, the jewelled scabbard of which hung upon her girdle. Half dazed, but finding both hands and feet free, I jumped up, and, stepping aside from the spot where the serpent darted forth, stood before my mysterious deliverer. She was of medium height, slim and graceful. The hideous haick and baggy white trousers which always shroud the women of the Arabs when out of doors were absent, for apparently she had stolen from her tent, and, with the exception of the flimsy veil across her face, she was still in her harem dress. Set jauntily upon her head she wore the usual dainty little skull-cap of velvet thick with gold and seed pearls, her _serroual_ of pale blue China silk were drawn tight midway between the knee and ankle, her rich velvet zouave was heavily trimmed with gold, and her bare feet were thrust into tiny velvet slippers. A wide sash of silk encircled her waist, and the profusion of gold bangles on her ankles had been tied together so that they should not jingle as she walked. "_Al'hamdu lillah daki lakom_!" she exclaimed solemnly, which translated meant, "Praise be unto Allah, praying for thee." "Allah be praised!" I responded fervently. "Thou art my deliverer. How can I ever sufficiently thank thee?" Shrugging her shoulders with infinite grace, she replied, "Thanks are not necessary. The knowledge that thou hast escaped a horrible death is all the reward I require." She spoke in low musical tones, and her accents were those of a town-dweller rather than of a nomad of the Sahara. "But why dost thou run such risks in order to deliver me--an Infidel?" I asked, recollecting that if detected, little mercy would be shown her by that barbarous fanatical band. "I watched thee brought before the Sheikh, and I heard him condemn thee to the torture. For hours I have been awake thinking, and at last determined to save thee. Come, make no noise, but follow." Cautiously she moved away, taking care to keep in the shadow of the rocks. So graceful was her carriage, so supple was her figure, that, as I walked behind her, I felt convinced that she must be young. Once she halted, and, turning her splendid eyes upon me, said-- "Thou wilt forgive my people, wilt thou not? I make no excuse for their barbarities, I only ask thee to forgive." "Thou hast saved my life," I replied. "How can I refuse any request thou makest?" She laughed a short, silvery laugh, and, turning, sped on again, her little slippers coming to sad grief over the rough stones. Presently I stopped her, and, placing my hand lightly on her shoulder, said-- "May I not gaze upon thy face for one brief moment?" "I cannot permit," she cried, shrinking from me. "Remember, thou art an Infidel!" Her answer was a stinging rebuff. "None of thy people are here to witness," I urged. "Let me for one second unclasp thy _adjar_ and gaze upon thy countenance;" and at the same time I made a movement as if to tear away the tantalising veil that concealed her features. "No! no!" she cried in alarm, stepping back and covering her face with both hands. "Thou must not! Thou shalt not! This, then, is thy reward to one who has risked so much to save thee?" she said reproachfully. "Forgive me," I exclaimed quickly, dropping upon my knee and raising her soft, delicate hand to my lips. But she drew it away firmly, as if my touch stung her. "Rise," she said, rather harshly. "I forgive thee, of course, but there is no time for courtesies. Come." Passing round to the other side of the rock, I found tethered in the centre of a patch of tamarisk a splendid Arab horse with handsome trappings. When she approached, the animal pawed, rubbing its nose upon her hand. "It is mine," she said, "and I give it to thee in the hope that Allah may guard thee, and that thou wilt get away to the Atlas in safety. I saddled it with mine own hands, so in the bags thou wilt find both food and drink. On leaving here, keep straight over yonder hill, then spur with all speed always towards the east. Before three suns have set, thou wilt rest on the Oasis of Meskam, where are encamped the Spahis who are in search of us. Thou wilt be safe with them, although thou wilt not inform them of our whereabouts?" "No, I promise to preserve thy secret," I said. Dawn was spreading quickly, and in the grey light I could see more distinctly the part of her countenance left uncovered. Grasping her slim, white hand, with its fingers laden with roughly-cut gems, I looked earnestly into her magnificent eyes, and again asked, "Is thy decision utterly irrevocable? May I not look for once upon thy face? Think, I have been delivered from a horrible death, yet to recognise my deliverer again will be impossible!" "You and I are strangers," she replied slowly. "Thou art a European, while I am a homeless wanderer of the desert. If thine eyes do not gaze upon my countenance, I shall have committed one sin the less, and thou wilt never be troubled by any recollections. Memories are apt to be tiresome sometimes, and it is written that the True Believer is--" "With me thy memory will always remain that of a brave, tender, but mysterious woman, to whom I owe my life." "That is how I wish thee to think of me. Perhaps I too may remember thee sometimes, though it would be sinful for me to do so. What is thy name?" "Cecil Holcombe." She repeated the four syllables with a pretty Arab accent. "And thine?" I asked, still holding her white hand and gazing into her eyes. She hesitated. I felt she was trembling. Her breath came quickly. "Mount, and go," she said. "I--I have risked too much. Besides, thou mayest not discover who I really am. It would be _fatal_!" "But thy name?" I urged. She seemed bent upon preserving her incognita, and I was growing impatient. That she was lovely I felt sure. No face could be ugly with those magnificent eyes. "Surely thou wilt not withhold from me thy name?" She was silent. Her slim, bejewelled fingers closed over mine with a slight pressure as she sighed. Then, lifting her eyes, she replied-- "I am called Zoraida." "The daughter of whom?" "Daughter of the Sun," she replied, smiling. "Then thou wilt not tell me the name of thy father?" I said, disappointedly. She shook her head, replying, "No. To thee I am only Zoraida. My father's name is of no concern." "And may I not carry with me some little souvenir of this strange meeting?" I asked. Slowly she drew a quaint, old-fashioned ring from her finger and placed it upon my hand, laughing the while, saying-- "When thou art far beyond the mountains, this will remind thee how near thou hast been to death;" adding anxiously, "Now go, I beg. See! the sun will soon break forth! Do not tarry another instant--for my sake!" "Zoraida, shall we never meet again?" I asked desperately, for the mystery surrounding her and her strange words caused me to forget the danger of lingering. "Art thou never in Algiers or Oran, or any of the towns by the sea?" "Sometimes in Algiers. But very, very seldom. Yet even if I were, we could not meet. The Koran forbids." "When wilt thou visit Algiers again?" "Perhaps in the month of Rbi-el-tani. Then I go to the koubba of Sidi-Djebbar." "On what day?" I asked, eagerly. "Probably on the first Al-go'omah," she replied. "But why dost thou ask? To attempt to meet again would only bring disgrace upon me-- perhaps death. Thou knowest full well how strict is our religion, and how terrible is the punishment meted out to those of my sex who hold converse with the Roumis." "Yes, alas!" I said. "Nevertheless, we shall meet again, I feel certain, because we--" "I make no promise. But if ever we chance to cross each other's path, thou wilt not compromise me in the eyes of my people?" she urged, with terrible earnestness. "Never," I replied, fervently. "None shall ever know of our meeting." "Now mount and go, or we shall be discovered," she begged, in evident alarm. "Remember the directions I have given thee, and know that thou hast my blessing." With a last look into her big, wonderful eyes, I raised the tiny white hand I had held and kissed it. Then, vaulting into the saddle, I uttered profound thanks for my deliverance, and bade her adieu. "_Slama_!" she cried, standing erect with both bare arms outstretched towards me. "_Allah Iselemeck. Slama_!" And digging my heels into the splendid Ku-hai-lan horse she had given me, I shot away like an arrow, and rode for life towards the sand-hills of the Iraouen that looked black and bare against the streak of saffron dawn in the sky beyond. CHAPTER FIVE. ZORAIDA'S PLEDGE. Over the dunes, regardless of the dust and heat, I rode, well knowing that my life and that of my fair rescuer depended upon my successful escape. Glancing back now and then, I strained my eyes in the direction of the oasis, half expecting to see a party of Arabs with their long guns held aloft bearing down upon me; but not a living thing was in sight. Again I was alone in that vast, silent wilderness. About noon, at a spot where a few dry plants and tufts of hulfa grass struggled to maintain a miserable existence, I dismounted in order to rest my tired horse, and eagerly searched the saddle-bag. It had been packed by the mysterious Zoraida herself, and as I drew forth one package after another, I saw how thoughtful she had been. In addition to dates, figs, Moorish biscuits, and a little skin full of water, I drew from the bottom of the bag a bulky Arab purse. Roughly made of crimson leather, ornamented with a crescent and star embroidered in silver thread, it had evidently been well worn. Opening it, I was astonished at finding it full of French napoleons, while in the centre compartment, secured by a tiny flap, was a little scrap of paper. Upon it, traced in pencil in a hurried, uncertain hand, were a number of Arabic characters. For a long time I puzzled over them. Some of the characters were illegible, and, being run into one another, they appeared to have been written in the dark. At length, however, I succeeded in satisfying myself as to their purport, for they read as follows:-- "Know, O Unbeliever, that thou art welcome to this poor assistance that I can offer thee. Thou, a stranger from far beyond the sea, may some day be able to render assistance to the unhappy woman who severed thy bonds. Thou art named _Amin_ (`the Faithful'). It is by that name that thou wilt be remembered if ever we should chance to meet. Allah, the One Merciful, is gracious, and will guide thee--praised be His name." This strange note caused me a good deal of thought, as, sitting upon a stone, I ate the dates my mysterious rescuer had provided for my sustenance. Not content with releasing me from certain death, she, a member of a notorious robber band, had given me her purse! Doubtless she was well aware that her people had taken from me everything I possessed, and as reparation had placed some of her own money in the bag. The note, however, was curious, because it made plain the reason why this mysterious Queen of the Desert had taken so much trouble to accomplish my release. She was unhappy, and I could assist her! How? Who was she? what was she? I wondered. Visions of neglect and ill-treatment were immediately conjured up before my eyes; for woman in Algeria is not better off than in other Oriental countries. The victim of a stupid and brutalising social code founded on a religion whose theory is pure, but whose practice is barbarous, she is always contemned or maltreated, a toy to the wealthy, a beast of burden to the poor. What, I mused, could be the cause of Zoraida's infelicity? Was she, as the daughter of the murderous old Sheikh, leading the usual wretched existence of Arab girls, neglected by her mother and relegated to a corner of the harem in the charge of some ugly old negress? Every Arab woman looks upon a son as a blessing and a daughter as an incubus; therefore it is little wonder that the life of the daughters of wealthy Moors and Arabs is a truly pitiable one. But on due reflection I saw how improbable it was that an outlaw like Hadj Absalam, who, being continually hunted by the French soldiers sent out to capture him, and compelled to be ever on the move in the most inaccessible spots, would cause his family to travel with him. In case of a sudden attack by the Spahis or Turcos, the paraphernalia of a harem would considerably hamper his movements; and that he could be exceedingly active and show serious fight had already been proved times without number. No. A man of his stamp would never be troubled with his daughter while bent on plunder and murder. There were, therefore, but two other suppositions. Zoraida was either a captive, or Hadj Absalam's wife. This caused me to remember that if a captive she certainly would have endeavoured to fly with me; while the possession of horses and money, her refusal to allow me to gaze upon her face, and her agitation when I pressed her hand to my lips, all pointed to one fact, namely, that my mysterious deliverer, the woman who by her exquisite form and grace had enchanted me, was none other than the wife of the brigand whose many atrocious crimes had from time to time sent a shudder through the readers of European newspapers. Zoraida the wife of a thief and murderer! No! I could not bring myself to believe it. She was so young, with arms and hands so delicately moulded and eyes so clear and wide open, that it seemed impossible that she was actually wedded to a villain like Hadj Absalam. Again I read through her note, carefully tracing each of the hastily-scrawled characters. Though ill-formed, it was not owing to lack of education, for the vowels were marked in position correctly in order to make it easier for me to translate. As I held the paper in my hand, it emitted a pleasant sensuous odour. The perfume that clung to it was geranium, the same sweet scent that had pervaded Zoraida when with her keen knife she had bent and freed me from the poison of the asp. Sitting in the noonday sun, with my burnouse loosened and my arms resting on my knees, that sweet odour brought back vividly the events of the previous night, its horrors, its surprises, its joys. Again I saw Zoraida, gorgeous in her silk and gauze, a vision of loveliness, an ideal of Arab beauty, ready to risk her life to save mine. But it was only for a second; then my memory became hazy again, and it all seemed like some strange, half-remembered dream. A desert lark rose near me and burst into joyous song. My horse turned its head slowly, and regarded me steadily for a few moments with his large, serious eyes. The utter loneliness in that arid waste, one of the most dreary regions of the Sahara, was terribly depressing. But on my finger was her ring. The souvenir was by no means a valuable one, yet so dearly did I prize it that I would not have given it in exchange for anything that might be offered. It was of a type common among Arab women; heavy oxydised silver, and around it, in small Arabic characters of gold, ran a text from the Koran, "Allah is gracious and merciful." Taking it off, I examined the inside, and found it quite bright and smooth by constant wear. Whatever my mysterious enchantress was, or whoever she would prove to be, this was her pledge of trust. And she, whose face I had not looked upon, had named me "the Faithful!" Yet as I sat thinking, grim, uncanny feelings of doubt and insecurity filled my mind, for I remembered the strange words of Ali Ben Hafiz, and the fateful Omen of the Camel's Hoof. I had at last become enmeshed as the dead man had prophesied! CHAPTER SIX. THE MAN WITH A SECRET. At sundown, three days after my escape from the Ennitra, my eyes distinguished the palms of the Meskam Oasis standing at the foot of a large sand-hill. Zoraida had correctly informed me, for under feathery trees, amid the luxuriant vegetation which one finds here and there in the Sahara, the Spahis and Chasseurs d'Afrique had established an advanced post. In an hour I had entered the camp, and being taken before the French commandant, related my story. I told him of my journey with Ali Ben Hafiz, of the attack, and of the massacre. "_Bien_! and you alone escaped!" exclaimed the officer, a thorough boulevardier, who sat before his tent with outstretched legs, lazily puffing a cigarette. "Yes," I replied. He was as well groomed, and his moustache was as carefully waxed, as if he were lounging outside the Cafe de la Paix. "You were exceedingly fortunate," he exclaimed, rolling his cigarette carelessly. "Those who fall into Absalam's clutches seldom escape. _Diable_! he's the most fierce cut-throat in all Algeria. How did you manage it?" I hesitated. Had I not promised Zoraida to preserve the secret of their whereabouts for her sake? If her people were to escape, I should be compelled to make misleading statements. At last I replied-- "They left me bound to a tree during the night, and I succeeded in loosening the cords. Finding a horse ready saddled, I jumped upon it and rode away." After I had uttered the words, I saw how lame was my story. "But how did you know we were here?" asked the commandant, blowing a cloud of smoke from his lips, regarding me rather critically, and then offering me a _chebli_ from his case. "I had no idea," I replied. "Seeing the palms from yonder ridge, I came here to rest. Had I not discovered the oasis, I should most likely have perished." "You certainly would not have lived many days," he said. "The nearest well is two hundred miles in any direction, therefore, if you had missed this, the vultures would soon have made a meal off you. But," he continued, "describe to me where we are likely to find Hadj Absalam. We have been in search of him these three months, but, strangely enough, his spies appear to watch all our movements, with the result that he evades us in a manner simply marvellous." I was silent for a moment, thinking. "I have travelled for three days due north," I said, apparently reflecting. "If you send your men due south three days' journey, they will come upon a small oasis. This must be passed, and still south again, a three hours' ride, there is a larger oasis on the further side of a high ridge. It is there that Hadj Absalam is taking his ease." "Good!" exclaimed the officer, calling over a Chasseur who was sauntering past with his hands in his pockets and ordering him to send immediately a _sous-officier_, whom he named. "It's a fine night," he said. "We will start when the moon rises, and, _mon Dieu_! it will not be our fault if we do not exterminate the band, and bring the black-faced old scoundrel back with us. The caravans will never be safe until his head is in the _lunette_." "But he may have moved by this time," I suggested. "Then we will follow and overtake him," he replied, brushing some dust from his braided sleeve. "He shall not escape us this time. When I was quartered in Biskra, I knew old Hafiz well. Though prejudiced against France, he was always good to our men, poor old fellow." "Yes," I said. "Though a strict Moslem, he was most amiable and generous." At that moment a lieutenant of Chasseurs strode up and saluted. "Victor," the commandant exclaimed, addressing him, "we leave at once, with the whole of your _enfants d'enfer_, in search of Absalam, who is three days' journey south. This time we will pursue him till we run him to earth. The Spahis will remain;" and, turning to me, he added: "M'sieur Holcombe, you are welcome to stay here also, if it pleases you." Thanking him, I assured him how deeply I appreciated his hospitality, and then, having been handed over to the care of a _sous-officier_, I was shown to the tent which the commandant ordered should be placed at my disposal, while the Spahis--or _homards_, as they are termed in the argot of the 19th Army Corps, because of their red burnouses--were busy assisting their comrades to prepare for departure. Our evening meal of thin onion soup, black bread, and rough, bitter coffee having been disposed of, the Chasseurs, numbering about two hundred, paraded with their horses, and were briefly but keenly inspected by the officer in command, whose name I learned was Captain Paul Deschanel. The inspection over, the commandant addressed his men, and the order was given to mount. Then, amid the shouts of "_Vive les Chasseurs! A bas les Ennitra! Vive la France_!" from the assembled Spahis, the smart troop of cavalry, with the captain at their head, galloped away into the moonlit desert, and were soon lost in the gloom. As I sat watching the receding horsemen, and inwardly chuckling that by sending them three days' journey into the country of the Inemba-kel-Emoghri, Absalam and his people would be six days' journey distant in an opposite direction, I was startled by a hand being laid upon my shoulder. Turning quickly, I found it was a Spahi. "M'sieur is English, if I mistake not?" he inquired, with a pleasant smile upon his swarthy but refined face. "True," I replied. "And, judging from your accent, you are not an Arab, but a Parisian." "Yes," he said, speaking in fairly good English. "I have been in England once. If you care to spend an hour in my tent, I can offer you absinthe and a cigarette. That is about the extent of the hospitalities of the oasis." Thanking him for his invitation, I accompanied him, and a few moments later we were sitting in the bright moonlight on a mat spread outside his small tent. "So you have been in England?" I said presently, when he had told me his name was Octave Uzanne. "Yes," he replied, with a slight sigh, allowing the water to trickle slowly into his absinthe, and drawing his scarlet burnouse closer about him. It was strange to hear English in this region of silence and desolation. "Is not the recollection of your visit pleasant?" I asked. "Ah! forgive me, m'sieur," he exclaimed quickly; "I can never hear your tongue, or think of London, without becoming _triste_. I associate with your great gloomy city the saddest days of my life. Had I not gone to London, I should never have been here, leading the wild semi-barbarous life in an Arab regiment of the Army of Africa. We of the Spahis have a saying, `_N'eveillez pas le chat qui dort_'--but sometimes--" "It is a good adage, but we cannot always let our sorrows lie," I interrupted sympathetically. He had spoken with the accent of a gentleman, and with the white light of the moon streaming upon his face, I saw that he was about thirty years of age, with a countenance clean-cut and noble, refined and somewhat effeminate. His dark eyes were deep-set and serious, yet in his face there was an expression of genuine _bonhomie_. The average Spahi is feared by Moor and Jew, by Biskri and Koulougli, as the fiercest and most daring of soldiers. In drink he is a brute, in love he is passionate, in the saddle he is one of the finest riders in the world; in the town he is docile and obedient, fond of lounging in the cafes, idling over his eternal cigarette; yet away in the desert, all his old instincts return; he is an Arab again, and knows no measure either in attachment or in hatred. A blow from his scabbard is the only payment when scouring the country for food, a thrust of his sabre the only apology to those he insults, while in the field, seated on his fleet horse, he rides like the wind, and has the strength and courage of a lion. This quiet, intellectual, bearded young Frenchman sitting cross-legged on the mat beside me, was, I felt sure, a man with a past. One of his comrades came up and asked him a question in Arabic, to which he replied, speaking the language of his regiment like a true-born Bedouin. As we sipped our absinthe in silence for some minutes, watching the camp settling down for the night, it struck me as curious that, instead of being in the Chasseurs d'Afrique, he should be masquerading in burnouse in an exclusively native regiment. We began talking of England, but he was not communicative regarding himself, and in reply to my question said-- "I desire to live here in the desert and to forget. Each time we return to Algiers, the glare and glitter of the European quarter unlocks the closed page of my history. It was because this wild roving beyond the pale of civilisation was suited to my mood that I became a _homard_." "Has your experience of life been so very bitter, then?" I asked, looking into the handsome face, upon which there was a shadow of pain, and which was set off by the spotless white haick surrounding it. "Bitter?--Ah!" he exclaimed, with a deep sigh. "You see me now, dragging out a wretched existence in this wilderness, exiled from my home, with name, creed, nationality--everything changed." "In order to conceal your identity?" I hazarded. "Yes, my past is erased. Dead to those who knew me, I am now merely known as Octave Uzanne. I have tasted of life's pleasures, but just as I was about to drink of the cup of happiness, it was dashed from me. It is ended. All I have now to look for is--is a narrow bed in yonder sand." "My dear fellow," I exclaimed, "don't speak so despondently! We all have our little debauches of melancholy. Cannot you confide in me? Perhaps I might presume to give advice." Silently and thoughtfully he rolled a cigarette between the fingers of his bronzed hand, completing its manufacture carefully. "_My_ story?" he said dreamily. "Bah! Why should I trouble you--a stranger--with the wretched tragedy of my life?" "Because I also have a skeleton in my cupboard, and I can sincerely sympathise with you," I answered, tossing away my cigarette end and lighting a fresh one. Murmuring some words that I did not catch, he sipped his absinthe slowly, and, passing his sinewy, sun-tanned hand wearily across his forehead, sat immovable and silent, with his eyes fixed upon the dense growth of myrtle bushes and prickly aloes before him. Lighted candles stuck upon piles of rifles flickered here and there among the tents, the feathery leaves of the palms above waved in the night breeze like funeral plumes, the dry hulfa grass rustled and surged like a summer sea; while ever and anon there came bursts of hearty laughter from the Arab soldiers, or snatches of a _chanson eccentrique_ with rollicking chorus that had been picked up a thousand miles away in the French cafes of Algiers. CHAPTER SEVEN. A FORGOTTEN TRAGEDY. Octave Uzanne roused himself. "My career has not been brilliant," he said slowly, and with bitterness. "It is only remarkable by reason of its direful tragedy. All of us keep a debtor and creditor account with Fortune, and, _ma foi_! my balance has always been on the wrong side. Seven years ago I left the university at Bordeaux with honours. My father was a Senator, and my elder brother was already an _attache_ at our Embassy in London. In order to study English, with the object of entering the diplomatic service, I went over to reside with him, and it was he who, one night, when leaving a theatre, introduced me to the goddess at whose shrine I bowed--and worshipped. We became companions, afterwards lovers. Did she love me? Yes. Though she was a butterfly of Society, though it is through her that I am compelled to lead this life of desert-wandering, I will never believe ill of her. Never! Violet Hanbury--why should I conceal her name--had a--" "Violet Hanbury?" I cried, starting and looking to his face. "Do you mean the Honourable Violet Hanbury, daughter of Lord Isleworth?" "The same," he replied quickly. "What!--are you acquainted with her?" "Well, scarcely," I answered. "I--I merely know her by repute. I have seen her photograph in London shop-windows among the types of English beauty." I did not tell him all I knew. Vi Hanbury, the beauty of a season, had been mixed up in some unenviable affair. The matter, I remembered, had been enshrouded in a good deal of mystery at the time, but gossips' tongues had not been idle. "Ah!" he continued, enthusiastically; "I have no need then to describe her, for you know how handsome she is. Well--we loved one another; but it was the old story. Her parents forbade her to hold communication with me for two reasons--firstly, because I was not wealthy, and secondly, because they were determined that she should marry Henri de Largentiere, a sallow, wizened man old enough to be her father, but who had been Minister of Education in the Brisson Cabinet." "Yes," I said; "the engagement was discussed a good deal in the clubs after its announcement in the _Morning Post_." "Engagement? _Sacre_!" he exclaimed, with anger. "She was snatched from me and given to that old imbecile. I was compelled to fly from her and leave her, a pure and honest woman, at their mercy, because-- because--" He paused for a moment. His voice had faltered and the words seemed to choke him. Flinging away his cigarette viciously, he took a gulp from the tin cup beside him, then, continuing, said-- "Because Violet's cousin, Jack Fothergill, who was one of her most ardent admirers and had declared his love, was discovered one night dead in his chambers in St James's Street--he had been murdered!" "Murdered?" I ejaculated. "I don't remember hearing of it. I must have been abroad at the time." "Yes," he said, speaking rapidly. "Jack Fothergill was brutally done to death with a knife that penetrated to the heart. But that was not all: the stiletto left sticking in the wound was discovered to be mine, a gold pencil-case belonging to me was found upon the floor, and the valet gave information to the police that at ten o'clock that night he had opened the door to allow me to depart!" In the moonlight his eyes had a fierce glitter in them and his bare brown arms were thrust through the folds of his burnouse as he gesticulated to emphasise his words. There was a silence over the camp, but the gay cafe-chantant song of Mdlle. Duclerc, with which one of the Spahis was entertaining his comrades, sounded shrill and tuneful in the clear bright air-- "Je jou' tres bien d' la mandoline, Ca fait moins d' train que le tambourin; Puisque quand on a la jambe fine, Ca permet d' la faire voir un brin." "Strangely enough," my companion continued, after a pause; "I remained that night with a friend, and judge my horror and amazement when next morning I read in the newspapers of the tragedy, and learned that I was suspected of the crime! It was true that I had called upon the murdered man just before ten o'clock, that the pencil-case had been in my pocket, but of the murder I was entirely innocent. Yet how could I prove an alibi, especially when the doctor had given an opinion that death had occurred at ten o'clock--the hour I left! The police were searching for me, but through that long and terrible day I remained in hiding. Once or twice I was tempted to give myself up and bravely face the awful charge; but there was one thing which prevented this. All interest in life had been crushed from my heart by an announcement of two lines in the same issue of the paper, stating that a marriage had been arranged and would shortly take place between Violet and De Largentiere. My hopes were shattered, for my love had been cast aside. She had actually accepted the man she had professed to hate!" "But did you not clear yourself?" I asked. "Surely you could easily have done so?" "How could I? Were not the suspicions rendered more justifiable by reason of my visit just prior to the crime. Again, I had not returned to my chambers that night, so day after day I remained in hiding. Though innocent, I was not wholly prepared to meet the charge, for I saw clearly that Jack and I had fallen victims of a foul plot. The crime that cost my friend his life was attributed to jealousy on my part, and with an incentive thus invented, I clearly saw that the circumstantial evidence was strong enough to convict me. I sought my brother's assistance, and, half mad with terror and despair, I escaped from England. To return to France would be to run into the arms of the police, so I resolved to come here and in the wild life of the desert to bury the past." "But by whom was your friend Fothergill stabbed?" I asked. "Let me tell you," he replied. "Since that day, when like a criminal I fled from the trial I was afraid to face, I have learned only one fact, though not until a year ago did it come to my knowledge. It appears that on the evening of the murder, Fothergill wrote telling me that during a visit to Paris he had discovered certain details connected with the relations between Mariette Lestrade, a pretty singer whose _chansons de poirrot_ were well known at the Moulin Rouge and Ambassadeurs and the ex-Minister of Education. He had that day called at Long's Hotel, in Bond Street, where the General was staying, and in the course of a stormy interview threatened that if he still continued his suit, he would expose his secret attachment to this star of the cafe-concert, and take his cousin to her, so that she might investigate for herself. Lord Isleworth's daughter would have a handsome dowry which was much needed to renovate the departed splendour of the ex-Minister's estate in the Charente, therefore he was obstinate, laughed, snapped his fingers, and defied Jack. This interview took place at four o'clock in the afternoon, and Jack wrote to me from the Naval and Military Club, telling me everything, and stating that De Largentiere had threatened his life. This letter was delivered at my chambers the same night, but I was not there, nor did I return, therefore my brother took charge of it and after nearly two years it reached me out here, unopened." "In face of such evidence as that," I said, "the identity of the actual murderer is not very far to seek." "No," he said, in a low, harsh tone. "Why do you not take that letter, face the charge against you, and bring the criminal to his punishment?" "Why?" he echoed, starting to his feet and looking me full in the face. "Why do I not denounce him, and return to civilisation? Because," he said slowly, in a voice trembling with emotion, "because Violet--the woman I love--is Madame de Largentiere. I think only of her. I adore her still. She shall never know of her husband's terrible secret. Her innocent children shall never be branded as the spawn of a murderer!" As he spoke, there was a bright flash in the dark clump of aloes immediately opposite us, and at the same instant the report of a rifle fired at close quarters caused me to start violently. Octave Uzanne threw up his arms with a loud piercing cry, and, reeling, fell heavily backward, struck down by a coward's bullet! CHAPTER EIGHT. THE FIGHT IN THE MESKAM. Our eyes were in a moment blinded by a flash, as fifty rifles opened fire upon us from every cover the thick bushes afforded. For a few seconds, as the sounds of the first volley died away, there was a dead silence. So sudden had been the attack, that my comrades the Spahis stood dumbfounded, but ere the rifles of our unknown enemies were reloaded, fierce shrill yells rent the air, the arms that had been piled were snatched up, horses were untethered, and almost simultaneously with a second volley from the ambush, the _homards_, displaying cool courage, poured into the thick growth of myrtles, hulfa, acacias, and dwarf palms, a terribly withering fire. The whole scene was enacted ere I could draw breath. The moon had disappeared, and in the darkness rifles seemed to pour forth flame on every hand. Evidently our enemies had been watching their opportunity, and while the camp was busy preparing for the departure of the Chasseurs, they had killed the three men on sentry duty on the other side of the sand-hill, and then crept into ambush, and lay there until the signal was given to open fire. As the desperate combat commenced, and the fusillade burst forth with deafening report, I felt for my revolver, but my heart sank within me as I remembered that the Ennitra had relieved me of it, and I found myself standing alone and unarmed. A few feet away Uzanne's rifle was lying, together with his bag of cartridges. I dashed towards them and bent to pick them up, but ere I could do so, a big fierce-looking Arab sprang from the myrtles towards me, yelling and whirling his knife above his head. It was the work of an instant. I remember feeling his sinewy grasp upon my shoulder, I saw his flashing blade above me, and heard him cry in Arabic-- "Let the dogs perish! Kill them! Kill them all!" The heavy knife whistled in the air as uplifted it poised aloft for a moment. Suddenly a shot sounded behind me. My assailant clapped his left hand to his breast and staggered back a few steps, then clutched violently at the air and fell. Glancing quickly in the direction whence the shot had come, I saw my friend Uzanne had with difficulty raised himself on one arm, and, drawing his revolver, had with unerring aim shot the Arab through the heart. Octave Uzanne had saved my life. "_Sapristi_!" he shouted, with a laugh, as I dashed towards him. "That was a close shave! _Je lui ai colle un atout sur le nez_!" "Are you seriously hurt?" I gasped; noticing as the rifles flashed that blood was streaming from his shoulder. "No," he replied quickly. "I think not. Don't trouble after me now, for I'm no good. I'll patch myself up. Take my rifle and help the others." Snatching up the weapon, I loaded it, and, flinging myself on the ground behind the root of a fallen palm, I opened fire upon the thick bushes before me. In this way the minutes, full of anxiety, passed in ignorance of our foes. The deafening explosions were incessant, yells and cries of enemy and friend now and then sounded above the firing, and the air grew so thick with smoke, that I could scarcely distinguish the bushes where the Arabs lay in ambush. As the terrible moments went by, I knew we were fighting for our lives. Altogether our force in camp only amounted to sixty, while we were, as yet, unaware of the character or number of our assailants. That they had dared to attack a military post showed they were present in overwhelming numbers, and, further, that they had waited until the Chasseurs had got away before swooping down to annihilate us. Lying along the ground near my red-burnoused comrades, I fired as regularly as I was able, until suddenly a bugle sounded. It was the order to mount! My comrades dashed towards their tethered horses, a number of which had been shot down, and I followed. In the excitement I jumped upon the saddle of the first animal I could reach, and as I did so, the bugle again sounded. "_I'htaris! sidi_! Keep beside me," shouted a lithe, muscular Spahi, vaulting upon a horse a few yards away. "We'll soon clear out these vermin." Then, as my companion yelled an imprecation in Arabic and held his rifle high above his head, we all, with one accord, spurred on our horses, and, swift as the wind, tore across the open space between the line of tents and low bushes, dashing into the cavernous darkness of the ambush ere our enemy could be aware of our intention. The result was frightful. Carried on by the wild rush, I found myself in the midst of a sanguinary _melee_, where one had to fight one's adversaries literally hand to hand. My companions, whirling their keen blades, and shouting prayers to Allah the while, fell upon their assailants with piercing yells and cut them down in a manner that was truly awful, but it was not until this moment that I discovered that the officer in command of the Spahis had cleverly divided his small force into two detachments, one of which was repulsing the enemy from the front, while the other had made a circuitous charge, and was now outflanking our opponents and slaughtering them in the rear. Thus the outlaws were quickly hemmed in, and although we were unable to follow them far, owing to the dense undergrowth, yet we silenced their fire. Then it was that we made a discovery. The Spahi beside whom I had ridden--a splendid fellow, who sat as firmly in his saddle as if he were part of it, and who, while galloping, could fire his rifle with deadly effect--shouted as he drew rein for a moment-- "_Diable_! They are the children of Eblis--the Ennitra!" Hadj Absalam's band had followed me! The cry was taken up. The news spread rapidly from mouth to mouth, and the knowledge that they were being attacked by the daring marauders for whom they had been searching so long and so fruitlessly, caused every _homard_ to redouble his energy, and strike a blow towards their extermination. The audacity of the outlaws roused the ire of these fierce native troopers, for the fact that several Spahis had been shot dead in the first moments of the attack, caused an unanimous resolve to follow up the thieves and give them no quarter. But scarcely had this decision been arrived at, when the attack was renewed even more vigorously. Concealed amidst the dense tropical foliage, they opened fire with their rifles from a quarter whence we least expected it, and in this direction we rode, only to be received by a fusillade more galling than any that had been previously poured upon us. Their success, however, was not of long duration. A bugle brought our horses in line, and then, with a terrific rush that none could withstand, we dashed upon them, felling them to earth with shot or sabre thrust. Suddenly a sharp sting in the left side caused me a twinge, and I felt the warm blood trickling. I hesitated a moment, knowing that I was wounded. With an imprecation the Spahi officer shouted to his men to sweep the marauders away, and in the sudden rush and intense excitement that followed I forgot my mishap. Just, however, as I became separated from my companions-in-arms, my wound gave me a second twinge of pain, and there shot up from the tall grass at my side a brawny Arab, whose white burnouse showed distinctly in the semi-darkness, and whose eyes flashed with the fire of hatred. Seizing my horse's head, he swung round his _jambiyah_, but by good fortune I pulled the trigger of my rifle just in time. The bullet entered his throat, and he tumbled back into the rank grass with a curse upon his lips. The fight was long and desperate; not merely a skirmish, but a thoroughly well-planned attack by Hadj Absalam's men to annihilate the Spahis for the purpose of securing arms, ammunition, and horses. Whether Absalam himself was present directing the operations we could not learn, although two prisoners we captured both denied that he was with them. Presently the moon shone out again brightly, showing up both friend and enemy, but the silence of night was still broken by rapid shots, mingled with the loud, exultant shout of the victor and the hoarse, despairing cry of the dying. In that brief hour the scenes of bloodshed were terrible. Little did either the Ennitra or the Spahis value life, and as they struggled desperately for the mastery, they fought with that fierce courage characteristic of the barbarian of the desert. Amid the wild massacre, when at last my comrades catching their enemies unprepared and making a sudden onslaught cut through them with fire and sword, the thought suddenly occurred to me that this fierce nomadic tribe who had dared to attack us had been spoken of by Zoraida as "her people." Now at last they were being outflanked, unable to reach their horses which had been captured by our detachment operating in their rear, and we were sweeping them down--slaughtering them without mercy! Sickened by the bloody fight in which I had involuntarily borne a part, and feeling rather faint owing to my wound,--which happily, however, proved a very slight one,--I left my comrades to complete their work of annihilating the murderous band, which they did by following them as they fell back through the tangled vegetation and away across the oasis into the desert beyond, where, with the exception of eighteen who were taken prisoners, the whole of those who had attacked us so desperately were killed or wounded. Where was Zoraida? As hot and faint I rode back to the spot where my whilom companion Uzanne was lying, I wondered whether the woman, whose half-veiled face seemed ever before my eyes with tantalising distinctness, had accompanied the unfortunate men of her barbaric tribe, or was she waiting with the notorious old cut-throat at a safe distance from the oasis, expecting each moment to learn of a brilliant success, and impatient to assist in the high revelry and divide the plunder? None of those of her people who had gone forth to attack us would, however, return. Seventy of them were stretched dead under the bright stars of the Eastern sky, and nearly a hundred were lying with great ugly stains of blood upon their burnouses, racked by the agony of their wounds, and well knowing that ere the morrow's sun would set they would succumb to heat and thirst; that in a few short hours the vultures would lay bare their bones and leave them whitening on the glaring sand. CHAPTER NINE. UZANNE, THE OUTCAST. The wild turbulence of that terrible night was succeeded by a peaceful, brilliant dawn. Already my comrades were preparing to move south, for immediately upon the conclusion of the fight, messengers had been hastily despatched to overtake the commandant, and the detachment would also move on after the Chasseurs at sunset, as the unburied bodies of the marauders would prevent them remaining longer on the Meskam. My wound--a deep laceration of the flesh where an Arab's bullet had grazed me--proving more painful than at first, I had decided to accompany the messenger who, with an escort, would leave the camp at sundown to travel due north by way of Zaouia Timassanin and over the barren Areg, bearing the intelligence of the annihilation of the marauders to the headquarters of the Spahis at Tuggurt. For some time I was undecided whether to remain with the military post, or return to civilisation. It was six months since I had left Oran, and for the greater part of that time I had been travelling. I was by no means tired of life in the desert, but the recollection that the mysterious Zoraida intended to perform a pilgrimage to the popular shrine on the outskirts of Algiers, and that if I went south to Zamlen as I had intended, I should certainly lose all chance of seeing her again, caused my decision to recross the Atlas and return. Late that afternoon, while the glaring sun blazed down upon the motionless bodies of the marauders over which the great dark vultures now hovered, I sat in Uzanne's tent. Stretched upon the ground, my friend, half-dressed, lay with his head upon his saddle. The wound in his shoulder had been roughly bandaged, pending an examination by the surgeon who had gone south with the Chasseurs, and although his bronzed face was a trifle paler, he nevertheless wore an air of utter carelessness. It was our last chat together, and I had been thanking him for the lucky shot that had knocked over the Arab who had pinned me down. "_Zut_!" he replied, laughing. "_Eh bien_, old fellow! It was the only man among old Absalam's gang that I could pot. If they had given me a chance, I would have bagged one or two more, but, _diable_! they didn't." "No," I replied. "They apparently fired point blank at you." "I don't know why they were so particularly malicious towards me. But there, I suppose it's only my usual bad luck," and he smiled grimly. "One thing is certain, however, we shall not be troubled by old Absalam again for some time." "Do you think we have entirely broken up his band?" "No. His people are born marauders, and will continue to plunder and murder until he is captured or shot. He will break out in a fresh place before long. Strange that we can never catch him! He really seems to lead a charmed existence." "Yes," I said. "He's a clever old villain." Then I commenced to talk to him of his return to France. "I shall never go back," he snapped, frowning. "Have I not already told you that I have no further interest in life among the people I once knew? When now and then we are quartered in Algiers, its civilisation palls upon me and carries me back to days I am trying to forget. I'm a social outsider; a fugitive from justice. If I cleared myself, it would be at the cost of _her_ happiness--why should I go back?" "But you don't intend to spend the remainder of your days here, in the desert, do you?" I asked. "Why not? We Spahis have a saying, `_Attaslim ehire, rafik_'!" ("Resignation is the best companion.") Then, grasping my hand and looking seriously into my eyes, he added, "There is but one thing that troubles me. Violet!--Violet herself believes that I am her cousin's murderer!" I was silent. How strange it was that I should meet here, so far removed from civilisation as we in Europe know it, a man who held a secret which, if made known, would cause one of the greatest scandals that has ever shocked Society! How bitter were his thoughts; how utterly wrecked was his life! in order that a leader of smart Paris--a woman over whose beauty London had raved--should live in blissful happiness with her husband, this man was leading an aimless, hopeless life, condemned by his friends as a coward and a criminal. He noticed my look of sympathy, and pressed my hand a trifle harder. "I do not usually wear my heart on my sleeve," he said, at last. "Indeed, I have told my secret to no one beside yourself; therefore consider what I have said is in confidence. You are returning to the world I have so ignominiously left, and in all probability we shall not meet again. If we do, and you require a friend, remember you will find him in the Spahi, Octave Uzanne." "A thousand thanks," I said. "You, who have saved me from an Arab's sword, may always rely upon my devoted friendship. Expressions of vague regret are useless. A stout heart, a clear conscience, and a fixed determination may accomplish many difficulties--they may even effect one's social resurrection--one's--" "With me, never," he interrupted, despondently. "But see! your horse is ready," he added, glancing at the tent door, before which a soldier stood, holding the fine Ku-hai-lan that Zoraida had given me. "You will have a long ride to-night, and the dispatches cannot wait. You must go." "Then adieu," I said, rising and shaking his sun-tanned hand heartily. "I hope you'll soon be right again. Till we meet, _au revoir_." He smiled rather sorrowfully, and his dark eyes wore a wistful look. But it was only momentary. "_Bon voyage_," he said, gaily. "Accept the good wishes of an outcast." The dispatch-bearer was outside, speaking impatiently and shouting to remind me that we had a long and fatiguing journey before us; therefore a few moments later I was in the saddle, and the messenger, six Spahis, and myself were soon galloping away past the ghastly corpses of Hadj Absalam's followers and out into the trackless appallingly-silent wilderness. CHAPTER TEN. HUMOURS FROM THE DESERT. Twelve weary days after leaving the Meskam, journeying due north over the hot loose sands of the Great Erg, the hill crowned by the imposing white cupolas and towers of the desert town of Tuggurt came into view. The scene was charming. It was an hour before sundown, and as we ascended the long caravan route from Ngoussa, a foot deep in dust, the place presented a purely Oriental aspect. Against a background of cool-looking palms, the white flat-roofed houses, the grim walls of the Kasbah, and the domes of the many mosques stood out in bold relief. Riding on, we entered a beautiful grove of tall date palms, the trees which the Arabs say stand with their feet in the water and their heads in the fire of heaven. Under their welcome shade a rivulet flowed with rippling music over the pebbles, and fruit trees and corn were growing luxuriantly, for the oasis is most fertile, although, strangely enough, the abundance of water throughout the Oued Gheir causes a malignant fever which proves fatal to Europeans. The beautiful palm-groves and wealth of vegetation was unutterably refreshing after the heat and glare of the waterless regions of the south; and as we approached the gate, a strange motley crowd of gaily-dressed Arabs of the Beni Mansour, Jews, Biskris, and Negroes came forth to meet us and inquire what news we brought. Our statement that Hadj Absalam's men had been repulsed and defeated caused the wildest rejoicings, and we made a triumphant entry into the place, followed by a gesticulating throng who apparently regarded us as heroes. Tuggurt is a curious old town. European civilisation has not yet reached it, for, with the exception of one or two French officers, there are no Christian residents. Built almost entirely of bricks baked in the sun, its low houses join one another, and present an unbroken line save for the two town gates. Secure from attack, its moat is now filled up, and in front of the stone-built Kasbah stands the principal of the twenty mosques, with its high dome and tall slender minarets. Around its ancient market-place, where for hundreds of years slaves were bought and sold, are cool arcades with crumbling horse-shoe arches, while beside it there rises the dilapidated dome of a disused house of prayer, bearing some curious plaster arabesques. Within the _enceinte_ of the Kasbah--the scene of a horrible massacre during the revolt of the Cherif Bou Choucha in 1871--stands the barracks, the commandant's house, and the hospital, and it was within those walls, in an inner court beside a plashing fountain, that in the twilight I sat explaining to Captain Carmier, the commandant, how the attack was frustrated. A French dinner was an appreciable change after the eternal kousskouss, dates, and kola nuts that form one's sustenance on the plains, and as the Captain, a lieutenant, and myself sat over our cognac and cigarettes, I told them of my adventures with Ali Ben Hafiz, and the surprise by the Spahis in the far-off Meskam. The cool peacefulness of that ancient Kasbah garden, where the veiled houris of Bou Choucha once lounged and plucked the roses, was delightful, and, sitting with the foliage rustling above, there was an air of repose such as I had not experienced for months. "So the _homards_ have gone south to overtake the Chasseurs," Captain Carmier said, as he struck a match on his heel and lit his cigarette after I had told him how valiantly my companions had fought. "How aggravating it is that Hadj Absalam always escapes us!" "Extraordinary!" remarked the lieutenant, a thorough Parisian, who had just been grumbling at his lot, he having been sent to the desert for three years, instead of to Tonquin, where he might earn distinction and the yellow and green ribbon, as he had expected. "Nothing would please me better than to command an expedition in search of him." "Search? What's the use?" asked the commandant. "The rapidity with which the old scoundrel travels is simply miraculous. To-day he's here, to-morrow he disappears, and on the third day he is reported completely out of our reach. As on previous occasions, he has, I suppose, retreated beyond Mount El Aghil, and there, idling in his harem, is snapping his fingers and defying us. It is always the same--always." "Are his headquarters on Mount Aghil, then?" I asked, for amid all the conflicting reports I had never been able to learn the outlaw's actual place of abode. "It is said that his stronghold is perched on an almost inaccessible rock not far from Tiouordeouin, and that his household consists of nearly a thousand persons." "Of whom about half are inmates of his harem," added the lieutenant, smiling. "According to report current among the neighbouring tribe, the Tedjehe N'ou Sidi, the ladies of his household include a number of Europeans who have from time to time fallen into his merciless clutches. The favourites are surrounded by every luxury, the proceeds of his raids, while those who fall into disfavour, or whose personal charms deteriorate by age, are disposed of in the very simple method of being thrown over the cliff and dashed to pieces upon the rocks beneath." "Horrible!" I exclaimed. "But why does not the Government send a sufficient force to follow him into his fastness and capture him?" "For several reasons," answered the commandant. "Firstly, because that portion of the Ahaggar where he has his abode has never been explored; secondly, because, by reason of the zealously-guarded mountain pass by which it is approached, access is impossible except by a strong column, who would meet with a most desperate resistance, and would have to take it by storm. The third, and perhaps most important, reason is, because the region of the Ennitra is declared by all the neighbouring nomad tribes to be a sacred place, where several miracle-working marabouts are buried, and any attempt at desecration by Europeans would certainly cause a holy war all through the Sahara. Therefore the War Department, although the General has urged them times without number to send a column in pursuit of Hadj Absalam, prefer to wait and capture him when in the act of plunder." "That will never be, it seems," I remarked. "No. _Il sait le fin des fins_," laughed Carmier. "It is said that he attributes his extraordinary success in evading us to a woman who is gifted with second sight." "A woman?" I exclaimed, surprised. "She's believed to be a witch, I suppose?" "Yes, and a young and very pretty one, too. They say her beauty is marvellous, and her power supernatural. While I was in command of the advanced post at Tihodayen, near the salt mines of Sebkha d'Amadghor, three Spahis ventured into the Ikerremoin Oasis in search of forage, and they declare that they came across her. She was surrounded by a number of slaves, and was lying unveiled under a canopy of white and gold. According to their account, she possesses the _beaute du diable_, her women make obeisance to her, and the men who approach fall upon their knees before her, kiss the ground, and ask her blessing. It is said, too, that Mulai Hassan, Sultan of Morocco, saw her on one occasion when he crossed the frontier, and offered Hadj Absalam an enormous sum for her, but the superstitious Ennitra threatened a revolt if she were sold. Whether that's true I don't know," he added, shrugging his shoulders and sipping his cognac. "She is evidently Queen of the Desert, and I merely tell you what's rumoured." "But is she Moorish, Arab, or a Negress?" I asked. "What is her name?" "She is from the mountains, they say, and the Ennitra know her as Daughter of the Sun." "Daughter of the Sun?" I cried, starting. I remembered that Zoraida had, in reply to my questions, told me that that was her name. Could this strange woman of incomparable beauty, who was believed by her people to be possessed of supernatural power, be none other than my mysterious Zoraida, the woman whose veiled face was in my waking hours and in my dreams constantly before my eyes? "Is her name familiar?" asked the Captain, noticing my ill-concealed surprise. "No--not at all!" I stammered. "Surely that designation is common enough among the Arabs! It seems an extraordinary fact, nevertheless, that a young and beautiful woman should direct the movements of a band of outlaws." "True," replied Carmier, thoughtfully twisting his waxed moustache. "And there is, moreover, considerable mystery with regard to her which nobody has up to the present been able to solve. One thing, however, appears certain, that this veiled prophetess is an inmate of Hadj Absalam's harem." His words stung me. Could it be possible that this woman who held the murderous nomads under her sway was the same to whom I owed my life? Nay, was it not most probable that she, the graceful incarnation of Eastern beauty whom I adored, was one of the four wives allowed to Hadj Absalam by the Prophet? The mystery was bewildering. The very thought drove me to despair, for I confess I loved her to the verge of madness. My companion smoked on in lazy contemplative silence. Above, the stars were bright in a steely sky; the ancient court, with its horse-shoe arches, wide arcades, and trailing vines, looked ghostly in the dim light. The quiet was only broken by the running water of the fountain as it fell with pleasant music into its time-worn blue-tiled basin, and the measured tramp of the sentry in the outer court beyond. Upward the cigarette smoke dissolved into the cool night air, carrying with it bitter thoughts of the past, and strange, dreamy visions of an unknown future. CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE CITY OF THE SUN. I was awaiting Zoraida, my enchantress. After a few days in Tuggurt, and a lengthened stay in the date-groves of Biskra with my genial friend the General of Division, I found myself once again in old El Djezair, that quaint Franco-Arab city known to Europeans as Algiers. Here Western civilisation and Oriental fanaticism mingle, but never blend. It is a city of glare and darkness, of mosques and marabouts, of Parisian politeness and Berber barbarity, of wide, modern-built boulevards and narrow, crooked streets, as yet untouched by the hand of the colonising vandal. Till a comparatively recent date it was a nest of fierce pirates who were a terror to Europe, and even now one cannot look upon the gigantic mole and other works prior to the French occupation without remembering that they were constructed by Christian slaves, who were beaten, tortured, and made to toil under the blazing sun until their gyves wore into their flesh, and death relieved them of their miseries. The great white Kasbah on the hill-top, once the gorgeous Palace of the Deys, now echoes to the tramp of Zouaves and artillery. If those gigantic walls could speak, what tales of outrage, torture, and butchery they, alas! could tell! In the great harem, where hundreds of English and French women captured by the Corsairs have pined and died, smart officers on colonial service now lounge, smoke, and discuss the topics of their beloved Paris as revealed by the _Petit Journal_ and the _Figaro_; while down in the Rue de la Lyre British tourists in suits of astounding check stare in abject astonishment at Fathma or Khadidja, who, veiled and shrouded in her white haick, has descended the ladder-like streets of the native quarter to make purchases in the Rue de Constantine or the Marche de la Lyre. This City of the Sun is one of violent contrasts. Seen from the sea, it fully bears out its Arab comparison of being a "diamond set in emeralds," for in terraces of intensely white, flat-roofed houses, each with little square windows like pips upon a dice, it rises high upon the bright green Sahel hills. In the centre the Arab town with its cupolas and minarets is crowned by the great fortress, while right and left are the pleasant suburbs of St Eugene and Mustapha, their white houses and handsome villas gleaming forth from dark luxuriant foliage. In the French quarter, the Boulevard de la Republique, running along nearly the whole front of the town facing the sea, the wide Place du Gouvernement, with its oasis of palms, and the Rue d'Isly, with its avenue of trees, are all hot and full of busy, bustling French; but turn away up any of the side streets from the Rue de la Lyre, cross the Quartier Juif, and in a few moments one is in a bewildering labyrinth of steep, shady, and tortuous streets, so narrow in places that two asses cannot pass with their panniers. Herein lies the charm of Algiers. Those narrow passages, where the Arabs sit on rush mats outside the _kahoua_, drinking tiny cups of coffee, smoking cigarettes, and killing time by playing _damma_, are the same at this moment as they were in the days of Yousuf Zeri; and although the religious prejudices of the Arab, the Moor, the Jew, and the Biskri have perhaps become somewhat modified by contact with the civilising Roumis, yet their mode of life is still the same, and at heart they hate the Christians as fiercely as ever. Indolent and content, they love to lean upon the long parapet of the Boulevard de la Republique, gazing with deep-set, thoughtful eyes away over the bright blue sea, to lounge in groups at street corners gossiping, to sit at the garish French cafes driving bargains with European merchants, or hand-in-hand to stroll leisurely across to the mosque to their daily prayers. Side by side with dainty ladies in Paris-made gowns and the high-heeled boots of fashion, Arab women, with foreheads heavily laden with tinkling sequins, their dark, flashing eyes peeping over their veils, and all looking exactly the same in their spotlessly white but hideous out-door dress, shuffle along with waddling gait, and turn to glance surreptitiously at the stranger after he or she has passed. This wonderful old city of sunlight and shadow, of dazzling brightness and sombre gloom, of strange incongruities of dress, of language, and of religion, was by no means fresh to me. On taking up my quarters at the Hotel de la Regence, in the Place du Gouvernement, I was welcomed as an old friend, for on several previous occasions, while idling in El Djezair, I had made it my headquarters in preference to the suburban hotels on the hill at Mustapha. Before the house a cluster of fine date palms throw a welcome shade, and beyond lies the bay, with the great, misty mountains of Kabylia in the distance. Forming one side of the Place stands the Djamaa el-Djedid, with its plain windowless walls, dazzlingly white dome, and square minaret, whereon at sunset the _mueddin_ appears and calls the Faithful to prayer. Here, again, extremes meet. The monotonous voice of the priest mingles with the jingle and chatter of the French cafe opposite, and Europeans, sipping their bock or mazagran, watch the devout Moslems trooping into the courtyard to wash before entering the house of Allah. Here, in this the most charmingly cosmopolitan city in the world, where subjects for the artist are presented in perfect panorama at every turn, I wandered and idled at cafes, killing time impatiently, and eagerly awaiting the day on which my mysterious desert acquaintance would go upon her pilgrimage. At last that long-wished-for Friday dawned, and leaving the city early by the gate Bab-el-Oued, I strolled through the charming Jardin Marengo, under the intensely white walls of the handsome mosque built over the shrine of Sidi Abd-er-Rahman, and then out on the road which wound up through the dark, wild ravine of the Bou-Zarea. In the fresh, cool morning air the walk up that well-shaded road to the Frais-Vallon was delightful, even though the aloes and prickly pears were white with dust and the sun had scorched the foliage of the almond and orange trees. At the top of the glen, where the road narrowed into a footpath, I found a little Arab cafe, and upon a stone bench before it I seated myself to watch for the woman who held me under her spell. This smiling, fertile country beside the sea, where grapes, olives, and sweet flowers grew in such wild abundance, was charming after the great wastes of arid sand; and while the birds sang gladly above in the cloudless vault of blue, I sat alone, smoking and sipping a tiny cup of coffee, watching the veiled women in their white baggy trousers and haicks, in pairs and singly, slowly toiling past up the steep road on their way to adore the koubba of Sidi-Djebbar. That Zoraida should repair to this shrine was puzzling. It added considerably to the mystery which enveloped her. Sidi-Djebbar is the patron saint of divorced Arab women, and, according to a local tradition, whenever a divorced lady makes three pilgrimages to his tomb and drinks of the waters of Aioun Srakna, she will marry again before the next fast of Ramadan. Was Zoraida the divorced wife of some man who had bought her from her parents and had soon grown tired of her? Was she an outcast from the harem? Thoughts such as these filled my mind as I watched the veiled houris pass in silent, pious procession. To distinguish one from another was impossible. The only way in which I could tell a lady from a woman of the people was by her feet and by the texture of her haick. The feet of the lower classes were bare and thrust into heavy, roughly-made slippers, while on the neat ankles of wealthier women gold bangles jingled, their feet were encased in stockings of silk, they wore tiny Paris-made patent-leather shoes, and as they brushed past, they left upon the air a scent of attar of rose. The women of Al-Islam are seldom allowed to visit the mosques, so on Friday, their day of prayer, they go on foot to venerate the koubbas of their saints instead. A weary journey extending over a month, had brought me at last to this spot, yet how among all these shrouded figures could I distinguish the woman I adored? Suddenly it occurred to me that, although I had taken up a position of vantage, Zoraida would not approach me, an Infidel, at any spot where she might be observed; therefore I rose and strolled leisurely on up the steep shaded track that led in serpentine wanderings among the fig trees, oranges, and vines. Half convinced that her promise would never be kept, and that she was still in the far Sahara, I walked on very slowly for some distance. Suddenly, at a bend in the hill-path, where the wide branches of the cork oaks, the ilex, and the chene-zeen met overhead, and the giant aloes grew abundantly, a voice amongst the leafy scrub startled me, and a short, stout figure appeared from among the foliage. Glancing round to reassure herself she was unobserved, she ran towards me. Only her eyes were visible, but they disappointed me, for I could see that they were not those of the woman for whom I was searching. She was old; her forehead was brown, wizened, and tattooed. "Art thou the Angleezi whom Allah delivered into the hands of our master Hadj Absalam? Art thou named the Amin?" she asked, almost breathlessly, in Arabic. "Yes," I replied. "Who art thou?" "Know, O Roumi, that I have been sent by my mistress, Zoraida Fathma," she said, drawing her haick closer with her brown, bony hand. "My lady of exalted dignity said unto me, `Go, seek the foreigner Cecil Holcombe, _wakol loh inni moshtak ilich_.'" ("Tell him that I am desiring to see him.") "To see her? I expected she would be here!" I said. "Alas! no. The koubba of Sidi-Djebbar cannot be graced by my lady's presence this moon." "Is she here, in El Djezair?" I asked quickly. "Yes. Although thou hast not known it, her lustrous eyes, the Lights of the Harem, hath already gazed upon thee since thy sojourn here. She desireth to have speech with thee." "When?" "Two hours after the sun hath set." "And where may I see her?" I asked, impatiently. "Knowest thou, O Roumi, that in the Jardin Marengo there is a path under the wall of the holy Zaouia of Sidi Abd-er-Rahman. If thou wilt meet me there under the great cedar tree when the moon hath risen, I will conduct thee to her presence. My lady hath named thee Amin, and must see thee." "I will await thee," I replied. "Go, tell thy mistress that the hours have passed at snail's pace since we met, that the Amin weareth her ring, and that he hath not forgotten." "Behold! Some one cometh!" she exclaimed in alarm, as a tall Arab appeared at the bend of the path sauntering slowly in our direction. "I must not be seen speaking with thee, an Infidel, within the sacred precincts of the koubba. Till to-night, _sidi, slama_." And, turning quickly, the messenger from my mysterious enchantress strode onward towards the tomb of the patron saint of divorce. CHAPTER TWELVE. AN OATH TO MESSOUDIA. With eager anticipation of once again meeting Zoraida, I left the Place Bab-el-Oued, and, ascending the steep incline, entered the Jardin Marengo. The sun had disappeared into the broad Mediterranean, flooding the sea with its lurid blaze of gold; the light had faded, the _muddenin_ had, from the minarets of the mosques, called the Faithful to their evening devotions, and the dusky, mystic gloom had now deepened into night. From the garden, situated a hundred feet or more above the sea, on the edge of the city but within the fortifications, a beautiful picture was presented. Above, the square castellated minaret of the mosque of Sidi Abd-er-Rahman stood out distinctly against the calm night sky; below, in the hollow, the houses of the lower town clustered with a dream-like picturesqueness in every line and angle. Beyond, lay the harbour with its breakwater and tall white lighthouse; in the gently undulating water were long perpendicular twinklings of light, and against the darkness, which was not wholly dark, the bold lines and tapering masts of half a dozen vessels were sharply silhouetted. The distant strains of one of the tenderest airs from "Carmen," played by the fine Zouave band, floated upward out of the shadow; and as I stood under the giant cedar which the old Arab woman had indicated, it was hard to say whether one's looking or one's listening brought a finer sense of restfulness and remoteness. It was probably the alliance of the two that gave to those moments their special fascination. The ancient mosque, under the walls of which I waited, was silent. Among the dark foliage lights glimmered, and overhead in the spacious quiet were a few stars. At last the air from "Carmen" died in its final poignant chords, the succeeding silence remained far a long time unbroken, and the moon shone forth from behind the light scud. Its white brilliance was shedding a silvery light over the trees and gravelled walks, when suddenly I saw, moving slowly in the shadow of the ilex trees, a shrouded figure approaching noiselessly, like some ghostly visitant from the graveyard of the mosque. A few moments later the old Arab woman with whom I had made the appointment, emerged into the moonlight and halted before me. "Thou, the Amin, the stranger from over seas, hast kept thy promise," she said, slowly. "Know, O Roumi, that my lady awaiteth thee." "Whither wilt thou conduct me?" I asked. "Is the journey long?" "No," she answered. "First, before I, Messoudia, conduct thee to her, thou must swear by thine own Deity never to reveal to any one, Mussulman or Christian, her whereabouts, or, even though strange things may occur,--more remarkable than thou hast ever dreamed,--thou wilt never seek to discover their cause, neither wilt thou approach her in the future unless she commandeth thee." The weird old woman's words mystified me. In the moonlight her white-robed figure looked ghostly and mysterious, and her small dark eyes peered earnestly at me over her veil. "Why should I give such an undertaking?" I asked. "Because--because it is my lady's desire. It is her words I deliver unto thee; if thou dost not obey, thou canst never enter her presence." I hesitated. Perhaps, after all, it would be best not to go, for if I were discovered, Zoraida's life as well as mine would most probably pay the penalty. Besides, she might be already married! Some questions I had asked of her servant, when we met at the Frais-Vallon earlier in the day, were directed towards clearing up that point, but I had only received vague, evasive answers. Noticing my indecision, the old woman continued--"Thy thoughts, O Roumi, are that thy presence in my lady's apartment would be an insult to our creed. _O' ha kki k lak annoh lise fi hatha al-amr ehatar_." ("I assure thee there is no danger in that matter.") "And if I undertake to respect her wishes although my curiosity be aroused, what then?" I asked, still undecided. "My lady will admit thee to her presence, and have speech with thee alone. Remember, O Infidel, she risked her life to save thee, and thou, in return, may now redeem thy promise to her." "Then I will accompany thee," I said at last, determined to see my fair Enchantress of the Desert again. "And if her commands are imperative, I give my word of honour as an Englishman that I will never make inquiry regarding things I may witness, unless she giveth me sanction." "May all the blessings of Allah be extended unto thee!" she replied, with evident satisfaction at my resolve, for seldom will a True Believer express such a wish to an Infidel. "I, a Moslem, cannot walk with thee, but follow me, and I will lead thee unto her." Then, drawing her haick closer, she moved onward in the deep shadow of the orange and ilex trees, while I, with mixed feelings of pleasure and distrust, strode on after her. I had exchanged my haick and burnouse for European dress, now that I was back in Algiers. The spirit of adventure was strong within me, yet I felt curiously apprehensive of some untoward event. I was about to enter the abode of some fanatical Moslem, to converse with a woman of Al-Islam, to tread upon ground that must always be highly dangerous to a Christian. Yet the world was before me, and there is always pleasure and excitement in plunging single-handed into its chilling depths. Ascending the short flight of steps at the side of the mosque we emerged from the Jardin Marengo, and, turning into the broad but unfrequented Boulevard Valee, the highest point of the ancient town, we walked for some distance until nearly opposite the great grey walls of the prison, when suddenly my guide crossed the road and dived into the Arab quarter, a puzzling labyrinth of narrow crooked streets and gloomy little passages, of maze-like windings and dark _impasses_. As we passed down the steep, ill-lit streets, white-burnoused men were squatting in groups on the mats outside their cafes, drinking coffee, playing _damma_, and smoking "the pipe of permanence;" or inside the _kahoua_ they lounged upon the benches, discussing the topics of the day. In the deep dens that serve as shops, shoemakers were still plying their trade, makers of horn rings were still at their primitive lathes, and embroiderers were still busily sewing in the yellow lamplight. The streets were crowded, for it was pleasant in the evening hour, and amid the chatter of Arabic we sped on, wending our way in and out the tortuous turnings until I had no idea in what portion of the Arab quarter we were. The streets bore names in French on little plates, it is true, but after we had crossed the Rue de la Kasbah, the principal native business street, I discovered nothing that gave me a clue to the direction in which I was going. A dozen turns to right and left, now ascending through some dark tunnel-like passage, now descending where the ancient thoroughfare was wide enough to admit three asses abreast, we at last came to where two narrow streets met. Straight before us was an arched door in a great, gloomy, whitewashed house, windowless except for a few little square holes high up, protected by lattices of thick iron bars. The house was very old, built in the time of the Deys, and as my guide rapped upon the door, I noticed that the step was worn deeply by the feet of generations, and above the arch the hand of Fathma in brass was nailed to avert the evil eye. It was a strange inartistic-looking exterior, but, ere I had time to gaze around, the heavy iron-studded door swung open, and, entering, we passed through a narrow vestibule, or _skiffa_, into a spacious _oust_, or open court, where a vine trailed above and a fountain fell gently into its marble basin. Then, for the first time since we left the Jardin Marengo, my guide spoke. In a low half-whisper, she said-- "Thy voice must not be heard. This meeting is strictly secret, therefore follow me in silence and noiselessly." "_Ma ansash_," I replied. "And thy promise?" she whispered. "My oath bindeth me to obey her." "Then thou art truly the Amin. Peace be unto thee, and upon thy descendants and companions," she said. "Hush! make no noise. Let us seek her." Crossing the dark courtyard, she unlocked a small door, and I followed her in. The mingled perfume of musk, geranium, and attar of rose was almost overpowering, and my feet fell with noiseless tread upon a thick, soft carpet. A great hanging lamp of filigree brass shed a welcome ray, and as we ascended the broad stair, I thought I heard whisperings and the rustle of silken garments. Upstairs, a big, handsomely-dressed negro stood apparently awaiting us, for, with a sharp, inquiring glance and the exchange of some whispered words in Kabyle dialect, which I could not distinctly catch, he conducted me along a well-carpeted passage to the end, where closed plush curtains barred our passage. As I advanced, he suddenly drew them aside, and in a low deep voice announced me in Arabic, inviting me to enter. Stepping forward, I gazed around in curiosity and amazement. I was in the harem! CHAPTER THIRTEEN. NIGHT IN THE HAREM. "Ah, Ce-cil! At last!--at last! _Marhaba_." There was a movement on the other side of the dimly-lit, luxurious chamber, and from her silken divan Zoraida half rose to greet me. Reclining with languorous grace upon a pile of silken cushions, her hand outstretched in glad welcome, the jewels she wore flashed and gleamed under the antique Moorish hanging lamp with an effect that was bewildering. But alas! from her eyes to her chin a flimsy veil still concealed her features. Taking her small white hand, I stood by the divan and looked down at her steadily in silence, then raised her fingers slowly and reverently to my lips. The curtains had fallen; we were alone. Presently, when we had gazed into each other's eyes with tender, passionate earnestness, I addressed her in Arab simile as light of my life from the envy of whose beauty the sun was confused, and told her how slowly time had dragged along since I had escaped from the poison of the asp; how glad I was to bow once again before the Daughter of the Sun. She listened to my affectionate words without replying. One of her little pale green slippers had fallen off, leaving a tiny bare foot lying white upon the dark silk. Her dress was gorgeous, fully in keeping with her costly surroundings. She was a veiled enchantress in gold-spangled embroidery, filmy gauzes, and silver brocade. Her dark crimson velvet _rlila_, or jacket, cut very low at the throat, exposing her white, bare breast, was heavily embroidered with gold, the little _chachia_ stuck jauntily on the side of her head was of the same hue, thickly ornamented with seed pearls, while her wide, baggy _serroual_, reaching only mid-leg, were of palest _eau de nil_ silk, fine as gauze, and brocaded with tiny coloured flowers. Her vest, that showed below the _rlila_, was of silver brocade, and her sash, of many-coloured stripes, was looped in front, the fringes hanging gracefully. Across her forehead a string of gold sequins was stretched, with a centre-piece consisting of a great cluster of lustrous diamonds, while three particularly fine gems, set in pendants, hung upon her white brow. Around her slim, delicate throat were two splendid diamond necklaces, a dozen rows of seed pearls, and a necklet composed of large, golden Turkish coins. Suspended by four heavy gold chains about her neck was her golden perfume-bottle, encrusted with roughly-cut diamonds and sapphires; on her arms she wore _mesais_ of gold and silver studded with gems, her fingers glittered with diamonds, and on her neat, bare ankles golden _redeefs_ jingled. Indeed, she was the fairest and most dazzling woman my eyes had ever gazed upon. The air of the harem was heavy with sweet perfumes, mingling with the sensuous odour of burning pastilles. In the apartment everything betokened wealth and taste. The silken divans, with their downy, brightly-coloured cushions, the priceless inlaid tables, the genuinely antique cabinets with doors of mother-of-pearl, the Eastern rugs of beautifully-blended shades, the rich embroideries, and the profusion of flowers, all combined to render it the acme of comfort and luxury, and graced by such a bewitching vision of Eastern beauty, the scene seemed more like a glimpse of fairyland than a reality. "Thou hast not forgotten me, then?" she said, raising herself slowly, and placing under her handsome head a cushion of pale primrose silk. "No," I replied. "How can I ever forget thee?" Her white breast rose and fell in a deep-drawn sigh. "Already Allah, the Most Merciful, hath directed thy footsteps and vouchsafed me the felicity of conversing with thee. Thou hast kept thy promise unto me, O Cecil, for when the _homards_ would follow us, thou didst not betray our whereabouts. Therefore I trust thee." "I assure thee that any confidence thou placest in me shall never be abused," I replied. "Yet," I added, "thou dost not place in me that perfect trust that I have." "Why?" she asked, in quick surprise. "Still hidden from my gaze is that countenance I am longing to look upon." "Wouldst thou have me cast aside my religion? I am a woman; remember what is written," she exclaimed, half reproachfully. "The adoration of the Christian is none the less passionate than the love of the True Believer," I said. "A woman is not defiled by the gaze of the man she loveth. But," I added thoughtfully, "perhaps, after all, thou hast no thought of me, and my fond belief that in thy breast burneth the fire of love is only a vain delusion." "Thou--thou thinkest I can care nothing for thee--a Roumi? Why?" she cried, starting up. "Because of thy refusal to unveil." She hesitated; her brows were momentarily contracted. Her hand trembled. "Then, though I cast aside the creed of my forefathers and the commands of the Prophet, I give thee definite answer. See!" With a sudden movement she withdrew a golden pin, and, tearing away her white silken veil, her countenance was revealed. I stood amazed, fascinated, half fearing that the wondrous vision of beauty was only a chimera of my distorted imagination that would quickly fade. Yet it was a reality. The face turned upward to mine with a merry, mischievous smile was that of Zoraida, the woman who had now so plainly demonstrated her love. "Well," she asked, with a merry, rippling laugh, "art thou satisfied? Do I please thee?" "Thou art, indeed, the fairest daughter of Al-Islam," I said, slowly entwining my arm about her neck and bending to kiss her. She was fair as the sun at dawn, with hair black as the midnight shades, with Paradise in her eye, her bosom an enchantment, and a form waving like the tamarisk when the soft wind blows from the hills of Afiou. Her lips met mine in a long, hot, passionate caress; but at last she pushed me from her with firmness, saying-- "No, I must not--I must not love thee! Allah, Lord of the Three Worlds, Pardoner of Transgressions, knoweth that thou art always in my thoughts--yet we can never be more than friends." "Why?" I asked, in dismay. "May we not marry some day?" "Thou art a Roumi, while I--I am a dweller in the mansion of grief." "But all things are possible," I said. "If thou art afraid of thy people, trust in me. Meet me clandestinely, attired in European garments, and we will leave by the steamer for Marseilles, where we can marry." I uttered these passionate words scarce knowing what thoughts I expressed. As soon as they had left my mouth I was filled with regret. "No. Ask me not," she replied, firmly. "Already, by bringing thee hither, by unveiling before thee, and by suffering thee to kiss me, I have invoked the Wrath. The curse is already upon me, and--and, alas! I shall pay the penalty soon enough," she added, with a touch of gloomy sadness. "What dost thou mean?" I asked, gazing into her beautiful, entrancing face. "It meaneth that I, Zoraida Fathma, am consumed by that sorrow and despair that is precursory of death; that Eblis hath set his fatal seal upon me--that I am doomed!" Her lustrous eyes, with their arched and darkened brows, looked into mine with an expression of intensity and desperation, and she glanced furtively, as if in fear, into the distant corner of the room, where the light from the great lamp of beaten brass did not penetrate. "Thine enigmas are puzzling," I said. "What evil canst thou fear?" A shudder ran through her slim frame. Then she clutched my hand and tightly held it. "I cannot--I--It is forbidden that I should love thee, O Cecil," she said, sighing and setting her teeth firmly. "Why?" "Because a greater and more insurmountable obstacle than our difference of race and creed preventeth it." "But tell me what it is?" I demanded. "_Isbir showhyyah_," ("Have patience a little"), she replied. "Though I may love thee, my Amin, thou canst never be my husband. I am as much a captive as any of my slaves, and, alas! far, far more unhappy than they." Why did she have slaves? I wondered. Slavery in Algeria had, I knew, been abolished since the overthrow of the Dey, although in the far south, beyond the Areg, the tribes still held many in bondage. "Unhappy?" I cried. "What is the cause of thy misery? Art thou thyself a slave, or--or art thou wedded?" She started, staring at me with a strange expression. "I--I love thee!" she stammered. "Is not that sufficient? If I wish at present to conceal certain facts, why dost thou desire me to tell lies to _thee_? To my woman Messoudia thou didst take oath to seek no further information beyond what I give thee." "True, O Zoraida," I said. "Forgive me. Yet the mystery that surroundeth thyself is so puzzling." "I know," she said, with a tantalising laugh. "But when a woman loves, it is imprudent of her to compromise herself;" and she beat an impatient tattoo with her fingers, with their henna-stained nails, upon a _derbouka_ lying within her reach. I did not reply. I was engrossed in thought. All that she had said made it plainer to me that she was the wife of Hadj Absalam. She watched me in silence. Then, with a sudden impetuousness, she sprang from her divan, and, standing up, flung her arms about my neck, kissing me passionately. The silk of her _serroual_ rustled, her bangles jingled, and in her quick movement she lost her remaining slipper, and stood barefooted, a veritable Queen of the Harem, a houri of Paradise. "Hark!" she whispered, starting in alarm as we stood locked in each other's arms, while I rained kisses upon her fair face. "Hark!" she cried. "Listen! What was that?" I held my breath, but could detect nothing. "My foolish fancy, I suppose," she added, a few moments later, after she had strained her ears to again catch the sounds that had alarmed her. "Think! If we were betrayed! It would mean torture and death!" she said hoarsely, and, disengaging herself from my arms, she walked quickly over to the opposite wall, and, drawing aside a heavy curtain, reassured herself that a door it concealed was securely bolted. Returning, she flung herself upon her divan among her cushions and motioned me to a seat beside her. Then, taking from the little mother-of-pearl stool a box of embossed gold filled with cigarettes, she offered me one, and, lighting one herself, reclined with her head thrown back gazing up to me. "We are more than friends, Ce-cil," she said presently, thoughtfully watching the smoke that curled upward from her rosy lips. "I only wish it were possible that I could leave this land and go to thine. Ah! If thou couldst but know how dull and colourless is my life, how rapidly my doom approaches--how horrible it all is!" "What is this strange destiny that the Fates have in store for thee?" I asked, mystified. "Have I not already told thee that thy curiosity cannot be satisfied?" "Yes. But I love thee," I protested. "Surely I may know the character of any danger that threateneth?" She shook her head, and, taking my hand, noticed upon my finger a plain gold signet ring that had belonged to my father. Slowly she drew it off and placed it upon her middle finger, saying, "I take this in remembrance of to-night." "But is there nothing I can do to avert this mysterious evil which thou apprehendest?" I asked. She did not reply. With her face turned towards the painted ceiling, her dark, serious eyes gazed away into space. Her bare breast, with its profusion of pearls and diamonds, heaved and fell as she breathed, and the sweet odour of rose and geranium that pervaded her filled my nostrils with intoxicating fragrance. "Why canst thou not escape from here?" I continued. "If danger threateneth, fly from it. I will assist thee. And is not Allah merciful? He giveth life and death." "_Hakk_," she replied. "Yet to leave this place unobserved would be impossible. I have been able by a ruse to gain thine admittance here, but any attempt to leave would only result in my death." "Are not thy servants amenable to bribery?" I suggested. "Alas! as they are my slaves, so are they my gaolers. They are charged with my safe custody, and if I eluded their vigilance, they would pay the penalty of their negligence with their lives. Ah! thou knowest not the more terrible of the tortures practised by my people. Thou knowest not the Ennitra. Soon I shall return again to the Ahaggar, and then the Great Desert and the Atlas will separate us. For me escape is impossible. Thou wilt go to thine own land ere many moons, and--and forget me!" "Never!" I exclaimed, vehemently. "Thou wilt marry one of thine own women who have no prejudices, and who may go unveiled, like those who come to Mustapha at Ramadan." "No, Zoraida," I said; "I love only thee." She gazed long and earnestly into my eyes, at the same time toying with my ring. "And thou art ready to serve me implicitly?" she inquired eagerly. "I am. Command me." "Then know, O Cecil, my life is at stake," she said, in a low, hoarse whisper, drawing herself up with one arm still entwined tenderly about my neck. "Why art thou threatened?" I asked, in surprise. "Because I--because I am guilty of a crime; I possess the secret of a hidden marvel. Having dared to penetrate the hideous mysteries of Eblis, one of them, undreamed of and astounding, hath been revealed unto me. Its knowledge placeth in my hands a secret power that I might use with fearful effect, but the awful curse hath now fallen upon me, and I am doomed. Only thy willing assistance can save me. Yet"--and she paused. "Yet I feel doubtful whether thou, a Roumi, wouldst dare to undertake the mission that is necessary for my safety; whether thou couldst place sufficient confidence in me to carry out instructions which to thee may seem so extraordinary." "I have perfect trust in thee," I said. "I am ready from this moment to serve thee blindly, implicitly, if I can save thee and further the prospect of our marriage." "Marriage? No! no! Do not speak of it now," she exclaimed hastily. "Hast thou never heard of the truth uttered by our Harikar al-Hakim, who said, `Marriage is a joy for a month and a sorrow for a life, and the paying of settlements, and the breaking of the back under a load of misery, and the listening to a woman's tongue.' To thee I can promise nothing, for my life may end at any moment." "But thy death can be averted. How?" "By rendering me assistance thou canst save me from the awful physical and mental torture--from the horrors of the grave. Wilt thou consent to become my secret agent?" "Yes. I am ready to perform any task thou mayest require of me." "Then remember the oath of secrecy thou didst take before Messoudia brought thee hither; for, first of all, thou, trusting to thine own Deity, must enter with me into the presence of the Great Unknown." And as she touched a little silver gong, the great negro in handsome blue livery, who had announced me, entered the harem and prostrated himself before his mistress until his forehead touched the carpet; while two houris, in clinging robes of white silk, entered bearing a great gold bowl of sweet perfume in which Zoraida, with an imperious gesture, washed her hands, and bade me follow her example. "Thou wilt not be timid," she asked, "even though we go voluntarily together to the very threshold of the grave; even though we may peradventure taste of the horrors of death?" "No," I replied, endeavouring to remain calm. My nerves were strung to their highest pitch, and my heart beat quickly. I stood breathless, watching one of the houris, who lit a small gold lamp that burned with a thin blue flame. What, I wondered, was the character of the strange scene I was about to witness? Zoraida, my enchanting Pearl of the Harem, and I were going together voluntarily into the presence of the Great Unknown! CHAPTER FOURTEEN. SEEKING THE UNKNOWN. Having placed the quaintly-shaped lamp on the pearl and silver stool in the centre of the harem, the negro went out, returning immediately with a small bronze urn marvellously chased, which on bended knee he carefully handed to his mistress. At a word from Zoraida, her women and the tall Soudanese prostrated themselves facing the table, pressing their foreheads to the carpet. Then, turning to me, she said in deep earnestness-- "Knowest thou that the deeds we are about to commit are a terrible sacrilege? Though thou wilt witness strange things, yet peradventure they may cost us our lives--nay, our very souls." "Why?" I asked, somewhat alarmed at her sudden seriousness. "Is it imperative that we should risk everything?" "Every sin beareth its fruit," she replied, as, slowly rising from her divan and holding above her head the urn the negro had brought, she added, "Hath not the Prophet told us that when the earth shall be shaken by a violent shock, and the mountains shall be dashed to pieces and shall become as dust scattered abroad, we shall be separated into three distinct classes? Those who have preceded others in the Faith shall precede them to Paradise. The Companions of the Right Hand shall go and dwell in the Gardens of Delight, among lote trees free from thorns and trees of mauz always fruitful; but the Companions of the Left Hand--how miserable shall they be! They who, like ourselves at this moment, invoke the secret power of Eblis the Terrible, will dwell amidst the burning winds under the shade of the great black smoke. They are the damned, for they, in their error, have gone astray in the Valley of Perdition. Then know, O Roumi! that thou hast chosen to accompany me unto the dreaded Shrine of Darkness, to seek of the beneficent Granter of Requests what is hidden, to face the terrors of the tomb, so that thou mayest hold over thy fellows a power terrific, fatal, awful!" Her eyes were dilated, filled with a strange, unnatural light, and I stood aghast at her solemn speech. "Art thou not one of the chosen?" I asked. "Art thou not--" "Hold thy peace!" she commanded. Then, holding forth the bronze urn, she exclaimed, "See! in this vessel are the ashes of the great Masinissa, the Numidian king, whose body was entombed at Medrassen two thousand years ago. By their light we will search for the Great Unknown." With a sudden movement she took from the urn a small handful of white dust, and, holding it high over the lamp, sprinkled it slowly into its faint blue flame. In a moment the place was illuminated by a white glare so brilliant that I was compelled to shade my blinking eyes with my hands, while at the same time the apartment was filled with a dense smoke of a light green hue, but so pungent as to plunge me into the agonies of asphyxiation. Thrice she threw into the flame the ashes of the King; thrice she uttered strange words in a drawling monotone, that were repeated by the three servants who lay prostrate and appalled. Then, dipping her finger in the dust, she drew it across my forehead from left to right, and afterwards made the same sign across her own bejewelled brow and across her bare breast. "Rise," she said, turning to her servants. "Bring hither the elixir. Then leave us." All three scrambled to their feet in haste to do the bidding of their imperious mistress, and, after the lapse of a few moments, the two houris in white reappeared, one bearing a tiny bowl containing a colourless liquid, while the other brought between her fingers a long thin poignard, the hilt of which was studded with rubies and turquoises. When they had placed them beside the lamp, and the heavy curtains had fallen behind the two girls, Zoraida turned her great dark eyes upon me, exclaiming-- "Thou wilt ere long learn a wonderful secret which hath been revealed to none on earth except myself. Already hast thou taken an oath never to disclose what thou mayest see between these walls. Know, O Cecil! that by thy passionate love for me thou wilt bind thyself to one who can produce strange effects from simple causes, and who can show thee wonders undreamed of. Yonder knife and potion will bind thy soul unto mine; thou wilt become one of the Companions of the Left Hand, whose habitation is the shadowless Land of Torment, where the burning wind scorches and water scalds like boiling pitch." "Is there then no hope for those who love thee?" I asked, so mystified and my senses so dulled by the curious odour of the smoke, that I scarce knew what words escaped me. "None," she replied, sighing. "Neither rest, mercy, nor the Garden of Delights can fall to the lot of he who loveth me." "Why?" "Because, by regaining the wondrous secret lost to the world for so many ages, the mark is set indelibly upon thee. Knowest thou not what is written in Al Koran? The Prophet hath declared that when the heavens shall be rent in sunder and shall become red as a rose and shall melt like ointment, then neither man nor genius shall be asked concerning his sin. The wicked will be known by their marks, and they shall be taken by the forelocks and the feet and cast into the place of grievous torments." "Yes," I said. "But why is the search after this hidden force an act of such heinous wickedness?" "Because the secret is only to be obtained at the Shrine of Darkness. Dost thou, after the warnings I have given thee, still consent to accompany me among the Companions of the Left Hand--to gain the knowledge that is forbidden?" I gazed upon her marvellous beauty. Her magnificent eyes, bright as those of the gazelle, were turned to mine with a look of earnest appeal as the little hand I held trembled with suppressed excitement. The mystic rite she had practised had intoxicated me with a burning desire to learn more of these strange revelations that she promised, and, dazzled by her loveliness, I was utterly reckless of the future. "I do not fear," I replied. "I place implicit confidence in thee, and am prepared to serve thee, and to seek the wisdom so long withheld." "_Ibtida-an_," she exclaimed. "Thou, the Amin, must be inoculated with the elixir;" and, taking up the gleaming poignard, she felt its point. "It is a deadly decoction. One drop is sufficient to cause death, yet, strangely enough, three drops have only the effect of stimulating the brain and preparing the vision for the strange things of which thou must remain a silent witness." Taking my hand in hers, she pushed back the sleeve of my coat, exposing my arm. Then, grasping a small rod of glass that lay beside the bowl, she dipped it in the liquid and allowed a single drop to fall upon my flesh. It burned and ate into my arm like an acid, causing me to draw back quickly in pain, but ere I realised her intention, she had raised the dagger and made a punctured wound, thus allowing the poison to enter my veins and mingle with my blood. "Quick! The second drop!" she cried, dipping the rod into the bowl again. "It feels like molten metal," I gasped, drawing my arm away. "It--" "Do not hesitate," she exclaimed concernedly. "If thou dost not receive the three drops into thy veins, the poison will prove fatal. Come, let me conclude the formality;" and, grasping me firmly, she placed another spot of the acid upon my arm and punctured the flesh with her knife, repeating the operation a third time, until I had been fully inoculated with the mysterious virus. Then, stretching forth her own well-moulded white arm, whereon I noticed several small red spots,--which she explained were the marks of previous inoculations,--she stuck the point of the dagger three times into her own delicate flesh, until the blood flowed and the fluid she had placed upon the spots was wholly absorbed. Casting the dagger from her with an expression of repugnance, she passed her hand quickly across her brow, saying-- "Henceforward, O Cecil, an affinity existeth between us. Though deserts, mountains, and rolling seas may separate us, our souls will hold converse. We shall no longer be strangers." The poison was taking effect upon me. Its action was slow, but a strange, sickening giddiness crept over my brain, a feeling that the objects around me were gradually fading. Even Zoraida's voice sounded hollow and distant in the dreamy half-consciousness that the secret decoction of my enchantress produced. Was she, so young, so eminently handsome, so bewitching, the ingenious sorceress who, according to the rumour current among the Spahis, directed the movements of Hadj Absalam and his daring band of outlaws? Could it be possible that beneath those fair features was a heart so brutal and depraved as to plot murder, robbery, and horrible atrocities? As she stood before me in her dainty silks and flashing gems, she had no appearance of a wild freebooter and desert-wanderer, but rather that of an Oriental child of Fortune into whose languorous life the demon ennui had entered. Had she not, however, called herself the Daughter of the Sun? Was not that the name by which the _homards_ knew the guiding star of the murderous Ennitra? "Hearken, O Cecil!" she said, placing her hand suddenly to her breast as if a pain shot through her heart. "The inoculation is accomplished, and life is now fast ebbing--we are dying--" "Poisoned!" I gasped, alarmed. "Thou dost not mean that the three punctures will prove fatal?" "Thou, the Amin, hast placed thy faith in me. Of a verity will I reveal unto thee that which is known to me alone. Only by thus inviting death can we seek converse with the Great Unseen who ruleth the Kingdom of Shades. Our mental power, our sensibility, our very souls must be severed from our bodies and concentrated into separate existence, ere we may seek the knowledge that giveth us power. Even now at this moment our souls are parting from our bodies, the dim spark of life flickers, and we stand together on the threshold of the grave!" I was touched and awed by the extraordinary change that came over her while she had been speaking. Something in her tone appealed to my sympathy, while at the same time her words made my heart sink. A woman lying in her coffin, ready to be buried alive, might have had such a strain in her voice. Her face was white, with that ghastliness which comes in extreme moments to a brunette, and her eyes, starting from their sockets, burned with a dusky, deep-set brilliance. When her voice, that sounded in my ears like a far-off wail, had ceased, she stood motionless, and her countenance assumed an inscrutable mask of quiet, almost serene resignation, behind which something suggested immeasurable depths of poignant suffering. Pale, haggard, and deathlike, she gazed at me with dry, half-parted lips. Then I saw in her wild eyes the fearful but unmistakable light of madness! I was appalled at the slow, mysterious transformation of the woman I loved. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. AT THE SHRINE OF DARKNESS. Under the singular magnetism of her lustrous eyes, I stood dazed, speechless, fascinated. My head throbbed with the burning of fever, my throat contracted, my limbs trembled as if palsied, and my heart was filled with an all-consuming terror. Truly I was on the brink of the grave; I was peering into the yawning chasm of the Unknown. Suddenly an awful thought occurred to me. Was Zoraida, my idol, insane? Bewildered and blinded in the rose-mist of happiness, the deepest significance of her strange actions had been entirely lost to me. Love had predominated everything, for the gracefulness of my Pearl of the Harem had so far surpassed expectation, so dwarfed all former visions of feminine attractiveness, that I had been struck to the heart by her first glance after the veil had fallen from her countenance. Therefore, was it not possible that, in failing to regard her extraordinary acts as those of a person whose mind was unbalanced, I had foolishly allowed myself to fall a victim to her homicidal tendencies? Though I strove to remain calm, I involuntarily shuddered. I tried to speak, but my tongue clave to the roof of my mouth and refused to articulate. "_Al-an_. We are ready," she exclaimed at last, still keeping her bright eyes fixed upon me. "With our souls distinct from our bodies, we may now seek the knowledge withheld from mankind. Thou hast, I know, believed me to be a common charlatan, a sorceress who imposeth upon those who put their faith in occult arts. Now, however, that we love each other; now that our souls are wedded in the Unseen, I will invoke the revelation of the extraordinary secret, which, if it pleaseth the Great Unknown, thou shalt hold as my pledge. Prepare thine eyes for the witnessing of strange marvels, and follow me." Walking towards me, she raised her face to mine, kissing me fondly, then, slowly drawing back, she passed her hand quickly over her aching forehead, and, bidding me accompany her, tottered forward to the hidden door which previously in the evening she had ascertained was secure. "_Addonya dar gorour_," ("The world is a house of deceit"), she said, drawing a small key from her bosom. "In the grave there is none. Hovering as we now are, between life and death, with the conquest of the soul over the impulses of the body, we may catch a glimpse of the Unknown. Therefore, let us go down and search for light at the Shrine of Darkness. _Nahhi hatha_." The ancient key grated in the lock, and the ponderous door swung slowly open, revealing a narrow stone passage, the darkness of which was cavernous and impenetrable. Taking up the lamp into which she had sprinkled the ashes of Masinissa, she passed through the door, bidding me close it and follow her. Her face was pale and determined, and her wealth of dark hair, that had become unbound, fell to her waist in luxuriant profusion. I crossed the threshold into the close, damp passage, and pulling the door behind me it clanged loudly, the lock securing itself with an ominous snap. I knew I was a prisoner in this, the innermost and secret chamber of the harem, and held my breath in expectation and alarm. Her sequins tinkled as she walked firmly and upright with the little lamp held high above, as down the long stone corridor that was evidently cut in the thickness of the wall I stumbled on after her, with reeling head and unsteady gait. A strange, sickly odour of cinnamon and musk filled my nostrils, the air was hot and offensive, and upon the rough-hewn walls lodged the dust of ages. A door at the end of the passage groaned as she pushed it open, and the dim light revealed a passage still narrower, running at right angles to that which we had traversed. Down this we walked in silence, until our progress was barred by a thick curtain of dark plush. Halting, she turned towards me. In her countenance a change had been effected that startled me. The poison with which she had inoculated herself had wrought a terrible transformation. Round her fine, clear, luminous eyes were large dark rings that gave her bloodless face an expression of haggard hideousness, the bloom of youth had faded from her cheeks, now sunken, and her mouth was hard and drawn, showing the agony she was suffering. "Thou art ill," I exclaimed in alarm. "Let me assist thee." "No," she replied huskily. "It is the crucial test. Preserve thine own courage, and now, ere we enter the Shrine of Darkness that is the portal of the Kingdom of Shades, let me urge thee, O Cecil! to maintain a level head and clear judgment. Examine what thou seest by the light of reason. Thou hast bound thyself irrevocably to me by the burning of the ashes and the puncture of the poignard, and together we are seeking that knowledge that will give us power over our fellow-creatures. Ours is a solemn investigation, to be undertaken in no spirit of idle curiosity or frivolity, for of a verity we are both fast sinking to the grave, and it is only in our dying moments that the Great Secret of the Unseen World that is forbidden to the living may be revealed unto us." "I fear not while thou art my companion," I replied, determined not to betray nervousness, although the sickening and excruciating pains in my head caused everything to appear dim and hazy as a dream. "And to the world thy lips will remain for ever sealed? _Awa lam_?" she asked in earnestness. "I have pledged myself to preserve silence," I replied. "Then enter to the Shrine, and perfect peace be upon thee," she said, summoning all her courage and drawing aside the curtain. Upon the threshold of a grim, dark chamber I stood dumbfounded and amazed at the strange sight that presented itself to my gaze. The apartment was not very large, but the roof was vaulted, the arches were curiously wrought, and by the ruddy light diffused by a single hanging lamp, I saw it was a weird and altogether extraordinary place. Upon the floor was a black carpet, soft as velvet, around the walls were several rich divans, and behind a fine latticework of marble at the farther end of the luxurious dungeon--for such it seemed to be--was a circular altar of agate, jasper, and gold, over which a burning censer of gold was swung by an unseen hand. Behind the altar a large luminous star shone above with a dull red glow, and upon the altar itself stood a small brazier which, burning brightly, rendered the atmosphere close and oppressive. Such was the extraordinary scene that met my dazzled eyes as I moved forward into the secret chamber. Zoraida, rushing wildly on before me and uttering a loud cry, fell upon her knees before the altar, bowing until her lips touched the carpet, at the same time murmuring some strange incantation that I could not understand. So rapidly did she repeat the words, and so quickly she swayed her body backwards and forwards, that she was at last seized with hysteria. Suddenly regaining her feet, she raised her hands above her head, uttering a curious supplication in some language with which I was unacquainted. At that moment I made an alarming discovery. There was a slight movement on the carpet, and, bending to examine it, I was horrified to find that upon the floor were venomous snakes! On the divans asps were lying, with their flat heads erect within their coils, together with vipers and scorpions. On every side tiny brilliant eyes seemed watching us, and now and then a slight hiss was heard from the remoter corners of the place. But Zoraida heeded them not. At the door she had kicked off her embroidered slippers, and now walked barefooted among the reptiles. When she had concluded her strange prayer, she crossed the chamber hastily, and, tossing the velvet cushions and striped silk covering from one of the divans, there was disclosed an ancient tomb of carved sardonyx that was crumbling by age. Grasping my hand, she then led me to the altar, whispering to me to prostrate myself before it. Hand in hand we passed the marble screen and threw ourselves down, kissing the ground; then, as we rose, she drew from her breast a small stiletto and pricked her wrist three times with its keen point. Holding it over the burning brazier, she allowed the blood to drip slowly into the fire, each drop hissing loudly as it touched the live coals. Once she groaned, and a shudder went over her like the passing of the wind of sundown over still water. Then, in a firm voice, she exclaimed-- "Blessed be they who overcome human folly, vanity, and error. Blessed be they to whom the wondrous manifestations of the Terrible Unknown are accorded, for they shall be concealed under the dome of magnificence, and veiled by the curtain of purity. We, Companions of the Left Hand, on whom, alas! no peace resteth, present ourselves in quest of the knowledge of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, so that our lives may be united and our happiness assured. Fervently pray we that an assurance of favour may be granted unto us, and that the Great Secret, dead to the world through so many ages, may be revealed." Scarcely had she uttered these words, when from the still swinging censer there rose a single puff of thick smoke. Zoraida was watching for it, and as the smoke dissolved, she remarked to me in low, impressive tones-- "Behold! our petition hath been stamped by the seal of response! It is well. Our quest will not be in vain." Then, after a pause, she added, "Thou, O Roumi! hast believed I am a sorceress and a charlatan. Come hither." She walked to the sarcophagus, and, grasping the stone that formed the lid, pushed it off with almost superhuman effort, so that it fell heavily down behind. Then, taking up the lamp she had brought, she held it over the stone coffin and bade me gaze into it. With eager eyes I obeyed her, but started back in horror. It contained a corpse! An old man of pale complexion, with long white beard, and dressed in the habiliments of the grave, lay stretched with upturned face, motionless in death. "This man, a holy marabout, died, and entered the Garden of Delights three years ago, yet, behold! his body hath not decayed. His misery hath been changed to peace and his grief to tranquillity," she observed. "That he is actually dead prove for thyself. Touch him." I bent, placing my hand upon his white cheek. Its contact thrilled me. It seemed icy as marble! The sightless eyes seemed to gaze into mine with a grim, stony stare, and I drew away my hand as if I had been stung. "_Howa-tha_!" she cried. "I will prove further that there is no life;" and, raising the knife in her hand, she plunged it into the breast of the corpse. "Art thou satisfied that he is really dead?" asked Zoraida grimly. "Yes," I answered, shuddering, for my whole surroundings in that subterranean Chamber of the Serpents were so uncanny, that I began to long for light and fresh air. Was she performing all these strange rites merely for the purpose of impressing and mystifying me; or was she an enthusiastic devotee of some secret sect of Al-Islam? To poison one's self before invoking the aid of the occult seemed an extraordinary proceeding, and the whole of the rites were so curious, that, fascinated as I was by the mysticism of the East, I regarded them with the most intense interest. "At the Shrine of Darkness death loseth its sting," she said. "To communicate with Eblis, the Terrible, it is necessary that one who is already a dweller in the Garden of Delights shall return to life and assist us. Here, in this charnel-house, the abode of death and of the serpents, strange knowledge may be imparted; but ere we proceed further, the sacrifice must be made." Snatching up a viper that lay coiled upon one of the divans, she grasped it dexterously near the head, and, walking to the altar, held it for a few moments above the burning brazier, repeating some weird word's, then, as the reptile squirmed under the pain, she dropped it upon the burning coals. Flinging herself upon her knees, with her hands outstretched above her head, she again invoked the aid of the mysterious Power. Pushing back her hair, that had fallen over her shoulders, she again rose, and, coming towards me, exclaimed-- "Watch, and I will reveal unto thee the terrible power of Eblis that hath been imparted unto me. _Catha_!" She looked more haggard than before. The strain upon her nerves was evidently awful. Taking my hand, she led me back to the sarcophagus, repeating some words in such a low tone as to be inaudible. Suddenly she dashed forward, and with her right hand made mysterious passes over the face of the corpse. "Sidi Mammar ben-Mokhala, chosen of the Merciful. Peace! Again I call upon thee, holy man of the Faith, tenant of the tomb of dignity and light of the eyes of the discerning, to assist this Roumi to the sight of the Crescent of Wonders, for none save myself knoweth aught of the way thither. Blessing upon thee, and great peace on those who went before thee!" She paused. There was a wild look in her eyes, and her bare bosom heaved and fell quickly. "Arise!" she cried in a loud voice. "I, Zoraida Fathma, Daughter of the Sun, command thy soul and body to reunite for brief space, so that thou mayest minister at this our sacred Shrine." A sound came from the ancient stone tomb like a long, deep-drawn sigh. There was a slight movement, and then, as I gazed in speechless expectancy, the corpse of the aged marabout slowly rose from its resting-place, white, rigid, and ghastly. The amazing resurrection appalled me. I stood with bated breath, my eyes were riveted upon the weird figure, and I was rooted to the spot. The hair upon my head was lifted as corn is lifted when the wind ceases suddenly, and the sweat rolled from my brow. Truly, this mysterious woman to whom I had voluntarily and blindly bound myself was gifted with some weird power that was utterly amazing and incomprehensible. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. THE CRESCENT OF GLORIOUS WONDERS. Slowly the dead marabout stepped from his tomb and stood erect before me. He glided mechanically, rigidly; his limbs did not bend, neither did his eyes move. In his grave-clothes he looked hideous, for so thin was his face that the bones could be seen beneath the brown withered skin, and his fleshless fingers with long nails had the appearance of talons. "Thou hast never before witnessed the return of the dead to the world!" Zoraida exclaimed, noticing how scared I was. "Is he really dead?" I asked, feeling somewhat sceptical, and beginning to think I was being imposed upon by some ingenious trickery. "Dead? I call thee to witness!" she cried, and again drawing her long, keen dagger, she plunged it for the second time into his side. There was no doubt that it had penetrated. "Enough!" I gasped. "It is sickening." "Thou art at last convinced. Good!" she said, withdrawing the knife. Then, turning to the man she had recalled from the grave, she addressed him-- "Greeting to thee who followeth the guidance. Thou who hast enjoyed the pleasures of the Garden of Delights among the Companions of the Right Hand, and hast tasted the sweet waters of Salsabil, knowest the Secret of the Crescent. I, who fear the Omnipotent Avenger, command thee to intercede, that I may gain knowledge whereby to triumph over the Satans of Eblis--on whom may the Merciful not have mercy--and henceforward find perfect peace." Zoraida looked frightened herself, trembling like a slender cord suspended in a well, yet standing erect and queenly, with her jewels flashing and gleaming with dazzling brilliancy. To her words, however, the marabout made no reply. He remained motionless as a statue, gazing straight at me with his black glassy eyes. Picking up an asp, a symbol of the Aissawa, that was darting over the carpet, Zoraida placed it in his icy hand. His bony fingers gripped the reptile as in a vice as slowly he moved across the strange apartment, and, without uttering a sound, sacrificed it on the blazing brazier. Motioning me to kneel, and sinking upon her knees at my side, the woman I adored twisted a serpent around her head, and flung herself forward with her lips pressed to the sable carpet. Venomous reptiles were around us, but none ventured to attack. Indeed, she had kicked a viper aside with her bare foot as unconcernedly as if it had been an almond husk. Strange passes were being made by the dead saint, standing at the altar with his back to us, and as he performed the mystic rite in silence I noticed that the smoke from the censer became thicker, and the fire in the brazier glowed until the iron seemed at white heat. Bowing slowly three times, the marabout stretched forth his hands above his head, and, turning, faced us. Zoraida's strained voice broke the silence. "Blessed be he to whom the lifetime of the ruby is as the lifetime of the rose. O thou of exalted dignity, behold me, the least and least worthy of all them that praise the One worthy of praise. May I never endure prosperity as a gift from the accursed, for I seek the Secret of the Crescent, and ask of the One of unbounded favour and infinite bounty that which thou alone canst reveal." Again the marabout faced the altar, again he made passes over the fierce fire. The censer, still kept swinging by some unseen power, emitted a column of thick smoke, the odour of which, at first sulphurous, then sensuous and overpowering, caused me to feel intolerably drowsy. Then suddenly, with a noise as loud as the firing of a pistol, a great rent appeared in the stone front of the altar, as the slab of jasper broke in twain and a portion fell to the ground. "Lo! it is at last revealed!" cried Zoraida, turning to me excitedly. "Life remaineth unto us! The poison will take no further effect, since we shall possess the Great Secret." Bowing to earth, the marabout approached close to the altar, and, dropping upon one knee, placed his hand in the aperture that had been so suddenly created. From the hole he drew forth a semicircular box of time-stained leather, about twelve inches across, and, opening it carefully, took therefrom a piece of rusted iron, shaped in the form of a crescent, about two inches wide in the centre and tapering to horns at each end. Its form was almost like a sickle, covered with strange hieroglyphics deeply graven, and it was about a quarter of an inch in thickness in every part, with a notch in the centre, as if another portion that had once been welded to it had been broken away. Zoraida, still kneeling, eagerly watched the ghastly figure, who, bowing once again, held the strange object over the flame until it became heated. "Beseech of the Power, O Sidi Mammar ben-Mokhala, if the secret may be wholly revealed unto the Roumi," she said in a loud, clear voice. Again the corpse that had been awakened from its sardonyx casket bowed and raised its hands aloft in obedience to her request, as we all three watched the censer. The thin column went slowly up, but the puff of thick smoke--that seemed to be regarded as a sign of the affirmative-- was not emitted. Yet again the marabout bowed in silent intercession, but, though we waited for some minutes, no reply was vouchsafed. "Thou art not a True Believer, O Cecil," Zoraida said, in bitter disappointment. "The Great Secret, although revealed unto me, is withheld from thy knowledge. Alas that it should be so! Truly I bear the yoke of misfortune and taste the venom of grief." "Of what use is the Crescent?" I said, regarding with curiosity the rusted relic in the bony hand of the aged marabout. "It is the will of the Unseen that thou mayest not know its Secret," she replied. "Therefore I can reveal nothing." "But surely thou mayest tell me what it is for?" "Not at present. Have patience until thou hast passed beyond the portals of this, the Kingdom of Shades." The silent priest, having heated the iron sufficiently, placed it upon a great gold tray, which Zoraida procured from a corner of the chamber and held for him; then she went out, bearing it with her, and announcing her intention of returning again immediately. Before the broken altar the man from the tomb stood immovable as a statue, his hands uplifted; and there was no sound save the hissing of a snake, hiding in a corner where the light did not penetrate. Five minutes elapsed; they seemed an hour. When Zoraida re-entered, she bore the mysterious Crescent in her hand, and, strangely enough, her face had assumed much of its usual beauty. In her eyes a look of happiness and contentment had succeeded that expression of mad despair that had for the last half-hour spoiled her countenance, and she appeared to have derived every satisfaction from the strange rites she had practised. "At last," she cried, "the Great Secret is again mine! A year ago I discovered its existence, but the mere suggestion of its use seemed so utterly absurd, that I hesitated to seek death by the deadly potion until absolutely compelled." "Wert thou compelled to-night?" I ventured to inquire. "Yes. Thou knowest I love thee. It was for thy sake that I sought the Great Secret. Thou wert not afraid, and gave me courage to knock at the gate of the dreaded Kingdom of Shades--to face the King of Terrors." "And yonder marabout? What of him?" "He will return to the green banks of the river Al Cawthar, whence I called him to do my bidding and act as intermediary. See! I will send him back unto his sepulchre." Advancing to where the ghastly figure was standing with transfixed gaze without moving a muscle, she placed her hand firmly upon his shoulder. "Know, O Sidi Mammar ben-Mokhala! thy work hath ended. Thou mayest return to the Shadow of the Lote Tree, and to the houris awaiting thee in the Garden beside the ever-flowing stream. May the blessing of Allah--Gracious Bestower of abundant benefits--ever rest upon thee and thy sons' sons, and may the Destroyer of Mankind--on whom may the Merciful not have mercy--have no power over them. To thy grave I command thee to return, to rest until I again seek thine aid to triumph over Eblis." She grasped his cold thin hand, and he allowed himself to be led to the sarcophagus as meekly as a lamb. Into his stone coffin he stepped, and then sank back and disappeared. A few moments later, Zoraida beckoned me, and, standing beside the great sardonyx tomb, I peered in. The marabout lay stretched out as before, with wide-open, sightless eyes, and when I touched his cheek, it was hard and icy cold. "There is no life. See!" she said, and, taking the knife, she once again plunged it into the corpse, afterwards withdrawing it and replacing it in the velvet sheath hanging at her girdle. The old man had again returned to the Great Unknown, leaving Zoraida in possession of the curiously-wrought piece of metal, the fantastic inscription upon which puzzled me greatly. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. STRANGE CONFIDENCES. Gradually the golden censer ceased swinging; the fire in the brazier slowly died out, and the only light in the mysterious chamber was shed by the blue flame of the lamp that had guided our footsteps thither. "Come, let us return," she said, with a shudder. She took up the lamp and gazed into the cavernous darkness where the light did not penetrate. Suddenly, just as she was about to turn towards the door, she noticed my face, and became alarmed. "Ah!" she cried, horrified. "I had forgotten thee. See; thine eyes are already glazing. Thou art dying!" "Dying?" I gasped, holding my breath. "Yes. Thou hast not learned the Secret of the Crescent, therefore thou art not rendered invulnerable against the hand of the King of Terrors. The poison hath done its work, and thy spark of life will die out like yonder brazier." "Why? Dost thou mean that thou hast actually murdered me?" "I am no murderess," she answered, reproachfully. "Thou hast submitted to the fatal inoculation, yet to every poison there is an antidote." Then, drawing from her breast a little jewelled scent-bottle, about the size and shape of a pigeon's egg, that was suspended by a chain around her neck, she removed the cap and shook into the hollow of her hand a small quantity of a dark brown powder. "See! place this upon thy tongue and swallow it. Life and health will return to thee, and no ill effects wilt thou feel to-morrow of thy near approach to the Realm of Silence." She emptied it into my hand, and I swallowed it. The drug was bitter as gall and burned my mouth with fiery pungency, but ere I could make another observation, she had snatched up the lamp and was disappearing through the arched doorway. Following, we retraced our steps along the gloomy corridors, until at last she pushed open a door, and we found ourselves back again in the fragrant, luxurious harem. Placing the lamp upon one of the little tables of ebony and pearl, she sank upon her divan exhausted, but still grasping the Crescent. Her long hair strayed over her shoulders and breast, and as she lay back in utter abandon she panted as if the strain of the past hour had been too great. Taking one of the great silken cushions I placed it tenderly under her wearied head, then sank upon my knee at her side. "Tell me, Zoraida," I said. "Tell me more of the strange scenes which I have just witnessed. What giveth thee the wondrous power to recall the dead from the grave, and invoke the assistance of the Great Unknown?" Turning her brilliant eyes to mine, she hesitated. "True, O Cecil," she exclaimed, after a short, silent interval, "I have power that is not vouchsafed to some; but what thou hast seen to-night is not so wonderful as the secret contained within this piece of Damascus steel;" and she raised the Crescent for me to gaze upon. "What secret can a piece of metal possibly contain?" I inquired, almost inclined to laugh at her earnest assertion. "Thou thinkest that I fool thee," she answered in a tone of reproach. "I tell thee, nevertheless, that knowledge of certain things giveth me power over both friend and enemy, power that I use at will for good or for evil. They who are cursed from my lips find no solace in this life, and descend to Eblis, where hot winds blow and there is no water; but those who have my blessing prosper, grow wealthy, and find peace." "Have I thy blessing?" "Thou hast," she murmured calmly, raising her lips to mine in a long, fierce caress. "My wishes are that thou mayest find happiness and riches, and that thou mayest receive the mercy of the Merciful is my heartfelt desire." "My only happiness is at thy side," I said, with fervent promptitude. "Ah! it is, alas! but brief," she replied, sighing. "There are circumstances which prevent our marriage--even though we love each other so well." "Circumstances? What are they? Tell me. Thou always speakest in enigmas." "The first and most serious is the uncertainty of my life. Even to-night I may die;" and she raised her finely-moulded hand and thoughtfully examined my ancient signet ring upon her finger. "Absurd!" I said. "What ground hast thou for such gloomy apprehensions? Art thou not safe here, surrounded by every luxury, with slaves to do thy bidding, and guarded from every evil?" "Not from _every_ evil," she replied slowly. "When thou art absent, unhappiness consumeth me, and sadness, like a corrosive acid, eateth away all life and gaiety from mine heart." "But I may see thee more often, surely? How long wilt thou remain here?" "I cannot tell," she answered, speaking like one in a dream. "To-morrow thou mayest only find my corpse." "Bah! Why entertain Despair when Joy desireth to dwell within thine heart? We love each other, and may meet often, even though these mysterious circumstances of which thou speakest may, for a time, prevent our marriage." With a look of bitter sorrow she shook her head, replying, "No. We must not meet, or our friendship may prove fatal. When I invited thee hither, it was to impart to thee the secret of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders that would give thee power to work for our mutual benefit. But, alas! thou, an infidel, mayest not learn the extraordinary truth; the Unseen hath decreed that thou shalt remain in the outer darkness called Ignorance." "But how can I act in order to break down this strange barrier that precludeth our happiness? Hast thou--hast thou already a _husband_?" She started. Her lips quivered, and the colour left her cheeks. "If I had a husband, I should not ask thee hither, neither would I dare to enter the Kingdom of Shades with thee, a lover. To endeavour to learn my secret at present will be futile. Suffice it for thee to know that there is more mystery to penetrate than thou hast ever dreamed of, and that only by seeking knowledge from afar canst thou hope ever to bring us nearer to each other--to--" A sigh finished the sentence. "I am prepared to do anything, to go anywhere, to render thee service," I replied, pressing her jewelled fingers to my lips. "Then hearken," she said, raising herself upon her arm and looking earnestly at me. "The secret of this, the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, is forbidden thee; yet if thou darest to travel to a distant country far away over the waterless regions beyond the Touareg; if thou wilt penetrate the lands of hostile tribes in the disguise of a True Believer, thou canst learn that which will give thee wealth and power, and will at last bring us together." "To marry?" "Yes. To marry." "Tell me all I must do," I exclaimed excitedly. "Can I learn that which thou callest the Great Secret?" "Alas! it is impossible," she replied. "If thou wilt undertake this perilous journey, thou shalt carry with thee the Crescent of Glorious Wonders as my pledge that I do not deceive thee, and as a talisman which, if thou canst learn its secret, will make thee wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice." "But what of thyself--what of happiness with thee?" "Until thou hast accomplished thy mission, I shall remain with my clansmen awaiting thee. Remember, whatever gossip thou mayest hear, or whatever may be revealed to thee about myself, seek no explanation. Set out upon thy journey as soon as possible, and travel on the wings of haste, for the way is long and the approach difficult. My movements concern thee not until thy return, for although to-night thou art here in the harem, do not forget the awful fate that awaiteth women of Al-Islam who hold converse with Infidels. Therefore, before I give thee instructions, swear by thine own Deity, thine Allah, to heed nothing that thou mayest see or hear concerning me, but perform thy journey speedily, and learn the Great Secret ere thou seekest any explanation." "I swear I will obey thee unswervingly. I will act upon thy commands as blindly and devotedly as I have to-night." "Then know, O Cecil," she said, regaining her feet slowly and standing erect before me, "there is but one spot on earth where the Great Secret may be imparted unto thee, now that it hath been withheld even at the portal of the Land of Shades. Before thou mayest again enter my presence, thou must have gained the power and the riches that it can bestow. Whilst thou art in the distant Desert I shall not forget thee; it is even possible that secret communications may pass between us, for do not forget that in future a fatal affinity existeth between our souls, and that, irrespective of distance, we may have a dream-like consciousness of each other's well-being." Her dark eyes fixed upon me seemed to hold me with a strange magnetism. Truly I was under her spell. Even in the brief space that had elapsed, she had now entirely reassumed her marvellous beauty. Stretching forth her hand she poured water from an ewer of chased silver into two drinking-cups. Over them both she passed her fingers swiftly, and then sipped one of them. The sweet odours that hung about the harem had caused a dryness in my throat, and, raising the other cup to my lips, I took several gulps, while she regarded me keenly. "Shall I always know thy whereabouts?" I asked eagerly. "No. There will be a certain affinity between our thoughts, but I shall remain hidden from thee until thou hast returned." For a few moments we were silent. She was no longer haggard and cold as she had been while the poison coursed through her veins, but the rose-garden of her beauty had forthwith recovered its freshness; in the delicate, rounded limbs and bust there glowed the natural warmth and yielding softness of flesh and blood. Her great lustrous eyes, standing well apart under her darkened brows, the broad white forehead, the perfect nose, the small, well-formed mouth, the pearly teeth, the rounded chin, each added grace to grace. Her beauty was perfect. "Wilt thou remain here, or go back to the Desert with thy tribe?" I asked, gazing at her enraptured. "To--to the Desert--peradventure," she replied hesitatingly. "If the _homards_ are thrown off our scent." "What! are thy people about to resume their murderous marauding expeditions?" I asked in surprise. "I--I know not, Cecil," she replied, laying her hand upon my arm. "I would prevent their terrible crimes if I could, but, alas! it is impossible. Thou knowest not in what constant peril I exist, or--or how unhappy is my life. A single imprudent word may seal my fate. I may be tied in a sack even to-night, and cast into the sea!" "How can I help thee? How can I save thee?" I asked, with eagerness. "Only by undertaking the journey of which I have already spoken," she answered slowly. "If thy mission is accomplished successfully, then thou wilt rescue me from a cruel fate--a fate far worse than death." CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. A HIDDEN TRAGEDY. So earnestly she spoke that I felt convinced there was in her life some hideous mystery, and that those who held power over her she regarded with abject terror. Besides, her frequent allusions to the uncertainty of her life made it plain that she was apprehensive of a swift and terrible doom. Though some of her words and actions were, strange and incomprehensible, and the effects I had witnessed at the weird Shrine of Darkness had, I reflected, been probably produced by some kind of mechanical ingenuity, yet there was something even more remarkable about this Pearl of the Harem than her entrancing beauty. Her actions led me to the conclusion that she was actually the woman reputed by the Ennitra to be possessed of superhuman power, and every moment I now spent in her company deepened my curiosity concerning her. The mystery by which she was enveloped was puzzling. I felt myself bewildered. That she was well versed in Oriental mystic, rites was certain, but whether she had actually produced the results I had witnessed without some ingenious trickery I was half inclined to doubt. Nevertheless, I loved her blindly. Her beauty fascinated me, and her words in soft, musical Arabic that fell upon my ears entranced me. "Then thou wilt go?" she said fondly, entwining her arm around my neck. "Thou, the Amin, to whom may the Bestower of Good Gifts be merciful, art willing to face all the terrors of the long journey for my sake?" "Yes, Zoraida," I replied, looking straight into her dark orbs. "Already thou hast saved my life. If it lieth within my power I will save thine." "Then we must lose no time," she exclaimed suddenly. Leaving me, she crossed the harem, and took a sheet of paper and an ink-horn from a little cabinet inlaid with silver and mother-of-pearl, returning to where I was standing. Sinking upon her soft divan, she spread out the paper upon a little coffee-stool, and wrote in Arabic character the following:-- "O revered servant of Allah, learned and mighty, thou whose face is as a lamp unto those who walk in the darkness and in error stray from the path, unto thee I send salutation. The One Worthy of Praise made earth for a carpet, and it is written upon the tablet that Allah, Giver of Good Gifts, is the living One. May he who despiseth the revelation enter into the Companionship of the Left Hand, and dwell for ever in Al Sahira. To seek an elucidation of the Great Mystery, the Roumi, into whose hands have I given the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, journeyeth afar unto thee. Know, O Friend, deadly peril surroundeth me. Of a verity the day hath come when the Great Secret may be revealed, for by its knowledge my life may be spared. Wherefore I beseech thee to grant him audience, and direct his footsteps into the valley of felicity, for assuredly mine enemies may be dumbfounded if thou wiliest. "In fear have we flown into the refuge of patience, praying to the Answerer of our Supplications to grant us endurance. When our prayer for the Great Elucidation hath been responded to, the skirts of thine innocence shall be purified from the mire of suspicion, and--if it pleaseth Allah--by the blessing of thy devotions will our petition be heard, and from us will our affliction be removed. May the Beneficent Granter of Requests be gracious unto the Roumi and give him prosperity. Upon thee likewise be perfect peace. Sister." As she carefully penned the intricate lines, I noticed for the first time that across the back of her right hand--the hand that bore my ring--was a small red scar about an inch in length, and I silently wondered how it had been caused. "There," she exclaimed at last, as she appended with a flourish the characters "_Okht_" which apparently she used as her signature, "together with the Crescent of Glorious Wonders convey this my message to Hadj Mohammed ben Ishak, the chief _imam_ of the mosque at Agadez. He will understand my desire. Tell him that thou hast accompanied me unto the Shrine of Darkness, where I recovered the key to the hidden mystery, but that knowledge was, alas! not imparted to thee. He will then instruct thee how to act." "To Agadez?" I echoed, dismayed, remembering that it lay far south beyond the Great Sahara, with nearly two thousand miles of trackless and almost waterless wilderness between it and civilisation. "Yes; I told thee that the only spot where knowledge can be given thee, and by which thou canst effect my rescue, was far distant. Dost thou fear to travel thither?" I hesitated in uncertainty. Well I knew how tedious and perilous would be the long journey, for the hostility of the tribes through whose country I should have to pass constituted a terror even as great as the enormous difficulties and frightful hardships that I must encounter for many weeks, perhaps months, in the Great Sahara itself. But the earnest look of pleading in her splendid eyes decided me. "I will go, Zoraida. If it is thy will, I shall start to-morrow," I said. "Thou wilt traverse the Great Desert for my sake--for my sake?" she exclaimed, kissing my hand as I took the missive she had folded. "When I named thee the Amin I was not mistaken. Hadj Mohammed will be expecting thee." "Why?" "Because he will receive early knowledge that the Crescent of Glorious Wonders is in thy custody. Remember, if lost, it could never be replaced, having been revealed and given unto us by the Power that is all-powerful. Thou wilt undertake this mission in order to save my life, to save me from the horrible fate that threateneth to overwhelm me. When the Secret hath been imparted, and thou hast used it according to instructions that will be given by the aged chaplain of the daily prayers, then wilt thou return to me--and to peace." "But how shall I find thee? Many moons may perchance rise and fade ere I return to Algiers." "Assuredly I shall know thy whereabouts," she replied briefly. "Travel swiftly. The horse I gave thee on the night I severed thy bonds will carry thee back from Biskra to El Biodh. Then with camels travel over the vast northern Touareg and the mountains of Adrar, guarding well thy life through Djanet until thou comest to Mount Equelles. From there thou wilt be compelled to guide thyself by the sun over the Desert to the palms of Issala, where thou wilt find also dates, forage, and water. Another long and weary course of travel will bring thee at last to Assiou, thence journeying due south past Azarara and along the great rocky valleys of Air, where dwell thine enemies, thou wilt at length enter the gate of Agadez, the City of the Sorcerers, wherein the strange mystery lieth hidden." The exact position of Agadez was, I reflected, somewhat uncertain. Generally believed to be about eighteen hundred miles from Algiers as the swallow flies, it was placed by most maps at the extreme south of the Azarara country, to the west of Lake Tsad; but among European geographers there was a certain amount of doubt as to its exact position and best approach, for maps of that remote district differ considerably. However, I had decided to set out to seek this aged _imam_ for Zoraida's sake, and meant to do my utmost to accomplish my mission. Leaning before me in silence against a marble column, with her hands clasped behind her head, her jewels scintillating in the softly-tempered light, her sequins tinkling musically, her rich silks rustling, her scented bosom rising and falling as she breathed, she looked a veritable sultana, a woman for whom any man might have sacrificed his very soul. "Remember always, O Cecil, that my thoughts follow thee," she said softly. "Remember, when thou facest the terrors which are inevitable, that there is one woman who is trusting to thee alone to save her. Perhaps ere long I shall return to our palace in the impenetrable mountains beyond Tiouordeouin; nevertheless my thoughts will be constantly of thee, for now I am convinced of thy love and fearlessness. May Allah, the One Merciful, guard thee, and may all thine enemies perish!" Placing my arm slowly around her slim waist, encircled by a golden girdle, I drew her towards me, and she kissed me with hot feverish lips. "I cannot bear the thought, Zoraida, that thou mayest wander again with thy relatives and clansmen over the burning Desert, and witness those awful scenes of plunder and massacre. Ah! if I could but think that thou wouldst be safe here during my absence." She sighed, toying with the jewelled scent-bottle suspended upon her breast, the little trinket that contained the antidote. "Already have I told thee my life is very uncertain," she exclaimed gloomily. "Even to-night I might fall a victim. The tyranny of unpropitious times hath thrown the stone of separation upon us. I might--" "No, no," I interrupted. "Thou art safe here, surely. Be patient, and keep a stout heart until I return. Thou knowest I love thee dearly, and will strive unceasingly to accomplish my mission quickly and successfully." "Yes. I shall be thinking always of thee--always," she said softly. "And when I return I shall have learned the mysterious Secret which is so absolutely necessary for our mutual welfare." "Ah, Cecil, my Amin! I love thee! I love thee! As sure as the sun will illumine to-morrow's dawn, so surely will I--" Her passionate words were suddenly interrupted by the entrance of the big negro who had guarded the door of the harem. He rushed in with a look of abject terror upon his dark, brutal countenance, whispering some hasty words into his mistress's ear that caused her to become agitated and deathly pale. "Quick! Hasten, or I am lost!" she cried, turning to me. "What danger threateneth?" I inquired in surprise. "Leave me! Leave me! Thou must not be discovered!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "Take this, the Crescent, and turn thy face towards the Desert to-morrow. Remember the instructions I have given thee; and, above all, promise to seek no explanation of what thou mayest hear or see regarding me until thou hast returned from Agadez." "I promise," I replied, as for a second I held her in my arms and our lips met in passionate farewell. "Quick! The Roumi! In Allah's name, save him!" she cried, turning to the gorgeously-attired Soudanese who stood near, like a gigantic statue. "Follow," he commanded; and, crossing the room, drew aside some silken hangings, disclosing another small door, of the existence of which I had been unaware. I turned. Zoraida had flung herself with languorous abandon upon her divan, with her hand pressed to her bejewelled forehead. Her wistful eyes followed me, and as I waved her a last farewell, she said-- "Go, my Amin! May Allah give thee perfect peace!" Through the open door we passed, and the negro, closing it, bolted it from the outside, leaving us in total darkness. "Keep silence. Grasp my arm, and I will lead thee," said the man, but ere he had uttered the words, there came from the harem a loud, piercing shriek--the cry of a woman! It was Zoraida's voice! "Hark!" I gasped, with bated breath. "Listen! That voice was _hers_! Let us return." "No," he replied gruffly. "That is impossible." "But the cry was one of terrible agony!" "Slaves of the harem never interfere without orders. Death is the penalty of the Infidel found within the precincts sacred to the women," he answered coldly. I turned to unbolt the door, but his sinewy hand grasped me by the neck, and without any further explanation I was half dragged through several dark, close-smelling passages, and down a flight of broken stone steps, until we came to a heavy door. "At least thou canst tell me who is the owner of this place," I said, slipping a couple of gold coins into his ready palm. "I cannot. My mistress hath commanded my silence," he answered, pocketing the bribe, nevertheless. "May I learn nothing, then?" I asked. "No. Our Queen of the Desert hath taken every precaution that thou shalt obtain no knowledge of certain facts. For her own sake secrecy is imperative, therefore, if thou holdest her in respect, seek not to loosen my tongue with thy gold." Then he pushed me gently but firmly outside, and with a parting word closed the iron-studded door again. The key grated in the lock as it was secured, and, gazing round, I found myself in the narrow crooked street. For a few moments I hesitated. The moon shone brightly, and all was quiet, for it was long past midnight. After a final look at the gloomy, mysterious house, I plunged into the labyrinth of Arab thoroughfares, and, half dazed by the strange, dreamy experience, I walked on, descending the steep, intricate streets, trusting to chance to bring me into the Place du Gouvernement, in the European quarter, wherein was situated my hotel. At last, after wandering nearly an hour, I found myself in the Rue de la Lyre, the street of the Algerine merchants, and soon afterwards, having awakened the sleepy Arab porter at the Regence, climbed to my room. Opening the jalousies, I sat for a long time gazing out upon the moonlit Mediterranean. The soft warm wind sighed in the waving palms outside, and shouting came up now and then from the quay, for the mail steamer from Europe had just hove in sight. Deeply I pondered over the strange events of the night, wondering whether I was acting wisely in undertaking the long journey to Agadez. So strange were many of Zoraida's words, that more than once was I tempted to regard her as suffering from mental aberration, yet nevertheless I could not disguise the fact that there was a terrible earnestness in all her words and actions, an earnestness which fully bore out her declaration that her life was at stake. On the table lay the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, the leathern case of which was evidently centuries old, for it was worm-eaten, tattered, and crumbling. What, I wondered, could be its power? How could it assist me to wealth? How was it possible that a mere piece of steel, with its strange geometrical inscription--that is here reproduced--could bring Zoraida and me happiness and peace? The idea seemed absurd, nevertheless the mystery was inscrutable. It added fascination to her exquisite charms, and I knew that I loved Zoraida--I knew she held me by her spell for life or death. Once a gloomy thought arose. I remembered the ominous words of old Ali Ben Hafiz; I recollected the strange Omen of the Camel's Hoof! But I smiled, regarding the superstition, as I had always done, as one of the many unfounded beliefs of the Bedouins, and just as the first streak of dawn showed above the distant peaks of Kabylia, I turned in, resolved to get at least one night's rest in a European bed before setting out upon my long journey from which I might perhaps never return. For me, alas! it was a night fraught with horrors. What I had seen in that strange house in the Kasbah quarter came back vividly to me, confused and distorted in my dreams. In my horrible nightmare I thought I saw Zoraida, the beautiful woman who loved me, struck down by an assassin's knife. I heard her scream, the same shrill cry of agony I had heard after I left the harem. This aroused me. The sun was shining brilliantly in its clear vault of blue; there was movement in the great square, and the _garcons de cafe_ were dusting their tables. The scent of the flowers from the stalls below wafted in through my open window. I could sleep no longer, so, dressing again, I swallowed my coffee, and went out, wandering along the sea-shore, breakfasting _al fresco_ at the Moorish restaurant outside the Jardin d'Essai, and spending the morning strolling alone, puzzled and thoughtful. Returning to the Regence at midday, the Arab porter handed me a small wooden box about a foot in length, six inches deep, and sealed securely with black wax. "This came for m'sieur an hour ago," he said. "For me?" I exclaimed, surprised, glancing at the address, which was in a man's handwriting. "Who left it?" "A Biskri servant, m'sieur. He said it was most urgent, and I was to deliver it immediately you returned." Who, I wondered, had sent it? Mounting the two flights of stone stairs hastily, I at length gained my room. Eagerly I cut the string, broke the great seals, and lifted the lid. "God!" I cried, starting back in horror when my gaze fell upon the object it contained. Appalled and breathless I stood, unable to move. Some moments elapsed before I summoned sufficient courage to again rivet my eyes upon it. The sight was sickening. The box was lined with black silk, and in it there reposed a woman's hand that had been hacked from the wrist! It was white and bloodless. Rings still remained upon the slim waxen fingers, the nails of which were stained brown with henna. I recognised them! One was the signet ring that had belonged to my father. On the back of the dead hand was a scar. I examined it closely. Yes! it was the same that I noticed while the woman I adored was penning the letter to the _imam_ I now carried in my pocket! Trembling, I touched the lifeless fingers. They were cold as marble. The hideous, blood-smeared Thing that had been sent me was _the dead severed hand of Zoraida_! CHAPTER NINETEEN. DEAD FINGERS. On the black silk the shrivelling, bloodless fingers lay half curved like talons. At first I could not bring myself to gaze upon the mutilated hand I had so recently grasped; but at length, fascinated by the gruesome mystery, I inspected it minutely. On the stiffened fingers diamonds glistened in the bar of sunlight that strayed into the room, and my own ring remained there, a silent witness of some terrible tragedy. Had Zoraida been murdered? Was she, after all, the wife of a jealous, fanatical Moslem, who had discovered our friendship, and who had wreaked an awful vengeance upon her? As I stood with the horrible contents of the box before my eyes, strange thoughts took possession of me. With startling vividness I pictured the woman I loved, and to whom I owed my life, lying stark and dead, with one hand hacked away and a great ugly wound in her white breast where the assassin's cruel knife had entered. I seemed to see every detail of a hideous crime; on my ears there fell the soft lapping of the sea, and the splash as the body, divested of its silks and jewels, was hurled into the water as unceremoniously as offal by two brutal, stalwart negroes. Had not Zoraida been apprehensive of danger? Had she not told me frankly that her life was uncertain? Yet I had never dreamed of murder! Alas! death comes swiftly sometimes to inmates of the harem. To-day Zuleika or Zohra, Kheira or Khadidja, may be the favourite, exercising power over her lord, and holding sway through him over the world outside her luxurious prison, but to-morrow she may be a corpse floating out with the tide into the lonely sea. The sight of the dead hand was sickening. I could not bear it. Replacing the lid upon the box, I stood for a few moments in hesitation, then resolved to rid myself of the ghastly object that had been sent me by an unknown enemy. With the box under my arm, I went out into the glaring sunlight. Half-way across the broad Place, it occurred to me to find the mysterious house to which old Messoudia had conducted me, and with the severed member in my possession to seek an explanation. Did not our mutual pledges give me a right to demand knowledge of Zoraida's welfare? If she had actually fallen a victim to the caprices of a monster, was it not my duty to investigate the affair, and bring to justice the perpetrator of the crime? With such thoughts I crossed the Jews' quarter, and, ascending the long narrow Arab street, the Rue de la Kasbah, leading through the heart of the native quarter, was soon climbing with impatient steps the maze-like labyrinth of shady passages, with their low dark archways and great, gloomy, prison-like houses, among which I hoped to recognise the arched door again. I spent a weary, anxious afternoon. The air was sultry, the Arabs lay stretched on the benches in the _kahouas_, or, squatting lazily on the mats outside, were oblivious to their surroundings. Everything was sleepful. Shoemakers and embroiderers who had ceased work were dozing in their little dens, and as I trudged wearily onward, I passed only a solitary ass with heavily-laden panniers plodding on, followed leisurely by his master, who wore a jasmine flower behind his ear. The stillness was only broken by the far-off voices of some Arab urchins at their play, or ever and anon the thumping of the _derbouka_ and the twanging of the _guenibri_ floating out of the small closely-barred windows of the harems fell upon my ears as I passed. Surely mine was an unique experience, wandering at will, and bearing with me the dead hand of the woman I loved! The bright blue sea was like glass, the sky cloudless, and the whole world seemed at peace; yet I was the least peaceful. Carrying the casket containing the horrible souvenir, I stumbled onward, toiling aimlessly and in vain up through the gloomy, crooked passages. Feelings I had never before experienced assailed me with a force that first perplexed and then astounded me. I was afraid; and what rather heightened than diminished the unwonted sensation, was the fact that I was not afraid of anything tangible either in the present or the future, but of something mysterious and peculiar. Every sound jarred upon my nerves, causing the faintest murmur to seem like the utterance of a great dread, as awful as it was inexplicable. Time after time, finding myself at the boundary of the Kasbah, I again turned and plunged into the narrow, crooked thoroughfares, hoping by wandering in this manner to discover the house to which I had been conducted. Alas! it was a forlorn hope. Messoudia had taken precautions in order that I should not be able to retrace my steps; besides, there were hundreds of houses with similar entrances, and though I strove to decide which was the mysterious residence I sought, I could detect absolutely nothing by which to identify it. Terror shackled my steps. During those hot, anxious hours I several times traversed the streets from the winding Rue Rovigo to the Boulevard Valee on the opposite side of the town, exploring each of the narrow, ancient lanes lying between the Rue Bab Azzoun and the grim old citadel. Every effort to discover the house where I had spent such eventful hours failed, and at last entering a _kahoua_, and having given the lounging Arabs "peace," I sank upon a bench, and, placing the box beside me, called for coffee. While the old Arab was brewing it on his tiled stove, a man in a ragged and rather soiled burnouse entered, and, after grunting a greeting, squatted near me, idly smoking his long haschish pipe. He was of rather forbidding countenance, with a thin black beard, and eyes that seemed to flame like torches. Noticing that I had uttered a salutation in Arabic, one of the customers, a very old man, who was half reclining on a bench opposite me, gravely observed-- "It is not often that the Roumi speaketh our tongue." "No," I replied, smiling. "But I have lived for many moons among thy clansmen, and have wandered far and wide in this thy Land of the Sun." My remark interested them, and was received with muttered satisfaction. As I wore European dress, I knew they viewed me with considerable suspicion. "Hast thou travelled in the Great Desert?" the old man asked. "Yes," I answered. "With the caravans I have been over the Areg and the Sahara, and," laughing, I added, "I have managed to escape from the clutches of Hadj Absalam--" "Cursed be his name! May Allah never show him mercy!" interrupted the dark-faced man, who was smoking quietly beside me. I turned, surprised at such a vehement denunciation. "I heard a rumour at Constantine the other day," remarked my interrogator, "that his men have recently raided the caravan of Ali Ben Hafiz, and massacred the whole party." "That is quite correct," I replied. "I was with them, and because of my Faith my life was spared so that I might be tortured. But I escaped, and returned hence." "Praise be unto the Prophet who hast preserved thee!" he said devoutly. "Indeed, Absalam's people are a terror to all. Our brother Ali Ben Hafiz--may Allah show him mercy--was very well known here." "Yes. Very well known," echoed half a dozen guttural voices. "He often played _damma_ here," continued the old Arab, "and no man was more respected in the Kasbah than he." Then, raising himself and pointing to the end of the low-roofed cafe, where on the walls hung grotesquely-executed texts from the Koran and gaudily-coloured pictures of the city of Mecca, he added, "See there! once while he was smoking in this _kahoua_, a Roumi who chanced to come in drew that portrait. Dost thou recognise him?" Interested, I rose and walked to where the little pencil sketch was hanging. Notwithstanding the dim light, I could see that the features of my dead friend were lifelike, and I deciphered in the corner the signature of one of our greatest living English artists. "It is excellent. The expression on the features is exact," I agreed, and, taking the coffee from the hand of the _kahouaji_, I sipped it, and gave him the ten centimes demanded. Returning to my bench, I suddenly noticed that while my back had been turned to inspect the portrait, the dark-faced man who had entered after me had risen and quietly departed. Next second I made a discovery. "My box!" I gasped. "See! it has gone! _It has been stolen_!" The Arabs, startled from their lethargy, exchanged black looks of disapproval, some of them muttering that True Believers would never pollute themselves by handling the treasure of Infidels. "My box has been taken by that man who has just left!" I cried, rushing headlong out into the street, and glancing quickly up and down. But he had vanished like a shadow! No human being was in sight. Frantically I rushed about, peering eagerly into dark corners and gloomy archways in the vicinity, but the man, who had apparently been watching for an opportunity to obtain possession of the box, had disappeared in that bewildering maze of streets and left no trace behind! At last re-entering the _kahoua_, the customers of which had now risen and were holding a very animated discussion over the dexterously accomplished robbery, I demanded if anyone present knew the man. Everyone, however, disclaimed acquaintance with him. "He is an utter stranger," said the old man who had been conversing with me. "To judge from his face, he cometh from the Areg." "Evidently he hath no friendship for Hadj Absalam," observed one of the Arabs grimly, as in the midst of an exciting argument he stopped to light a cigarette, carefully extinguishing the match with his fingers. "But my loss is irreparable. That box contained"--I hesitated. Then I added, "It contained great treasure." "May Allah consign the thief to Hawiyat for ever!" exclaimed one of the men calmly. "May the Prophet send thee consolation!" added another. "Against Fate thou canst not arm thyself," observed a third. "May the entrails of the thief be burned!" To such remarks I returned thanks, and, heedless of the questions they asked concerning the value of the contents of the stolen box, I stood deep in thought. Though the circumstances were somewhat suspicious that my attention should have been diverted in the manner it had, still there was no mistake that the portrait was actually that of my murdered friend; and, further, the thief had not, as far as I had noticed, spoken to any of those around him. Expert pilferers as the Arabs mostly are, I could not in this instance bring myself to believe that I had been the victim of a plot. Again, it was not a pleasant reflection that the thief might have stolen it thinking it contained valuables, and then, finding the hideous object inside, would in such a case most likely give information which would lead to my arrest for murder! My guilt would be assumed, and to prove my innocence I should experience considerable difficulty. On the other hand, however, the circumstances pointed strongly to the theory that the ragged ruffian had dogged my footsteps in order to obtain possession of the casket. But for what reason? The box had been wrapped in brown paper, there being nothing whatever in its exterior to excite undue curiosity. Was it possible that the thief might have been aware of its contents? Was the possession of this startling evidence of a gruesome tragedy of imperative necessity? If so, why? None of these questions could I answer. I felt that the robbery was not an ordinary one. It was an enigma that I could not solve. The hand, with its rings, had been stolen from me by one who was evidently an expert thief, and, recognising that any attempt to recover it was useless, I thanked the Arabs in the _kahoua_ for their condolences, and left, turning my steps slowly towards the European quarter. I recollected that I had promised Zoraida to set out that night on my journey into the distant Desert. Again and again her earnest words in her own musical tongue rang in my ears: "Thou wilt go for my sake," she had said. "Remember the instructions I have given thee; and, above all, promise to seek no explanation of what thou mayest hear or see regarding me until thou hast returned from Agadez. Thou wilt undertake this mission in order to save my life, to rescue me from a horrible fate that threateneth to overwhelm me!" Had she already succumbed to the fate she dreaded? Utterly powerless to obtain any information that might lead to the elucidation of the extraordinary mystery, I at length, after calmly reviewing the situation over a cigarette under the palms in the Place Bresson, resolved to keep my promise to her, and before midnight I left the City of the Corsairs on the first stage of my long, tedious journey southward towards the sun. The temptation to return to England and leave the mystery unsolved had indeed been great, yet I could not forget that I had pledged my word to a woman I loved better than life. She had declared that I alone could save her, and trusted me. These thoughts caused my decision to attempt the perilous journey. Is it not, indeed, true that sometimes beauty draws us with a single hair towards our doom? Why, I wondered, had she been so intensely anxious that I should refrain from seeking any explanation of these strange, ever-deepening and perplexing mysteries? Her words and actions were those of a woman apprehensive of some terrible tragedy that she was powerless to avert; and even though I started that night from Algiers fully determined to learn the secret of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders I carried, and its bearing upon her welfare, yet that shrill, despairing cry I had heard after leaving her presence still sounded distinctly in my ears, the dolorous, agonised wail of the hapless victim of a hidden crime. CHAPTER TWENTY. AFTER THE FATIHA. Again I found myself alone in the vast, sun-baked wilderness, where all is silent, and the pulse of life stands still. Twenty-eight hours over one of the most execrable railways in the world had taken me back to Biskra, where I remained a day, writing letters home to England, and otherwise making preparations for a lengthened absence from civilisation. Then, mounted on Zoraida's fleet horse, I set forth for Tuggurt. Though the sun's rays were scarcely as powerful as when I had travelled over the same ground three months before, yet the inconveniences and perils of the Desert were legion. In order that the Arabs I met should not deem me worth robbing, I cultivated a ragged appearance; my gandoura was of the coarsest quality worn by the Kabyles, my haick was soiled and torn, and my burnouse old and darned. I had purchased the clothing second-hand in the market-place at Biskra, and now wore a most woe-begone aspect, my only possession of value perceptible being a new magazine-rifle of British pattern. Yet stored away in my saddle-bags I had food, a fair sum of money, a more presentable burnouse, and, what was more precious than all, there reposed in its rotting, worm-eaten leather case that mysterious object, the Crescent of Glorious Wonders. Zoraida's letter to the _imam_, however, I carried in my wallet in the pocket on the breast of my gandoura. Terribly wearying and monotonous that journey proved. Only those who have experienced the appalling silence and gigantic immensity of the Great Sahara can have any idea of the utter loneliness experienced by a man journeying without companions. In that dreary waste one is completely isolated from the world amid the most desolate and inhospitable surroundings, with the whitening bones of man and beast lying here and there, ever reminding him with gruesome vividness of the uncertainty of his own existence. Knowing, however, that I should be unlikely to fall in with a caravan travelling south until I reached El Biodh, I pushed onward, and after five days reached Tuggurt, where I was the welcome guest of Captain Carmier, the only European there, his Parisian lieutenant having gone into the Sidi Rachid Oasis in charge of some native recruits. As the captain and I sat together smoking and sipping our absinthe under the cool arcade with its horse-shoe arches that runs across the now deserted harem-garden of the Kasbah, I retailed to him the latest news I had picked up in Algiers. "We know nothing here in this uncivilised oven," the officer said, laughing, and at the same time flicking some dust from off his braided coat-sleeve. "The Paris papers are always a fortnight to three weeks old, and, there being no postal service, I have to send to Biskra for them." "But you have very comfortable quarters here," I said. "Comfortable! Oh yes," he replied; "but the life is abominably monotonous. I would rather be in command of an advanced post down in the south. There one leads a wild, free life and has plenty of enjoyment. Take Deschanel's squadron of Spahis as an instance. You have already had some experience with them, so I need not describe the rollicking life they lead, scouring the plains in search of that daring old pirate, Hadj Absalam." "Have you heard anything of the old chieftain lately?" I asked eagerly. "No. Since the sharp brush with Deschanel's detachment he seems to have mysteriously disappeared. After the defeat of his band we did our best to capture him, feeling that with his power broken he would fall an easy prey. I at once organised detachments of Spahis, Chasseurs, and Turcos, who for nearly a month patrolled the Desert, made inquiries of all the neighbouring tribes, and did their utmost to discover the direction in which the fugitive had gone. But, as usual, all was in vain." "Then he has again escaped you?" Carmier nodded, blowing a cloud of smoke upward from his lips. "He seems to move from one place to another imperceptibly, for when he flies he leaves not a clue by which he can be traced. Only last week the Sheikh of the Ourlana, who had just returned from Algiers, told me positively that he saw him, dressed as a Jew merchant, enjoying himself at one of the cafes on the Boulevard de la Republique. That, of course, is _un conte en l'air_. The old rascal may be daring, but he would never risk arrest by going to Algiers." I remained silent. Was it not most likely that while Zoraida sojourned beside the sea, the Pirate of the Desert would be there also? I did not, however, tell him of my enchantress, but agreed with him that such an assertion was incredible. When presently my friend had invited me to remain with him a couple of days, and I had accepted, he suddenly asked me-- "Where are you going when you leave here?" "To Agadez." "To Agadez?" he echoed in concern. "You are not going alone? It is not safe. Surely the mere love of adventure has not induced you to set out on such a perilous ride?" "I am fulfilling an urgent mission," I answered vaguely. "_Bien_! and one fraught with more dangers than you imagine. What possible object can you have in risking your life in journeying to the City of the Sorcerers, which, if all reports are true, is extremely unsafe for Christians on account of the fanatical character of the inhabitants?" "The object of my journey is a secret," I said. "I have promised to attempt it, and must accomplish it at all hazards." "And the person you have promised is a woman--eh?" he hazarded, laughing. "Who told you?" I asked, starting in surprise. "Oh, I merely guessed," he answered. "But, speaking candidly, I would urge you most strongly to abandon the idea." "I cannot," I said. "All my happiness--my whole future depends upon whether I accomplish the journey successfully. Besides, I have not hesitated before to cross the Desert, why should I now?" "Because many of the regions through which you must pass to get to Assiou to join the route to Agadez are peopled by tribes intensely hostile. Their prejudice against Europeans is even greater than in Morocco, therefore it will require considerable courage to face such insurmountable barriers." "It is not a question of courage," I said; "it's a matter of duty." Scarcely had these words fallen from my lips when the quick clatter of horse's hoofs sounded in the outer courtyard, and a few minutes later a Spahi orderly came towards us, saluting his officer, saying-- "An Arab has arrived in haste from Es-Safla bearing important news." "Bring him in," Cannier replied. In a few moments a tall, thin, aquiline-featured Bedouin, dirty, stained by long travel, and wearing a very ragged burnouse, stalked in, and, wishing us peace, handed the captain a letter, which he tore open and immediately read. "_Dieu_!" he gasped, starting up. "A reverse! The Ennitra, with the Arabs of the Ouled Ba' Hammou, have risen, and, attacking the Spahis and Chasseurs near Ain Souf, massacred the whole of them! As far as is known, not a single man has survived, Paul Deschanel himself succumbing to his wounds a few hours after writing this report, which has been forwarded to me by the Sheikh of the Kel-Ahamellen, our friends. The slaughter must have been awful, for, according to the Sheikh's letter, the enemy treated the wounded and prisoners with the most fiendish barbarity." "Horrible!" I said. "Poor Deschanel! He was an excellent friend to me." "He was good to everybody; one of the best soldiers serving under the Tricolour, poor fellow." Then, turning to the Arab, who was unconcernedly rolling a cigarette, he thanked him for delivering his Sheikh's message, and told the orderly to look after him. Again and again Carmier eagerly perused the report, penned in a shaky, uncertain hand by the dead officer, and, much affected, he read me extracts from the black record of treachery and brutal butchery, a record which spoke in the highest terms of the fearlessness of his men and the cool bravery they displayed, even though in face of the overwhelming hordes death was a foregone conclusion from the outset of the fight. The massacre had taken place at the well of Dhaya, where the Spahis had halted on their way to In Salah, and as they had been surrounded at night and cut up, it was evident that my friend Octave Uzanne, the man who had so nobly sacrificed everything in order that the woman he loved should live happily with her husband, had, alas! fallen. Indeed, I was filled with a grief no less poignant than that experienced by Carmier, when I remembered that those valiant comrades with whom I had fought side by side when we defeated Hadj Absalam's piratical cut-throats in the Meskam had now been treacherously attacked and ruthlessly butchered. The captain, however, gave himself little time for reflection over the sad incident. Calling for writing materials, he sat down and penned an explanatory note to the General of Division, who happened to be at Biskra making his inspection. He recommended that a punitive expedition should be immediately dispatched into the hostile district, and stated, that if the War Department in Paris sanctioned it, he himself could furnish half the men. In an hour, a smart Spahi, with his rifle slung at his back over his scarlet burnouse, mounted his horse under the great arched gate of the Kasbah, and into his hands the captain gave the dispatch, ordering him to ride with all speed to Biskra, where, by travelling incessantly and changing his horse at five Arab villages he named, he could arrive within three days. The man, placing the letter in his capacious breast pocket, saluted, and, setting spurs in his horse, sped rapidly away; after which Carmier, pleading that he had some further dispatches to attend to, left me to wander at will through the great courts of the ancient fortress. Presently I came across the Arab who had brought the sad news from his Sheikh, and who, after his meal was now squatting under a shady arcade lazily smoking. Leaning against one of the twisted columns, I questioned him further upon the reverse, but he apparently knew very few of the actual facts. He told me that he intended to return to In Salah on the following day, and it at once occurred to me that we might be travelling companions as far as El Biodh. Knowing that this man, whose name I learnt was Gajere, was trustworthy, otherwise he would not have been sent by the friendly Sheikh, I suggested that we should perform the journey together, an arrangement which met with his heartiest approval. When the _mueddin_ called from the tall minaret of the great white mosque at sundown, I watched the man of the Kel-Ahamellen wash his feet and hands in the courtyard and enter to recite his Fatiha, and to ask Allah to give us peace upon our journey over the great barren plain where death is ever-present. Strangely enough, however, I chanced to be lounging with the captain near the gate of the Kasbah, when, an hour later, the devout Moslems came trooping out, and as I looked across to the narrow doorway, I saw Gajere emerge, accompanied by an unkempt-looking Arab whose face struck me as strangely familiar. The pair stood for a few moments hand in hand, engaged in excited conversation, until suddenly they detected my presence. Then, exchanging quick, significant looks and uttering _slaamas_, Gajere and his friend parted, the latter striding quickly away in an opposite direction, and, turning a corner, was soon lost to view. Notwithstanding the dim twilight, however, I had made an astounding discovery, for I recognised the man who had fled so quickly as the Arab who had sat next to me in the little _kahoua_ in Algiers-- the man who had stolen the cut-off hand! Had he followed me? If so, with what purpose? I felt convinced that his presence and his friendship with the man from the Desert boded evil, and throughout that night grimly-apprehensive thoughts caused me the most intense anxiety. By no mere coincidence was it that we should thus meet. The unkempt, fierce-looking ruffian had some sinister design in dogging my footsteps, and the nature of this object I was determined at all costs to ascertain. Therefore, I did not hesitate to adhere to previous arrangements, and, regardless of the consequences, I set out with Gajere. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. A STARTLING REVELATION. Day after day for a whole fortnight Gajere and I rode onward together, passing through Temacin, El Hadjira, and the arid Chambaas region. Now and then we halted at Arab villages in the oases, but the greater part of our time was spent in the dry, waterless wilderness. He was an intelligent fellow, full of anecdote and _bonhomie_, a splendid horseman, and in every sense a typical Bedouin. Yet, somehow, I could not get rid of a strange feeling of insecurity such as I had scarcely ever before experienced. These vague apprehensions of impending evil were increased by an incident which occurred one night while we were sleeping under the little lean-to awning which served as a tent. We had halted at a small fertile oasis after we had been on our journey eight days, and under the cool waving palms had stretched ourselves for the night. I suppose I must have been asleep nearly two hours, my head pillowed upon the saddle-bag containing the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, when suddenly I was awakened by my companion stirring. In a moment I became filled with suspicion, and with bated breath lay--determined not to betray my watchfulness. Gajere at first sat up listening intently; then, as he bent over and found my eyes closed and my breathing heavy and regular, became apparently reassured. The little awning did not admit of one standing upright, but my treacherous fellow-traveller, moving slowly and noiselessly in order not to disturb me, bent once again to make certain that I had no knowledge of things about me. Those were anxious, exciting moments. With closed eyes I lay prostrate and helpless, well knowing the futility of a struggle with that sinewy son of the Desert, in whose grasp I should quickly be as helpless as a child. I was unable to draw my revolver without attracting his attention, and knew myself to be in a position of extreme peril. Unaware of his designs, I breathed heavily, and waited. Seconds seemed hours, for the terrible thought occurred to me that he was in league with the sinister-looking thief, and his object was murder. I felt assured that I was to fall the victim of a foul conspiracy. At last he rose, and, with his eyes still fixed upon me, drew from his sash his long curved knife with its carved handle. I shuddered. The edge of the murderous weapon was keen as a razor. Muttering some guttural malediction in Arabic, the exact purport of which I could not catch, he placed the knife between his teeth and suddenly turned and crept silently out upon his hands and knees, halting in front of the tent, as if listening. Was he waiting the advent of his fellow-conspirator before assassinating me? I strained my ears to catch every sound. Among the dense tropical foliage there were many strange noises; the distant cry of a jackal broke upon my ear, but I could detect no sound of human voices. Again a noise sounded quite close to me, and, stretching forth my hand, I grasped my revolver. The noise was receding, and by slightly turning I could see in the dim half-light the indistinct figure of Gajere creeping slowly away in the shadow as stealthily as a beast of prey. What could be his object? I wondered. That he meant murder was apparent by the readiness in which he held his knife, and as I was the only person besides himself in that lonely region, I confess I viewed the situation with mingled alarm and dread. Fully a quarter of an hour elapsed. The suspense was awful, for Gajere had now crept away, and was lost in the wild undergrowth of hulfa and aloes. Perhaps he had gone to give the signal to the scoundrel who had followed me from Algiers! Feeling that my revolver was fully loaded, I grasped it firmly, and lay on the alert in readiness to spring up and defend myself. The loneliness was appalling. Dismal howls came from the small pond where wild animals were drinking, but in the gloom I could detect no moving object, and began at last to think that my companion had deserted me. At length, however, he returned as quietly as he had departed. I expected to see a second dark form, but breathed more freely when I reassured myself that he was still alone. His knife had been replaced in its sheath, and after halting a few seconds, and holding his quick ear towards the wind so as to catch every sound, he entered, and, throwing himself down again beside me, was quickly asleep. I scarcely closed my eyes during the remainder of that night, fearing treachery, yet nothing further transpired to confirm my suspicions of his intention to assassinate me, and his mysterious actions puzzled me considerably. One evening at sundown, when we had halted two days distant from El Biodh, and we were eating our kousskouss together, I succeeded in inducing him to become more communicative about himself. "I was born and bred in the Desert," he said, in answer to my inquiries. "The sand of the Areg was my cradle, and I have been a wanderer through the Sahara ever since." "Have you no fixed abode?" I asked. "None; only my tent. We of the Kel-Ahamellen are no town-dwellers; the Desert is our home, and in the oases we seek our rest. Sometimes our caravans travel to El Golea or Touat, and at rare intervals even into Morocco, but our men are always glad to leave the towns and return to us. I, too, shall not be sorry to return to my wife and children, who are encamped with our tribe at the well of Tadjemoult. Next moon--if Allah willeth it--we shall set out on our yearly pilgrimage to Mount Hikena, under the shadow of which is the holy tomb of Azaka n Akkar--to whom may the Merciful give peace." "I recollect," I said at length, determined if possible to learn something of the man who had robbed me,--"I recollect that on the night before we turned our faces from Tuggurt, whilst leaving the mosque, thou wert in close conversation with a man. Who was he?" "A stranger," he replied abruptly, glancing quickly at me with suspicion. "Not a stranger to me," I said meaningly. "I recognised his face." "Thou knowest him?" he exclaimed, surprised. "Then thou art forewarned to take precaution for thine own safety." "Why?" I asked in alarm. "Surely thou hast not hidden from me thy knowledge of some impending evil?" "Thou art a Roumi, while I am a servant of the Prophet," he answered. "Infidels are our enemies, and it is forbidden that we should warn our foe of our plans for attack." "Is there danger, then? Doth this man bear me malice for nought?" "Know, O Roumi," he said solemnly, "thou art indeed in grave peril. I should not tell thee, only the man who addressed me in the courtyard of the House of Allah made an infamous proposition to me, and afterwards I discovered that he was called Labakan, of the tribe of the Ennitra, and one of the most renowned cut-throats of Hadj Absalam, the Terror of the Desert." "The Ennitra?" I cried. "And he is following me?" The Arab slowly nodded, rolling his cigarette thoughtfully. "What villainous proposal did he make to thee?" I demanded quickly. "He offered me a bag of gold to assist in thy murder," my companion replied hesitatingly. "And thou hast refused--eh?" "Though we of the Kel-Ahamellen may thieve and plunder, we do not stain our hands with blood," he said proudly. "The men under the green banner of Hadj Absalam have times without number attacked, murdered, and robbed us, carrying off our women to their harems, and selling our children into slavery beyond Lake Tsad. This man called Labakan, son of Omar, who invited me to help him in his foul plot against thee, is the same who has acted as leader on many of those murderous expeditions." "But why should he be so desirous of killing me?" I asked. "He explained that thou hadst on one occasion escaped from them after being taken prisoner, and that, hidden in thy saddle-bag thou hast a treasure of enormous value." "Treasure? I have no treasure," I said. "A man doth not carry his wealth with him when passing through the land of his enemies." "Labakan said the treasure was neither gold, silver, nor precious stones, but that thou hadst in thy possession something which belonged to their tribe, and which they had solemnly sworn to regain, even though the attempt might cost the lives of those who followed thee. In further speech he told me that Hadj Absalam--the despot who ruleth his people with a rod of iron, and whom may the Merciful doom to all the horrors of Hawiyat--had ordered him to follow thee to the ends of the earth to regain the lost treasure. If he succeeds, he is to obtain as a reward the most beautiful houri of the Desert Pirate's harem, but if he doth not accomplish his mission successfully within twelve moons, his head will fall under the sword of the executioner." "Did he tell thee of what this valuable treasure consists?" "No. He only said that if lost to his people it could never be replaced." "And dost thou really think that this villain actually meaneth to obtain by foul means the contents of my saddle-bags?" I asked, feeling somewhat uncomfortable at this startling revelation. "Alas! I do. Of this, the most unscrupulous caitiff of the Ennitra, thou must beware. Take heed of thine own safety when we part. Never relax thy vigilance while in the land of Al-Islam, and may the Merciful One guard thee in thy perilous journey to Agadez." "Is this man Labakan alone, or is there a conspiracy to murder me?" I asked. "I am afraid, from what he hath told me, there is a widespread plot to compass thy death," he said. "Apparently thou hast incensed them exceedingly by learning some strange secret which they desired should never be divulged. As death closes the mouth, Hadj Absalam hath ordered that thou shalt be slain. Under such circumstances I hardly think it wise that thou shouldst venture alone through the Valley of Air." "It is imperative," I answered; "I must not halt until I enter the gates of Agadez. To me also the result of my mission is a matter of life--or death." "May thy treasure be preserved unto thee, and may Allah--the One Merciful to whom be boundless praise--give thee strength to overcome all thine enemies. May they be vanquished and be swept from the earth to the burning land of Al Sahira like grains of sand before the sirocco," said he earnestly, hitching up his burnouse. "I tender thee thanks for thy warning, Gajere," I said. "For thy action thou wilt indeed receive the reward of the One Worthy of Praise, and drink of the waters of Al Cawthar, which are sweeter than honey, whiter than milk, and cooler than the snow." "And thou wilt, I hope, believe some day that Allah is the One Lord of the Three Worlds, and that Mohammed is his Prophet," he murmured devoutly, looking at me with his deep-set eyes. But I did not answer. I had no intention of entering upon a controversy on religious subjects, but sat pondering deeply over the plot against me, which evidently had for its object the recovery of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders. His suspicions of approaching attack had caused him to arise in the night, and, armed with his keen blade, reconnoitre for the crafty assassin. He was, after all, my friend and protector. How, I wondered, could Hadj Absalam know that the mysterious object was in my possession? Surely Zoraida had not told him? Yet might he not in his rage, after learning of the catastrophe his tribe had sustained by the loss of the Wonderful Crescent, have taken up a scimitar and struck off her hand? The thought was horrible. However fearless I might have been of the terrors of the Desert, I could not close my eyes to the fact that this murderous ruffian Labakan was going about offering as payment for my murder a bag of gold, and I knew that ere long an attempt upon my life would most surely be made. Mine was decidedly a most unenviable position, and when at El Biodh two days later, I bade farewell to my faithful friend Gajere, the earnest blessings he invoked upon me aroused within me an additionally apprehensive feeling of insecurity. This journey I had undertaken because of the passionate love I entertained for Zoraida, but I could not forget the grave prophecy of old Ali Ben Hafiz, when the Omen of the Camel's Hoof had been revealed. Had he not told me that it was always fatal to love, and in the majority of instances fatal to the lover? Yet thoughts of Zoraida trusting in me gave me renewed courage, and I resolved to push onward to the south with a stout heart, and endeavour to gain the mysterious knowledge that was necessary to bring to us both the peace, happiness, and riches of this world. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. MAKITA'S ENEMIES. Though I sought the advice of the cadi of the strange old Arab town of El Biodh, and also explained my desire to several of the Sheikhs whom I met, I could hear of no one going in my direction. To set out into the naked Desert alone would, I knew, be a most foolish proceeding, therefore I could do nothing but wait until, through the good offices of a man to whom Gajere introduced me before his departure, I obtained permission to accompany a caravan of the tribe Kel-Imanan, whose chief town is Djanet, about two hundred miles on my route, and one morning, after I had remained as the guest of the friendly Arab for a week, I once more found myself on the back of a camel, and from my elevated seat cast a last glance over the pleasant picture presented by the oasis. [The word "Kel" denotes the habitual residents of a Saharan district.] Our caravan, headed by the Sheikh Makita, numbered about ninety souls, and included men, women, and children, who with fifty camels had been to In Salah with salt and dates, and were now returning with cotton and silk goods, which would eventually find their way into the country in the far south beyond Lake Tsad. Makita and I were soon very good friends, but from the moment we started I observed that he ruled his people in a most despotic manner. They were Children of the Sun, with whom theft is no crime, and revenge is virtue. The first hours of our journey were pleasant enough, for we passed through a beautiful palm-grove bordered by scattered gardens, where the people were busy in the cool of the morning irrigating the corn and vegetables. They came out to see us depart, but without expressing any feeling, hostile or otherwise. After a mile and a half the plantation ceased, and presently we entered a luxurious valley between three and four miles broad, rich in herbage and full of ethel trees, which crowned the tops of small mounds. Several other valleys, rich in sebot and adorned with talha trees, brought us to the well of Gara Beida, where we encamped for the night at the foot of some cliffs of considerable height, which were to be ascended on the following day. Commencing our task at dawn, we found the precipitous path wound through loose blocks, and the ascent proved most difficult. The loads had in many instances to be taken off the camels, and we all had to climb on foot up the steep, narrow way over the rugged red sandstone. The ascent took over two hours, and at last we found ourselves on a great rocky level destitute of herbage, stretching away as far as the eye could reach. This region was the wildest, most barren, and most difficult to traverse that I had ever experienced, and it was then that I realised the wisdom of old Makita, who had prevailed upon me to leave Zoraida's horse behind and mount a camel. Very slow and tedious our journey proved for four days, the rough nature of the ground making it exceedingly difficult for the camels, until on the fifth day we began to descend by a narrow rocky ravine into a deeper region, amid scenery that was grander than I expected to find in that arid country. Here I saw plants and flowers, the most noticeable among the latter being one that grew about twenty feet high, bearing a white and violet flower which my Arab companions called "tursha." There were also the jadariyeh, the shia, and the damankadda and dum palms, all of which, however, are familiar to the traveller in the Great Sahara. There was a small torrent too, the bed of which was overgrown by wild melons, and beside the rippling water we halted for the night, prior to moving out into the wilderness again. Few, however, moved far from the camp that evening, for my dark-faced companions spoke with timorous exclamations of the numbers of lions which infested the valleys. While the camels browsed greedily upon the fresh allwot, the monotony of the evening was relieved by performances by Makita's musicians and the dancing of several Soudanese slave girls. On the following day we entered a much wilder country, and for a week we plodded on over the hot dry sand, during which time we only came across one well. The sun was blazing, its fiery rays beating down upon us more fiercely as we travelled further south. The choking clouds of sand raised by the camels, the inability to wash, and the continual consuming thirst, were some of the many discomforts we had to bear. Within sight of a great barren peak called Mount Telout, rising dark and rugged some three thousand feet above the level of the trackless, sandy waste, we passed, and entered the inhospitable country of the Izhaban. Not until a few days later, when we had halted at a well called Djerdeb for our noonday rest, did Makita coolly inform me that the country through which we were passing was the territory of a slave-raiding tribe, the Kel-Fade, who had on several occasions besieged their town Djanet, and had even gone so far as to threaten Rhat, the principal town of the Northern Touareg. "But dost thou apprehend attack?" I asked concernedly, as we squatted together under the shadow of a tree, a little apart from the others. "It is as Allah willeth it," he replied gravely, stroking his grey beard and taking a deliberate pull at his long pipe. "One of the camel-drivers, however, hath declared that he detected a horseman of the Kel-Fade in hiding in the valley through which we passed two days ago. It is possible that he is a scout; if so, we may find ourselves compelled to fight." "Was it absolutely necessary to pass through this region? Could we not have avoided it?" "No. On the plain called Admar neither man nor beast can exist, for there are no wells, and the region remaineth unexplored. In a week we shall enter the gates of Djanet. Till then, we must be vigilant and watch warily, lest we are surprised. If we were, it would peradventure mean death or slavery for all of us." This was not reassuring. Previous experience had taught me how deadly were the feuds between the various desert tribes possessed of souls of fire, and how fierce and sanguinary were the struggles when collisions occurred. I had not forgotten the swift, awful fate of the caravan of Ali Ben Hafiz, nor the bloody combat with the fierce freebooters of Hadj Absalam; and when I reflected that the packs of our camels contained very valuable merchandise, and that nearly a quarter of the number comprising our party were women and children, I confess I had some misgivings. As the succeeding days passed in perfect security, and as the Sheikh, to judge by his jubilant manner, considered that the danger of attack was over, the apprehensions passed entirely from my mind. Though the heat was intense and the journey monotonous, our long string of camels plodded onward at the same slow, measured pace day after day, regardless of the fiery sun. At night in the moonlight, when the wind blew in short refreshing gusts, the camel-drivers would sit and play _damma_, the women would chatter and scold their children, and the musicians would twang weird Arab airs upon their queer-shaped instruments or thump on their _derboukas_, while ebon-faced damsels danced on the mat spread for them. Indeed, under night's blue arch life in a desert encampment has an indescribable charm that is irresistible to those of roving disposition, to whom the hum of cities is a torture and who have thrown off the conventional gyves of civilisation to wander south beyond the Atlas. In the dull crimson light of the dying day, that made the foliage of the palms and talha trees look black as funeral plumes above us, we halted at the well of Zarzaoua in a small oasis in the centre of a wild rocky district known to the Arabs as the Adrar. It was, the Sheikh informed me, only three days distant from Djanet, and the approaching termination of the journey, which had extended over four months, put everyone in a good humour. On the morrow we should cross the boundary, and my companions would enter their own country; then the remainder of the journey to their town would be devoid of danger. At the hour of prayer each of our men prostrated himself towards Mecca, and old Makita, a very devout and bigoted Moslem with Time's deep furrows on his brows, cried aloud the following words, which were repeated by his people, who at the end of every sentence kissed the ground. "O Allah! bless and preserve and increase and perpetuate and benefit and be propitious to our Lord Mohammed and to his family and to his Companions, and be Thou their preserver. O Allah! these Thy people are delivered. One and all, may Thy Blessing rest upon us. O Allah! pardon our sins and veil our faults, and place not over us one who feareth not Thee, and who pitieth not us, and pardon us and the True Believers, men and women, the quick of them and the dead, for verily Thou, O Allah, art the hearer, the near to us, and the answerer of our supplications." Then, after reciting the testification, and drawing their palms down their faces, they went through a two-bow prayer, and the devotions, throughout exceedingly impressive, ended. Immediately there was bustle and activity. Camels were lightened of their packs and allowed to browse at will upon the long oat grass, a tent was quickly pitched for the Sheikh, a fire was kindled, the kousskouss was cooked, and as the dim twilight darkened into night and the moon's rays shone like silver through the feathery palms, sounds of singing and revelry awakened the echoes of the fertile grove. Makita and I had given ourselves up to cigarettes and calm repose as we squatted on a mat and lazily watched the terpsichorean efforts of a thick-lipped young negress, whose movements were exceedingly graceful as compared with those who had on previous evenings essayed the same performance for our entertainment. The cool breeze fanning my sun-seared cheeks gave me a feeling of perfect peace and ease after the heat and burden of the long weary day, and lolling upon the cushions spread for me, the monotonous chant of the people assembled and the measured thumping of tom-toms almost lulled me to sleep. Suddenly the sound of a shot startled us. The music ceased, and the men, with ears alert, exchanged quick glances. Loud fiendish yells rent the air, and in a moment, almost before anyone could seize a gun, a hundred dark-visaged horsemen, with their white burnouses flowing behind, swept down upon us, firing their long rifles indiscriminately and shouting the most horrible maledictions. Within a few seconds a fierce fight had commenced. The shrieking women and children flew into the thick dark undergrowth, while the men, seizing their arms and obtaining cover where they could, kept up a sharp fusillade, which had its effect in temporarily checking our assailants. Fortunately my magazine-rifle was at hand, and it proved a most deadly weapon. Our men were mostly splendid shots, but the enemy, who proved to be the Kel-Fade, had the advantage of vastly superior numbers. The fight was desperate. Dismounting, and leaving a dozen of their number lying dead, our enemy withdrew among the palms, whence they poured upon us a galling fire. Makita and I, lying on the ground beside each other, discharged our rifles steadily whenever a white-robed figure showed itself among the trees. Without betraying any fear, the old Arab reloaded time after time and shot as coolly as if gazelle-hunting, an example that was followed by his men, some of whom, however, were falling under the quick volleys from the enemy. For fully a quarter of an hour the fight continued, when suddenly loud triumphant yells burst forth as a second party of horsemen rode down upon us. Then we knew defeat was inevitable. Against nearly two hundred Arabs armed to the teeth we could make no further stand, yet, as the reinforcements dashed among us, our men sprang up, and a second later a dozen horses were riderless. Again and again rifles rang out and men fell to earth mortally wounded, but the steady fire from the palms opposite was playing fearful havoc among us, and my companions were each moment falling back lifeless. Yet not a man was dismayed; each, struggling desperately for his life, bore his part in the hasty defence. Considering the suddenness and vigour of the attack, it was indeed surprising that we could offer such a stubborn resistance, for up to the present the losses of our assailants were much heavier than ours; nevertheless, by degrees, the firing of the Kel-Fade grew more rapid, and was, alas! more effectual. Once the hostile Arabs made a rush in our direction, but we were prepared. Having my magazine fully loaded at that moment, my rifle proved an effective addition to those of my companions, but again and again the effort of the enemy was repeated, and though some men fell every time, they at last succeeded in rushing right in upon us. Standing in deadly peril, each moment was one of the most intense excitement, when in the dark shadow rifles flashed, and hoarse, fierce yells sounded above the firing as the tall Arabs dashed forward to secure us as prisoners. The struggle was desperate, literally hand to hand, when suddenly I heard a loud wail, and the Sheikh dropped his rifle, stumbled forward, and fell heavily to the ground. Then, for the first time, I remembered that the Crescent of Glorious Wonders--my treasure which if lost could never be replaced--was in my camel's pack, lying with the others about two hundred yards from where I stood! Turning, I saw in dismay that a number of the Kel-Fade had already cut open the packages of merchandise and were examining their booty. Covering one of the men with my rifle, I picked him off, but as he fell, I saw that at a little distance from the others a tall thin Arab had opened my pack and was rifling it. Meanwhile by the death of Makita my companions had become demoralised. They saw that to attempt to drive off their assailants was an utterly forlorn hope, for though they never relaxed their fire for a moment, yet half of their number were lying dead or wounded, and most of the women and children were in the hands of their deadly enemy. A fight between these Sons of the Desert is always a stubbornly-contested butchery, and this was no exception. My friends made a gallant stand against an enemy treble their strength, but at last the brave fellows felt themselves overpowered, and suddenly acknowledged their enemy's superiority, although they fought on hand-to-hand to the very last. In the awful _melee_ I found myself close to where the camels' packs were piled. The tall thin-faced Arab who had been turning over my saddle-bag drew forth the old leather case, tore it open, and took out the Crescent. Holding it in his hands, he regarded it with evident curiosity, but in an instant I sprang upon him. The knowledge of its value as the means of securing to Zoraida and myself peace and happiness gave me courage and a strength almost demoniacal. Indeed, I was surprised at my own actions, for, falling upon him, I snatched the mysterious object from his grasp, and ere he could raise his flashing blade, I had drawn the knife from my sash and buried it in his breast. The moment was one of desperation. I had struck the blow unerringly, and with a loud cry he fell backward a corpse. Ere I could recover from the shock my deed caused me, I felt myself seized by three stalwart Arabs, whose fierce, determined faces told me I need expect no mercy, and though I struggled violently, cords were quickly slipped upon my wrists, and in a moment I found myself helpless as a babe. Though I clung to the Crescent of Glorious Wonders with all the strength I possessed, it was wrenched from my grasp from behind, and that so quickly in the confusion and horrible bloodshed that I failed to discover into whose possession it had passed! My heart sank within me and I became filled with dark, gloomy forebodings. The treasure that had been confided to my safe custody by Zoraida I had lost, and with it had vanished in an instant all hope of winning her! Had not she plainly told me that the successful accomplishment of my mission would save her life?--yet I had now lost the strangely-shaped steel, the mystic properties of which were known to only two persons in the world! Was this dire catastrophe prophetic of the end? In those few seconds the hope that for so many weeks had buoyed me and incited me to push determinedly onward to my goal; the anticipations that some day I should return to civilisation and claim as my wife the most lovely woman I had ever gazed upon, were shattered by this double disaster that had so suddenly befallen me. While the Crescent remained in my possession, and I was free to journey southward, there was still, I felt, a possibility of some day reaching Agadez. With my treasure filched from me the object of my journey had, however, gone. Though I had travelled so many weary miles towards the City of the Sorcerers, my efforts on Zoraida's behalf were thus rendered entirely futile, and reflection only filled me with such black dismay and despair, that, had not my knife been wrested from me, I verily believe I should have dealt myself a fatal blow. My zealously-guarded treasure had in a second passed from my keeping into unknown hands that would most probably toss it away as worthless, yet how could I recover it now that I had been captured by these fierce, brutal slave-raiders, who were reputed to be among the most merciless of the wild freebooters of the Desert? The disaster overwhelmed me. Bound hand and foot, I stood powerless in the hands of my enemies. The morrow's sun to me might never rise! CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. THE TREASURE OF ASKIA. Brief were the moments allowed me for lamentation over my irreparable loss. Amid the wild scenes of carnage the thief had disappeared, and though I just caught a glimpse of his profile, his features had been partially hidden by the haick surrounding his face, and in the dark shadow it was impossible to distinguish his countenance sufficiently to again recognise him. Had my treasure consisted of gold or gems there would have been some ground for hoping for its eventual recovery, but a mere piece of rusted metal, apparently valueless, would doubtless be quickly cast aside. Even now--even while I stood helpless in the hands of my captors--it might have been already tossed away into the rank vegetation of the oasis; it might be lying hidden and unheeded within a few yards of me! Yet so tightly was I bound hand and foot, that the cords cut into my flesh each time I attempted to move. While three tall fierce men of the Fade, armed to the teeth and as sinister-looking a trio as ever it had been my lot to meet, mounted guard over me, others were with scant mercy securing those of my companions who had survived the sudden ferocious attack, while the remainder of the band gleefully investigated the contents of our camels' packs, replacing them upon the animals ready for transportation to their own region. Those of the captured caravan who struggled to get free were shown no quarter. One of my whilom friends, a fine, stalwart fellow, held fast by several of the hostile band quite close to me, fought desperately to rescue a woman of his tribe who was being brutally cuffed by two hulking fellows. For a few seconds he struck right and left, felling one of the men who held him, but ere he could rush forward to protect the defenceless female, a quick knife-thrust caused him to stagger and fall. "Cowards!" he gasped in his death-agony. "May Allah curse thee and thy sons' sons! Thou canst not fight fairly! Thou canst only strike by stealth, and make war on women. May thy bodies moulder and drop limb from limb; may the flames of the Land of Torments devour thee; may thine accursed dust be scattered afar by the sirocco, and may thy souls descend into Hawiyat." "Silence! Wouldst thou, son of a dog! speak thus insolently unto thy masters?" cried the dark-faced brute who had dealt the cowardly blow. "Go thou to join the Companions of the Left Hand, and may torments ever rack thee in the fire unquenchable! Take that--and that!" and, bending, he raised his hand swiftly, burying his long dagger twice in the prostrate man's breast. One agonised groan and the unfortunate Arab rolled over a corpse. The murderer's companions laughed heartily. Scenes of relentless butchery such as these were occurring on every hand. Our fierce captors were merciless; their hatred deadly. A word was quickly followed by a cruel, unerring blow that either maimed or proved fatal. A wounded slave is only an encumbrance, therefore, in almost every instance, when an enemy's knife struck, it entered a vital part. The horrors of that night were sickening, the bloodshed truly awful. Men, women, even children were slaughtered out of the mere fiendish delight felt by the victors in causing agony to their vanquished foe, and passive and appalled I stood in the grip of my enemies, wondering vaguely how soon I too should share the same fate as those whose horrible death I was being compelled to witness. The sun had already risen an hour when my captors lifted me upon a horse, securing my feet so that I could not dismount, and soon afterwards we moved away, an armed man riding on either side of each prisoner. From the first it occurred to me that only by affecting the religion of Islam could I escape death, therefore from that moment I spoke only Arabic, declaring myself a native of Mequinez and a True Believer. My accent in speaking Arabic and the whiteness of my skin my captors attributed to my Moorish parentage, and, judging from the manner in which the sinister-faced Sheikh of the slave-raiders inspected me, I was considered a valuable prize. Leaving the palms, we struck due south through a great clump of batum trees into the barren, inhospitable region of the Admar, the desert that has never been explored by Europeans, and which is still a blank upon the maps. On setting out we travelled quickly, perhaps owing to the great dreariness of the country and the impulse of the camel-drivers and their beasts to get to their homes. Gradually, however, the day grew very hot and uncomfortable, a stifling west wind scattering the sand of the dunes into our faces and totally obscuring the way. Keeping along the valley, wild and desolate, sometimes nearly a mile wide, we had on our left a broad mount, rising first with gradual ascent, but in its upper part forming a steep and lofty wall which the two men guarding me called El Khaddamiyeh. Passing along a small defile and crossing another valley, which my captors called the Tanarh, we once more gained the great open desert of ever-shifting sand. "Once I crossed this plain alone in face of the sirocco," observed one of the men guarding me to his companion. "I would not attempt it again for all the Treasure of Askia." The Arab addressed grunted, but made no reply, and there was a long silence. "What is the treasure of which thou hast spoken?" I asked, interested, after a pause. "I come from the north, and have never heard of it." The dark-faced warrior of the Fade, giving me a quick glance, asked-- "Art thou ignorant of our great forefather Askia?" "None knoweth his fame in Morocco," I replied. "Was he a man of power?" "While he lived he was the Most Mighty of the Sahara. If thou hast never heard of the Great Sultan who was so wealthy that he preferred to wear a crown of iron to a diadem of gold, I will render thee explanation:--Hadj Mohammed Askia, the most powerful of the Songhay conquerors, lived in the year of the Hedjira 311, or a thousand years ago, and was a just but warlike ruler. His wrath was feared from Gogo even unto Mourzouk, and those who disobeyed him were put to the sword relentlessly. Having by constant battle extended his kingdom so as to include the regions now known as Katsena and Kano, he two years later led an expedition against the Sultan of Agadez. After a siege lasting nearly six moons, the Sultan of the Ahir was killed, and the City of the Sorcerers fell and was looted, together with the dead Sultan's palace and the houses of many rich merchants who dwelt near. Soon afterwards, however, the vengeance of Allah, the Omniscient, descended upon the conquerors, for the city was smitten by a terrible plague of bloodsuckers the length of the little finger-joint, and Askia's people, panic-stricken, deserted their ruler and fled. Askia, gathering together the whole of the plunder he had secured, amounting to an enormous quantity, packed it upon a number of camels, and with four faithful followers set out at night secretly for his own stronghold far away at Gogo." "A caravan worth plundering," I observed, smiling. "Yes," he replied, with a broad grin. "But, strangely enough, no reliable facts ever came to light regarding the Great Sultan's subsequent movements. With his camels, his followers, and his gold and gems, he set out into the desert and disappeared. Alas! woe succeedeth woe, as wave a wave. Some declare that he went to Egypt and again became a ruler among men, but we of the Fade believe that the Great Treasure was buried. The story-tellers relate that Askia, having travelled for one whole moon from Agadez, found himself still in the desert, with both food and water exhausted. He and his companions were lying on the sand dying, when there appeared in the heavens a mirage of green fields, in which a Christian in a white robe was standing. The visitant addressed the great chieftain, telling him that the only manner in which to save his life and those of his followers, was to abandon his treasure, upon which there lay a curse, and travel straight in the direction of the rising sun. Askia promised, but instead of abandoning his wealth he buried it, and then started off, as directed, in search of the oasis. Still within sight of the spot where the treasure had been hidden the travellers were so jaded that they were compelled to halt for the night, and during the darkness, it occurred to the Sultan that his four men, knowing the spot, would in all probability return before him, seize the gold, and carry it off. Therefore, in order to preserve the secret, he rose, and with his scimitar slew those who had been true to him. Then a curse again fell swiftly upon the Mighty Potentate, for ere dawn appeared he too had succumbed, and the knowledge of the place where the treasure lieth buried thus became lost for ever." "And has no one been able to discover its position?" "No," he replied. "The gold and gems of fabulous worth remain still hidden." As prisoner in the hands of the Kel-Fade I was guarded carefully, together with my companions in adversity, during the four weeks we were journeying in the wild sandy regions of the Great Sahara. Our taskmasters took a brutal delight in keeping us without water as long as possible, and the awful agonies of thirst I endured in those blazing days while crossing the Admar will ever be vivid in my memory. Cuffed, beaten, and half-starved, we were dragged onward over the hot dusty plains towards the town of Assiou, situate on the direct caravan route from Mourzouk to Agadez. It was a source of some satisfaction to know that my captors were taking me towards my goal, yet my perilous position seemed utterly hopeless, for I had lost the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, and been robbed of everything I possessed, with the exception of Zoraida's letter to the _imam_, which, for safety, I had concealed in the rope of camel's hair I wore twisted around my head. Before we had been a week on our journey, two of Makita's men, exhausted by the barbarous treatment they had received at the hands of their conquerors, sank, and were left behind upon the sand to die. Treated like cattle, and compelled to bear the blows of our inhuman masters, we received only dates with a little kousskouss, just sufficient to keep us alive, and any who grumbled were secured by a rope to one of the camels and made to trudge over the stony wilderness until he or she sank from sheer exhaustion. On three occasions was this terrible punishment administered, and each time the unfortunate prisoner, when overcome by heat and fatigue, was left a prey to the huge grey vultures who, expecting carrion, followed us with ominous persistency. A fortnight after our annihilation, we passed through the great valley of the Anahet, a sorry band of smileless captives, each apprehensive of his doom, and after halting for two days under the palms of Azatteli, where there was a rich supply of herbage, principally of the kind called _bu rekkebah_, and of _el had_, the camels' dainty, we resumed our journey into a waterless region resembling a sea of bare rocks with patches of sand, until we reached the Mararraba, a great heap of stones which marks the boundary line between the countries of Rhat and Air, close to which we halted, apparently in order to await another caravan. This spot is held in religious awe by the Kel-Fade, who each placed a stone upon the gigantic heap of granite blocks. For several days we remained there. One afternoon the male prisoners were assisting the women, who had been set by their captors to grind the corn. Our taskmasters guarded their tents, keeping them hard at work with lash or bastinado, and while the encampment was hushed in its siesta, I was roughly awakened from a doze by the villainous old Sheikh of the Kel-Fade, who, finding me stretched upon the sand, in the shadow of one of the tents, after some fatiguing work I had just completed, administered a vigorous kick, the effects of which I felt for some days. "Rise! son of a dog! Hasten, or thy movements shall be quickened in a manner thou wilt not like." As I scrambled to my feet, rubbing my eyes, he commanded me to follow him to his tent, and after he had settled himself upon his divan, together with two of his chief men, he subjected me to a severe cross-examination as to my past, and my capabilities. When I had related to him a long imaginary account of my career in Morocco, and entertained him with an exciting story, he suddenly asked-- "What trade hast thou followed?" "I was a _hodja_ (letter-writer) in Mequinez, and afterwards in Algiers," I replied. "Then thou shalt write me a letter," he said, and, ordering an ink-horn and writing materials to be brought, he dictated a message regarding some merchandise. When I had finished, he inspected it, while I stood by in trepidation, fearing lest he should detect the many mistakes I had made in tracing the Arabic characters. Evidently, however, he could not read, though he made a pretence of doing so, for he expressed complete satisfaction by a sharp grunt, and a deep pull at his pipe. "Art thou a musician?" he inquired presently. "I can play the _kanoon_ and the _guenibri_" I answered, and in a few moments one of the strange-looking two-stringed Arab instruments, fashioned from the shell of a tortoise, covered with skin, was handed to me. As it happened, I had long ago learned to manipulate the strings of the _guenibri_, and at once gave the old Sheikh an illustration of my talent for native music. "Good," he said at last. "Thou art a musician. I must consider what I shall do with thee. Leave now and return to thy slumbers, for thou wilt not always be enabled to take thine ease in the shadow." The men squatting on either side of their chieftain grinned at their lord's witticism, and as I turned wearily away, I wondered what fortune the next turn of the kaleidoscope of life would bring to me. Yet I cared little. I had, alas! lost my mystic talisman, and with it had disappeared all hope of securing the hand of my peerless Queen of the Desert. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. SLAVE OF THE SULTAN. To describe our dreary journey through the barren unknown desert at greater detail would serve no purpose. The way lay mainly over a gigantic plain interspersed by small sand-hills and naked ledges of rock, speckled with ethel bushes half overwhelmed by sand. For days there seemed not a breath of air, and the desolate monotony was terribly exhausting. Now and then we came upon wells with herbage and a few sebot and talha trees, but the long stretches of sand within sight of Mount Azben were frightfully fatiguing for man and beast, the ground at all times being either gravelly, rocky, or strewn with loose pebbles. Arriving at length at Assiou, a small town in an oasis on that great arid plateau called the Tahassaza, the centre of an important caravan trade, my male companions and myself were very soon led into the market-place, a square open space, and under the arches of the low whitewashed colonnade we were allowed to lounge and wait. At last we knew the worst. We were to be sold into slavery! The place was agog with caravans arriving and departing, and on all hands men and women, mostly negroes and negresses from the Soudan, were being sold after long and loud haggling. Many, too, were the silent bargains effected by pairs of traders standing quiet and immovable in the middle of the noisy, bustling, pushing crowd, each with a hand under his neighbour's burnouse, and grasping his arm as if engaged in feeling the other's pulse. They were making use of the conventional signs, consisting of certain pressures of the finger and knuckle joints, each having a recognised value and significance, and by employing them they were effecting business without attracting the notice of the gaping onlookers, who would listen and offer their advice. Among the human wares for disposal were many young Arabs of the Kel-Tin-Alkoun, the Iguedhadh, and other tribes who were weaker than their neighbours, together with some comely women, the latter creating the keenest competition among the dealers. Those who were fat enough to fulfil the Arab standard of beauty were being sold for large sums, while the more slim were disposed of to the highest bidder. Buyers and sellers were squatting together in little groups, sipping coffee, eating melons, and smoking cigarettes while they gossiped, and as money passed from hand to hand, husbands were torn for ever from their wives, and children gazed for the last time upon their parents. This market of human flesh, which the strenuous efforts of the French and British Governments have failed to suppress, was indeed revolting, yet the scenes were not so heartrending as might have been imagined, for the majority of the women, when they were unveiled for inspection, evinced pleasure at the prospect of a new lord, while the men, finding themselves in the hands of their enemies, squatted in melancholy silence, utterly regardless of their fate. For me escape was hopeless. Fully a dozen well-to-do Arabs had viewed me, each being urged by the Sheikh of the Kel-Fade, who acted as showman and extolled my virtues, to purchase me. He described me as a Moorish letter-writer, musician, and man of wisdom, but the price he required appeared quite prohibitive, until a splendidly-dressed Arab, evidently of the wealthier class, made a close examination of me. In compliance with his request, I played a tune on the _guenibri_, and after nearly half an hour's bargaining, I at last saw the Sheikh accept a bag of gold; and then the man in a _helai_ burnouse and ornamented Ghadamsi shoes coolly informed me that I must in future consider myself the property of His Majesty the Sultan of Agadez. For the moment my delight was unbounded. I was going, after all, to Agadez! But courage failed me when I recollected that I was a slave, and that the Crescent of Glorious Wonders had been filched from me and was utterly lost. Three weeks after I had been purchased by the agent of the potentate, I found myself a prisoner in the great irregularly-built Fada, or palace, of His Majesty Hamed e' Rufay, the mighty Sultan of the Ahir. I was one of the slaves of Amagay, His Majesty's chief eunuch, my duties being to burnish the arms of the ever-vigilant guardians of the Sultan's harem, and, when required, to discourse music for the delectation of the Grand Vizier Mukhtar, President of the Divan, and his suite. The great palace, situated on the outskirts of the town though within the walls, covered an enormous area, and was a kingdom within itself. Like a fortress enclosed by grim massive walls were beautiful gardens, spacious courtyards with fountains and cool arcades, and in these sumptuous buildings there dwelt the officers of state; while, in the inner court, to which none had access save the eunuchs and the Sultan himself, was situated the royal harem. Outside the one entrance to this, the most private portion of the luxurious Fada, was a smaller court devoted to the eunuchs and their slaves, while the single passage communicating was closed by three iron doors, at which gigantic negroes fully armed stood on guard night and day. To obtain admission to the Court of the Eunuchs no fewer than five gates had to be passed, each with three doors, whereat stood janissaries--whose lawless and powerful prototypes beside the Bosphorus are historical--barring with gleaming scimitars the passage of the would-be adventurer. Each court, with its massive, frowning walls, was a colony in itself, preserving its own individuality, its inhabitants never mixing or passing into the forbidden domains of its neighbours. Thus the great gilded palace was a prison to its inmates, except the royal princes and the officials of His Majesty; and the janissaries had no dealings with the eunuchs, nor did the officials of the Sultan's Great Court of Audience fraternise with those of His Majesty's private apartments. This luxurious city within a city, housing nearly seventeen hundred persons, was magnificent in its proportions, for as one entered court after court towards the quarters of the women, the appointments grew richer and more costly, until, in the Hall of the Eunuchs, the ceilings were of sky-blue with stars of gold, the floors of polished marble, the walls adorned by delicate frescoes and arabesques, and the slender columns of rare marble supporting the horse-shoe arches were carved with exquisite taste and glistened with gold. Indeed, the great palace was a maze of buildings, courts, gardens, and spacious halls, in which, however, the autocratic ruler was rarely seen. He mostly spent his time in his own apartments adjoining the Hall of the Eunuchs, and was only seen to his scheming and intriguing _entourage_ when seated on the Great White Divan. Before him every member of the household quaked with fear, for he was a man whose displeasure meant death, whose smile bestowed wealth and luxury, whose harsh word brought upon the hapless victim of his displeasure the bastinado and disgrace, or whose commendation made him chief among men. He was ruled by harem influence; indeed, the doves of the gilded prison held in their hands men's lives and fortunes. A whispered word in the ear of their lord would cause a courtier's head to fall under the executioner's sword, or a soft caress secure his appointment to high official position, with fat emoluments. Through every court, from the fierce guardians of the outer gate to the innermost quadrangle where beautiful houris lolled among their silken cushions around a fountain of fragrant perfume, dark plots were constantly being hatched and carried out. Men and women almost daily fell victims of the jealousy, hatred, or avarice of their fellows, and life was indeed insecure in a _menage_ where the unheeded handmaiden of to-day might be the all-powerful Sultana of to-morrow; where the Grand Vizier might be decapitated by the negro executioner within an hour, and the meanest slave of the Fada appointed vizier of the Ahir in his stead; or where the Pearl of the Harem who had displeased her cruel, fickle master by some petty shortcoming, might have a silken cord slipped over her white neck by the brutal Chief of the Eunuchs, die of strangulation, and her body be given to the vultures without knowledge of her fault. A remnant of the autocratic sway of Turkey which still holds Tripoli under its rule, the Sultan was himself "the State." His so-called ministers were simply the favourites of the hour. Justice was bought and sold. Every office was directly or indirectly purchased, small remuneration or none at all being paid, the holders recouping themselves by plunder and oppression, tempered by the fact that at any moment they might be forced to disgorge by the Sultan, left to rot in loathsome dungeons, or be beaten or tortured to death. Amid these strange surroundings I lived and toiled. By day, in the little niche in the massive wall of the Court of the Eunuchs that was assigned to me, I burnished the scimitars, scabbards, knives, and steel girdles of the custodians of the harem. At night, when the stars shone above the open court, and the breeze stirred the leaves of the trailing vines, I would take my _guenibri_ and, in obedience to the order of my taskmasters, pass into the hall of the Grand Vizier, and while that high official lounged upon his divan surrounded by his officers, I, with three other musicians, would squat at the corners of the mat spread before him, and play accompaniments to the dancing of his female slaves. To the monotonous thumping of the tom-tom, the mournful note of the _guenibri_, and the clashing of cymbals, the women barefooted performed slow Eastern dances, scarcely moving their feet, yet gracefully swaying their bodies, and whirling scimitars above their heads in a manner that was marvellous, or with wild abandon they would trip a kind of Spanish dance with the tambourine. Week after week, surrounded by the dazzling splendour of the gorgeous palace, I led a weary life of abject slavery. Ill-treated and cuffed by the stern black taskmaster whose duty it was to see that I performed the work allotted to me, I felt many times inclined to regard escape as utterly hopeless. While on my way to the palace, I caught sight of the Mesallaje, the principal mosque with its great square minaret, and though I had still retained Zoraida's letter to Hadj Mohammed ben Ishak, the chief _imam_, I had no means of presenting it. Nevertheless, buoyed constantly by expectation, I worked on, seeking as far as possible to obtain the good graces of my fierce Soudanese slave-master, and never ceasing in my endeavours to devise some scheme by which I might obtain freedom. One evening, when I had been toiling throughout the day burnishing some accoutrements that were rusty until my arms pained me, my taskmaster brought information that His Excellency the Grand Vizier would require no music that night; therefore, remaining in my little den near the gate of the harem that served as workshop and living-room, I took my ease. I must have slept, for I was awakened by the stern voice of one of the eunuchs saying-- "Quick! take this, clean it and return it to me. I will wait." He handed me a long, keen scimitar, the blade of which was wet with blood! It was night. All was quiet. The courts, so full of colour and animation during the day, were hushed in silence, for the huge palace seemed asleep. Above, bright points of light shone, but there was no moon, and the Court of the Eunuchs was in darkness, save where over the gate of the harem a great swinging lamp of brass shed a yellow uncertain light upon the tall statuesque guards. Without questioning the man, I quickly washed his sword, cleaned it with cloths, and re-polished it with my stone. Then, with muttered thanks, he replaced it in its scabbard, and, stalking towards the harem, passed through the heavy iron doors and disappeared. A bloody drama had been enacted! Another secret tragedy had occurred within those grim, massive walls that concealed the gorgeous Courts of Love! Even as I gazed wonderingly at the great arched doorway through which so many hundreds of women had passed never to return alive, its iron portals again opened, and there appeared four black eunuchs, gaily attired in bright blue and gold, bearing upon a board some long object covered with a black cloth, from beneath which bright silks and filmy gauzes showed. Silently they marched onward close to where I stood, and as they passed, I saw a woman's bare white arm hanging underneath the sable pall. It swung limp and helpless as the men strode through the court with their burden, and when they had gone, there remained on the still night air a subtle breath of attar of rose. The pretty head of one of the Pearls of the Harem had been struck off by order of Hamed e' Rufay--the iron will of the great Sultan, Ruler of the Ahir and Defender of the Faith, had been obeyed! CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. THE EUNUCH'S SCIMITAR. What dire events had led to the summary execution of the beauty who had just been carried out a corpse? Probably she had held brief sway over His Majesty, ruling the land from her soft silken divan, until one of her jealous sisters had, by intrigue, succeeded in displacing her in her fickle lord's affections, and immediately the new favourite's influence was sufficiently strong, she had used it to cause the death of her discarded but troublesome rival. Sitting in my little den, with the shutter half closed, I was trying to picture to myself the scenes of brilliant festivity, of fierce hatred, and merciless revenge that were ever occurring within those zealously-guarded Courts of Love, when suddenly I heard Arabic spoken softly quite close to the entrance to my workshop. Without stirring, I listened with bated breath. "But apparently thou dost not fully realise that, now the Sultana Krenfla is dead, our power hath vanished," exclaimed a voice, the tones of which I instantly recognised as those of the Grand Vizier. "_Nakrifoh colloh_," replied his companion. "Thou art indeed right. Well do I remember that when we were but janissaries at yon gate, we conveyed messages for the pretty Krenfla to her lover, and sometimes would allow her to secretly meet him. But he was killed in the war against Awelimimiden, and then his mistress, having mourned for him many days, devoted herself wholly to our lord the Sultan, and became Sultana. In recognition of our services as Cupid's messengers, she caused our advancement, you to be Grand Vizier of the Ahir, and I to be Chief of the Eunuchs. But, alas! her sway hath ended, and consequently our careers are abruptly cut short. To-morrow we too may lose our heads-- who knoweth?" "True, O Amagay! unless Allah showeth us mercy, the death of Krenfla sealeth our doom. If it pleaseth our lord the Sultan to fall under the bewitching caresses of Khadidja, our degradation and dismissal will be inevitable; while if Zobeide should secure the favour of Hamed, her power will be immediately directed towards our decapitation. Long hast thou held in the harem the lives of the houris in thine hands, and in consequence thou art held in awe and hatred; while, to tell the truth, I, as Grand Vizier, have ruled with the sword and bastinado, and the people would rejoice could they see my head mounted on a spear in the Azarmadarangh [place of execution]. But," His Excellency added with a pause, "art thou convinced we shall not be overheard?" "Quite," replied my master reassuringly, peering in at my half-open shutter, but failing to detect me in the deep shadow. "Fear not eavesdroppers here. In thine own pavilion the very walls have ears; here, in the Court of the Eunuchs, it is different." "Then it is thine opinion that we must act quickly if we would save our heads?" "_Ma akindana al-an wakt lilliakb_" ("We have no time to play at present"), acquiesced the Chief of the Eunuchs. "_Taakala challina nahn al-ithnine natahaddath showy-yah_," the Grand Vizier said. Then, dropping his voice until I could scarcely catch his words, he continued, "Viewed from all sides, our position is one of extreme peril, therefore we must set ourselves to avert the disaster which threateneth. The choice of the Sultan remaineth between Khadidja and Zobeide, and even to-night one or other may secure His Majesty's favour. In any case, our necks at this moment lie under the scimitar of the executioner, therefore must we act swiftly, firmly, and in a manner that showeth not mercy." "But how? I can see no way of saving ourselves except by flight." "Thy suggestion is impracticable. Such a course would condemn thee," interrupted the Grand Vizier. "Unless we could first secure the contents of the treasury, flight would avail us nought, and even then we should be overtaken ere we could get away to the Tsad. No; long have I foreseen the downfall of Krenfla, and have evolved a scheme by which men shall still abundantly utter the memory of our great goodness and sing of our greatness." "Thou hast? How?" "Listen. My words are for thine ears alone," whispered the Grand Vizier. "My opinion is that Hamed, our Sultan, hath ruled the Ahir for sufficient time. Dost thou agree?" "Yes," replied the Chief of the Eunuchs eagerly. "Art--art thou thinking of his deposition?" "Hath it never occurred to thee that his son, 'Abd-el-Kerim, who is already in his twentieth year, is now fitted to rule?" he asked slowly. "Once or twice I have reflected that the youth hath been always under our tuition and influence, and that, trusting us as implicitly as he doth, we should be absolute masters were he to reign in his father's stead." "Truly, O Amagay, thou hast wisdom. If we placed 'Abd-el-Kerim upon the White Divan, I should most certainly remain Grand Vizier, while thou mightest even secure a post more lucrative than Chief of the Eunuchs. Instead of death, such an event meaneth for us increased wealth and the retention of our power." "But how dost thou propose to effect this sweeping change?" asked Amagay, interested. "Render me thine assistance, and the means are simple. Our Sultan Hamed hath already ruled too long," exclaimed Mukhtar, adding, in a low, intense voice, after a pause, the ominous words, "He must die-- to-morrow!" "Dost thou then intend to assassinate him?" gasped the Chief Eunuch, amazed at the bold daring of the high official's suggestion. "Certainly. If he were thrown into prison, those who now bask in his favours would raise a serious agitation for his release; whereas, once dead, his memory will immediately be forgotten, and we shall hold the fortunes of the Fada entirely in our own hands. Think, O Amagay, will it not be better to act fearlessly, and by one sharp, decisive blow attain increased riches and honour, than to remain inactive and fall hapless victims to the hatred of those black-eyed doves in yonder cage who would deliver us unto the sword. We must decide upon our policy now--to-night." "Hast thou the co-operation of any others in this thy daring scheme?" asked his companion. "Yes, the Chamberlain, and the Aga of the Janissaries have both promised to bear their part; but thine own trusty, unerring scimitar must deliver the death blow." "No! no!" he cried in a low voice. "By the Prophet! I cannot strike. My nerve would fail!" "Bah! Didst thou not strike off the heads of rebellious houris by the score; didst thou not for two years act as executioner in the Place of Azarmadarangh, where heads fell under thy keen _doka_ every day? Surely thou, of all men, hast courage with thy sword and confidence in thine arm? A single blow, and the deed is done!" "But suppose I fail?" "Even then, our fate will be not one whit the worse than it is at this moment," answered Mukhtar. There was a short pause. Then Amagay, who had apparently become convinced by the strength of his fellow-conspirator's argument, answered-- "I agree with thee, O Mukhtar. Thy mouth uttereth wisdom. Only the mighty Hamed's death can save us; so, if Allah willeth, my keen steel shall strike the tyrant to the dust." "Then we shall count upon thee," exclaimed the Grand Vizier, apparently well pleased. "Hearken, and I will show thee how the removal of His Majesty can be best accomplished. He hath sent information to the Keeper of the Treasure that to-morrow, after the midday meal, it will please him to repair unto the Treasury, in order to choose jewels to present to his new favourite. The jewels of great price are to be laid out for his inspection. On his way from the court to the Treasure House he will be compelled to pass across the Great Hall of Audience and through the long, dark passage that divideth that chamber from the Court of the Treasury. In that passage are niches where one mayest remain concealed, and it is there that thy steel must strike." "But may not others accompany him?" "Leave that unto me. After he hath eaten, I shall detain him in conversation about certain pressing matters of state, so that his guards will pass before him, and he will walk alone past the spot where thou art secreted with thy companions, the Chamberlain and the Aga of the Janissaries. Then wilt thou rush out, and in a second the Sultan Hamed will be no more." "Will not the guards rush back and kill us?" the Chief Eunuch asked doubtfully. "No. The conspiracy hath already been well planned in every detail. When the tyrant falleth, the heads of Khadidja and Zobeide will be struck off by thy guardians of the harem, and thus will the three persons whose power threateneth us have disappeared, and so secretly that not twenty of those within the Fada will be aware of the tragedy." "Thou art indeed, O Mukhtar, a man of much foresight and one fitted to rule," exclaimed Amagay, in admiration of the old villain's cunning. "True, the Sultan Hamed is as a shadow betwixt us and the shining of the sun, and he must be removed. In thee, upon whom the One Merciful hath bestowed bounteous wisdom, I place my trust, and will assist thee in placing upon the Great Divan 'Abd-el-Kerim, the Son of the Doomed. Thy servant's scimitar shall strike this daring blow for liberty. Peace." "Hush! Listen!" whispered the Grand Vizier in a tone of alarm. "One of thy men approacheth from the harem. Let us part to allay suspicion. I will await thee in my pavilion two hours after the sun hath arisen. Until then, _slama_!" A slight jingling of keys and softly-receding footsteps; then all was quiet again. Alone I sat for a long time reflecting upon the secret of the great plot of which I had accidentally obtained knowledge. At noon the Sultan Hamed, dreaded throughout Fezzan, Tripoli, and the Sahara as the most powerful and tyrannical of rulers, would be struck down, and his son proclaimed monarch, while the assassination would, no doubt, bring death to many of the inmates of the harem. The palace was asleep, its lotus-eating inmates little dreaming of the great _coup d'etat_ that had been so cunningly planned, or of the startling sensation in store for them. The black guardians of the harem stood silent and statuesque on either side of its carved portals, and the dead silence of the Court of the Eunuchs remained unbroken. Enslaved as I was, my thoughts were always of liberty whereby I might deliver Zoraida's message to the _imam_, and I now saw in this knowledge of the attempt on the Sultan's life a means to regain my freedom. Though excited over the discovery, I resolved to remain calm and act judiciously, for I foresaw that any desire I might express to seek audience of His Majesty would arouse suspicion among the conspirators. Through that night I pondered deeply over the strange events of the past few months, endeavouring time after time to convince myself that Zoraida no longer lived. Yet my mind refused to accept any indistinct theory of which I had not absolute proof. She had entrusted to me a mission in which, alas! I had by sheer ill-luck failed, nevertheless I recollected her earnest words when she had given the Crescent of Glorious Wonders into my keeping, and it was more than possible, I argued, that the _imam_ was daily expecting my arrival and wondering what mishap had befallen me. From him alone I could obtain the Great Secret, yet what would that knowledge avail, now that I had lost the mysterious half-circle of steel? Where was Zoraida? If alive, she would, I reflected, probably be journeying with her people in the Great Desert, the all-powerful prophetess of the most desperate band of fleet horsemen that ever rode over the Sahara. She, the dazzling, mysterious Daughter of the Sun, held in awe by the Ennitra, was possibly directing their marauding expeditions, sharing the plunder with her own delicate fingers, and causing death and desolation among neighbouring caravans; yet, when I recollected how at heart she hated that life of rapine and murder, how she shrank from the position in which, by some unaccountable combination of circumstances, she was forcibly held, my blood rose within me. Had she not acknowledged that she loved me? Were we not actually betrothed? Truly, the Omen of the Camel's Hoof which I had ridiculed had been a presage of impending evil that was gradually being fulfilled. Mystified by the strange, weird rites that Zoraida had practised, fascinated by her marvellous beauty, filled with admiration at the cool courage she had displayed when saving my life, I had travelled steadily onward, meeting misfortune with a smile and disregarding danger and fatigue, until my capture. Then I knew that to declare myself a Christian would mean certain death, so I had been compelled, much against my will, to conceal my nationality and act as a devout follower of the Prophet until an opportunity for escape should present itself. That opportunity, I felt, was now at hand, and though the flush of dawn appeared, sleep came not to my eyes, for I sat devising various schemes, one of which, however wild and hazardous, it was imperative should be carried out successfully before noon. As the sun rose, and the great courts of the Fada grew animated, I resumed my work, burnishing swords, spears, and shields until they shone like mirrors, yet keeping an ever-vigilant eye upon the gate of the harem, in case His Majesty should emerge. Unfortunately, the Sultan seldom eared to pass outside his private apartments. Only once had I seen him, and then only at a distance. To all save his high officers and body-servants he was absolutely unapproachable. When he made a tour of the palace,--which I learned was of very rare occurrence,--he was surrounded by men-at-arms with drawn swords, and none dared address him for fear of incurring his displeasure, which meant unceremonious decapitation. As the hours sped on, and the shade in the sunlit court grew smaller, I began to consider all hope of averting the triple tragedy futile. Once or twice, Amagay, a giant in stature, had passed and repassed with heavy, thoughtful brow and arms folded under his burnouse, as if preoccupied with the details of the widespread conspiracy, and my astonishment was sudden when presently he entered my den, and, drawing his splendid scimitar, the hilt of which was encrusted with jewels, said--"This weapon hath no edge upon it. Sharpen it quickly. Whet it upon thy stone." With hands trembling with excitement, I took the great sword, such as could only be wielded by one of enormous strength, and proceeded to sharpen it as he commanded. "Take thy time. Make the blade so keen that it will cut a single hair." "Thy will be done, O lord Amagay," I answered, not daring to look up lest my agitation should betray me, while the Chief of the Eunuchs lit a cigarette, and, lolling against the door, watched me until I had sharpened to a keen edge the scimitar that was to strike dead the Sultan Hamed. Then, replacing the weapon in its scabbard, he settled the hang of his burnouse and strode away. By the shadows I became aware that the noon was nigh. I had sharpened the assassin's weapon, yet I dared speak to no one of the foul plot about to be carried out. For aught I knew, many of those around me were implicated, and my confession that I had acted as eavesdropper would certainly bring wrath upon me. If I could only see the Sultan, one word could save him. But how? Suddenly I conceived a most desperate plan. It seemed utter madness to attempt it, yet, knowing that my liberty, my whole future, depended upon frustrating the terrible _coup d'etat_, I was determined to risk everything. There was little time to lose, so I set about my preparations immediately. In my little den I had a canister half full of gunpowder and about a dozen cartridges. Boring a hole through the lid of the tin box, I placed the cartridges within, and, taking an old piece of flexible hoop iron, I bound it tightly round the sides and ends of the canister, taking care, however, to leave open the hole in the lid. Thus the bomb was quickly constructed, and, placing it under the bench at which I worked, I sprinkled a train of powder from it, and when all was ready, I lit a rudely-constructed slow match. Hurriedly ascertaining that the match was fairly alight, I left the place, and, with my copper pitcher, lounged leisurely across to the well close to the gate of the harem, as if to obtain water. Scarcely had I gained the impassable portals when there was a bright flash, followed by a terrific explosion that shook the palace to its very foundations, wrecked my workshop, and tore up the masonry like pasteboard. In an instant the most intense excitement and confusion prevailed. The two guards at the door of the harem, almost taken off their feet by the concussion, left their posts panic-stricken, and, with others who emerged from the seraglio, rushed over to the scene to ascertain the cause, while, in a few seconds, the court was filled by officials, eunuchs, soldiers, and slaves. The moment for which I had been waiting had arrived. The outer gate of the harem was ajar, and while everybody was hurrying in alarm to the spot where the explosion had occurred, I managed to slip inside unobserved. Dashing along into the unknown region of the Fada, scarcely daring to breathe and unaware of what armed resistance I might encounter, I sped like lightning across a wide, tiled hall, where, to my delight, I saw the second iron door was also half open. Passing this, I crossed yet another similar hall, rather smaller than the first, and leaped towards the third and last door. It was closed. Grasping the great iron ring that served as handle, I tried to turn it, but though I exerted all my strength until the veins stood knotted on my forehead and the perspiration dropped from me, it would not yield. Fate was against me--I was doomed to failure. The door was locked! CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. IN THE COURTS OF LOVE. Again and again I tried the handle, failing utterly to move it. Another moment's delay might cost me my life! Shaking the great door in frantic desperation, and turning to see whether I had been detected, I suddenly noticed that on each side of this gate hung heavy curtains of bright yellow silken brocade. One appeared to have been disarranged, for it did not hang in such graceful folds as the other, and this attracted my attention. After a careful examination, I discovered a small square handle in the centre of the gate, painted black, so as to appear as one of the big nails with which the door was studded. In a moment the truth flashed upon me. Eagerly I tried the handle, and found I could turn it with ease, and that a small and cunningly-concealed door, just large enough to admit one person, was the means by which the private apartments of His Majesty could be entered. Stepping through without hesitation and closing the door silently after me, I found myself in a great wide court, with fine arched arcades on either side. In the centre a splendid fountain of perfume was playing, the sparkling, scented water falling into a huge basin of crystal. The spectacle was gorgeous and dazzling. The brilliant colours, the green palms, the rich brocades, the woven carpets, the glittering gold with which the arcades were decorated, and the glimpse of cool and beautiful gardens in the vista away through several open courts, seemed a veritable fairyland. From the great gilt perfuming-pans, columns of thin blue smoke diffused sensuous odours. Bright-eyed women with faces of flawless beauty were half-sitting, half reclining on their luxurious divans, lazily smoking cigarettes, or allowing themselves to be slowly fanned by their slaves. Resplendent in bright-hued silks, heavy gold ornaments and flashing gems, some were seated in little groups gossiping, others had stretched themselves on silken couches in languid indolence, while one or two, leaning against the columns of marvellously-carved marble, with their delicate hands clasped behind their heads, were indulging in day-dreams--dreams perhaps of joyous hours bygone before they were torn away from the ones they loved to adorn the Sultan's harem. With brows covered by strings of pearls and sequins, white arms with massive bracelets, bare bosoms half hidden by necklaces and scintillating gems, bare feet encased in tiny slippers embroidered with gold and jewels, and neat ankles heavy with golden bangles, the beautiful prisoners of Hamed the Mighty were idling away the day with careless, dreamy indifference amid the sweetly-scented atmosphere of love. Entranced by the wondrous scene of beauty, I stood for a few seconds while my eyes travelled quickly around in search of His Majesty. He was, however, not present; therefore, summoning courage and dashing forward, I sped on through the three great Courts of the Sultanas towards the distant garden, beyond which I had heard lay His Majesty's private pavilion. Without daring to notice the profound sensation my sudden appearance was causing throughout the harem, I ran quickly through court after court, until, just as I had gained the great arch which led into the garden, my passage was barred by a big black eunuch who had recognised me as a slave. To close with him would have been folly, for his muscles were like iron; therefore, redoubling my speed, I bent down quickly just as he was about to grasp me, and thus dodged under his hands. Pursued, I rushed across the beautiful garden, red with roses and green with many leaves, along the edge of a clear lake, through an open gate, and into a richly-furnished magnificent pavilion, the pavement of which was of polished sardonyx and agate. In the centre was a great baldachin of amaranth silk enriched with long fringes of silver, stretched on twelve pillars of twisted gold, and underneath there sat upon the Great White Divan, Hamed, son of Mohammed el Bakeri, the all-powerful Sultan of the Ahir. Upon his head was a turban of pale green silk, in front of which was a splendid diamond aigrette, while the robes he wore were of rich white silk brocade. Behind His Majesty stood two negro slaves cooling him with large fans of peacocks' feathers. Around him were his gorgeously-attired body-servants, to whom he was giving some instructions, being just about to rise from his midday meal. As I burst upon them, with the gigantic eunuch in pursuit, the guards were in a moment on the alert, and those who were prostrate before their sovereign sprang to their feet and drew their swords. "Seize him!" cried the eunuch excitedly. "He is a slave who hath escaped!" "My gracious lord the Sultan!" I gasped breathlessly, prostrating myself before the royal divan as the slaves pounced upon me. "Hear me, I beseech thee! Let not thy servants remove me before I have spoken." "The slave hath merely some paltry grievance," exclaimed the eunuch, with ceremonious obeisance. "It is no grievance," I cried wildly. "I come to give thee warning, O Sultan, Mighty of the Earth, that ere the shadows lengthen thou wilt die!" "Silence, slave! Heed what thou sayest!" the Sultan thundered, pale with anger as he rose stately and superb from his divan. He was tall and of majestic presence, though his dark, sinister features bore distinct impress of the vile and brutal passions which actuated him. "Silence!" he cried again, and his servants fell before him with genuflections inspired by awe. "Slave! thou, who hast passed the portals of the private courts of thy Sovereign to prophesy his discomforture, hast dared to address thy Ruler without leave! Knowest thou not that none are allowed in this our pavilion unless commanded, under pain of instant death?" "I come to forewarn thee, O August Ruler, of impending evil--" "Stop thy chatter, dog!" he shouted, his face livid with sudden passion. The storm burst, and the dark cloud, swollen with his accumulated exasperation, exploded in a tremolo full of threats. When the Sultan Hamed broke out, he was terrible. "I heed not the croakings of a common slave who--" "But men, jealous of thy position, have plotted to compass thy death ere to-day's sun hath set!" "Liar! Thou art indeed demented," he cried, in full combustion. Then, in the frightful rumbling of his phrases, in the incessant crackling of his words, he roared bitter corrosive invectives that caused his robust frame to vibrate as they issued forth. Suddenly, turning to his trembling body-servants, he added, "Seize him! Let his prophetic tongue be torn out as a punishment for daring to predict evil in our presence!" "Hear me, I pray thee, Just and Mighty one, slow to anger and of great mercy! It is to save thy Majesty's life that--" "The Sultan of the Ahir desireth not the aid of a slave!" he answered proudly. "I would send thee to execution at Azarmadarangh at once, only I think thy mind is deranged, and if so, thy boldness is not of thine own fault. But the chatter of the idiot annoyeth the sane, therefore thy tongue shall be removed, so that, though mad, thou wilt in future be dumb." Turning quickly to my captors, he added, "Let him be cast into prison and rendered speechless. Away with him!" For this rebuff I was totally unprepared, and my courage sank. "Wilt thou show no mercy towards thine humble slave, who hath risked his life to prostrate himself before thee and give thee warning?" I ventured to cry earnestly, in final appeal. "Take him from my sight," commanded the Sultan, waving his hand angrily. "See that his glib tongue wags not after sundown." "Merciful Allah!" I implored, struggling violently with those who held me. "Behold, I am thy slave, O lord the Sultan! Hear me, I beseech of thee!" But His Majesty, uttering a string of voluble curses upon my family through generations, turned his back towards me with a gesture of impatience, and I was unceremoniously hurried from his terrible presence. The Sultan had, however, stepped from his divan, therefore, at the entrance to the pavilion I was held back by the four stalwart guards in order to let him pass through to the spacious Hall of Audience. Surrounded by his body-servants, he strode along with regal gait and keen, observant eye; then, after he had gone, I was dragged onward at a distance behind not so great as to prevent me watching his progress. Gaining the Hall of Audience, one of the most gorgeous apartments of the Fada, Mukhtar, the Grand Vizier, suddenly appeared, and, bowing low, craved a hasty and private word with his royal master. The plot was being carried out before my eyes! The Sultan, halting at the entrance to the long arched arcade that gave access to the Court of the Treasury, waved his hand, motioning those surrounding him to pass onward. The armed janissaries standing erect and mute as statues along the walls of the audience-chamber exchanged expectant glances full of meaning, and I knew that they were anxiously awaiting the commission of the dastardly crime. I would, even at that moment, have shouted a last warning, but, alas! the men in whose hands I stood powerless had gagged me in compliance with the desire of their irate master. Until the servants and guards had passed through the long dimly-lit arcade and crossed the paved court beyond, Mukhtar held his royal master in earnest conversation, then, prostrating himself humbly, he rose and took his leave, while His Majesty, hitching his robes of spotless silk about him, moved onward briskly and alone down the silent arcade. Upon Mukhtar's lips a momentary smile of satisfaction played as he stalked away. It told me that the doom of the Sultan Hamed was at hand! Walking still in the grip of the guards, I watched the upright and truly regal figure of His Majesty receding until he had passed half-way along the great arched corridor. Then suddenly a second figure was sharply silhouetted against the brilliant sunlight at the end of the vista. A strong arm was raised, a gleaming scimitar whirled aloft, and a loud cry of surprise and dismay echoed until it reached the spot where we stood. Next second the headless body of Hamed, Sultan of the Ahir, lay at the Chief Eunuch's feet, and upon the polished marble pavement a dark, ugly pool was rapidly forming. My four captors, paralysed and amazed, released me and dashed along towards the prostrate body of their master, but in an instant the scimitars of the guards of the Hall of Audience were hovering over their heads, and after a desperate but brief struggle they were secured and gagged. So swiftly indeed had the secret assassination been accomplished, that, ere I could realise that the plot had been carried out, the body had been thrust into a sack and removed, slaves who had actually held water in readiness had washed the stains from the marble, and almost before one could regain breath, every trace of the terrible crime had been erased. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. THE FALSE CADI. The gulf of accident lies between what is and what might have been. Strangely enough, the very tragedy which I had endeavoured to avert saved me from the torture and imprisonment to which the brutal autocrat had condemned me, for when my guards were hurried away to the prison cells, and I explained to my master, the murderer Amagay, the fate to which the dead Sultan had condemned me without telling him the cause, he bade me return immediately to the Court of the Eunuchs, sending two of the guardians of the harem to escort me thither. Thus once again I became a slave and prisoner. Escape seemed hopeless, and the delivery of Zoraida's letter impossible. Though so near the one person who held the Secret of the Crescent, I was yet held in bondage, unable to seek him, unable to fulfil my promise. The beautiful face of Zoraida with its dark, wistful eyes was ever before me, and my thoughts were constantly of the mysterious one of enchanting loveliness who had placed her faith in me. Time does not change a heart, and love memories are not written in sand--they last while life lasts. The explosion in my workshop had, I ascertained, been attributed to accident, therefore, as soon as I returned, I found another corner, and, removing those of my polishing stones and cloths that had escaped injury, I resumed my work, resolved to hope on and wait. So swiftly and silently had the _coup d'etat_ been carried out, that only the conspirators themselves knew of it, those of the dead monarch's bodyguard who had witnessed the brutal assassination being all safely in prison pending the Grand Vizier's decision as to their fate. True, the sudden disappearance of the Sultan caused some anxiety in the harem and among the Fadawa-n-serki, or royal courtiers, but this was at once allayed by a report that was spread that His Majesty had unexpectedly set out upon a journey. It was only at night, when Khadidja and Zobeide, the Sultan's two favourites, were, without warning, decapitated by the eunuchs in the centre of one of the Courts of Love, that the doves of the gilded cage vaguely guessed the truth. Trembling, they huddled together upon their mats, none knowing who might fall the next victim of the wrath of their absent unknown lord. That night, and through many nights following, dark terrible dramas were enacted in that dazzling female hive. The plots, jealousies, and intrigues of the past were bearing fruit, and when darkness fell, eunuchs would bring me their scimitars wet with blood to be cleaned and burnished, while others carried out the bodies of the fair ones in silent gloomy procession. More than once I saw upon a passing bier a form that moved and struggled desperately, though no cry came from beneath the black pall. They were those unfortunate ones doomed to torture, who at daybreak would be conveyed by the guards far into the desert, secured, and there left to die of heat and thirst, affording a feast for the flies and the great grey vultures. The history of the Sultans of Agadez is a bloody story--one long chapter of murder, fierce combats, and poisonings, that, had the secrets ever leaked out, would form a startling volume. How many dark plots had been hatched within those painted walls! What passionate love, what unbridled hate! A despot is always all-powerful; but the Sultan Hamed was a despot of despots. A favourite one day; the next a carcase eaten by dogs at the city gate. A wife one day, robed in brocade and dazzling with diamonds; the next a slave washing the feet of her who only a day ago waited upon her, and was cuffed and beaten at her command. Truly indeed the Grand Vizier Mukhtar and his accomplice, the Chief of the Eunuchs, were now revenging themselves upon those who had sought to compass their downfall, and the scenes of fiendish cruelty and bloodshed witnessed nightly within those gorgeous Courts of the Sultanas must have been awful. Until the new monarch could be publicly proclaimed, they ruled the Fada, and were removing with horrible brutality those of its inmates whose existence might in the future prove detrimental to their interests. At last, on the morn of the Nahr-el-Djemaa following Hamed's assassination, his son 'Abd-el-Kerim was publicly proclaimed Sultan of the Ahir. Through the city of Agadez the news spread rapidly, announcements were made in the camel market and in the market of slaves, the cadis gave forth the astounding intelligence from their divans, invoking at the same time the blessing of Allah, while from the great gates of the Fada horsemen spurred away fleet as the storm-breeze, through the oasis and across the lonely Desert for many days, bearing the news to the furthermost limits of His Majesty's domains. So carefully had the secret of the tragedy been preserved, that until that day the people knew not that their ruler had died, and with the intelligence there came the news that his son was already reigning in his stead. None mourned, but in the palace and throughout the land there was general feasting and rejoicing. Even the slaves were allowed a day of idleness, and I, among them, lolled upon the bench in my den, and enjoyed a calm siesta, notwithstanding the life and movement in the wide sunlit court outside. Glad of the brief relaxation from wearying toil, I dozed through the hot, brilliant afternoon, and only awakened to a consciousness of things about me by words being whispered into my ear. "Awake, O Roumi," exclaimed a negro, hunchbacked and of dwarfed stature, whom I beheld standing before me. "Take care lest thou attractest the attention of thine enemies." I started up, alarmed that the deformed stranger should have discovered my creed. A Christian would, I knew, quickly meet his death at the hands of that fierce fanatical people. "How--how darest thou declare that I am no believer in the Prophet?" I demanded, with feigned anger. "Hush! Fear not. Thou art the one who hast journeyed from afar over the Great Desert, and art detained as slave of the Sultan. For thee I bear a secret message." "A message. Who hath sent it?" I gasped. "I know not," he answered. "See! it is here;" and, slipping his hand into mine cautiously, he left in my palm a small pomegranate. "Remember that thine enemies regard thee with suspicion, therefore make no sign, and do not open it until I have passed through the outer courts. At last I have, by good fortune, been enabled to reach thee unnoticed amid the crowds now congregated everywhere. May the Giver of Mercy--whose name be ever praised--preserve thee, strengthen thine arm, and guide thy footsteps into the paths of freedom." And without another word my mysterious visitor slipped away, and in a moment I lost sight of him amid the gaily-attired throng who, promenading in the spacious court, across which the shadows were already lengthening, smoked and discussed excitedly the all-absorbing topic of the unexpected accession of young 'Abd-el-Kerim as their lord and master. Eagerly I cut open the pomegranate when I thought myself unobserved, and discovered in a small cavity from which the fruit had been removed a scrap of parchment cunningly concealed. On opening it, the following words, penned in ill-formed Arabic characters, met my eyes-- "Know, O Roumi, faithful lover of Zoraida, beauteous Daughter of the Sun, a friend sendeth thee greeting. Remain watchful, for when the moon hath shed her light two hours, thou, Slave of the Eunuchs, mayest be rescued. A friend that thou canst trust with thy life will utter the word `_dachchan_.' [Smoke of a pipe.] Then obey, follow without seeking explanation, and thou mayest pass unchallenged the vigilantly-guarded portals of the Fada, even unto the outer gate where freedom lieth. Upon thee be perfect peace." The paper almost fell from my hands. At last secret steps were being taken to secure my release! But by whom? The mention of Zoraida's name told me that by some unknown means the _imam_ had discovered me, and was exerting every effort to secure my rescue from the palace-fortress, a task which, I well knew, was no easy matter. Gazing upon the message, I remained spellbound. Anticipations of freedom gave me a certain amount of happiness, yet the bitter recollection that the strange object which Zoraida had entrusted to my care was lost irretrievably, filled me with gloomiest forebodings. Over nearly two thousand miles of rugged mountain and sun-baked wilderness I had travelled, on an errand the aim of which had suddenly vanished, and the vague uncertainty whether Zoraida really still lived caused me to view the result of this attempt to leave the Fada with a cool indifference begotten of despair. Weeks of hard, monotonous toil had caused me to look upon my future with hopelessness, and regard life within the Court of the Eunuchs as preferable to an aimless freedom without the woman I loved. If she were dead,--if, as I half feared, the mysterious disaster which she dreaded had actually fallen upon her,--then life's empty pleasures had no further attraction for me. By day and by night, dreaming or waking, the horrible vision of the white cut-off hand, with its thin, shrivelled fingers and its scintillating gems, haunted me continuously, strengthening my misgivings as to her safety, and horrifying me by its ghastly vividness. Why had it been stolen from me? Why, indeed, had it ever been sent to me, and by whom? All were points as deeply strange and mysterious as the hidden properties of the lost Crescent, the marvels of the secret chamber in the weird old house in Algiers, or the identity of Zoraida herself. The shadows in the spacious court crept slowly onward, the warm tints of sunset flooded the great open space aglow with colour and alive with promenaders, and as I resumed my work, brightening scimitars and daggers until they shone like mirrors, the brilliant rays deepened into a fiery crimson, then faded in a mystic twilight. Toiling on in order to pass the intervening hours more rapidly, I watched and waited until the moon shone forth, and then, anxious and impatient, I held my ears open in readiness for the secret word. By the flickering light of an oil lamp I was engaged cleaning the jewelled handle of a dagger, when, on turning suddenly, I was startled to observe a tall, dignified-looking man of middle age in the silken courtiers' robes of the Fadawa-n-serki. "_Dachchan_!" he whispered, adding quickly, "Extinguish thy lamp. We must not be observed." Involuntarily I bent to blow out the flame, but, suddenly remembering that no true son of Islam would commit such an unholy act, I put out the light with my fingers. As I did so, he quickly slipped off his robe, revealing the fact that he wore two similar garments, one over the other, and a second later he produced a yellow turban, similar to the one he himself was wearing. "Trust in me, O my friend," he whispered. "Assume this disguise, and follow me." I dressed quickly, and, arranging the turban upon my head, we were about to leave when, pointing to the long dagger upon the bench, he said in an ominous undertone, "Take that with thee. Peradventure thou mayest want it." Snatching it up, I placed it in my sash, and quickly we went forth together. "Remember thou art no longer a slave," he whispered. "Have no fear, but bear boldly thy part as one of the Fadawa-n-serki." Without any attempt at concealment, we walked onward together in the brilliant moonlight to the gate leading to the Court of the Janissaries, whereat stood two great negroes, their naked swords gleaming in the white moonbeams. Holding my breath, I scarce dared to gaze upon them, but, after an inquiring glance at us, they pushed open the heavy gate, ceremoniously allowing us to pass into the first vestibule. Again we passed the second gate unchallenged, and then the third, finding ourselves in the great court of the guardians of the Fada. Some of the brightly-attired soldiers of the Sultan were squatting under the spacious arches, smoking _keef_, amusing themselves with _damma_, or taking coffee, while others strolled about in pairs gossiping. The presence of the Fadawa-n-serki was nothing unusual, therefore we attracted no notice as in silence we crossed the court to the great dark portals, beyond which, again unchallenged, we passed, gaining a smaller court, where a fountain plashed with cool refreshing sound into a basin of carved porphyry. Through this region of the Fada we went without inquiry being addressed to us, and, judging from the obsequious manner of the guards, I felt convinced that my unknown friend was some high official whom janissaries dared not question. Another court was passed, and as I was wondering who my rescuer might be, we came to the great outer gate, which, next to the gate of the harem, was the most carefully guarded entrance in the whole of the Fada. As we approached, the chief of the guards, a Soudanese of great height and muscular development, loudly demanded our business. My heart gave a leap, and again I held my breath. The result of this interview would, I knew, decide my fate. If it were discovered that I, a slave purchased by Hamed's gold, was endeavouring to escape, a sudden and violent death was the punishment I must expect. "Art thine eyes so dimmed as not to recognise 'Abd e Rahman, cadi of Egemmen, and Hadj Beshir, sheikh of the Kel-Ikohanen? Open thy gate quickly and let us pass. We have no time to bandy words, for we are on an urgent mission for our new lord the Sultan 'Abd-el-Kerim." The black giant, either recognising my companion, or becoming impressed by the importance of our rapid departure, bowed ceremoniously, and shouted to his men to unbar the door in the great dark arch. In the deep shadow six janissaries were drawn up on either side, armed with long curved swords, and as we stood in the full, bright moonlight, they could easily see our faces distinctly, though they themselves remained hidden. Chains clanked, and slowly the heavy door that never opened after sunset grated upon its hinges; then, having given peace to the chief of the guard, we were about to pass out into the city, when suddenly one of the soldiers cried-- "Hold! That man is a false cadi! He is the fierce pirate of the Desert known as Hamma, and is a terror to our people along the shores of the Tsad! The other I recognise as a slave of the eunuchs!" The words caused the greatest sensation among his companions. For a moment they remained dumbfounded at our audacity. "Seize them!" cried the chief gate-keeper, rushing forward excitedly. Next second a dozen scimitars were playing around us, but ere we could be secured my mysterious companion had drawn his formidable knife from its sheath, and with a dexterous blow had sent the first man who laid a hand upon him reeling back, stabbed through the heart. In an instant I drew the dagger I had brought with me, and as I did so, closed with a big negro who endeavoured to hold me. I fought for life, and the struggle was short and desperate. Having gained the outer gate, I was determined to escape, and I defended myself with greater strength than I had imagined I possessed. As the negro wrestled with me, clasping me in his iron embrace in an endeavour to throw me to the ground, we swayed backwards and forwards, both exerting every muscle to gain the mastery. Suddenly I felt my strength failing, for the pain caused by his grasp was excruciating, but with a quick movement I managed to wrench my right arm free, and with my dagger struck him a blow in the throat which caused him to release his hold. Then, staggering, he fell back mortally wounded. With a spring like that of a leopard, another negro pounced upon me, while a second seized me by the shoulder. It was a critical moment. Capture I knew meant death, and as I turned in struggling with my latest assailants, I saw my companion struck a coward blow by a scimitar from behind. He fell like a log, and, judging from the terrible wound inflicted on his skull, death must have been instantaneous. His fate filled me with a strength that was almost demoniacal, for while the others assembled round the prostrate bodies of the false cadi and the man he had killed, I fought desperately, determined to struggle on till the last. My knife, wet with the blood of the first janissary who had attacked me, was still in my hand, and, feeling myself being overpowered by the fierce black-faced brutes, I dealt one a blow in the side which caused him to spring away, and as he did so, I again brought the keen blade full across the other's face, inflicting a frightful gash. Shrieking with rage and pain, he released me, clapping both hands to his ebon countenance. A moment later I dashed headlong into the darkness, followed at full speed by half a dozen enraged and howling janissaries who, waving their scimitars, cried: "Kill the slave! Let him not escape! Kill him! Kill him!" CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. ON THE PINNACLE OF AL ARAF. It was a mad dash for liberty. Ignorant of where my footsteps would lead me, I sped swiftly onward across a great open space, which I afterwards learnt was called the Katshiu, past the Mesallaje, or Great Mosque, with its high square minaret, and running beside the walls of several spacious whitewashed buildings, evidently the residences of wealthier merchants, I turned the first corner I came to, and, passing a stagnant pool, found myself in a maze of squalid, narrow, ill-built streets, which, though bearing marks of former grandeur, were unpaved and filthy. The houses, mostly of one storey, were mean, flat-roofed, and half in decay, and as I wound my way through the unlighted, crooked thoroughfares, I could still hear the hurrying footsteps and shrill cries of the palace guards, who, eager for revenge, were determined that I should not escape them. Panting, well knowing that a halt meant death by torture, I ran forward until I found myself in the Erarar-n-Zakan, or Camel Market, a small square with the usual arched arcade running along one side. Then, the angry shouts of the janissaries sounding on my ears, I resolved upon a desperate expedient, namely, to dash along a street which led back in the direction I had come, and so return towards the Mosque. Even in my desperation I was determined to seek the holy man and deliver Zoraida's letter which for so many months had reposed in the little leathern charm-case suspended round my neck; but as I rushed headlong across a deserted market-place and emerged into an open space, I noticed a youthful Arab horseman mounted and leading a horse saddled but riderless. My footsteps attracted him, and, having gazed at me for a moment intently, and apparently taking in the situation, he spurred across to cut off my retreat. As he rode down upon me, his flowing white robe looking ghostly in the darkness, my heart sank, for I was thoroughly exhausted and no longer hoped for freedom. Judge my amazement, however, when, pulling up suddenly close to me, he exclaimed-- "Peace! Mount yonder steed quickly, and let us away! _Dachchan_!" The word gave me courage. It had been uttered by the mysterious man who at the cost of his own life had accomplished my deliverance! The fierce, brutal guards, accompanied by a number of Arabs who considered it sport to hunt a slave, were still in full cry after me. Already they had gained the Katanga, therefore, without losing a moment, I rushed towards the horse, swung myself into the saddle, and sped away like the wind, my rescuer leading. Shots sounded in rapid succession, but we remained unharmed, and with loud, angry curses sounding in the distance, we rode speedily forward, to where there was a breach in the city walls, and then away through the fertile oasis. As in silence we pressed onward at a wild, mad gallop, I was filled with admiration at the magnificent manner in which my companion sat his horse. He seemed merely a youth, for he was not tall, and his haick, well drawn over his face, half concealed his features, yet he rode at a pace that was killing, regardless of obstacles or the uneven nature of the ground. "For me this day hath indeed been one full of events," I managed to gasp at length, when, in ascending the rising ground, our horses slackened. "And for me also," he replied, without glancing towards me. "How sad it is that the daring Hamma, hero of a hundred fights, should have fallen in his valiant attempt to rescue thee!" "Yes," I answered. "He fought bravely, indeed. But how didst thou know of his death?" "I was awaiting thee outside the mosque opposite the Fada gate, with a horse for Hamma and thyself," he answered. "I saw him fall, and then I witnessed thy flight. I could not reach thee in time, but by the shouts of the janissaries I knew the direction thou hadst taken, and posted myself in readiness. Praise be unto Allah that thou hast escaped those fiendish brutes!" "But it is all a mystery," I said. "Tell me who plotted my deliverance; why should it be attempted by an outlaw?" "I know nothing," he replied, "save that it was imperative that thy life should be saved." "Why?" "Because thou art the Amin, and the Well-Beloved." "What dost thou know of me?" I asked, in surprise. "Nothing, beyond the fact that thou, who hast undertaken a secret mission, fell into the hands of the slave-raiders and became a prisoner in the inner court of the Fada." "Then thou art aware of my mission?" "I am aware that thou art a Roumi from across the sea." "Knowest thou Hadj Mohammed ben Ishak, the _imam_ of the Mesallaje?" I asked. "Yes, I knew him. He was a man pious and full of learning." "What! hath the Avenger claimed him?" "No. He hath gone on a journey." "On a journey?" I cried in dismay. "When will he return?" "I know not." We had reached the brow of the hill, and our horses started off again at the same terrific pace as before. Noticing our saddle-bags were packed as if for travel, I inquired where we were going, but the only answer vouchsafed was-- "Trust thyself unto me." For another hour we rode onward through a great grove of date palms, until at last we plunged into a dense tropical forest, along what appeared to be a secret, unfrequented path. Presently, however, my guide suggested that we should rest until sunrise, and, dismounting, we unsaddled our horses, and, throwing ourselves down with our heads upon our saddle-bags, slept soundly. It was bright daylight when, on opening my eyes, I made an amazing discovery. The sex of my companion had changed! My guide to whom I owed my freedom was not a youth, as I had believed, but a young and pretty Arab woman, whose bright-hued silk garments had been concealed by a man's burnouse, while on her head she had worn the fez and haick instead of the dainty embroidered cap and sequins which she had now resumed. "Thou art astonished at my transformation," she laughed roguishly, standing before me with her pretty face unveiled. "Man's attire doth not suit me in the light of day." "Why hast thou practised such deception upon me?" I asked, amazed. "Because it was necessary. It was arranged that I should merely hold the horses in readiness, but when thou alone escaped, it became imperative that I should act as thy servant and guide." "I owe thee a great debt indeed," I said. "Tell me thy name." "My name and tribe are of no consequence," she answered. "An explanation will be given thee some day; at present I am bound to secrecy." "Even though thou art of the sect of the Aissawa and of the tribe of the Ennitra--eh?" I asked. "How didst thou know?" she asked, startled. But I refused to satisfy her curiosity, although, truth to tell, I had noticed neatly tattooed upon her forehead a serpent, the symbol of the more fanatical of the followers of Sidi ben Aissa, and upon her wrist was a curiously-wrought Kabyle bracelet of white metal, similar in form to one Zoraida had worn. The presence of this woman so far south puzzled me greatly, and I sat silent and thoughtful while she produced from her saddle-bag some dates, with a little skinful of water in which uzak seeds had been dipped, and which I found a cooling and refreshing drink. When we had eaten, she twisted her haick around her head, leaving just a slit for her eyes, then she sprang lightly into her saddle and we moved on again. Our way lay through a great thicket, where the mimosas and abisga attained such an exuberance as I had never before seen in the Sahara, and being closely interwoven by "graffeni," or climbing plants, were almost impenetrable. As we rode along the secret path, I endeavoured to persuade her to tell me of Zoraida, but her lips were closely sealed. She admitted that she had heard of the Daughter of the Sun, but with artful ingenuousness declared that she had never seen her. "I have heard that she died in Algiers somewhat mysteriously," I said, watching her dark eyes narrowly. "Yes," she exclaimed, quite calmly. "I have heard a similar report, and it is a curious circumstance that none have seen her since she went to El Djezair." "She could foretell coming events and divine the thoughts of those with whom she came into contact," I observed. "True, O Roumi. Whenever she accompanied our people into battle, they returned with much spoil and many slaves. Her love was a fierce, unbridled passion, and her hatred bitter and lifelong." "And the Sheikh, Hadj Absalam, what of him?" "I know not. I am merely thy servant and thy guide. Ask me not things of which I have no knowledge;" and with this rebuff she commenced chattering and laughing gaily, leading the way through the dense forest in the depths of which it would have been easy enough to lose one's self and perish. That she had before traversed the secret route was apparent, and her anxiety to push onward showed her impatience to bring our journey to a conclusion. Any little gallantry I offered when she found herself in difficulty owing to her dress catching in the twigs was accepted with dignity and murmured thanks, but regarding our ultimate destination she refused to utter a single word, beyond stating that for three days longer we should be travelling companions, and vaguely hinting that the journey might prove beneficial to my interests. Riding at slow pace behind her through the tangled tropical vegetation, where flowers grew in wild, luxuriant profusion, and monkeys, alarmed at our appearance, swang from tree to tree, I reflected how utterly fruitless my journey over the Great Desert had proved. The mysterious conspiracy of silence regarding Zoraida into which everyone seemed to have entered appeared directed against myself, for with the exception of what she had told me with her own lips, I knew absolutely nothing of her. The mystic rites practised in the secret chamber, the discovery of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, and the unknown object of my mission to Agadez, were all enigmas so puzzling as to drive me to the verge of madness. Although a strenuous, desperate effort had been made to release me from the Sultan's palace, nevertheless every precaution had apparently been taken in order that I should obtain no knowledge of Zoraida's past, of her present whereabouts, or even whether she still lived. For a brief rest we halted about noon, ate our scanty meal which my pretty guide prepared, and then, declaring that she was not fatigued, we moved on again, still through the great forest unknown to geographers that seemed appallingly weird and impenetrable. I had no idea that the Oasis of the Ahir comprised such an extensive tract of wooded land. From the sun it appeared as though we were travelling in a north-westerly direction. The path wound and turned in a manner that would have been puzzling and amazing to the stranger, and at times it was lost sight of altogether, as if to prevent those who discovered it accidentally from following it up. The afternoon passed, and the mellowing rays of sunlight glinting through the trees tinted the long tresses of my fair companion, who, having now removed her haick, laughed and talked gaily, telling me of her exciting adventures as the child of a thieving band. Though she would not utter Zoraida's name, she told me many curious things. She had, it appeared, been in the camp of the Ennitra when, after the successful attack on the caravan of Ali Ben Hafiz, I had been brought in and sentenced to be tortured with the asp, and she told me how, after I had escaped, Hadj Absalam had sworn vengeance and sent a force after me. This force it was who subsequently attacked the Spahis and was slaughtered by them. "And why art thou here, so far from thy mountain home?" I asked presently, determined if possible to elucidate some of the tantalising mystery which seemed ever increasing. "I travelled alone to Agadez to arrange with Hamma to effect thy liberty," she answered. "Allah, the One Gracious and Merciful, hath preserved thee, while he who dared to enter the Fada fell under the janissaries' swords." "Allah grant his soul peace!" I said, adding fervently, "I am truly thankful to thee. Thou art indeed brave to risk so much, to accomplish this lonely journey, and to trust thyself upon this lonely path." "A woman of the Ennitra knoweth not fear," she answered proudly. Then, with a calm, serious look, she added, "I am the servant of one who could not travel here in person. Allah directeth whom He pleaseth and casteth the unbeliever into the torments of hell. To-day thou standest upon the pinnacle of Al Araf, the partition which divideth everlasting joy from eternal sorrow. Already the test hath been applied to thee, and it hath been proved that thou art the Amin--the Well-Beloved." "Thou knowest the ordeal through which I am passing with feet treading the unknown paths of ignorance where the light of truth shineth not. Canst thou not give me one word of hope as to the successful accomplishment of the mission that hath been entrusted to me?" I asked, rather surprised at her enigmatical speech. "I give thee no empty word of confidence. Thine own courage and stout heart in this strange land wherein thou art wandering will, in itself, prove a test the severity of which will not be forgotten. Peace be upon us, and upon all righteous servants of Allah!" With this last sentiment I expressed devout concurrence, and under the foliage reddened by the crimson afterglow we wended our way onward until we came to a small rivulet, where we halted, watered our horses, and prepared our food. Then, when it had grown dark, my fair guide, wrapping herself in the burnouse she had worn when I first met her, lay down to rest, arranging herself in a manner which showed her to be a true Bedouin to whom sleeping under the starlit canopy of heaven was no fresh experience. Next day and the day following went by in a similar manner, with the exception that, having passed through the forest, we found ourselves on the edge of the oasis, and with our horses well pleased at the freedom, we galloped out straight as an arrow into the wild, inhospitable wilderness, which stretched away as far as the eye could discern, a great arid, barren plain. She sat her horse splendidly, as side by side we rode onward hour after hour, stopping now and then to drink from our water-skins, yet not once did she complain of the terrible burning heat or fatigue. On the contrary, there was always in her dark sparkling eyes a roguishness that is the peculiar charm of all Oriental women, and she entertained me with many stories of the valour and chivalry of her tribesmen. That night we encamped in the desert, and at dawn on the third day moved onward again towards our unknown goal. An hour before sundown she suddenly drew rein, and, shading her eyes with her little sun-tanned hand, cried-- "Behold! They are within sight!" Straining my aching eyes in the direction indicated, I saw in the far distance a small speck against the horizon, which proved, on our approach, to be a clump of palms, and almost as soon as I had been able to make them out, I noticed that we had been observed, and that a Bedouin horseman in white burnouse was spurring out towards us. In half an hour we met. As he came nearer, there appeared something about him that seemed to me familiar, and when at last he galloped up, amid the jingling of his horse's trappings, holding his rifle high above his head, I recognised his dark evil face. It was the rascally caitiff Labakan, who had followed me so suspiciously from Algiers, and against whom the dispatch-bearer Gajere had forewarned me! The man who gave me greeting was the sinister, villainous-looking outlaw who had stolen the cut-off hand! CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. LABAKAN. Misgivings were aroused within me by the discovery, but, concealing them, I gave him "peace," as in flowery language and with many references to Allah's might, he bade me welcome to their shade. Scarcely deigning to notice the brave girl who had secured my liberty and acted as my guide, he wheeled round and rode beside me, expressing hope that I had in no way suffered from my detention within the Fada of Agadez, and uttering profuse greetings with every breath. To these I remained somewhat indifferent. I was wondering what fate was about to overtake me, and whether, after all, I had not been ingeniously betrayed into the hands of my enemies. This dark-visaged brigand who had followed me nearly two thousand miles had evidently done so with evil purpose. His words of well-feigned welcome and apparent delight at my arrival at that lonely spot were the reverse of reassuring, and, for aught I knew, I was about to fall into some cunningly-devised trap. The reason of this strange vengeance which he apparently desired to wreak upon me remained a hidden and mystifying enigma. To my knowledge, I had never harmed him, and, indeed, previous to our meeting in the _kahoua_ in Algiers, I had never before set eyes upon him. Yet, with the fire of a terrible hatred burning within his heart, he had tracked me with the pertinacity of a bloodhound over the Great Sahara, through the many vicissitudes that had befallen me, and at last, by his clever machinations, I was now actually being led irresistibly to my fate! At first the thought flashed across my mind that the woman whom the outlaw addressed as Yamina had brought me there, well knowing the reason this villain desired my release. Why had she observed that I was standing insecurely upon Al Araf, between paradise and torment? Did not that imply that there was a vile plot against my life? Heedless of the outlaw's well-turned Arabic sentences, I pondered, half inclined to condemn her. Yet no, I could not. She had, I felt sure, rescued me without dreaming that I should fall a victim under the knife of a secret assassin, and as she rode along in silence, unveiled, and looking a trifle pale and jaded, I was compelled to admit that to secure my release she had placed her own life in serious jeopardy. At length we galloped into the small palm-grove that surrounded a well where camels and horses were resting, and a sharp turn brought us upon a small encampment. I half expected to fall into an ambush, and my hand instinctively sought the hilt of the dagger that had done me such good service at the Fada gate, but when the shouts of the assembled men, all of them fierce-looking, well armed, and carrying daggers and powder-horns, gave me hearty welcome, I became reassured, dismounting, and following my enemy to the principal tent, before which a morose old Arab sat smoking his long pipe. He was very old, with a dark face thin and wizened, yet age had not dimmed the pair of keen, searching eyes he fixed upon me. "Behold! the stranger!" exclaimed Labakan, as we advanced. "Roumi from afar, thou art welcome to our encampment," the old man exclaimed solemnly, removing his pipe and waving his brown, bony hand. "Blessings on thy beard!" I answered, when I had given him peace. "As a stranger in this thy land, I appreciate thine hospitality, even though I know not the name of my host." "Thou art weary, thou hast journeyed long through the forest and over the plain, and thou requirest rest," he went on, motioning me to the mat spread beside him, and ordering a slave to bring me food and water. I was in the camp of my enemies, which accounted for his disinclination to tell me who he was. Besides, I heard conversations being carried on in _tamahaq_, the dialect of the Touaregs, in order, apparently, that I might not understand. Whatever the object for which I had been conducted to that lonely spot, the chief of the encampment treated me as his honoured guest, and gave me to eat the best fare his people could provide. Such conduct was exceedingly puzzling, and, after I had eaten the kousskouss and chick peas, and accepted the pipe he offered, I suddenly asked-- "What have I done that I should merit this thy friendship?" "Are we not commanded to succour our friend's friend?" he answered. "Thou owest me no debt of gratitude, for it was Labakan yonder who arranged thine escape from the Fada;" and, raising his hand, he indicated the outlaw of the Ennitra who had stolen the severed hand, and who was now smoking a cigarette, and lounging lazily with another man as repulsive-looking as himself at a little distance from us. I was silent. Was it not at least remarkable that the man who had offered Gajere gold to assist in my murder, should now exert himself so strenuously on my behalf? Expectation fettered me. "Fidelity towards a friend, magnanimity towards an enemy, are the pride of my people," the old man continued. Then, turning towards me, he added, "Thy brow beareth traces of a poignant grief. Perhaps we may be able to calm thy sorrow, for we would most willingly help a brother, though he be of different creed." His words struck me as ominous. Was he joking grimly, meaning that my sorrow would be "calmed" in death? Nevertheless I replied to his confidential address: "I feel much relieved by thy words, O friend, for in thine eyes there lurketh no treachery. True, I have passed through many terrible days since last I trod mine own far-distant land; yet I have no sorrow, only the regret of what might have been which is common alike to True Believer and to Roumi." "Why dost thou journey in this the land of thine enemies?" asked the strange old man, calmly puffing at his pipe. "I have a secret object," I replied, still keeping my eyes upon the hulking lounger who remained in conversation with one of the armed band, now and then casting furtive glances towards me. "I am seeking a phantom fortune." "Ah! thou art young. Thou hast the careless indifference that youth giveth, and art no doubt prepared to meet Eblis himself if he promiseth an adventure. Yet, alas! the mark upon thy brow telleth me that the canker-worm of love eateth away thine heart. Fair tresses oft ensnare a man, and cause him to seek Sindbad's diamond valley, of which the story-teller singeth." Evidently he was aware of my mission to that distant region! "When one is wounded by the keen shafts of a woman's eyes, there is no peace," I said, impressed by my venerable companion's seriousness. "True love createth a mad fascination, a partial insanity that refuseth to be calmed." "And so it is in thy case, I wager," he observed. "From thy mouth fall pearls of wisdom. Yet to-day, how little of genuine love is there among thy people, the Roumis! Have I not witnessed it among the Franks of El Djezair! Fascination is a gift of Allah; it hath no limits of age or condition. It is as indescribable as the steam that propelleth thy caravans of iron, or the invisible power that carrieth thy commands along wires of great length; therefore, it is not possible to simulate it. Yet what a tendency there existeth among thy people from over seas to coquette with love! We True Believers when in El Djezair, gaze upon the white uncovered faces of thy women in the streets, in the gardens, in the cafes, everywhere, and watch them in amazement. In the people of Al-Islam, as in the Infidels, the heart is the same; but it seemeth to us that thy women, foolish and vain, know not true affection, and live only to attract men by feigning an imitation of love that is ridiculous. It astoundeth us." "Thou speakest of what we term flirts," I said, surprised that he should have observed so keenly the manners of European society as portrayed at Algiers. "It is true that fashion hath taken a wrong turn. Tragic, romantic, frivolous, and heroic love-affairs will succeed each other, for the heart of a woman beateth alike under the gauzes of Al-Islam and the tightly-laced corsets of Christianity, and the pulses of the Bedouins of the Desert and the idler of the Franks are alike moved by a pretty face; but, as thou rightly sayest, the fashion of flirtation only leadeth to factious disturbances, misery, and ruin." "Thy criticism is just, O Roumi! Truth never loseth its rights, though falsehood may have a long day. Thy women, who affect love in order to be considered fascinating, are the falsehoods of thy society, veritable houris from Hawiyat. A woman who loveth deeply, passionately, really, though wrongly, may have our pity, compassion, sympathy, but she who simulateth a passion for vanity's sake hath neither. We of Al-Islam feel a pity for the heart that breaketh beneath a smile; we honour a hidden sorrow; but for the trifling, idle, gay, and foolish married woman of thy people, who with uncovered face seeketh to fascinate the men who move about her, we entertain no such feelings. She feigneth love for them, entranceth them, and then--may Allah confound her!--she mocketh them. Such is one of the developments of thy so-called Christian civilisation!" He spoke the truth; I was compelled to admit it. Was there any wonder that a devout Moslem, witnessing the ways of European society, where the women bare their chests at night for the public gaze, and laboriously try to appear to have done something wrong, in order that scandal may be whispered about them,--"being talked about" being the high road to fashionable eminence,--should express amazement at the commanding egotism of those of our fair sex who consider it "smart" and a necessary adjunct of fashion to be seen flirting. How utterly contemptible must our whole social system appear in the eyes of these wise, thoughtful Sons of the Desert, who, far from bustling cities and the ways of men, dream away their silent, breathless days! The old man, although a pleasant companion, would answer no question I addressed to him, and though I felt safe under his protection, yet the presence of the man Labakan caused me considerable uneasiness. When the last rays of sunset had faded, and some negro girls danced before our tent, the evil-visaged scoundrel sat beside me smoking haschish. In a semicircle the people squatted, listening with rapture to the humdrum voices of the singers and story-tellers, mingling with the thumping of _derboukas_, and the shrill notes of the flute-like _djouak_. From time to time a prolonged "Ah!" plaintively modulated, was uttered in applause of the song, dance, or story; and as I spoke now and then with him, I watched his face narrowly, detecting in his eyes a crafty look of unmistakable hatred. When he laughed, his white teeth shone spectral in the twilight, and when he addressed me, his thin, sinister face was so nigh to mine that I could mark each line that Time had turned upon his sallow cheeks, and watch the slow, cruel smile that wrinkled about his moving lips. When at length the camp grew quiet, and I cast myself down to rest, all slumber was prevented by reason of the terrible sandstorm that sprang up, roaring over the oasis and screaming most melancholy in the palms. In claps of the veriest passion, the sand-laden, suffocating wind swept through the clumps of trees, and the night was in the possession of a thousand evil powers that seemed to mock at me. In that hour but one hope held me; but one fear. Death seemed to shriek about the tent, and wander whining through the storm-torn trees; on my heart Fear laid his chilly fingers, tightening his hold, and straining as though drawing me nearer to the end. But determined to remain calm and defiant, in order to learn the Great Secret, I was prepared to encounter all risks, even in that wild, unknown country, in the camp of the outlaws. In the midst of the howling sirocco, two furtive figures, almost obscured by the whirling sand, passed my tent silently. The misty silhouettes were those of Yamina and Labakan! Swollen to a monstrous horror, Fear, a hideous, torturing spectre, loomed beside me, and all past delight, all future evil, laughed me to derision in his presence. Through the night the tempest raged with fury unabated, and as I lay with my hand grasping my only weapon, my knife, I knew not from one moment to another whether a coward's dagger would strike me a swift death blow. Thus, vigilant and feverishly anxious, I waited until the sandstorm passed and the dawn was no longer obscured, then rose, half surprised that I still lived to witness the glorious sunrise. Judge my amazement, however, when, on gazing round, I found that the tents had disappeared, and I was alone! In the hours of darkness during the storm, the camp had been struck, the camels packed, and even while I lay with eyes and ears open, the Bedouin band had silently departed, leaving me to my fate in an unknown region! Even the spots on the sand where the fires had burned had been carefully dug over, and every trace of the recent encampment had been carefully obliterated. Tied by its nose-cord to a palm was a _meheri_ camel, kneeling upon the sand with bent head, disconsolate and neglected, and as I gazed around among the tall trunks, seeking to discover whether any of the band remained behind, I suddenly caught a glimpse of a fluttering burnouse. "_Sabah elker_!" ["Good morning!"] I shouted in greeting, but next moment I was startled to recognise in the approaching figure the lean, sinewy form of Labakan. "_Slamalik_!" ["Good day to you!"] he cried, hastening towards me with a broad, fiendish smile upon his coarse, brutal features. "Thou art forgotten." "Thy people could scarcely have overlooked me when they left my tent untouched," I said, angered that this man should still be haunting me like an evil shadow. "Besides, they departed by stealth, so as not to attract my attention. For what reason have they plunged again into the desert?" "For reasons known only to ourselves," the crafty brigand replied, displaying his teeth in the hideous grin that seemed natural to him. "A secret message received after _el maghrib_ made it necessary to move." "Didst thou fear attack?" "We fear nothing, save the wrath of Allah," was his prompt reply, as without further words he proceeded to pull down my tent and pack it quickly upon the back of the kneeling camel. "We of the Roumis endeavour to be loyal to those who eat salt with us," I said, presently. "Thy people, however, desert the stranger to whom they give succour." Shrugging his shoulders, he drew his haick closer about his narrow chest, replying, "If thou hadst full knowledge of our affairs, thou wouldst be aware that circumstances had combined to render it imperative that my people should leave this spot, and proceed by a certain route, of which thou must remain in ignorance. In order, however, that thou shouldst not be left to starve in this vast region of the Great Death, I am here to guide thee onward to a spot where we may in two days rejoin our friends." Of all men he was the last I should have chosen as travelling companion, for treachery lurked in his curling lip, and in his black eye there beamed the villainous cunning of one whose callous hands were stained by many crimes. To refuse meant to remain there without food, and quickly perish, therefore I was compelled, when he had carefully removed all traces of the tent, to mount the camel, and submit to his obnoxious companionship. He had his own camel tethered near, and as he straddled across the saddle the animal rose, and together we started out upon our journey. CHAPTER THIRTY. THE HALL OF THE GREAT DEATH. Labakan's appearance was just as unkempt, his burnouse just as ragged, as on the day he snatched from me the box containing the horrible souvenir. As we rode side by side into the shadowless plain, he addressed many ingenious questions to me about my past. His thinly-veiled curiosity, however, I steadfastly refused to satisfy. That he knew more of me than I had imagined was quite apparent, otherwise he would not have taken such infinite pains to secure my escape from the palace of the Sultan. Puzzled over his strange conduct, I journeyed with him throughout the greater part of the day. Conversing pleasantly, and making many observations that contained a certain amount of dry humour, he never for a moment acted in a manner to cause me further misgivings. With the craftiness characteristic of his piratical tribe, he was endeavouring to disarm any suspicions I might perchance entertain, if--as to him seemed impossible--I recognised him as the man who followed me into the little _kahoua_ in the far-distant city. After nearly five hours on the level, sandy plain, under the torrid rays of a leaden sun, we passed along a valley, desolate and barren, until we had on our left a broad mount, rising first with gradual ascent, but in its upper part forming a steep and lofty wall. Then, having passed a small defile and crossed another valley, we gained the open, stony _hamada_ [plateau] again, and travelled on until, in the far distance, I detected a great, gaunt ruin. Plodding onward wearily through the furnace-heat of sunshine, we reached it about two hours later, and halted under its crumbling walls. Like a solitary beacon of civilisation, the ruined arches of a great stronghold rose over the sea-like level of desolation which spread out to an immense distance south and west. The rugged, uneven valley below, with its green strip of herbage, continued far into the stony level, and beyond, northwards, the desolate waste stretched towards a great dark mountain. Astonished, I stood gazing at the spacious dimensions of this time-worn relic of the power of the ancients. It seemed half a castle, half a temple, built of hewn stone, without cement, and ornamented with Corinthian columns. Apparently the place had suffered considerably by the depredations of the Arabs, who, during succeeding centuries, had carried away most of the sculptures; nevertheless, there was much about this relic of a bygone age to excite curiosity, and to cause one to recollect the fact that years before our era the Romans had penetrated as far as that place. That their dominion was not of a mere transitory nature the ruin seemed clearly to show, for it had nearly two thousand years ago been a great castle, and, no doubt, a centre of a departed and forgotten civilisation. Yet to-day this region is unknown to European geographers, and upon both English and French maps of the Great Sahara it is left a wide blank marked "Desert." Of Labakan I learnt that it was known to his people as the Hall of the Great Death. According to the Arab legend he related, a Christian ruler called the White Sultan, who lived there ages ago, once made war upon the Sultan of the Tsad, defeating him, and capturing his daughter, a girl of wondrous beauty. Intoxicated by success, and heavily laden with booty, the White Sultan returned to his own stronghold, followed, however, by the defeated monarch, who travelled alone and in disguise. Attired as a magician, he obtained audience of his enemy, then suddenly threw off his disguise and demanded the return of his daughter. But the White Sultan jeered at him, refused to part with the pearl of his harem, and ordered the sorrowing father to leave his presence, or be consigned to a dungeon. He withdrew, but as he went he cast his ring of graven jacinths upon the ground, and prophesied that ere two moons had run their course, a disaster, terrible and crushing, would fall upon his Infidel foe. Then, retiring to a cavern, he lived as a hermit, and through the months of Choubat and Adar, for fifty-nine nights and fifty-nine days, he invoked continuously the wrath of the Wrathful upon his enemy. On the sixtieth day his prophecy was fulfilled, for a terrible fire from heaven smote the palace of the White Ruler, and the poisonous fumes from the burning pile spread death and desolation throughout the land. Through the whole of the White Sultan's broad domains the death-dealing vapours wafted, and the people, the wise men, ministers, and the Sultan himself, all fell victims to the awful visitation. The only person spared an agonising death was the daughter of the Sultan of the Tsad, who, after the fire was subdued, found the treasure stolen from her father untouched, and carried it back with her to the shores of the Great Lake. Thus was she avenged. "Since that day," added the pirate of the desert, "the Hall of the Great Death, with its courtyards and gardens, has been tenantless, the wealthy city that once surrounded it has been swallowed up by the shifting sand, and so completely did Allah sweep away the dogs of Infidels, that even their name is now unknown." Much interested in this magnificent monument of the Roman occupation, I left Labakan squatting and smoking in its shadow to wander through the ruins. Upon the centre stone of the arched gateway that gave entrance to the great hall I deciphered the inscription "PBO. AFR. ILL.," [Provincia Africae illustris.] encircled by a coronal, while below was a trace of a chariot and a person in curious attire following it on foot. Besides a representation of an eagle and a few Berber names roughly graven, I could, however, find no other inscription on the portals, so proceeded to examine the grey walls of the inner courts. While thus engaged, a stealthy movement behind me caused me to start suddenly, and as I did so, I beheld my enemy! Silently, with his long, bright knife ready in his hand, he had crept up, and at the very instant I turned he sprang upon me. Ere I could unsheath my poignard, he held my throat in iron grip, and his eyes, flashing like those of some wild animal, were fixed with murderous hatred upon mine. "Thou art at last in the Hall of the Great Death, which is the Grave of the Infidels, and thou shalt die!" he cried, holding his knife uplifted ready to strike. I was held to the spot, stricken by a sudden dread. "So this is how thou treatest the stranger who falleth into thy merciless clutches!" I gasped, scarcely able to articulate, but struggling desperately. "Thou, dog of hell, art no stranger!" he said, with a string of blasphemies. "Thou hast escaped from our camp and brought upon us disaster, defeat, and dishonour. Thou hast obtained actual possession of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, and even at this moment there is concealed upon thy person a secret message to the Hadj Mohammed ben Ishak, of Agadez. Confess where thou hast hidden the Crescent, or thou shalt assuredly die!" His knife was poised aloft; his hand trembled, impatient to strike me down. Yet I was powerless in his grasp! "I cannot tell thee!" I answered. "Thou liest!" he cried. "Dost thou deny also that thou hast any secret message addressed to the _imam_, upon thee?" "I deny nothing," I gasped. "It was thee, paltry pilferer, who stole the box from me in the _kahoua_ in Algiers; thee who offered Gajere a bag of gold to assist in my murder! I know thee, Labakan! Rest assured, that if thou killest me, my assassination will speedily be avenged." His fierce, brutal countenance, hideously distorted by uncontrollable anger, broadened into a fiendish grin as, with a loud, defiant laugh, he cried-- "Hadj Absalam is Sultan of the Desert, and Labakan his Grand Vizier. We care naught for Infidels who seek to avenge thee, nor for the _homards_ who bear arms against us. Speak! Dost thou still refuse to disclose the hiding-place of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, or to deliver unto me thy secret message?" "I do," I gasped. "Too long then have I tarried and wasted words upon thee, courier of evil!" he shrieked, shaking me in his rage and tightening his painful grip upon my throat. At that moment, however, I succeeded in wrenching free my right hand from the outlaw's grasp, and, desperately clutching the hilt of my thin, curved blade, unsheathed it. It was a struggle for life. Again he grasped my wrist and held it immovable. "Cur of a Christian! thou who hast sought to bring ill-luck, disaster, and destruction upon us, shalt no longer pollute True Believers with thy baneful presence!" he roared furiously, adding, "Die! rot in the grave of the Infidels that is called the Hall of the Great Death! Curse thee! May Eblis condemn thee and all thine accursed race to the horrible tortures that are eternal, and may Allah burn thy vitals!" "Thou hast brought me here to murder me!" I cried. "Yet I am willing to explain to thee the whereabouts of the Crescent, if thou wilt tell me of the fate of Zoraida, Daughter of the Sun." "The Lalla Zoraida?" he cried, in surprise. "Then it _is_ true thou knowest her! We have not been mistaken! Thy dog's eyes have rested upon her unveiled face; her beauty hath been defiled by thy curious gaze, and she hath spoken with thee, telling thee of wonders the secret of which she was charged to preserve under penalty of death!" "She hath told me nothing," I answered, still helpless in his murderous grasp. "For many moons have I journeyed over oasis and desert, _hamada_ and dune, in search of the truth, but nothing, alas! hath been revealed." "She entrusted to thy keeping the Crescent of Glorious Wonders; she unveiled before thee, an Infidel; therefore the punishment to which she was condemned is just." "What was her punishment?" I gasped breathlessly. "At least tell me whether she still lives." "The hand that wrought treacherous deeds was sent thee, so that thou mightest gaze upon the result of thy gallant adventure," he answered sternly. "Yes, yes, I know. Its sight was horrible!" I said, shuddering, his words bringing back to my memory the cold, dead, bejewelled lingers in all their sickening hideousness. "Disgraced in the eyes of the people of Al-Islam, untrue to her creed, faithless to her people, she hath already received the just reward of spies and those who play us false. The vengeance of the Ennitra shall also fall upon thee!" "Was she murdered?" I demanded. "Tell me." "She, the One of Beauty, who was possessed of powers strange and inexplicable, exhibited to thee wonders that none have seen, marvels that she alone was able to work," he continued, murder lurking in every line of his dark, forbidding countenance. "The Great Secret that hath for generations been so zealously-guarded by our people she gave into thine unscrupulous hands. To thee, a dog of a Christian--upon whom may the wrath of Allah descend--she transferred her power, thus allowing her people to be ignominiously defeated and slaughtered by the _homards_. Of the disasters that have fallen upon us, of the misfortune that ever dogs the footprints of those of our men who set out upon expeditions, of all the discomforture that hath been experienced by us; nay, of the terrible doom that hath overtaken the perfidious Daughter of the Sun who entranced thee, thou art the author." "Merciful Allah!" I cried loudly. "I have been unconscious of having brought catastrophe upon thee. True, I am not of thy creed, but--" "Silence, thou bringer of evil! Let not the name of the One of Might pass thy polluted lips," he cried, glaring into my face with fierce, passionate anger. "To thee we owe the loss of the Marvellous Crescent. With it our good fortune hath departed. Crushed by defeat, the downfall of Hadj Absalam seemeth imminent, owing to the false, fickle sorceress Zoraida--may Allah burn the hell-vixen!--having fallen under thine amorous glances. Upon thee her power hath fallen, and as thou refusest to give back to us that which is our own, thou shalt not live to witness the rising of to-morrow's sun." "Doth thy Koran teach thee to murder those who are innocent?" I shouted in a tone of reproach, struggling strenuously, but in vain, to free my hand. "The Book of the Everlasting Will saith that those who fight against the True Believers and study to act corruptly shall be slain, or shall have their hands and feet cut off, and that the Infidel shall have none to help him." "Loosen thine hold!" I cried again, vainly exerting every muscle. "Felon and outlaw! thou hast seized me by coward stealth, fearing to fight in open combat. If thine hand strikest me, my blood will swiftly be avenged!" "Spawn of a worm! I have brought thee hither to kill thee!" he hissed between his firmly-set teeth. "Christian dog! Son of a dungheap! Thou, whose ill-favoured white features so fascinated the One of Beauty as to cause her to forsake her people and leave them powerless in the hands of their hated enemies--thou hast uttered thy last word! To-morrow thou wilt be carrion for the vultures!" "Curse thee, cut-throat!" I shrieked, turning my dagger upon him, but only succeeding in inflicting a gash upon his brown wrist. "Thou, brigand of bloody deeds, hast followed me here into the distant desert to assassinate me secretly, to satisfy thy craving for the shedding of blood, but I prophesy that thou wilt--" In the terrible death-embrace the words froze on my parched lips. His brown, sinewy arm fell swiftly between my aching eyes and the golden blaze of sunlight. A sharp twinge in the breast told me the horrible truth, and the hideous, dirty, repulsive face glaring into mine seemed slowly to fade into the dark red mist by which everything was suddenly overspread. I felt myself falling, and clutched frantically for support, but with a nauseating giddiness reeled backwards upon the sand. A rough hand searched the inner pocket of my gandoura, and tore from my breast my little leathern charm-case, without which no Arab travels. Upon my ears, harsh and discordant, a short, exultant laugh sounded hollow and distant. Next second a grim shadow fell, enveloping me in a darkness that blotted out all consciousness. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. KAYLULAH. Insanity had seized me. Dimly conscious of the horrible truth, I longed for release by death from the awful torture racking me. The pain was excruciating. In my agony every nerve seemed lacerated, every muscle paralysed, every joint dislocated. My brain was on fire. My lips dry and cracking, my throat parched and contracted, my eyes burning in their sockets, my tongue so swollen that my mouth seemed too small to contain it, and my fevered forehead throbbing, as strange scenes, grim and terrifying, flitted before me. Pursued by hideously-distorted phantoms of the past, I seemed to have been plunged into a veritable Hawiyat. Forms and faces, incidents and scenes that were familiar rose shadowy and unreal before my pain-racked eyes, only to dissolve in rapid succession. My closest friends mocked and jeered at my discomforture, and those I had known in my brighter youthful days renewed their acquaintance in a manner grotesquely chaotic. In this awful nightmare of delirium scenes were conjured up before me vividly tragical, sometimes actually revolting. Bereft of reason, I was enduring an agony every horror of which still remains graven on the tablets of my memory. Over me blank despair had cast her sable pall, and, reviewing my career, I saw my fond hopes, once so buoyant, crushed and shattered, and the future only a grey, impenetrable mist. My skull seemed filled with molten metal that boiled and bubbled, causing me the most frightful nauseating torment which nothing could relieve, yet with appalling vividness sights, strange and startling, passed in panorama before my unbalanced vision. By turns I witnessed incidents picturesque, grotesque, and ghastly, and struggled to articulate the aimless, incoherent chatter of an idiot. Once I had a vision of the green fields, the ploughed land, the tall poplars and stately elms that surrounded my far-off English home. The old Norman tower of the church, grey and lichen-covered, under the shadow of which rested my ancestors, the old-fashioned windmill that formed so prominent a feature in the landscape, the long, straggling village street, with its ivy-covered parsonage and its homely cottages with tiny dormer windows peeping forth from under the thatch, were all before my eyes, and, notwithstanding the acute pain that racked me, I became entranced by the rural peace of the typical English scene to which I had, as if by magic, been transported. Years had passed since I had last trodden that quaint old street; indeed, amid the Bohemian gaieties of the Quartier Latin, the ease and idleness of life beyond the Pyrenees, and the perpetual excitement consequent on "roughing it" among the Arabs and Moors, its remembrance had become almost obliterated. Yet in a few brief seconds I lived again my childhood days, days when that ancient village constituted my world; a world in which Society was represented by a jovial but occasionally-resident city merchant, an energetic parson, a merry and popular doctor, and a tall, stately, white-haired gentleman who lived in a house which somebody had nicknamed "Spy-corner," and who, on account of his commanding presence, was known to his intimates as "The Sultan." I fancied myself moving again among friends I had known from my birth, amid surroundings that were peaceful, refreshing, and altogether charming. But the chimera faded all too quickly. Green fields were succeeded by desolate stretches of shifting sand, where there was not a blade of grass, not a tree, not a living thing, and where I stood alone and unsheltered from the fierce, merciless rays of the African sun. Fine sand whirled up by the hot, stifling wind filled my eyes, mouth, and nostrils, and I was faint with hunger and consumed by an unquenchable thirst. Abnormal incidents, full of horror, crowded themselves upon my disordered intellect. I thought myself again in the hands of the brutal Pirates of the Desert, condemned by Hadj Absalam to all the frightful tortures his ingenious mind could devise. Black writhing asps played before my face, scorpions were about me, and vultures, hovering above, flapped their great wings impatient to devour the carrion. I cried out, I shouted, I raved, in the hope that someone would release me from the ever-increasing horrors, but I was alone in that great barren wilderness, with life fast ebbing. The agonies were awful! My brain was aflame, my head throbbed, feeling as if every moment it must burst, and upon me hung a terrible weight that crushed my senses, rendering me powerless. Visions, confused and unintelligible, passed in rapid succession before my aching eyes, and I became awestricken by their revolting hideousness. The dark, villainous face of Labakan grinned at me exultingly, and the scarred, sinister visage of Hadj Absalam, the mighty Ruler of the Desert, regarded my agonies with a fierce, horrible expression, in which the spirit of murder was vividly delineated. Suddenly despair gave place to joy. Demented and rambling, I imagined that my hand was grasping the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, the lost talisman that would restore me to happiness with the woman I loved. But, alas! it was only for a brief second, for next moment in a sudden pang of excruciating pain a darkness fell, and everything, even my physical torment, suddenly faded. I think I must have slept. Of time I had no idea, my mind having lost its balance. My lapse into unconsciousness may have lasted for minutes or for days, for aught I knew. At last, however, I found myself again wrestling with the terrible calenture of the brain. My temples throbbed painfully, my throat was so contracted that I scarce could swallow, and across my breast acute pains shot like knife-stabs. Dazed and half conscious, I lay in a kind of stupor. In the red mist before my heavy, fevered eyes a woman's countenance gradually assumed shape. The pale, beautiful face of Zoraida, every feature of which was distinct and vivid, gazed upon me with dark, wide-open, serious eyes. Across her white brow hung the golden sequins and roughly-cut gems, and upon her bare breast jewels seemed to flash with brilliant fires that blinded me. Nearer she bent towards me, and her bare arm slid around my neck in affectionate embrace. Almost beside myself with joy, I tried to speak, to greet her, to tell her of the treachery of the outlaw who had struck me down; but my lips refused to utter sound. Again I exerted every effort to articulate one word--her name--but could not. A spell of dumbness seemed to have fallen upon me! Her lips moved; she spoke, but her words were unintelligible. Again I tried to speak, yet, alas! only a dull rattle proceeded from my parched throat. Upon her face, flawless in its beauty, there was an expression of unutterable sorrow, a woeful look of blank despair, as slowly and solemnly she shook her head. Her arm rose, and its sight shocked me. The hand had been lopped off at the wrist! Then, with her beautiful eyes still fixed upon mine, she bent still closer, until I felt her lips press softly upon my cheek. Her passionate kiss electrified me. From my brain the weight seemed suddenly lifted, as the phantom of the woman I loved faded slowly from my entranced gaze. So distinctly had I seen her that I could have sworn she was by my side. Her warm caress that I had been unable to return, was still fresh upon my cheek, the tinkle of her sequins sounded in my ears. The sweet breath of attar of rose and geranium filled my nostrils, and the fair face, full of a poignant, ever-present sorrow, lived in my memory. Thus, slowly and painfully, I struggled back to consciousness. It was sunset when the villain Labakan struck me down, but, judging from the brilliance of the bar of sunlight that fell across me when at last I opened my eyes, it was about noon. At least twenty hours must have elapsed since I had fallen under the assassin's knife; perhaps, indeed, two whole days had run their course! As I stretched my cramped, aching limbs, a sudden spasm shot through my breast, causing me to place my hand involuntarily there, and I was amazed to discover that my gandoura had been torn open and my wound hastily but skilfully bandaged with strips torn from a clean white burnouse. Who could have thus rendered me aid? Labakan certainly had not, therefore it was equally apparent that some other person had discovered and befriended me. Again I glanced at the bandages in which I was swathed, and found they were fastened by large jewelled pins that were essentially articles of feminine adornment. It seemed cool and dimly-lit where I was lying, and presently, when full consciousness returned, I made out that I was in a subterranean chamber built of stone and lighted from the top by a crevice through which the ray of sunlight strayed. Let into the dark walls were iron rings. They showed that the place was a dungeon! With some of my clothing removed and my body covered by a coarse rug, I was lying upon a broad stone bench, and when presently I felt sufficiently strong to investigate, I was astonished to discover that my couch had been rendered comfortable by a pile of silken and woollen garments--evidently the contents of a woman's wardrobe--which had been placed on the stone before I had been laid thereon. Upon the floor beside me lay a small skin of water, some dates, Moorish biscuits, and sweetmeats. Whoever had brought me there had done all in their power to secure my bodily comfort, and it seemed evident that I owed it all to a woman. Apparently she had emptied the contents of her camel's bags in order to make me a bed, for my head was pillowed on one of the soft silken cushions of a _jakfi_, and the blanket that covered me bore a crude representation of Fathma's hand in order to avert the evil eye. [Jakfi: A kind of cage mounted on a camel in which the wealthier Arabs carry their wives across the desert. Sometimes called a _shugduf_.] Who, I wondered, had snatched me from the grave and placed me in that silent underground tomb? The painful throbbing in my head that had caused my temporary madness was now gradually abating, and after considerable difficulty I succeeded in raising myself upon my elbow, gazing anxiously on all sides with calm consciousness. The opposite end of the curious stone chamber was plunged in cavernous darkness, and I strained my eyes to ascertain what mystery might there be hidden. While doing so, my gaze fell upon a piece of paper which lay upon the water-skin close to my hand. Taking it up eagerly, I held it in the golden streak of sunshine, and saw upon it Arabic characters that had been rudely traced, apparently with a piece of charred wood. After considerable difficulty, on account of the hurried manner in which the words had been scrawled, I deciphered it to be a message which read as follows:-- "Praise be to Allah, opener of locks with His name and withdrawer of veils of hidden things with His beneficence. Upon thee, O stranger from beyond seas, be the best of blessings, and salutation, and perfect peace. O Elucidator of the Great Mystery, know thou that a friend hath given thee succour and will not forsake thee, even though the vials of murderous wrath have been poured out upon thee. If thou readest these words, hope for thou mayest yet confound the plots of thine enemies and discover that which thou seekest. Though strange things may meet thine eyes, fear not, for in the darkness there is yet light. Thy presence will be demanded ere long. Therefore rest and recover, in the knowledge that thou art under the secret protection of an unknown friend. Praise be upon thee, and may Allah's wrath fall heavily upon those who seek thy destruction!" A sudden faintness again seized me. The paper fell from my nerveless grasp, as with a strange, sinking feeling I lapsed again into unconsciousness. Hours must have passed; how many I know not, but when I again awoke, the grey light of early dawn was struggling through the small crevice. My wound felt easier, and, supporting myself upon one arm, I drank a few drops of water from the skin. Close to my hand I found a tiny paper packet bearing the label of a French pharmacy in Constantine which showed it to contain quinine. The drug would, I thought, prove beneficial to me, so I swallowed some of the powder, and ate two or three dates to remove the bitter taste. As the light increased, and I found myself in full possession of my faculties, I re-read the mysterious message, and commenced a minute examination of my bandages. The latter had been skilfully adjusted, evidently by a woman. With the exception of a dull soreness in my chest, the pain had left me, and my temperature had fallen considerably. The fever had abated, and I felt confident that the drug that had so frequently been of benefit to me in the past would once more prove serviceable. I tried to rise, but could not, therefore I lay throughout that day, vaguely wondering where I was and how I came to be there alone, yet not uncared for. My eyes fixed themselves upon the impenetrable darkness of the opposite end of the mysterious chamber, vainly striving to pierce the gloom. Now and then a lizard or some other reptile would emerge from the crevices and scuttle along over the stones in search of food, otherwise there prevailed the dead silence of the tomb. I desired to rise, in order to ascertain whether I was actually a prisoner. The entrance to the strange chamber was apparently at the opposite end, hidden in the darkness. As the light grew stronger, I examined the walls, finding they were constructed of huge blocks of stone now black with age. Indeed, my surroundings were decidedly uncanny, and although the place was cool, yet light and air would have been preferable. Satisfying my hunger with some _ajwah_ [dates stoned and pressed into a paste] and _kahk_, [a kind of bread], I spent the day in alternate dozing and silent thoughtfulness until the single ray of sunlight disappeared, and night crept slowly on. For hours I slept, and when I awoke refreshed, it was again day. My wound seemed even less painful, and, having eaten and drawn some water from the skin, I succeeded, after some difficulty, in rising. The woman's dresses of silk and gauze that had formed my couch were sadly creased and tumbled, and upon some of them were dark, ugly stains where blood had flowed from my breast. But it was my intention to explore thoroughly and without delay the sepulchral place into which I had been so mysteriously introduced. I had not the slightest knowledge of where I was; and could only suppose that some persons, having found me, had taken me to that chamber, and, being compelled to continue their way, had left all they could devise for my comfort. Yet, whoever had done this knew me, and was well aware of the object of my journey, facts which were plainly proved by the message traced in charcoal. Girding my loins with my sash, and sticking into it the jewelled-hilted knife which I found lying near, I started, with unsteady gait caused by weakness, on a tour of investigation. With my feet falling noiselessly upon the dust of years, I strode to the opposite end of the chamber, where the light did not penetrate, and then discovered that it led into a second chamber of about the same size, situated at right angles with the one I had been occupying. At the further end of this bare, gloomy apartment a faint glimmer showed in the arched roof, where the light struggled through between a long but narrow space between the massive masonry. Groping onward, my foot suddenly caught some object, and, stumbling, I fell prone upon my face. As I put out my hand to break the fall, I grasped something, over which a moment later I ran my hands to ascertain its nature. Horrified, I drew back with a cry. My fingers had touched a heap of bones! Regaining my feet, I stood for a few moments in hesitation, but ere I stepped over the obstruction to move forward, my eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom, and then, where the shaft of uncertain light struck the wall a grim and startling spectacle met my gaze. Lying in a niche similar to that in which I had spent so many hours of agony and unconsciousness was a complete human skeleton! With the grey light struggling through the roof and falling full upon it, the remains presented an appearance hideous and ghastly. The lower part of the skull had fallen away, an arm had dropped off, and the cavities where eyes once gleamed gave the upturned skull a hideous appearance. A wisp of long dark hair, twisted and matted, was still attached to the skin of the skull, a portion of which seemed mummified, and upon the thin finger-bones that rested upon the stone some rings of gold and tarnished silver still remained. By the length of the hair, the character of the rings, and the fact that on one of the ankles there still remained a bangle, it was apparent that the remains were those of a woman. Approaching closer, I examined the bones, and found a small collar of iron encircling the neck, to which was attached a chain that was riveted to a ring in the wall a few feet away. The woman, whoever she had been, had died in captivity. Looking around, I was surprised to notice another object crouched down against the wall, and this proved on investigation to be the skeleton of a second woman, chained like the first, and who had evidently died while seated cross-legged upon the floor. In the soft dust that had been whirled in by the sandstorms, skulls and bones of all kinds were lying about in profusion, showing that in that dungeon captives were either murdered or starved to death, and that the corpses of previous victims were allowed to remain there and rot within sight of those confined there. What horrors must those prisoners have suffered, compelled to spend day and night with a body in the most hideous stages of decay! I stood gazing at the gruesome remains. For several days had I lived in this charnel-house, in ignorance that the bones of the departed were my companions, but now, on discovering the truth, I desired to leave the tomb-like dungeon without delay. Near the skeletons were two saddle-bags apparently well filled, but I did not pause to investigate their contents, for I was too anxious to leave the place. True, the written message; said I should gaze upon strange things, but I had been utterly unprepared for the discovery of these hideous relics of the dead. Onward among the bones with which the place seemed thickly strewn I groped, in eager search of some means of exit, until I came to the wall at the further end of the dark chamber; then, failing to discover any door, I started to go slowly around the place, feeling the walls carefully with both hands. Nearly two hours I spent in a search that was tedious, and which in my enfeebled condition caused my wound to pain me considerably. All, however, was in vain. Noon came and went, and my active fingers travelled rapidly over every portion of the rough, dust-covered walls of the rectangular dungeon, but no trace of a door could I discover, though I made a systematic investigation of every portion of the place. There were no means of escape. It seemed suspiciously as if I had been brought there and walled in to share the fate of the other unfortunate wretches whose whitening bones told so horrible a tale! Sinking upon the couch that had been arranged for me by unknown hands, I endeavoured to devise some means of extricating myself. If it had been intended that I should die in that gloomy tomb, why had means of sustenance been provided for me; why had my janitors provided me with a bed composed of a woman's wardrobe? The letter told me to rest and to recover in order to pursue my search. Alas! had I not been pursuing a will-o'-the-wisp? Had I not been actually in Agadez, and passed under the shadow of the mosque, yet unable to seek the old _imam_ who held the key to the mystery? The Crescent of Glorious Wonders--the strange object that was to bring Zoraida and me prosperity and happiness--was lost, and, weak and ill, I was now a shattered and rudderless derelict drifting on the lonely sea of despair. Time after time I deciphered the mysterious message I had found by my side when consciousness returned to me, but it brought no satisfaction. Anxious to escape from that grim sepulchre, yet failing to discover any way out, I paced to and fro, wildly agitated. It was indeed strange. I had certainly been brought there, yet there was no door through which I had passed. I examined the whole of the roof minutely as far as I was able, but there was nothing whatever to show that entrance was gained from the top, while every part of the walls was of stone, which led me to the conviction that there was no secret door. Again and again I stumbled onward, with eager hands feeling the ancient, roughly-hewn blocks, but failing to discover anything to raise my hopes. Indeed, as the afternoon wore by and the light slowly faded, I became dejected, feeling that at last I had fallen hopelessly into the hands of enemies who had resolved that, walled up in that sepulchre, I should endure the tortures of hunger and thirst, and afterwards die a horrible and lingering death. I ate only a few mouthfuls of _kahk_ and took only a few drops of water, just sufficient to moisten my parched throat, for I was determined not to give in without a struggle, and therefore intended to make my supplies last as long as possible. After an elaborate calculation, I arrived at the conclusion that with economy I should have sufficient to sustain life for about a week, therefore I partook only of what was absolutely necessary for subsistence. Through the crack above my couch I could see daylight had faded, and at last, in despair, I cast myself down, wearied and faint, and fell asleep. My wound became very painful, and I think the delirium must have again crept over me, for during the night strange phantoms seemed to haunt me with horrifying vividness, and my mind became partially unbalanced by the mental torture which fastened itself upon me. Through those long dark hours wild words that had neither context nor meaning fell from my fevered lips, as periods of imaginary joy were succeeded by hideous debauches of despair. Consciousness returned after I had indulged in a _kaylulah_, [a sleep about 9 a.m. It is believed among the Arabs to cause poverty and wretchedness], and when the narrow bar of sunlight fell across me, I rose and ate the few mouthfuls of food I allowed myself. Then once more there commenced a search for means of egress. Every crevice and corner I searched diligently, hoping to discover some secret door; but in an hour I paused to rest. Feeling weaker, for the least exertion overcame me, I suddenly remembered the two saddle-bags, and out of sheer curiosity, and perhaps a desire to occupy my time, resolved to see what they contained. Dragging one of them into the light close to my couch, I drew the knife from my sash and ripped it open. It contained a miscellaneous collection of articles almost valueless, yet to me they were of considerable interest, as they were mostly of European manufacture, and at some time or another had evidently belonged to unfortunate travellers. A couple of watches bore the names of London makers, and there were knives from Sheffield, several British-made revolvers, a sovereign purse, and other things which belonged unmistakably to Western civilisation. After I had turned out the first bag, I dragged in the second and cut it open in a like manner, finding a similar assortment inside. One by one I pulled them out, inspected them, and cast them in a heap upon the floor, when suddenly I grasped some object larger than the rest and drew it forth. Its appearance amazed me. I could scarcely believe my eyes, half persuaded for the moment that I had again lapsed into delirium, and that it was merely a chimera of my disordered imagination. But no, I was in perfect possession of all my senses. My eager, trembling fingers tore open the worm-eaten leathern case, and a second later there was disclosed to my gaze an object which caused me to utter a loud cry of joy. I had regained that for which I had long mourned as lost. Reposing in its case, uninjured and apparently untouched, was that half-hoop of cabalistically-engraven iron upon which all my hopes were founded--the Crescent of Glorious Wonders! CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. THE GHUZZAT OF THE SENOUSYA. Grasping the Crescent with both hands, I examined it minutely, convincing myself that it actually was the strange object that Zoraida had given me. I recognised its curious engraving and the undecipherable hieroglyphics that had so puzzled me. How it came to repose where I had discovered it was a profound mystery. Apparently the thief of the Kel-Fade, who had snatched it from me, had replaced it in its case and pushed it into his saddle-bag along with the miscellaneous proceeds of other raids, and then, by some means, both the bags had been deposited in that chamber for safe keeping. The entrance to that gruesome sepulchre was, no doubt, a hidden mystery, therefore the thief imagined his treasure safe from prying fingers. But I had regained it, and meant to retain possession of it, and to learn the great insolvable Secret even though my life might be jeopardised. If Zoraida still lived, I might, after all, be enabled to carry out her extraordinary commission, and so earn that peace and happiness that was my promised reward. By this thought hope revived within me, as with redoubled energy I endeavoured to detect some means by which to escape. With the Crescent of Glorious Wonders once again in my possession it was my determination to return to Agadez, even at the risk of arrest, and seek Mohammed ben Ishak, the one person in the whole world who could impart to me the abstruse knowledge upon which depended my future. Yet, with the Crescent within my grasp, and only a few days distant from Agadez, I was, nevertheless, an utterly helpless prisoner, doomed to the companionship of the ghastly dead, until I too should pass the threshold of the Silent Kingdom. Through the day I searched for means of exit, unceasingly examining the roof of my prison, but finding nothing to lead me to suppose that a door was concealed. How I had been placed there was a mystery. Once, about noon, I was startled by hearing a voice deep and resonant, yet I reassured myself that it was merely fancy, and that I was alone. After long search, I ate and drank, then sat helpless and dejected, examining my regained prize, which, alas! was still useless to me. To return to Agadez with it in my possession seemed a forlorn hope. All my thoughts centred upon the woman whose grace and beauty held me enmeshed. In a frenzy of madness I rose and paced that silent unknown tomb where hideous, crumbling skeletons seemed to mock me, and where the stillness and gloom were so complete and appalling. Suddenly an object caught my eye that I had not before noticed. Close to the niche in which the bones of one of the victims reposed, an iron ring was fastened in the wall about a foot from the floor. The slanting ray of light from above was falling at that hour quite close to it, revealing that the dust encrusting other parts of the floor had been removed in the vicinity. Upon the white beaten earth there was a large dark stain, about the size of my hand. This aroused my curiosity, for it appeared suspiciously like a stain of blood, and I remembered that my wound was still open when I had been brought there. The thought flashed across my mind that some secret mode of entrance was therein hidden, yet I examined carefully the ring, and found it an ordinary one, evidently used to chain up prisoners, and securely embedded in a huge block of roughly-hewn stone about two feet square. My hands carefully felt the ring, but it was rough and deeply rusted, showing that it had not been used as a handle. It was curious, though, why the dust should have been removed from the floor at that spot, and why at that place only should there remain a trace of blood. With the hilt of my knife I rapped upon the stone, but there was no sound to give rise to further suspicion, neither was there any opening around the block. It fitted closely like the others, and had probably been built in there for centuries. Taking the ring in both hands, I tugged at it, at the same time, however, feeling the effort was useless. The idea of moving a gigantic block of stone of that size was preposterous, and when I found I had expended my strength in vain, I laughed aloud as I wiped my brow. Pausing, I again examined its surroundings minutely. Though there was nothing whatever to show the block was movable, I instinctively felt that some secret mode of exit lay concealed there. Again a voice startled me. Like a muffled wail it sounded, and I was undecided as to whether it might not have been caused by the wind passing over the crevice above that admitted light and air into the charnel-house. Having rested to regain breath, I essayed another attempt. Setting my feet firmly on either side of the block, I threw my whole weight backward, and pulled frantically at the ring of iron. Holding my breath, and setting my teeth firmly, I was exerting every muscle, when suddenly there was a harsh, grating sound. The great block of stone moved forward nearly six inches! In my weak state the smallest exertion produced hard breathing, therefore I was compelled to pause for a few moments in intense anxiety. At last I had discovered the secret! Again I tugged at the great rusty ring, moving it towards me still further. Then, on careful investigation, I discovered that the block of stone was not solid, but formed the front of a great stone drawer, long and narrow like a coffin, and just large enough to admit the body of a man. By dint of herculean effort I drew the great drawer out nearly four feet, then, taking the Crescent of Glorious Wonders in its worm-eaten case, together with some _ajwah_ for sustenance, I entered the coffin-like receptacle. With difficulty I squeezed through the shallow trough, that proved several feet longer than the thickness of the wall, and, to my relief, I found myself, a moment later, in a narrow, subterranean passage, enveloped in an impenetrable darkness. With feet falling silently in the thick white dust, I felt my way along for some distance, taking several abrupt turnings, until strange noises caused me to halt, listening breathlessly. Human voices were raised in a solemn, mournful chant! Noiselessly I crept forward in the darkness, coming at length to a blank wall, and then, turning sharply to the right, a thick plush curtain arrested my progress. Drawing it aside slightly, and with infinite care, I gazed in wonderment upon a scene weird and remarkable. It held me spellbound. The underground apartment was about fifteen feet wide, forty feet long, and nine feet high, with one end slightly raised as a kind of platform. Illumined by a great fire that burned in a sort of brazier in the centre, there were nine flat stones ranged round, and upon these sat aged, white-bearded Arabs. They were councillors of one of the secret societies of Al-Islam. Around were assembled other younger Sons of the Desert, presenting a strange and weird appearance. Each bore an ostrich feather, stuck in the rope of camel's hair that encircled his head, and carried in his left hand a green-painted _derbouka_. The councillors, swaying their bodies in unison, were uttering strange, monotonous incantations, when suddenly a very old and feeble man, in scarlet burnouse, descended from the platform where he had been enthroned, bearing in his hand a small black snake that writhed and twisted itself around his bony wrist. Advancing to the brazier, he cast the reptile into the fire, and as it was consumed, the whole of those present set up a long, shrill wail. "Accursed be the race of dogs!" they cried. "May the entrails of the Infidels who have over-run the glorious land of the True Believer be burned like yonder serpent, and may the pestilence overtake them. May the vultures lay bare their bones, and may their dust be scattered across the plains, even unto the Great Sea." The words revealed to me their purpose. During my travels, I had, on many occasions, heard rumours of secret Moslem societies, although their existence had often been denied in the European press, the Paris _Figaro_ excepted. Frequently had I longed for an opportunity of investigating these associations, formed for the purpose of concerted and decisive action against the Christians, and now, by a most curious circumstance, I found myself present at one of their secret meetings. The most violent and far-reaching of these organisations was, I had been told, the Ghuzzat, a development of an offshoot of the Senousya, and was composed of the wildest fanatics of the Aissawa sect who were followers of the elder Senousi, a Shereef, or descendant of the Prophet. Leaving Mecca some years before, the marabout had wandered through Egypt, Tripoli, and Tunis, finally building a large _zawya_ [Hermitage] at El-Beida, near the fountain of Apollo. At that time the Arabs of the province were pagans. He preached against the Christian invaders, healed the sick, performed "miracles," and established for himself a reputation, so that the Bedouins carried his fame across the Desert, through the Oasis of Ojila-Jalo, into Wadai and Mourzouk, Agadez, and Timbuktu, and even into Morocco. The present head of this society for the simultaneous massacre of all Christians throughout the Soudan, was a descendant of Senousi, named El-Mahdi, and its members were the most mad-brained fanatics, who took oaths upon the Koran to exterminate the dogs of Infidels. [El-Mahdi. Meaning "Led by God." There are many families of that name in the Sahara.] Thus it was with combined interest and trepidation that I stood gazing upon a remarkable sight that no European had ever before witnessed. Though the Christian invader had been tolerated along the Barbary littoral, it was apparent that the fierce hatred and treachery of Al-Islam was only stifled, and the teaching of fanatical societies, such as these, was that all Roumis should, in an unguarded moment, be massacred without mercy. Indeed, the weird chant that fell upon my ears at that moment was to the effect that Allah, Requiter of good and evil, bade them rise and revenge the wrongs that followers of the Great Prophet had suffered at the defiling hands of the accursed. The blazing brazier was, I noticed, very similar in shape to that in the mysterious chamber in Algiers, to which Zoraida had conducted me. Could it be that she too was a member of this widespread secret league to secure the extermination of the Christians? The chant concluded, the strange rites of the Ghuzzat [Fighters for the Faith] commenced. After performing a _sujdah_, [a single "prostration," with the forehead touching the ground, performed from a sitting position], the whole of those present recited the Surat-al-Ikhlas, which is also sometimes called the Kul Huw' Allah, or the Declaration of Unity, of which the following is the translation:-- "Say, He is the one God! The eternal Allah! He begets not, nor is He begot! And unto Him the like is not." The aged man in the scarlet burnouse, who seemed to be the high priest of the order, turned towards the raised platform, and, amid a sudden silence, clapped his hands. When lo! a curtain at the rear was drawn aside, revealing a kind of small circular hut, built of dried palm branches, with an opening at the top. Those assembled cried aloud, as if in fear, but the priest comforted them with an Ayat, or Koranic verse, and almost at the same moment, eleven men, barefooted, with their burnouses cast aside, marched in single file before the hut. The secret ceremony was a strange admixture of religion and paganism, for, as they descended from the dais and marched round the circle of seated councillors, the chief sprinkled them with blood from the tip of an ostrich feather. Then they were lined up with their backs to the hut, and in the uncertain light shed by the flaming brazier presented a most weird spectacle. Suddenly, at a word from the man in the red robe, the conspirators gathered around, thumped their _derboukas_, and set up a plaintive howl, while the eleven kept perfect cadence with the right foot. A slight pause ensued, when the eleven turned and moved onward, until the first--a lad not over ten years of age, apparently just initiated into the mysteries of the foul plot against Europeans--reached the mysterious hut. Then, halting for a second, he deliberately plunged his arm down the hole in the top, and, amid low, guttural expressions of approbation that sounded from all sides, dragged forth a huge serpent, about five feet in length, and the size of a man's wrist. Struggling desperately, he attempted to hold it about four inches from the head with his teeth, but at first he could not open his mouth wide enough, and this seemed to cause the onlookers considerable anxiety. The head of the reptile was to the left, and to break the dead weight of the great snake, the lad held its writhing body up with his left hand. The boy was not four feet in height, so the contrast was remarkable. At length, however, he succeeded in fastening his teeth firmly in the serpent's back, and the march and chant were resumed, to the accompaniment of monotonous drumming. The man behind the snake-carrier took his feather from his head and seemed to be chasing the serpent towards the left, so as to keep the reptile's fangs from the lad's face. The third man picked out a snake from the little hut and carried it as did the boy, while the fourth acted as the second man did; thus it went on till eight of the men were in motion. By the time the fifth couple were ready to take a snake, the first had completed a few circuits of the space. Then he took the reptile from his mouth and gently threw it upon the ground, where it lay motionless in a state of catalepsy, and, marching round while the onlookers prostrated themselves, murmuring strange incantations, he again reached the hut, and took another of the writhing reptiles. This was continued until all the snakes had been used. Meanwhile, the reptiles that had been thrown at the feet of the silent, statuesque councillors of the order were brushed by feathers by half a dozen men, and then handed one by one to the conspirators grouped around, who gripped them near the head, and, while holding them still and motionless at arm's length, recited a declaration of adherence to the secret league. When all the snakes had gone through the weird ceremonial, and were in the hands of the dark-faced wanderers of the plains, the grave councillors rose, and their places were taken by a similar number of mysterious-looking women, enveloped from head to foot in black haicks, which entirely covered them, except for the two holes through which their bright eyes peered. As they seated themselves upon the flat stones, the note of the dismal chant was changed to a more shrill one, and the men, led by the venerable chief of the conspirators, formed a circle around them, while each drew from beneath his burnouse a _Hamail_, or pocket Koran. "The grave is darkness and good deeds are its lamp," they commenced chanting, moving slowly round the seated women. Then followed a supplication which commenced, "O Prince! O Ruler! O Ancient of Benefits! O Omniscient! O Lord of the Three Worlds! O Thou who givest when asked, and who aidest when Aid is required, receive this our prostration, and preserve us from dangers, and make easy our Affairs, and broaden our Breasts." From the remainder of their remarkable prayer I gathered that as they, the Ghuzzat of the Senousya, had been able to hold in submission the venomous serpents in their hands, so would they, on the day when the standard of revolt was raised in Algeria, in Tunis, and in Egypt, hold in their clutches the swaggering Roumis who had defiled their land. Then, as they proceeded one after another to kill the reptiles, they declared, with one accord, that with as little compunction as they now treated these snakes, so would they slaughter without mercy the men, women, and children of the Infidels. Their extermination, like vermin, would alone, they declared, "bring coolness to the eyes of True Believers." Suddenly, almost before I was aware of it, the eyes of the aged chief met mine! I had, in my eager desire to witness the strange scenes, indiscreetly pulled back the curtain too far, revealing the whole of my head! The high priest, clapping his hands, produced in a moment a dead silence. "Lo!" he shouted in a loud voice. "My sons and daughters, prying eyes have fallen upon us. We are discovered!" His words produced an effect that was electrical. Fifty voices, with one accord, demanded further explanation. "We have, O children, been watched from behind yonder curtain!" he cried. "_Our secret is known_!" I waited for no more. A dozen fierce fanatics dashed towards the spot where I had been standing, but without thinking of any place of refuge, I plunged down the dark passage. In a second I was pursued. Oaths and vows of vengeance sounded behind me, and with the Crescent of Glorious Wonders grasped tightly in my hand, I sped onward until I ran headlong against a wall. Turning quickly at right angles, I found another long, unlighted subterranean passage. Dashing headlong down it, I turned to right and then to left through its intricate windings, and as the footsteps of my pursuers sounded behind me, I suddenly became aware that I was retracing my steps to my tomb-like dungeon. From those who sought me I could expect no mercy. Death only could expiate my crime. I had discovered the intentions of Al-Islam, and even though I might declare myself a follower of the Prophet, I had not been initiated into the mysteries of the Ghuzzat, and would therefore be put to death as a spy. The fierce fanatics, with knives unsheathed, were at my heels, and, redoubling my speed, I tore along, stumbling over the rough floor and grazing both legs and arms in my wild flight. To strike me down the conspirators were straining every muscle, yet I managed to keep on, until, taking two sudden turns immediately after one another, I remembered that I was near the entrance to the secret chamber. It was my only chance. If they were unaware of the existence of the charnel-house with its crumbling bones, then, perchance, I might escape. In the darkness I could distinguish nothing. What if I had passed the entrance, and came at last to a blank wall! The thought unnerved me. Voices behind me sounded harsh and deep, still I dashed onward until my feet caught in something, and, stumbling, I fell. I knew the accident must result in my death. In a few moments the keen knives of the conspirators must reach my heart. My hands came into contact with stone. Frantically I grasped it, realising with gratification that I had fallen over the great coffin-like drawer that gave entrance to my prison. In a second I recovered myself, and, entering the half-open trough, crawled through it, with the Crescent still in my hand. Finding myself on the opposite side of the wall, I lost no time in grasping the iron ring, and, with the last strenuous effort of which I was capable, succeeded in dragging the drawer towards me. It was done on the impulse of the moment; then I waited, not daring to breathe. Hurrying footsteps sounded outside, with shouts of "Death to the spy! He holdeth our secrets, and must not evade us! Kill him! His entrails shall be burned with the snakes!" Nearer they came, as if searching for the secret entrance. In pulling the drawer inside I had closed it, and, clinging on to the ring, determined that it should not be opened while strength was left to me. For a second the footsteps, sounding dull and muffled in the dust, seemed to halt outside. Then joy filled my heart a moment later, when they hurried onward, and the angry cries receded in the distance. Evidently, with the stone trough drawn inside, nothing remained in the subterranean passage to denote the whereabouts of a hidden entrance. Likewise it was apparent that they knew not the existence of the secret sepulchre. Panting and exhausted, I sank upon the ground. I had again escaped! CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. A PENALTY OF BEAUTY. The glimmer of sunset struggling through the chink above faded quickly. Upon my strained ears the sound of hurrying footsteps fell, but again died away. My pursuers were returning after their fruitless errand. Yet would they relinquish the search now they knew a stranger held their secrets? The conspiracy was against Christians in general and the power of France in Algeria and Tunis in particular, therefore they knew that if the military authorities in Algiers were acquainted with the facts, the great Army of Africa would be held in readiness to crush the revolt in its earliest stages. No doubt the memory of the great insurrection which commenced at Souk Ahras in 1871, and which eventually proved so disastrous to them, had not yet been obliterated, and they still recollected how, although the revolt spread everywhere through Kabylia at the word of the Sheikh el-Haddad, yet their people had struggled in vain against the invaders, and the standard of Al-Islam was at last torn down by the Infidels, and their mosques were defiled by their conquerors' feet. Since that day, Turcos, Spahis, Zouaves, artillery, and infantry had posts everywhere throughout the French sphere of influence, and conspiracy was punishable by the guillotine. True, the plot I had discovered was being perfected beyond the frontier, yet the conspirators were no doubt members of a tribe under French rule, therefore amenable to the laws of their conquerors. Thoughts such as these caused me to reflect that these men who had schemed revenge were not likely to content themselves with the knowledge that I had escaped. If, as I supposed, I was still in the ruined Hall of the Great Death, it would be impossible for a man to get away unnoticed, the ruins being situated on high ground in the centre of a barren wilderness. But evidently they were unaware of the existence of that secret chamber, and doubtless they considered my sudden disappearance most remarkable. As, however, the dead silence remained unbroken, I at length resolved to wait patiently till the morrow, and in the pitch darkness groped my way towards my couch. The violent exertion had almost exhausted me, and I sat for some time feeling very faint and ill. My wound pained me considerably, for the bandages had shifted and haemorrhage had again been produced. Presently, however, I felt better, and after a draught of water and a few dates, I stretched myself and fell asleep. Until the streak of sunlight told me that the noon had passed, I waited patiently, with ears open to catch every sound, and, hearing nothing, I at last resolved to make another dash for liberty. Placing some food and the leathern case containing my prize in my sash, I pushed forth the stone drawer gently and crept through its narrow aperture. Gaining the dark passage, I hesitated for a few seconds, then decided to explore it in the opposite direction, for I had no intention of again approaching the chamber wherein the secret rites had been performed. A few feet from where I had emerged, the passage, like a rabbit's burrow, declined steeply, and grew so narrow and low that I was compelled to stoop. Advance was difficult in the darkness, yet I crept on, hoping to arrive eventually at some exit. To my disappointment, however, the passage penetrated still deeper into the earth, and gradually narrowed until I was compelled to creep along on all fours. The atmosphere was choking, and I began to fear asphyxiation. Suddenly I emerged into what appeared to be a larger space, and my feet struck stone steps. Finding I could now stand upright again, I ascended, wondering whither they might lead. Not a ray of light showed, and in the darkness I stumbled onward, for the steep stairs were worn and in some places fallen away. As I toiled upward, the air seemed more fresh, and I felt that in the immediate vicinity there must be some outlet from that subterranean labyrinth. Gaining the top, I groped about until I felt a door strengthened by strips of iron. It was small, but very heavy. What, I wondered, did it conceal? Discovering a handle, I slowly turned it. To my satisfaction, the door yielded noiselessly, and I found myself in a great luxuriously-furnished chamber, the air of which was fragrant with attar of rose and the downy divans were of pale yellow silk. Scarce daring to enter, I paused. It was, I could see, a woman's apartment. A man's deep voice was raised in anger, and I saw lying in a lazy attitude on a divan before me, with her hair unbound, a beautiful girl with face unveiled. She was richly dressed in silk of palest heliotrope, with a heavy golden girdle and a tiny sleeveless zouave jacket of rose-pink velvet, heavily trimmed with gold. Her skin was as fair as an Englishwoman's, but her eyebrows were darkened with kohl, and her forehead was almost hidden beneath its sequins. A dainty little fez trimmed with seed pearls was set jauntily upon her handsome head, and as she lay, one bare foot hanging over the edge of the divan in an attitude full of languid grace, she toyed with her rings, and her bejewelled breast heaved and fell in a long, heavy sigh. Her companion, a well-dressed Arab, tall, long past middle life, with a face in which brutality was strongly marked, was striding up and down the sweet-scented apartment, hurling at her fearful imprecations and insults, and expressing profound disgust that he had ever stooped to caress her. My feet fell so noiselessly upon the soft carpet that neither had noticed my entrance, therefore I stepped back, re-closing the door, but leaving it ajar, in order that I might witness the domestic disagreement. "Thine harsh words wound more deeply than thy blows," she observed, with a sigh, as the man paused to gain breath. "By my beard, wench! thou art verily the off-scum of Eblis, upon whom the mercy of the One Merciful can never rest! Thou hidest in thine heart secrets, and refusest to tell me that which I demand. I will degrade thee, woman, to the meanest slavery; thou shalt wash the feet of those who have been thy slaves. Though thou art a beauteous damsel--a houri fitted for the Sultan of the Ahir--thou--" "Hast thou lived thy threescore years, and failed to discover that sometimes the face is not an index to the mind?" she interrupted, with a flippant air. "With thee, accursed betrayer of secrets and worker of iniquity, have I learned that soft caresses may prove as the coils of a venomous serpent, and that a woman's lips may conceal poison!" he cried, halting before her with clenched fist. Throwing her head back upon her silken cushion, she laughed at his passion. "Thou thinkest that thou hast cleverly deceived me--eh?" he hissed. "Thy dark eyes sparkle like the stars, because thou, thrice-cursed offspring of Satan, knowest that--that I have been fooled, tricked by thee, who hast received from me every luxury! Had it not been for me, thou wouldst have been at this moment the slave of some common camel-driver, and--" "Even that would have been preferable to imprisonment within thine harem. Would that thine accursed generosity had been showered upon some other woman than upon me," she cried, rousing herself and looking straight and fearlessly into his angry, bearded visage. "True, in return for thy favours, I have tried to love thee. Thou hast been pleased to exalt me to be chief of thy wives, to bestow upon me jewels of great price, and to place me above those who were envious because their faces pleased thee not. Towards thee I have been faithful, and I have ever kept thy private affairs locked within my bosom." "And thou hast now exposed the greatest of all our secrets--the intentions of the Senousya!" he said. "I tell thee thou liest!" she cried in anger, clenching her small white hand; "I have divulged nothing--I swear!" "Perhaps not personally; nevertheless thou hast been instrumental in allowing the designs of our brotherhood to become known, and punishment will of a verity overtake thee. May the judgment of Allah fall upon thee! upon thy father, and upon thy tribe of murderers and harlots, and may their vitals be devoured by the fire unquenchable! Thou, bringer of evil upon our house, hast done thy best to thwart the _Jihad_, [Holy War] against the dogs of Infidels." "I cannot understand thy meaning," she said, puzzled. "Thine accusations are as complicated as the lock of the Holy Ka'abah." "Vile offspring of Shirm!" he cried in a sudden paroxysm of passion, seizing her roughly by the wrist. "To feign ignorance will not avail thee. I have discovered the depths of thy perfidy. Perhaps thou wilt deny that, on thy return hither with thy slaves, thou didst discover amid the ruins of the Hall of the Great Death a man who had been wounded?" She started, turned pale, and looked at him with an expression that betrayed fear of his terrible wrath. "Thou, cursed handmaiden of hell, viewing this stranger from beyond the Atlas with compassion because his face found favour in thine eyes, bound up his wound, and, placing him in a _jakfi_ upon one of thy camels, secretly bore him hither. Though thou didst not know him, thou gavest him food, and tended him while he lay fever-stricken and unconscious; and when thou arrivedst here, thy women, acting under thine orders, assisted thee to secrete him in some place the existence of which thyself only hast knowledge. Speak!" he added, twisting her white arm until a cry of pain escaped her. "Speak, woman! tell me if I utter the truth." "Release me, brute!" she cried, springing to her feet, with her beautiful eyes flashing angrily. "Thinkest thou that I will endure thy tortures longer? No! I hate thee! I will depart. Another may rule thine harem, and may she find her position happier than mine hath been!" "But remember thou art my prisoner. Dost thou admit or deny what I have said?" he demanded, pale with passion. "If thou accusest me of infidelity, I can deny it upon the Book of the Everlasting Will," she replied, drawing herself up haughtily. "Other allegations I deign not to answer, even though thou art my captor, and I am in thy power." "Then know, O woman of evil, who hast been defiled by the eyes of a stranger, the man thou hast aided now holdeth the secret of the Ghuzzat, and--" "He--he hath learned of the plot against our Oppressors?" she gasped. "Tell me, how did it occur?" "At the council of the Brotherhood he was discovered behind a curtain in the secret Chamber of Assembly, and no doubt can exist but that he watched and obtained knowledge of our rites and intentions. Upon me, therefore, will fall the fierce and fatal wrath of the Brotherhood, for within my walls hath their secret been betrayed!" "But--how did he gain the Chamber of the Assembly?" she stammered. "Thou canst best answer that question," the old Arab replied sternly. "I am in ignorance, truly," she declared, a deadly pallor overspreading her fair countenance. "I have done naught of which I am ashamed." "But canst thou not, perfidious wench, see that our secret is out?" he continued angrily. "The stranger, though pursued, disappeared mysteriously, and though every search hath been made, he hath not been found. By this time he is most probably on his way into Algeria, where he will spread the warning, and thus the armed hordes of the Roumis will be on the alert, and our aims utterly defeated." "And thou hast attributed the misfortune of thy fellow-conspirators to me?" she exclaimed, in a tone of reproach. "I tell thee thou alone art the author of the evil that hath befallen us," he cried, with flashing eyes. "For women of Eblis who betray True Believers, the fire of hell is already prepared. There, the flame and smoke shall surround thee like a pavilion, and if thou beggest relief, thou shalt be relieved with water like molten brass that shall scald thy face. The mischief is worked, the secret is divulged, and already the Brotherhood are leaving, never to return. Thee, devilish daughter of Waila, have we to thank for introducing secretly a spy into our midst!" "I have acted as I thought fit. Leave my presence!" she commanded, with imperious gesture. "I will no longer suffer the brutal insults of a man I hate. Ere the sun hath set I shall have freed myself of thine hateful bonds and left thine accursed roof." "Thou shalt never go from here alive!" he hissed in her ear, holding her slim white wrist and dragging her roughly towards him. "Already thou, the cause of our downfall, hast defiled thine hands with the blood of a stranger, and allowed him to obtain knowledge whereby our secret designs will be thwarted. For such offences there is but one penalty. It is death!" "Thou, who art tired of me, bring these accusations in order to justify my murder!" she gasped in indignation and alarm. "My people have not forgotten, and assuredly will they seek blood revenge." "Enough!" he growled between his teeth, as in a second he drew a knife from his waist, and, clutching her by the throat, forced her upon her knees. "Thou art the handmaiden of Al-Dajjal, and the mark of the Cafer is set upon thy brow. Thou shalt die!" She shrieked as his powerful arm poised in mid air. "Spare me! Spare me!" she implored piteously. "Be thou merciful!" But he jeered at her appeal, and, forcing her backward in his iron clutches, gripped the gleaming, murderous weapon. "Thy people, thou Misriyah! will never know thy fate, for ere sundown thou wilt be as offal, and vultures will strip thy bones," he said, with a fiendish grin. "See! this my knife seeketh thy polluted heart." Unhesitatingly I dashed forward, springing upon him from behind and wrenching the weapon from his grasp. I was not a moment too soon, for in another instant the keen steel would have been plunged into the heaving white breast of the fair, fragile jewel of the harem. "Who, pray, art thou, who darest obstruct me?" he demanded angrily, turning upon me in amazement. "Thy wife hath saved my life, and it is my duty to save hers," I answered boldly. "See!" she panted, suddenly recognising me. "See! it is the stranger who was wounded!" "The stranger who hath learned at his peril the secret of the Ghuzzat," he added, with grim sarcasm. "As he is thy protector, he is most probably thy lover also!" "That I deny," I answered quickly. "I have known nothing of this lady until to-day." "Liar!" he shrieked in rage. "Thou boldest our secret. Only thy death will expiate thine eavesdropping!" and ere I could realise his intention, he had drawn a second knife from his waist and made a desperate lunge at me. With difficulty I managed to parry the blow, and for a few moments we engaged in deadly combat. His young wife, alarmed, rushed to a door which led into a beautiful courtyard, and shouted for help. Her cries were answered immediately by two black slaves of gigantic stature, who, in obedience to her commands, flung themselves upon their master, twisted the knife from his fingers, and in a trice had bound his hands behind his back with a cord they seemed to have brought for the purpose. "Slaves! Suffer not thine hands to thus defile me!" he cried, with a look of murder in his flashing eyes, but they gagged him immediately. His wife, addressing the two negroes, exclaimed-- "It is as I expected. He hath attempted to strike me to earth, and had it not been for this stranger, I should have been murdered. Three days ago I gave thee certain instructions--carry them out." "We will, O Lady of Great Beauty," they both replied. "Then remove him." The two black giants opened the small door by which I had entered, and almost before the old Arab could mumble a protest, they had hurried him out and down into the dark subterranean passage that led away into the unknown maze below. "That course is my only chance of escape," she said, turning to me in explanation, when the door had closed. "Had I fallen, thou too must have perished, for thy food in the secret chamber could not have lasted long," she panted, holding her hand to her breast as if in pain. "I have to thank thee for rescuing me from death," I said. "I had no idea who was my deliverer until I overheard thy conversation." "But thou didst not obey the instructions I left thee in my letter," she said in a tone of reproach. "Searching for a means of exit, it seemeth, brought thee unto the Chamber of Assembly; hence my disgrace and thine own peril." "But thine husband--whither have they taken him?" "To the chamber in which thou hast remained hidden these few days. Before he is placed there, he will be rendered unconscious, so that he may not know of the secret entrance. There will he remain while I reach a place of safety." "Merely detained?" I asked dubiously. "Yes. Though in his wrath he tried to kill me, I bear him no malice, for when I get back to mine own people, I shall be safe. If he discovers how to get out of his prison, then he will live. If not"--and she shrugged her shoulders. "Though thou art his wife, thou dost not appear to regret thy departure." "Why should I, when I have been detained here over a year against my will? If thou only knewest the dreary life a woman leadeth in the hands of a brute she hates and despises--ah!" and she shuddered. "Then thou wilt now regain freedom?" I said, surprised. "Yes. For many moons have I waited in patience for this moment, and at last I have accomplished what I sought. Already the preparations are being made. My two trusty slaves will return when their work hath been accomplished, and in an hour camels will be packed in readiness for our journey." "Our journey? Dost thou intend that I should accompany thee?" I asked. "Certainly. To disguise thyself as a female slave, veiled and enshrouded by a haick, is thine only chance of escape. _La bodd annak tarooh maaki_!" ["You must go with me"] and she sank back again upon her divan, as if the exertion had utterly exhausted her. "Thou art stronger than when I found thee lying as one dead in the ruins of the great Palace of the White Sultan," she exclaimed, as she lay stretched among her cushions, with her bright, beautiful eyes looking up to mine. "Dost thou feel well enough to withstand the fatigue of travel?" "Yes, quite," I answered. "But ought we not to prepare for flight immediately?" "There is no need for haste," she answered. "This is mine own private apartment where none dare enter, so take thine ease, for we must journey far before _el maghrib_." All trace of her agitation had now disappeared, and as we chatted calmly, I asked, "Why didst thou take compassion upon me--a stranger?" "I had accompanied two of the wives of the man who hath held me in hateful bondage on a portion of their journey towards Assiou, and in returning we halted to rest under the shadow of the Hall of the Great Death. There I discovered thee, and, in order to give thee succour, was compelled to resort to the expedient of placing thee within the secret chamber. Some time previously I had heard that thou wert journeying south." "Who told thee? What didst thou know of me?" "I knew that thou, a Roumi, hadst undertaken to reach Agadez in order to perform a secret mission, and that thou hadst proved loyal and true to the woman who loved thee. For her sake as well as for thine I snatched thee from certain death, and if Allah giveth us His mercy and blessing, we both shall now regain our freedom." "Art thou aware of the name of the woman to whom I am betrothed?" I inquired, in amazement. "She is--or was--called Zoraida, and was known to our people as the Daughter of the Sun." "Thy people? Then thou art of the tribe of the Ennitra?" I exclaimed. "True," she answered, with a smile. "I am the daughter of those who have so long and eagerly sought thy destruction." "But what of Zoraida? Tell me; is she still alive?" I asked anxiously. "Alas! I am uncertain. Here in this my prison only strange and vague rumours have reached me. Once I heard that she had been murdered in Algiers, but soon afterwards that report brought by the caravans was denied, and since then much curious gossip regarding her hath been circulated. The last I heard was, that, disguised as a camel-driver, she had followed thee to Agadez." "To Agadez?" I cried. "How long ago did that astounding news reach thee?" "Early last moon. One of my slaves heard it while travelling with some of the women to Assiou. I am inclined to regard it, however, like so many other rumours, as mere idle talk of the bazaars, for only a few days before that, I heard of her holding sway at the palace of our lord Hadj Absalam." "Canst thou tell me nothing authentic?" I asked, disappointedly. "Alas! nothing," she answered, with a sigh. "Our Lalla Zoraida is mighty and of wondrous beauty, but the mystery that surroundeth her hath never been penetrated." CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. UNDER THE GREEN BANNER. Through a vast, barren wilderness, peopled only by echoes, we journeyed over drifted sand-heaps, upon which every breath of the hot poison-wind left its trace in solid waves. It was a haggard land of drear silence, of solitude, and of fantastic desolation. In the Desert a vivid sense of danger is never absent; indeed, even more so than upon the sea, for the mere lameness of a camel or the bursting of a water-skin is a disaster that must inevitably prove fatal to the traveller. Our caravan consisted of ten persons only, six trusted and well-armed male slaves, two females, my pretty companion, and myself. Our departure from the great ancient stronghold in which the handsome girl had been held captive had not been accomplished without much exciting incident; but luckily my disguise as a female slave, in ugly white trousers and a haick that hid my features, proved complete, and, the imperious pearl of the Sheikh's harem having announced her intention of journeying to Assiou to join his two other wives, we were at last allowed to depart without any opposition on the part of her husband's armed retainers. The whole thing had been most carefully arranged, and the details of the escape were cleverly carried out without a hitch. On setting out, Lalla Halima--for such she told me was her name--and myself, as her attendant, travelled together in one _jakfi_ placed upon a swift camel, gaily caparisoned with crimson velvet; but as soon as we had got fairly away, I slipped off my white shroud, and, resuming a fez and burnouse, mounted one of the animals whereon our food was loaded. In camping during those blinding days under a dead, milk-white sky, I spent many pleasant, idle hours with Halima, and when travelling--which we usually did at night--we generally rode side by side. Notwithstanding the terrific heat, life in the Desert seemed to suit her far better than the seclusion of her sweet-perfumed harem, for, true child of the plains as she was, she felt her heart dilate and her pulse beat stronger; declaring to me that she experienced a keen enjoyment in "roughing it" in that trackless wilderness. Indeed, the spirits of all of us became exuberant, the air and exercise seemed to stir us to exertion, and, altogether, we constituted a really pleasant party. Lolling lazily at her ease among the silken cushions in her _jakfi_, she would chat with charming frankness through the night, as in the moonlight we plodded steadily onward guided by one of the slaves to whom the route was familiar. She told me all about herself, of her childhood, spent in the barren desert of the Ahaggar, of a visit she paid to Algiers one Ramadan, and of the attack by the Kel-Fade upon the little village of Afara Aouhan, her capture, and her subsequent life in the harem of the Sheikh. From her I gleaned many details regarding her people, of their wanderings, their power in the Desert, and their raids upon neighbouring nomad tribes. Many were the horrible stories she told me of the fierce brutality of Hadj Absalam, who was feared by his people as a wicked, unjust, and tyrannical ruler, and who, despising the French military authorities, delighted in the torture of Christian captives, and endeavoured to entice the Zouaves and Spahis into his mountain fastnesses where he could slaughter them without mercy. The Great Pirate's impregnable palace, the fame of which had long ago spread from Timbuktu to Cairo, she described in detail, and if what she said proved correct, the place must be of magnificent proportions, and a very remarkable structure. The harem, she said, contained over four hundred inmates, the majority of whom had fallen prisoners in various raids, but so fickle was the pirate Sultan of the Sahara, that assassination was horribly frequent, and poison, the silken cord, or the scimitar, removed, almost weekly, those who failed to find favour in the eyes of their cruel captor. Yet, regarding Zoraida, I could gather scarcely anything beyond the fact that the subjects of Hadj Absalam knew her by repute as the most beautiful of women, and that few, even of the female inmates of the palace, had ever looked upon her unveiled face. One evening, as we rode beside each other in the brilliant afterglow, I admitted how utterly mystified I was regarding the woman I loved; to which Halima replied softly-- "Who she is no one can tell. Her name is synonymous for all that is pure and good, her benevolence among our poorer families is proverbial, and she possesseth a strange power, the secret of which none hath ever been able to discover." "Thou didst tell me that thy people sought my destruction," I said. "Dost thou know the reason for their secret hatred?" "I have heard that thou holdest the mysterious power of defeating thine enemies once possessed by the Lalla Zoraida, and that until thy death it cannot return to her," she answered. "But thou dost not seem so terrible as report describeth thee," she added, with a coquettish smile. I laughed. It was nevertheless strange that my would-be assassin Labakan had made a similar allegation. Remembering that I was accompanying my fair companion upon an adventurous journey to an unknown destination, I said-- "Though we have travelled together these six days, thou hast not yet told me whither our camels' heads are set." Puffing thoughtfully at the cigarette between her dainty lips, she replied, "Already have I explained that I am returning to my people. The route we are traversing is known only to the trusty slave who guideth us and to mine own people, for there are no wells, and no adventurous traveller hath ever dared to penetrate into this deserted, silent land of the Samun." "Is it not known to thine enemies, the Kel-Fade?" I asked, recollecting with bitterness that to the marauders of the tribe that had held her in bondage I also owed my captivity in the Court of the Eunuchs. "The Kel-Fade have never penetrated hither," she answered, gazing away to where the purple flush was dying away on the misty horizon. "In three days--if Allah showeth us favour--we shall reach the rocky valley wherein my people are encamped. _Ana fikalak hatta athab ila honak_." ["I am very anxious to get there."] "But for what reason are thy people so many weeks' journey from their own country?" I asked. Moving uneasily among her cushions, she contemplated the end of her cigarette. Apparently it was a question which she did not care to answer, for she disregarded it, exclaiming grimly, "I wonder if the occupant of the secret chamber will discover the means of exit?" "Suppose he faileth? What then?" "He will share the fate that hath befallen others immured there," she answered, raising her arched brows slightly. "Immured there by thee?" I hazarded, smiling. "No," she replied, with a musical laugh. "Thou must not judge me with such harshness, even though my life hath become embittered by captivity in the harem of a monster I hated." Suddenly I recollected the strange recovery of my mysterious talisman, the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, which was now reposing safely in its case within one of the bags beneath me. Evidently it had been hidden with other booty taken from the caravan with which I had travelled by some one who had regarded it with curiosity. "Is the existence of that hidden prison known to anyone besides thyself?" I inquired. "Why askest thou that question? Art thou afraid my lord will escape ere we reach a place of safety?" she exclaimed, with a low, rippling laugh. "No," I replied. "I have a serious object in seeking information." "What, wert thou troubled by unwelcome visitors?" she asked, smiling mischievously. "No; on the contrary, the silence was appalling and the companionship of the dead horrible." "Ah, forgive me!" she exclaimed apologetically. "It was not my fault that I could not have the place cleared of the bones. There was no time. But in my written message I told thee to fear not." "But whoever placed me there knew of the secret entrance," I urged. "True," she answered. "Two of my slaves--he who guideth us towards the encampment of the Ennitra and the man leading yonder camel--carried thee to thine underground tomb, and placed food there for thee." Her words gave me instant explanation. From the first the countenance of our guide had seemed familiar, and I now remembered where I had seen it. He was one of those who had held me when the Mysterious Crescent had been wrenched so suddenly from my grasp! No doubt it had come into his possession with other loot, which, in order to secure to himself, he had hidden in that place where none could obtain entrance. As he rode on top of his camel quite close to me, I peered into his dark, aquiline face and found its features unmistakable. It was he who had secured me, who had subjected me to slavery, and who had mounted guard over me until I had been purchased by the agent of the Sultan Hamed. Apparently he had not recognised me, and as I again held my treasure safely in my own keeping, I had no desire to claim acquaintance with this slave, who was himself a slave-raider. They were all brave, sturdy fellows, loyal to their mistress, a quality that I admired, for both she and I had interests in common in putting a respectable distance between ourselves and the irate Sheikh of the Kel-Fade. "If thy people seek my death, am I not unwise in accompanying thee into their midst?" I queried, after a pause. "By thine aid I, one of their daughters, have escaped from the bonds of their enemies, therefore fear not, for though the Ennitra rule the Desert harshly with rifle and bastinado, they harm not those who lend them assistance." I told her of my first experience of Hadj Absalam, and how I had been tortured with the snake, concealing the fact that Zoraida had set me at liberty. "_Tabakoh casi_. [His disposition is cruel.] He is hated even by our own people," she exclaimed, when I had concluded. "His brutality is fiendish to us and to strangers alike; but when Infidels are brought into his presence, his rage is absolutely ungovernable. Thy torture was not so horrible as some I myself have witnessed. Once, near Tehe-n-Aieren, at the foot of Mount El Aghil, a young Zouave soldier strayed into our camp, and, being captured, was brought before him. Because the Infidel's eyes had rested upon one of his women, he ordered them both to be gouged out and sent to the French commandant at Ideles. Then the man's ears followed, then his nose, then his hands, and after keeping him alive in fearful torture for nearly three weeks, the body of the wretched prisoner was covered with date juice and placed upon an ant-hill, where he was literally devoured by the insects." "Horrible!" I said, shuddering. "Are such tortures common among thy tribe?" "Alas!" she answered, rearranging her pillow; "cruelties such as these are frequently practised, even upon us. Neither men, women, nor children are safe. Those who give our mighty lord offence always pay the penalty with their lives, but never before they have been tortured." "Yet thou art anxious to return among them?" "Yes," she replied, with an earnest look. As she lay curled up in her cage-like litter, she had the air of a little savage with the grace of a child. "I do not wish to be loved as I have been, like a slave," she added in a confidential tone. "But thou hast ruled the harem of the Sheikh, and hast been chief of his great household," I observed. "True," she answered. "But there are circumstances in our lives we cannot forget; there are people who dwell always in the house of our memory." I nodded. The truth was easily guessed. "Two days before being torn from my people," she continued bitterly, "I met, by mere chance, a man of mine own people whom I have never ceased to remember. It was a chance meeting, and by no fault of mine own was my veil drawn aside. Neither of us spoke, but I knew we loved each other. My father told me he was one of the most daring of the men-at-arms Hadj Absalam sends against the _homards_, a notorious thief and cut-throat, to secure whose capture the Roumis away at Algiers have offered two bags of gold." She sighed, then added simply, "Though he may be a murderer, I shall love him, even until Allah bringeth me to Certainty." [The hour of death.] She spoke with the passionate ardour of her race. The love of the Arab woman knows neither the shame nor the duplicity of vice. Proud of her submission as a slave, she can love even a murderer without losing any of her self-respect. In her eyes, her tenderness is legitimate; her glory is to conquer the heart. The man she loves is her master, she abandons herself to him without failing in any duty. A daughter of Al-Islam, she fulfils her destiny according to the moral traditions and beliefs of her country, and she remains faithful to them by loving the man she chooses; her religion has no other rule, her virtue no other law. "And you have escaped in order to seek this man?" I observed, smoking calmly. "Yes. I seek him because I love him. His eyes gave me a sign of affection, the remembrance of which time hath not effaced. I shall find him, even though I am compelled to journey from Ghat to Mequinez, or from the Tsad to Algiers." The eventuality did not occur to her that, being a warrior of an outlaw band, his bones might long ago have been bleaching in the Desert like those of so many of his fellow marauders. Such a thought, I reflected, would cause her acute anxiety, therefore I did not suggest it. She was hopeful, confident, content; tender and passionate in her love, fierce and relentless in her revenge. Night had fallen, and as under the myriad stars we travelled over rising ground towards the camp of the Desert pirates, she formed a delightful study. Her ingenuous ignorance and intuition of coquetry, the Eastern fascination striving with modest reserve, charmed and amused me, and although the wind commenced to blow up choking clouds of fine sand, compelling her to adjust her veil, yet she would not draw the curtains of her _jakfi_, but continued chatting until we halted an hour after dawn. The slave guiding us predicted a sandstorm, therefore, before encamping, we turned our faces towards the Holy City, and, as pious travellers, recited the Hizb al-Bahr, the prayer which is supposed to make all safe on either land or sea. Halima with her slaves prostrated themselves upon the sand, and in impressive tones repeated aloud the prayer that commences-- "O Allah, O Exalted, O Almighty, O All-pitiful, O All-powerful, Thou art my God, and sufficeth to me the knowledge of it!" and which has the following strange conclusion:--"Thou didst subject the Moon and Al-Burak to Mohammed, upon whom be Allah's mercy and His blessing! And subject unto us all the Seas in Earth and Heaven, in Thy visible and in Thine invisible Worlds, the Sea of this Life, and the Sea of Futurity. O Thou who reignest over everything, and unto whom all Things return. _Khyas! Khyas! Khyas_!" [Mystic words that cannot be translated.] Halima told me afterwards that in this great waterless region of shifting sand, so fraught with perils, a storm was always brewing and the dreaded poison-wind always blowing, therefore men raised their hands to pray as they crossed it. At sunrise three days later my pretty companion was lying unveiled in her _jakfi_, smoking and chatting to me, her two women riding a little distance behind, when our guide suddenly raised a loud shout of warning which in a moment alarmed the whole caravan. Halima instinctively twisted her veil across her face as she inquired the cause. The slave drew up his camel near her, replying, while he glanced to make certain that his gun was loaded, "Know, O beauteous Lalla, that we are discovered! Six mysterious, armed horsemen are spurring towards us!" and with his finger he indicated the direction in which his keen, hawk-like eyes had detected them. We all gazed away into the dusky grey where he pointed, and there I saw several mounted Bedouins tearing headlong across the desert in our direction, their long guns held high above their heads, and their white draperies flowing in the wind. Each of us grasped our rifles, prepared to fight for the protection of our fair charge, while Halima herself, pale and determined, drew a long and serviceable-looking poignard from her girdle and felt its edge. It was evident that the strangers had from afar espied Halima's _jakfi_, and were resolved to possess themselves of its occupant. In this country of lawless slave-raiders those who show fight are treated with scant mercy, therefore we could expect no quarter, and dismounted ready for the combat. On came the horsemen, fleet as the wind, until they got within a short distance of us, when suddenly, without slackening, and still holding their weapons high above them, they poured out a sharp, decisive volley upon us. It was a warning that they intended attack, and that we might surrender if we were so disposed. The bullets sang over our heads unpleasantly, but no one was hit, and without hesitation our seven rifles rang out almost simultaneously. Again and again we fired, but without result, for the six fierce Sons of the Desert galloped onward, shouting a weird war-cry, and dashed in upon us, calling upon us to lay down our arms. One of them, evidently the leader, swinging himself from his grey stallion, seized Halima by the wrist before we could prevent him, but in a second, with a sudden movement, the harem beauty had slashed him with her dagger, inflicting an ugly wound across his hairy arm. Raising his rifle, he would have shot her dead, had not one of her slaves flung himself between them, crying-- "Pause, O strangers! Tell us of what tribe thou art. If thou leviest tax upon us in this thy country, our Lalla is prepared to accede to thy just demands. If a hand is raised against her, the wrath of the Kel-Fade will assuredly fall upon thee!" "Naught care we for the Kel-Fade, who are accursed by Allah, for they pray not, neither go they upon pilgrimages!" the man answered, with a harsh laugh. "From the waters of the Tsad, even unto the green slopes of the Atlas, we hold power supreme, and none dare withstand us, for we are feared alike by the Roumis of Algeria and the True Believers of the Desert." Then, brandishing his _jambiyah_ [a very keen crooked dagger] above his head, he added, "We are of the Ennitra, and our lord is the mighty Hadj Absalam, Sultan of the Sahara!" "Then hear me, O brothers!" Halima exclaimed in a loud, firm voice. "I am thy sister!" "Our sister? But thou art of the Kel-Fade, our enemies!" the horsemen cried with one accord. "True. Hear thou mine explanation. Dost thou not remember that the Kel-Fade--whom may Allah confound!--attacked and burned our village of Afara Aouhan?" "The sons of dogs killed my father in the massacre," declared one of the men, a brawny giant, who stood leaning on his gun. "Mine shared the same fate. He was the _oukil_," cried the beautiful girl, whose veil had in the struggle been torn away. "His name--quick!" exclaimed the leader of the marauders in surprise. "Hamed ben Abderrahman." "Then thou art--" "His daughter Halima." The black-bearded scoundrel immediately released her, and, bowing, expressed sorrow at having caused her undue alarm, after which, in a few quick sentences, she told him of her captivity and her escape, afterwards presenting me as one by whose aid she was enabled to return to her own people. She did not, however, declare me to be a Christian, therefore they thanked me and gave me peace. They told us that we were distant three hours from the encampment, which they, as scouts, were guarding, but advised us to rest till sundown, as the poison-wind was unusually virulent. Acting upon their suggestion, our tents were pitched, and the six outlaws ate with us, afterwards wrapping themselves in their burnouses and sleeping through the long, blazing day. From them I could gather but little regarding the movements of their people, and though I mentioned that I had heard many reports of the wondrous powers possessed by their Daughter of the Sun, they nevertheless preserved a studied silence. They did not even descant upon her beauty, as I expected they would do. They only grunted approbation. Towards four o'clock, Halima, wrapped in her haick, came from her tent, and very shortly afterwards we were on our way to the camp, guided by the six cut-throats of Hadj Absalam, who rode along with careless ease, carrying their weapons across their saddles, smoking cigarettes, and talking gaily. Strange indeed was this latest freak of Fate. Long had I regarded these people as the most deadly of my enemies, yet I was now entering their camp as their friend! Our way wound among bare rocks and hills of granite and over broken ground, weird in its desolation, flanked by high blocks and boulders. Several parties of horsemen, evidently scouts, appeared, but, on recognising our escort, allowed us to pass unmolested, until at length, about the hour of _el maghrib_, we came to a vast cleft in the hideous face of earth, and, passing through, found ourselves in a valley in the midst of a great encampment. The ravine seemed covered with tents; indeed, it appeared as if a whole army had encamped there, and I was not surprised when one of the outlaws told me that the fighting force numbered over three thousand. On descending the rocky defile, I saw in an open space in the centre of the camping-ground three tents close together and more handsome than the rest, while against the clear, rose-tinted evening sky there waved over the centre pavilion the dreaded green silken banner of Hadj Absalam. "Then thy lord is present with thee?" I exclaimed in surprise, addressing the marauder who rode beside me. "Yes. When he leadeth us we fear no evil, for he is the Great Sultan of the Sahara, who cannot be overthrown." Wending our way slowly onward among the tents, our arrival caused a good deal of excitement and speculation among the robbers, who doubtless believed us to be captives. One incident impressed me as especially remarkable. Just as we had entered the camp, three women, enshrouded in silken haicks and wearing their ugly, out-door trousers, were strolling together slowly, as if enjoying the cool zephyr after the breathless day. No word escaped either of them, but one reeled and clutched her companion's arm, excited and trembling, as if her eyes had met an apparition. I smiled at her intense agitation, wondering whether she had recognised in Halima a hated rival; but until we had turned to wend our way among the tents, she stood motionless, staring at us fixedly through the small aperture of her veil, apparently much to the consternation of her two companions. The tragic little scene, though unusual, was apparently not noticed by my companions. Was it Halima's presence that caused the closely-veiled woman such sudden and profound consternation--or was it mine? CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. BETRAYED! That night, as I lay without undressing in the little tent the outlaws of the Desert had assigned to me, I was kept awake for a long time by the sound of voices and the clang of arms. While half the camp slept, the remainder were apparently cleaning their rifles, and sharpening their _jambiyahs_, preparatory, I presumed, to some wild foray. For a long time I lay wondering whether Halima would find her undeclared lover in the camp, or whether he was lying in the sand, sleeping until the blast of Israfil's golden trumpet. Under my pillow reposed the time-worn case containing the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, but my letter of introduction had, alas! been filched from me by Labakan. Was it not possible, I thought, that this evil-faced scoundrel was in the camp. If so, what more probable than that, finding he had not killed me as he intended, he would denounce me to Hadj Absalam as the Roumi who had escaped them after being condemned to death? Such reflections were not calculated to induce sleep; nevertheless, weakened as I was by my wound, the journey had greatly fatigued me, and at last I grew drowsy and unconscious, and became haunted by strange dreams. I must have been asleep for some hours when a light pressure upon my shoulder awakened me. "Utter not a word," whispered a soft female voice in my ear. "Danger besetteth thee, but thou, O stranger, art with friends solicitous of thy welfare." Turning, I glanced upward, and the streak of moonlight that entered revealed a woman enshrouded so completely by her garments that I could not tell whether she were old or young. "Who art thou?" I whispered, now wide awake and on the alert at her warning of danger. About her there clung an odour of attar of rose. "I am but a messenger. Rise and follow me in silence," she answered. "Whither dost thou desire to conduct me?" I inquired, rather dubiously, for I had a vague, apprehensive feeling now that I was among these murderous outlaws. "To the presence of one who must speak with thee immediately. Ask no further question, for in a few moments thine eyes shall behold, and thine ears shall hear." Silent and motionless she stood awaiting me, looking like a ghost in the bright moon's rays. Wondering who desired an interview with me at that hour, and half suspecting that Halima had something secret to communicate, I rose, replaced my haick, rearranged the hang of my burnouse, and then announced my readiness to accompany my mysterious visitant. "There is no Ilah but Allah," the woman whispered piously. "May the Ruler of Death grant unto thee perfect peace!" "And upon thee peace," I answered, as in obedience to her silent injunction indicated by her raised finger, I followed her stealthily out. "Let thy lips be sealed," she whispered, conducting me past many tents the occupants of which were soundly sleeping. Silently we sped onward, until we came to the open space, in the centre of which were erected the three pavilions of the pirate chieftain. The entrance to the centre one was guarded by four superbly-dressed negroes with drawn scimitars, who stood motionless as statues. On seeing me, they raised their glittering blades, and made a sudden movement as if to bar my progress, but on a sign from my veiled guide they immediately fell back, allowing us to pass unmolested. Next second, however, a man's voice sounded, and the armed outlaws closed around me. I glanced back, and saw in the white moonbeams the crafty, villainous face of Labakan! He laughed exultantly, as I saw to my chagrin how cleverly I had been tricked. Helpless in the hands of these five armed warriors of the plains, I was hurried unceremoniously into the large and luxurious pavilion. On the ground rich rugs were spread, and divans had been improvised out of saddles and boxes. Above, from a lamp of curiously-worked brass, a subdued light fell upon the occupants, three men who, stretched at their ease, were smoking. The central figure, attired in a large white turban and a rich robe of bright amaranth silk, was that of an old man of patriarchal appearance, and as he lifted his head at our entrance, our eyes met. It was Hadj Absalam! Betrayed into the hands of my enemy, I stood helpless and dismayed. I had hoped he would not recognise me, and that I should pass as the rescuer of Halima until an opportunity of escape presented itself; but, alas! some one had detected me, and, without doubt, the person responsible for my discovery was the adroit assassin Labakan, the self-styled Grand Vizier of the Sahara, who now stood grinning with pleasure at my discomfiture. Removing his chibouk, the Pirate of the Desert glared at me fiercely for several moments without uttering a word, slowly raising himself into a sitting posture, an example followed by his two brutal-looking companions. The air was heavy with tobacco smoke that seemed to hang like a pall over the three occupants of the divan. Labakan, raising his brown, sinewy hand towards me, was the first to break the painful silence. "Behold! O gracious Master!" he cried. "Report hath not lied. Thine enemy liveth!" The great Sheikh of the Ennitra rose, his countenance livid with rage. "Lo! it is verily the accursed son of Eblis, thief of our secrets!" he burst forth in fiery passion. "At length thou art revealed unto us! Thou--who hast brought upon us despair, defeat, and death, who hast defiled the land that we inhabit--art now within our power, and, upon the Book of Everlasting Will, I swear thou shalt not escape. For many moons hast thou evaded us, and though our horsemen have scoured the plains of Ahaggar, the Areg, and the Ahir, even unto the waterless Desert of Tibbou, in search of thee, thou disappearest like the shadow of a cloud. Neither the terrors of the wilderness, nor the knife of our servant Labakan, have daunted thee, but at last thy career hath ended-- at last thy doom is nigh!" he cried, thundering forth the final sentence, and shaking his clenched and sinewy fist. "True, O Ruler of the Desert," I answered, as he paused to take breath, "I have again fallen into thine hands, yet the judgments of the Bedouins are tempered with--" "Again?" he ejaculated, his black eyes full of angry fire. "All yes! I remember. Thou wert put to the torture which we reserve for dogs of thine accursed race, and thy strength burst the bonds that held thee." "The influence of this son of an unbeliever, who hath stolen our power, was the cause of our defeat when our brave sons attacked the _homards_ on the Oasis of Meskam," added Labakan, apparently determined that the Great Sheikh should forget none of the allegations against me. "The Ruler of the Desert hath no need of the promptings of a secret assassin," I exclaimed, fiercely turning upon him. "Silence, dog!" roared the Bedouin chieftain. "Add not to thy crimes by thus rebuking Allah's chosen. By thy clever machinations hast thou learned our secrets and divested us of our power. Thrice have the armed men of thy brethren, the Infidels, attacked and defeated us; thrice have we been compelled to flee from those who have plotted to conquer the True Believers, and all owing to thy crafty theft of the unseen power that once was ours. While thou livest, thou bearest upon thee influence to work our destruction wheresoever we go, but when thou hast been consigned to the darkness of Hawiyat, then will power and success return unto our people. Ere to-morrow's sun hath set, thou shalt be a corpse, for Allah is swift in punishing." "He, the One to be praised, is also gracious and merciful," I added. "Dost thou, who hast performed thy _sujdah_ within the Harem of Al-Medinah, forget thy Koran?" I asked reproachfully. "Mention not our Faith with thy polluted lips!" he cried, adding, "`The Infidels are smitten with vileness wheresoever they are found.'" These words of the Prophet, with which he endeavoured to crush my argument, gave the utmost satisfaction to the men about me, who murmured approbation in an undertone, and nodded their heads expressive of admiration at the wisdom of their sinister-faced, tyrannical chief. "For many moons have I dwelt within thy land, O mighty Sultan of the Sahara," I said. "Though I have ever acted with honour towards thy people of Al-Islam, yet I am far spent with travel, and clothed with calamity as with a garment. Why seekest thou my death?" "Have I not already told thee? Thou hast filched from us the wondrous secret power by which we vanquished our enemies; the unseen force that hath enabled us to rule the Desert. While thou remainest alive, of a surety ruin and extinction threaten us." "But I am, alas! ignorant of thy strange allegation," I said, earnestly endeavouring to get the angry Arab to speak more calmly. "By what means have I taken from thee this extraordinary influence that once was thine? Tell me, for a slave may not be condemned for an unknown crime." "Thou knowest well," he answered distinctly, with loud emphasis and glittering eye, placing one hand upon the hilt of his jewelled _jambiyah_, and standing erect with regal air. "It is useless for thee to deny deeds which have worked our defeat, and actions that must ere long be the cause of our downfall." "I deny nothing, O mighty Sheikh of the Ennitra," I protested. "Years ago, thy valiant race filled me with admiration, and because of that, I learned to speak thy tongue, and read the commands of the Prophet. Times without number have I been the willing servant of thy people of Al-Islam; nay, even to-day have I brought hither under my protection a fair woman of thy tribe, whom I assisted to escape from a harem in the land of thine enemies." "A woman?" he exclaimed, with an expression of surprise, and, turning to his attendants, asked, "Who is she?" "She is named Halima, O Master," answered Labakan. "To me hath she explained that the Infidel intended to convey her to his own land, and only by a ruse did she succeed in getting to our camp. He carried her off from the harem of the Sheikh of the Kel-Fade, in order to possess her himself." "Miserable parasites!" ejaculated Hadj Absalam angrily, on hearing the mention of the hostile tribe, "May their vitals be devoured by insects, and may their bodies be given unto the wild beasts! Did the chief of these locusts of the sands hold our kinswoman in bondage?" "Yes," I answered. "We escaped from the palace of the Sheikh together." "Behold, O Master!" said the bandit who had attempted to kill me. "He admits that they journeyed in company. He tried by force to cause her to fly with him across the Atlas and beyond the sea, unto the land of the Infidels." "It's a lie!" I shouted warmly. "Bring her hither, and let her, O Sheikh, relate unto thee her story." "Already she hath told it," the old chieftain replied. "Already thou art proved to be no respecter of our women, for thine eyes have defiled their unveiled faces, and by thy speeches hast thou caused them to forget the commands of the Prophet, and look upon thee, a white-faced son of offal, with favour." "My acquaintance with any woman of thy race will not preclude her from drinking of the fountain of Salsabil," [a spring in Paradise], I answered defiantly. "Thou wilt deny next that thou hast ever spoken with our beauteous Daughter of the Sun!" exclaimed the irate Despot of the Desert, who, as he uttered Zoraida's name, bowed low in reverence, an example imitated by all his followers. "I deny not my actions, neither shall I attempt to refute the allegations made against me by a murderer," I answered. My captors laughed jeeringly. I knew by their manner that they were determined that I should die, and I expected no mercy. Yet, despite an inward feeling of despair, I determined to show a bold front. I had been betrayed; but they should not see that I feared them. "Secretly hast thou entered her private apartment, and remained there alone with her. To thee, son of Malec [the principal angel who has charge of hell], she hath disclosed our secrets--secrets which thou now holdest; hence, thou art the one Infidel in the world who possessest power to work evil upon us." "Whatever secrets I may have learned I have not used," I protested firmly. "With me a secret remaineth always a secret." One of the men who had been reclining on a divan smoking, rose, whispering a word into the ear of his angry master. For a moment Hadj Absalam reflected, then asked: "What was the nature of this secret revealed unto thee?" "To the Lalla Zoraida I promised not to disclose." "But if, peradventure, I chose to regard thy crimes leniently,--if I even spared thy life,--wouldst thou not explain the nature of the secret wonders thine eyes have beholden?" "No," I answered firmly. "Not all the Treasure of Askia, added to my liberty, would unlock my lips." "The Treasure of Askia!" gasped the Hadj, glancing quickly round to his attendants with an expression of amazement and alarm that reflected itself upon their countenances. "What knowest thou of it?" "In the Desert I learned the story of the great king's hidden wealth," I replied innocently. "Ah!" cried the Sheikh, with sudden ferocity. "I had expected as much. Truly thou art a son of Eblis whose actions are accursed; truly hast thou tasted of the bitter fruit of Al-Zakkum, which hath its roots in hell!" "Peace be upon thee, O Ruler!" I said. "Thy servant knoweth naught of any such thing as this whereof thou speakest, for never hath he committed any deed to warrant this thy wrath." But he flew into a fit of uncontrollable rage, and hurled upon me every curse that his voluble tongue could utter. To argue was useless. I tried to induce him to explain how I had stolen from his people the secret of their victories, declaring that I held no power which could detract from the success of their raids. But he would vouchsafe no answer to my questions, and only shouted his intention of submitting me to a most horrible series of tortures, before my body should be given to the vultures. The old despot's anger was fearful to behold. He stamped, he raved, he tore into shreds his silken garments, and actually foamed at the mouth. Voiceless, I stood before him. Amid these fierce marauders, who regarded not the lives of enemies or friends and were awaiting impatiently the order to hurry me off to my death, I was a doomed man. The frowns of Fortune had never been so ominous as at that moment. Suddenly he paused, panting and breathless, his eyes aflame with hatred, and his face hideously distorted by anger and revenge. "Speak, dog of a Christian!" he shouted. "Speak! or, by the Prophet and the One, thy profane tongue shall be torn out by the roots. How earnest thou to possess thyself of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders? What hath its possession availed thee? Answer, or--" There was a sudden movement among the men behind me, who with one accord uttered ejaculations of surprise, as the Sheikh's threat was interrupted by a loud voice crying-- "Silence! Let not another word pass thy lips, on pain of the most damnifying curses that tongue can utter!" Turning sharply to ascertain who dared thus command the dreaded Sultan of the Sahara to close his lips, I beheld a woman with bare, beautifully-moulded arm outstretched, pointing imperiously towards the proud, regal figure on the divan. The pirate Sheikh trembled before her, staggered as if he had received a blow, then stood silent, not daring to complete the sentence. Her sudden appearance had caused a pallor to creep over his countenance, as anger gave place to fear. Advancing, the strange veiled figure stood before the divan just in front of me, with face turned away and arm still uplifted, as in the lamplight her bracelets flashed and gleamed with dazzling brilliancy. She was a veritable Light of the Harem, dressed superbly in gauzy garments of palest mauve, with magnificent jewels in her hair, upon her brow, upon her bare white breast, and upon her delicate ankles. Her heavy golden girdle was richly studded with rubies and sapphires; her long dark tresses, unbound, fell in rich profusion upon her bare shoulders; and about her there clung a sweet, subtle breath of geranium that filled my nostrils. Her attitude was marked with a strange suppleness, astonishingly graceful, and the men who had held me captive before their tyrannical master fell back, as if awestricken by her dazzling presence. "Hearken!" she exclaimed in clear, musical Arabic, as she unwound the veil from her face. "Knowest thou me?" "We do! Peace be upon thee, O beauteous Woman of Wisdom, O Lady amongst Women!" they answered with one accord, even to the Sheikh himself, all bowing before her abashed. "Then behold! I stand at thy divan of judgment to answer for the offences of this Roumi, who hath, by cowardly device, been delivered into thine hands!" Turning, she suddenly faced me. I was rendered mute by amazement. The woman before whom these outlaws bowed as if in worship was none other than Zoraida! Upon me there gazed, with unmistakable glances of affection, the calm, beautiful face that had for so long existed only in my dreams, but which was at this moment before me, a living reality! For an instant my tongue refused to articulate, but, dashing forward and seizing her right hand, I rained kisses upon it, notwithstanding the fierce, guttural exclamations of disapproval uttered on all sides by my enemies. That the lips of an Infidel should thus defile a woman of Al-Islam, was to them infamous; but in that brief second, the woman I loved whispered in imperfect French-- "Obey. I may save thee!" The horrible souvenir I had received in Algiers flashed across my mind, and I sought her hand. Almost beside myself with joy, I found it was intact and uninjured! The severed member that had been sent me, and afterwards stolen so mysteriously, was not Zoraida's! "By what right dost thou, O Daughter of the Sun, interfere between thy Ruler and his foes?" the old Sheikh asked angrily at that moment. "Against me have thine unfounded allegations been levelled," she answered bitterly, standing by my side, holding my hand in hers. "It is true that this Roumi and I have met, and that he holdeth certain secrets; but I warn thee that if a hair of his head is injured, of a surety will the fearful vengeance of the Unknown fall upon and crush thee and thy people." "Thou canst not--thou shalt not wrest him from our hands!" cried Hadj Absalam, boiling over with rage. "My will hath already been spoken. He shall die!" "Then the peril is thine," she said in slow, impressive tones. Her hand quivered, and I could see that she was trembling lest her bold and gallant effort to save my life should prove unavailing. "Already hath he brought the direst evil upon us," cried the Ruler of the Ennitra. "Besides, for aught we know, he may be the mysterious stranger who, according to report, was present as spy at a meeting of the Ghuzzat, held by the Kel-Fade, and who escaped so strangely." "How thinkest thou that a Roumi can understand our symbols of the serpents? Even if he were the mysterious eavesdropper, what could he have gathered with regard to our brotherhood?" she asked, adding, "It seemeth thou art determined to take his life, so thou formulatest unfounded charges against him!" "Bah! he is thy lover," the sinister-faced old brigand observed, with a sneer. "In thine eyes he is no doubt innocent." "I acknowledge that upon mine own head should be the punishment for the evils that have befallen our people. Yet, nevertheless, I declare unto thee--" "If thou lovest a dog of an Infidel," cried Hadj Absalam, interrupting, "thou art no longer worthy our confidence." Then, turning to those about him, he asked, "Do I give utterance to thy thoughts?" "Yes. Thy words are words of wisdom, O Ruler," they answered with one voice. Releasing my hand, she raised her alabaster-like arm towards the chief of the outlaws, exclaiming in a loud voice, "If the Ennitra have no longer confidence in me, I will to-night sever the bond that bindeth me to them. Into battle have I led thy people many times, against Infidel and the enemy of our own race alike, and thou hast vanquished thy foes, and compelled them to bite the dust. Against thee have the legions of France been arrayed, yet powerless, and at this moment, thou, Hadj Absalam, art the mighty Sultan of the Sahara, the ruler whose power causeth all men to tremble, from Ghat even unto far Timbuktu. To-day thou hast advanced to this spot hopeful and confident, prepared to wage a war that must be bloody and deadly; but as thou hast lost faith in thy Daughter of the Sun, I shall leave thee to thine own devices. If thou killest the man I love, I shall depart. We twain are in thine hands." "Canst thou not, O Ruler, kill the false Prophetess too?" suggested a voice from behind. I recognised the tones as those of Labakan! "If thou takest my life, thou too wilt fall within one moon under the fiery scimitar of Azrail, even though each man hath the strength of Jalut and the courage of Al-Jassasa," she exclaimed, with the calm dignity of a queen. The men jeered at her prophetic utterances, but she looked at them with withering scorn, and heeded them not. For my life she was striving, and cared for naught else. Her beauty intoxicated me, and I stood, even in those critical moments, entranced, as I had before been, by her extraordinary loveliness. "Al-Sijil hath registered thy deeds," she continued, casting calm, imperious looks at the brigandish band about her. "If thou committest the crime of shedding the blood of those who possess the power by which thou existest as the most powerful people of the Desert, thou wilt assuredly never lave in the stream Zenjebil." Her words created a visible impression upon them, and seriously they whispered among themselves, until suddenly their Sheikh addressed them, saying-- "Already have I decided that the Infidel shall be put to the torture, that his ears shall be cut off, his eyes put out, and his tongue removed. Are those thy wishes?" "Thy will be done, O Ruler," they answered; and Labakan added, "Our Woman of Wisdom hath no longer power to lead us unto victory. She is enamoured of this accursed Christian dog who bringest the direst evil upon us." "Then away with him!" cried Hadj Absalam, waving his arm towards me. "Let his hands be lopped off, and let his end be one of long suffering." Four men seized me roughly, and were dragging me out, when Zoraida, advancing a few steps, uttered a final earnest appeal. In her beautiful face was a look of intense anxiety, as she stood alone in the centre of the pavilion, pale, erect, queenly. "Hearken!" she cried wildly. "If this man--who is not our enemy--be put to death, remember that upon thee will fall the curses of one whose incantations can produce good or evil, life or death! Thou sayest that he holdeth the power that I should hold, but I tell thee--" "Hath he not by thine aid possessed himself of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders?" interrupted the Sheikh. "The Crescent is no longer possessed by an Infidel," she answered quickly. "During a fight with the Kel-Fade it was lost, and hath since that time lain undiscovered." "I found it at--" "Hush! Remain silent," she whispered, speaking in broken French and glancing at me significantly. "The Crescent, O Mighty Ruler, hath been seen in his saddle-bag," Labakan urged, muttering a curse under his breath. "The leathern case may be there," continued Zoraida, with intense earnestness, "but undoubtedly the Crescent of Strange Wonders, the mysterious secret of which is as impenetrable as the wall of Dhu'lkarnein [built to prevent the incursions of Gog and Magog], was lost among the plunder secured by our enemies. It is probably still in the hands of the Kel-Fade." "Let the Infidel's saddle-bags be at once searched," ordered the chieftain, and two men hurried forth with that object. I stood anxious to see what turn events would take when the strange object was found secreted in the bag that had served me as pillow, but judge my amazement when, a few minutes later, the men returned with the case, declaring that they had found it empty! Had it again been stolen from me? When they announced the futility of their errand, a smile of satisfaction played about Zoraida's mouth, a fact which puzzled me when I reflected how explicit her instructions had been over its safe custody. "If it remaineth in the hands of the Kel-Fade, we must compel them to restore it, or fight as an alternative," said the Sheikh decisively. "We must repossess ourselves of it at all hazards;" adding thoughtfully, "The Great Secret which it conceals must be revealed unto us. Knowledge of its utility in revealing the mystery must be obtained, even at the point of the sword." On all hands muttered words of approbation greeted this declaration. Then, after a slight pause, he continued-- "If the Roumi possesseth not the Crescent, he cannot hold our vanished power!" "Why then should he die?" queried the woman whose face had mastery over me. "Because he is of the accursed race, and hath defiled with his eyes thine own countenance, and those of other of our daughters." "But thou wilt not darken the world unto me at this moment--when I am leading thee to glorious success and the acquisition of great wealth?" she urged on my behalf. "And if he liveth--what then?" "He will accompany us. The country we are entering is already known unto him, thus will he be enabled to choose our route, and lead us to a great and decisive victory," she argued. The old Sheikh paused, consulting in an undertone with his two advisers who had smoked on in contemplative silence. Anxiously Zoraida and I awaited their verdict, not without feelings of despair, for we both had realised the terrible prejudice against me. At last, however, Hadj Absalam exclaimed-- "The sentence of death by torture having been declared upon the Infidel, it must remain. Nevertheless, it will not be carried out until the result of our expedition hath been seen. If we are victorious, then shall he lead us against the Kel-Fade, in order to recover the Crescent of Glorious Wonders." "My Amin!" whispered Zoraida in French, with tears of joy in her brilliant eyes. "Thou hast a brief respite; use it well. We must now part, but remember that I love thee always--always!" "But the Crescent?" I gasped. "How shall I act?" "Remain patient. For the present thou art safe, but be wary of the man who hath already attempted to take thy life. He may strike thee a secret blow at the orders of Hadj Absalam. Go thou back to thy tent and sleep, and when opportunity ariseth, I will communicate with thee, and direct thy footsteps unto the path of freedom." Then, snatching up her flimsy veil, she deftly twisted it across her face, and walked out with regal gait, proudly acknowledging the obeisance of the dark-faced outlaws, who in apparent fear bowed before her. A few minutes later, I was back again in the tent from which I had been so mysteriously called, and until the dawn, sat coolly contemplating the remarkable and unexpected turn events had taken. CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. THE BOND OF BLOOD. Sleep was impossible. Thoughts of Zoraida absorbed me. Her position was an extraordinary, yet perilous one, and she herself was still enveloped in a mystery that seemed utterly impenetrable. Apparently she was well aware of the secret plans of the Senousya, and by her grace and beauty had charmed these wild, merciless outlaws, ruling even Hadj Absalam himself. Queen of that fierce piratical band, she seemed to have held them so completely under her sway, that the great Sultan of the Sahara himself had been led by her into battle, and had carried out her orders with implicit confidence and passive obedience. The whole situation seemed unintelligible. It appeared impossible that this fair woman, scarcely more than a girl, with such amazingly beautiful features and gracefully-moulded half-bare limbs, who seemed to lead an exotic existence, half consumed by the ennui of the harem, should be responsible for the plunder and carnage, the heartless outrages and brutal massacres, which had during the past few years appalled both Christians and True Believers throughout North Africa. Yet had I not already heard rumours of this from the Spahis? Was it not now proved by her own admissions that she had led the Ennitra against the Zouaves, Turcos, and _homards_? Why, I wondered, had the dead hand been sent to me; why had some unknown person endeavoured to convince me of her death; why, indeed, had those who knew her all conspired to keep from me the knowledge that she still lived? The facts formed a strange enigma which I hoped would ere long be solved, for this latest disappearance of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders had added considerably to the mystery. Nevertheless she had promised to communicate with me, so I existed from hour to hour in intense expectancy, hoping to receive a summons to enter her bewitching presence. I had not long to wait, for, on the following evening, while the people had assembled on the opposite side of the camp and were performing their evening prayer, I was strolling slowly past the three silken pavilions of the self-styled Sultan, when suddenly there appeared at the door of one of the two smaller tents, that were zealously and constantly guarded by armed men, a black female slave. For a few seconds she disappeared, then, coming forth again, she beckoned me. As I approached, my passage was immediately barred by a dozen unsheathed swords, but on a word from the negress the men's arms were relegated to their scabbards, and I followed her into the pavilion. The sweetly-scented interior was replete with every comfort and luxury. From a golden lamp above a soft, subdued light fell upon bright divans, velvet hangings, dark-hued rugs, and little mother-of-pearl tables, whereon there stood fresh fruits in vessels of gold; while stretched upon a lion's skin, with which her low couch was covered, lay Zoraida, a radiant, dazzling vision of beauty. Throwing down her cigarette as I entered, she raised herself upon her elbow and greeted me with a smile of glad welcome, at the same time ordering her slave to bring me cigarettes, and motioning me to a seat beside her. In silence our hands clasped until the negress disappeared. She had gone to mount guard at the door, in order to give us warning if enemies approached. The armed guards were, Zoraida explained in a few hasty words, her own trusted servants, and would keep my presence a secret. Thus placing me at my ease, and assuring me that we had naught to fear, she entwined her bare arms around my neck, and, gently pulling my head down to hers, kissed me passionately. "Through long, weary days, my Amin, have we been parted. So long! And thou hast always been so faithful, so unswerving in thy devotion unto me!" "I have merely striven to fulfil my promise," I said, enravished by her beauty, and returning her tender caress. "For many moons have I journeyed in order to accomplish the mission I undertook, yet until yesterday I mourned for thee as dead. Canst thou imagine my joy now that we are once again together?" "Ah!" she exclaimed, throwing one arm over her head, as her white, scented bosom, half-covered with flashing jewels, slowly rose and fell. "Thou didst think me dead? Perhaps it would have been better for me-- better for thee--if I had really died. On the night we parted I was near indeed to death." "How?" I asked anxiously. "I heard thy screams, but was held powerless to return and render thee help. Tell me what occurred?" "Strive not to penetrate secrets that are mine alone, Ce-cil," she answered, kindly but firmly. "I can only show thee evidence of the coward's blow;" and raising herself into a sitting posture, she tore asunder the transparent, pearl-embroidered lace which was the only covering of the upper part of her body, revealing to my astonished eyes a great ugly wound only half-healed. She had been struck in the left side, half-way between arm-pit and waist, evidently with a keen, crooked _jambiyah_, which had inflicted a terrible injury. The white, delicate flesh was red and inflamed around a deep wound about three inches in length, from which bandages had apparently only recently been removed. "Who attempted thy murder?" I asked, enraged that anyone should thus strike down a defenceless woman. "An enemy," she answered, readjusting her filmy garments, the transparency of which caused her no concern. The gauzes of the harem had always been her attire from childhood, and she knew nothing of rigid Western conventionalities. To the fair daughters of Al-Islam the follies and foibles of Parisian fashion are a mystery. It is the mission of the inmates of the harem to look beautiful, but they trust to their own personal attractions, not to Worth's creations or Truefitt's coiffures. The corsets, tailor-made gowns, and other arts that transform a hag of sixty into a "smart" Society woman, are unknown in the dreamy Courts of Love, for the velvet zouaves, the gauzy _serroual_, and the garments of brilliant silk brocade are practically the same from Fez to Teheran. "Name the man who struck thee!" I cried. "He shall answer to me." "No, no," she replied, turning slowly among her luxurious cushions, causing her golden anklets to jingle. "It is best that, for the present, thou shouldst not know." "But a dead hand, with thy rings upon its lifeless fingers, was sent to me, and I thought thou hadst--" "Yes, yes," she answered quickly, interrupting. "But thou mayest not know for what object the severed hand was sent thee. Forget the incident now; some day shalt thou know all." "When?" Taking my hand gently in hers, she raised it slowly to her lips, replying, "When we are free to love each other." "Are we not free now? What obstacle is there?" "One that seemeth insurmountable," she answered, looking earnestly at me with her fine dark eyes, so full of love and passion. "By a secret bond am I held unto the Ennitra, and thou alone canst sever it and give me freedom." "How?" I asked eagerly. "By faithfully carrying out the mission that I entrusted unto thee; by obtaining the secret from Mohammed ben Ishak at Agadez." "I have done my best," I said. "I have actually been in Agadez, but only as slave in the Fada of the Sultan." "Yes," she replied, with a sweet, tender smile, lifting her dark lashes for an instant; "already have I heard of thy perilous adventures, of the gallant attempt thou hast made, risking thy life fearlessly among thine enemies for my sake. True, we love each other devotedly, but, alas! we--we are not yet free;" and her bright eyes became dimmed with tears. "When shall we have liberty?" I asked, entwining my arm about her neck, so that her sensuously-beautiful head pillowed itself upon my shoulder. For a few moments she remained silent; then, gazing up into my eyes with an intense, wistful look, she answered-- "When thou hast learned the Secret, and used it upon our mutual behalf; then only can I extricate myself from the Bond of Blood." "The Bond of Blood! What is that?" I asked eagerly. "Ah, no!" she responded, with a touch of sorrow in her voice. "I am unable to give thee explanation. When thou hast gained the Secret, then wilt thou learn the truth, and penetrate the veil of Great Mystery. Until that day have patience, and seek not that which must remain hidden." "But I--I have lost the Crescent," I blurted forth despondently. "It is in my possession," she replied, with a smile, rising from her divan, kneeling beside me, and placing her arms about my neck. "When last night I recognised thee on thine arrival in our camp, I foresaw thy deadly peril. Labakan, who had been ordered to kill thee, was also aware of thy presence; therefore I had thy travelling companion, Halima, brought before me, and from her ascertained that on thy journey thine eyes had been constantly upon one of thy saddle-bags. I therefore felt confident that the Crescent thou hadst lost had been recovered. Later, I caused search to be made among thy belongings, and it being found there, it was abstracted and brought hither." "Hadst thou a reason for this?" I asked, puzzled. "Yes. I knew that if the Crescent of Glorious Wonders were found in the possession of thyself, an Infidel, no argument of mine would save thee from death." "But thou hast again rescued me, Zoraida," I murmured in ecstasy. "Again my life hath been in thine hands." "I love thee," she responded, briefly and simply. "And thou art risking everything for my sake--even thy position as Queen of the Ennitra!" "Art thou not doing the same for me?" she asked. "As lovers it is our duty to assist each other, and to stand together in the hour of danger." "How didst thou know I had lost that which thou hadst entrusted to my care?" I asked, much interested in this remarkable phase of the extraordinary affair. "I ascertained that when thou wert a slave in the Fada thou hadst not the Crescent. Then I learnt of the circumstances of thy fall into the hands of the Kel-Fade, and it was at once apparent that it was they who had filched it from thee." "Thou didst not know how I recovered it?" I asked, transported by her beauty. "No," she answered. "Tell me; I am interested to learn the truth;" and with charming ingenuousness she imprinted upon my cheek another warm, affectionate kiss. Briefly, I told her of my journey after my adventurous escape from Agadez, of the dastardly attempt to take my life, my strange rescue, and my wanderings in the gloomy subterranean passages beneath the Sheikh's palace. As I related how I had suddenly entered the hall where the conspirators of the Senousya had assembled to practise their mystic rites, she grew excited and alarmed, eagerly drinking in every word of my description. When I had finished, she placed her hand upon my arm, and said with intense earnestness-- "Tell no one of this, O Ce-cil! Thine eyes have beholden, and thou hast, alas! learned the secrets of the League of Terror. I fear that the punishment of eavesdroppers may be meted out to thee. Know thou that the terrible vengeance of the Senousya is so far-reaching that the man or woman it condemneth can never escape a violent death, even though he or she may flee beyond seas unto the uttermost corners of the earth. Wherever shineth the sun, there also are emissaries of the Senousya. Therefore take every precaution for thy safety; tell no one of the knowledge thou hast thus acquired; and upon the subject of the Holy War remain always silent as the grave. Take warning, and exercise caution-- for my sake. The vengeance is always fatal!" "I will heed thy words," I said. "But I care naught for enemies while I am nigh unto thee;" and as I drew her slowly towards me, her lips met mine in a warm, entrancing caress, enough to make any man's senses whirl. "I--I wish we could meet daily," she declared wistfully; "but for thee to tread the enchanted ground of my pavilion is impossible. At the peril of our lives, and by the connivance of those placed as janitors over me, am I enabled to-night to speak with thee for one brief hour, to hear thee tell me of thy love." Then, grasping my hand tightly, and gazing with a fervent love-look into my face, she added, "For days, for weeks have I been longing to see thee, hoping against hope. In the dim, silent seclusion of mine own apartment strange rumours and distorted reports have reached me regarding thy fate. Although those I employed lied unto me, I felt confidence in thee. I knew thou wouldst strain every nerve to obtain knowledge of the Great Secret that is essential to our happiness. We meet now only to part again; to part perhaps for a few days, perhaps for many moons. Let me dwell within thy memory, so that thou wilt ever remember that she who loveth thee followeth thee unseen, and that all her trust is in thine own brave heart." She spoke with the fierce passion of love, and in her fine brilliant eyes tears were welling. I was silent in the devout worship of my entrancing idol--this woman whose face was perfect in its beauty, whose supple figure and exquisite grace charmed me, and whose soft, tuneful Arabic sounded as sweetest music. With her slight form in my embrace, her cheek, fresh as an English girl's, lying upon my breast, her long dark unplaited hair straying over my white burnouse, she filled me with a restful, dreamy languor, a feeling of perfect enchantment and bliss, enhanced by the heavy perfumes and the sensuousness of her luxuriant surroundings. "While wandering afar, the thought of thine affection hath given me heart; thou art always my Pole Star, my light, my guide," I said, enraptured. "Though I have failed to obtain the knowledge which I sought, it was purely owing to the fickleness of fortune." "Yes," she answered gravely. "I know thou hast done thy best. Yet there are still means by which thou canst ascertain the truth, and elucidate the Great Mystery." "How?" "By becoming one of us; by bearing arms under the green banner of Hadj Absalam, and accompanying us to Agadez." "Art thou actually on thy way thither?" I asked, amazed. "Surely it is dangerous?" "Dangerous only for the Sultan of the Ahir," she laughed. "I cannot understand," I said. "What is the object of thy journey?" "The same as the object of all our expeditions," she answered, the smile dying from her lips. "The trade of the Ennitra is marked always by rapine and murder, plunder and bloodshed;" and she shuddered. "Do thy people intend fighting?" I asked. "Hearken, and I will give thee explanation," she said excitedly. "For many moons hath Hadj Absalam contemplated an attack upon the Sultan of the Ahir, and the looting of the great Fada wherein thou wert held a slave. At last the expedition hath been arranged, and is now being carried out. Divided into four sections, our people, mustering all their strength for the supreme effort, have stealthily moved hither, and are now encamped at various points on the border of the Sultan's territory, ready to advance upon Agadez like swarms of locusts at the moment the drum of victory is conveyed unto them. Armed to the teeth, and eager for a struggle that must be brief though deadly, they are awaiting the completion of our plans. Two days hence all will be ready, the drum that beateth us to arms will be carried forth, our tents will be packed, and, acting in conjunction with the three other forces of our fighting men, we shall advance, dealing blows swift and terrible among a people who little dream of the approach of an enemy, and are entirely unprepared." "Hast thou actually a sufficient force to attack the almost impregnable kasbah of Agadez?" I asked incredulously. "Yes. In two days the green standard will be raised, the drum will be sent round to the three other camps, and with one accord shall we sweep onward to the great stronghold of the Ahir." "And thou desirest that I should become a Bedouin of the Ennitra--an outlaw of the Sahara?" I said. "Thou _must_!" she answered, with enthusiasm, her slim lingers closing tightly upon my hand. "Dost thou not see that I have obtained a respite for thee, only on condition that thou throwest in thy lot with us?" "What is this mysterious influence which Hadj Absalam declareth hath been transferred unto me?" I inquired, eager to ascertain the meaning of the strange words she had so boldly addressed to the robber Sheikh. But she laughed, and, evading my question, answered with light coquetry-- "The power that draweth us together; the influence that causeth us to love each other." "But why didst thou urge thy Ruler to compel me to become a freebooter?" "It was my last extremity," she said. "I pleaded for thee, and--almost failed. To fight beside us is thine only chance of reaching Agadez, and of finding he whom thou seekest." "To be near unto thee I am prepared to join thy people, even though they are mine enemies," I said, as she looked into my eyes with trusting gaze. "Although thou wilt be near me, thou must never seek to have speech with me," she exclaimed quickly. "We meet here at imminent risk, but we must not again invite the wrath of those who desire thy death. To thee I must be as a stranger, for remember that thou art a Roumi, and thy very glance defileth mine unveiled face!" and she laughed lightly. "Ah! the religious prejudices of thy people are indeed curious," I said. "How long must we affect this estrangement?" "Until Agadez hath fallen, and thine errand be accomplished." "But if thou hast the Crescent in thy possession, canst thou not snap thy bonds and escape with me?" I suggested. "Surely thy place is not upon the field of battle, amid the carnage that must inevitably ensue from such a combat?" "Impossible!" she answered, moving uneasily, and wafting to me the sweet perfume that clung to her draperies. She was agitated, for her hand holding mine trembled violently, and her lips were tightly compressed. "The Bond of Blood bindeth me more firmly than fetters of steel, and if I attempted to desert the camp, the death of both of us would be inevitable. No! To Agadez must we advance. From to-day thou art an outlaw of the plains, and I am thy leader! Obey me, but speak not; for upon thy silence and obedience dependeth thy life. Hidden in my possession the Crescent will remain until such time as thou wilt require it; then, once inside the Great Mosque, the secret knowledge will be imparted unto thee, and will peradventure be of profit." "It grieveth me sorely to think that thou, the woman I adore, art the head of this fierce band of murderous marauders, and wilt lead them to commit merciless massacre and pillage, to--" "Ah, no!" she cried, raising both her hands as if to arrest my words. "Reproach me not, O Ce-cil! I cannot bear it _from thee_! Thinkest thou that were I not compelled, I would be the cause of this widespread death and desolation; thinkest thou that I would urge onward these wild hordes to deeds horrible and revolting? Thou believest I have a heart of stone, that I have no woman's tenderness, that--that I, a woman of the Desert, am"--and, unable to complete her sentence, she burst into a passionate torrent of tears. "No, Zoraida, I blame thee not," I tenderly hastened to reassure her. "I know there are circumstances connected with thine hidden past of which I have no knowledge, therefore I love thee fondly, awaiting the time when thou art enabled to renounce thy people and become my wife." "What canst thou think of a woman such as I?" she sobbed bitterly. "Even to thee, so faithful as thou hast been, I am compelled to still preserve my secret, appearing in thine eyes as one to whom the clash of arms is sweeter than the music of the _derbouka_, and the wail of the vanquished the pleasantest sound upon mine ear!" "But thy position is not of thine own choosing," I said, quietly endeavouring to soothe her. "No!" she cried wildly, starting up. "I hate it all! Though each raid enricheth me with gold and jewels of great price, yet there is a curse upon the treasure, obtained, as it is, by the relentless slaughter of the weak. Ah, Ce-cil! if thou couldst only know how acutely I suffer, how these jewels upon me glitter with the fire of deadly hatred as each one telleth its mute but horrible story, a story of rapine and murder for which I--the woman thou lovest, the woman who would willingly give her life for thee--am responsible! Is not my existence one of hollow shams, of feigned daring and wretched duplicity? I loathe myself; and were it not that I look forward to happiness with thee, I would--I would end it all with this!" and she drew from her breast a small keen dagger, with hilt encrusted with turquoises, that she always kept concealed there. "Speak not of that," I said firmly. "Place thy knife in its sheath. I love thee, Zoraida, I trust in thee, and none shall ever come between us." "Dost thou place thy faith in me implicitly, notwithstanding that I appear in thine eyes debased, and am unable to give thee explanation?" she asked, half credulously, through her blinding tears. The jewels upon her flashed with a brilliancy that was dazzling, and the sweet odours of her apartment seemed intoxicating. "I do," I answered, fervently kissing her with a mad, fierce passion. "Indeed, had it not been for thine exertions, my bones would long ago have been stripped by the vultures." "Ah! my Amin, thou too art performing for me a mission, the result of which will effect stranger things than thou hast ever dreamed," she exclaimed earnestly; adding, "Our story-tellers relate wondrous things, but none have described such marvels as thou shalt behold. I told thee in Algiers that I was in peril of death, and that thou couldst avert the danger that threatened. These words I now repeat, and trust in thee to save me." "To save thee I will again face our enemies fearlessly, and strive to reach the _imam_ who holdeth the Secret, even though I have been told that the Omen of the Camel's Hoof hath been revealed unto me," I said, entranced by her beauty, and smiling in an endeavour to chase away the gloomy shadow that seemed to have settled upon her. "Yes," she answered, slowly winding both arms about my neck, and looking up to me with big, tear-stained eyes. "The mark, to thee invisible, is upon thy brow, yet hath not that presage of evil already been fulfilled in thy failure to elucidate the Mystery of the Crescent? Is it not possible that henceforward good fortune and success may attend thine efforts?" "Truly, O my beloved One of Wondrous Beauty!" I said, "thy words renew hope within me, and restore confidence. I will seek the _imam_ of the Mesallaje, and at any risk learn the hidden wonders." In silence she gazed at me with a look of unutterable sadness. The pallor of her countenance enhanced her delicate beauty, and the trembling of her hands showed me how intensely agitated she had become. She loved me with all the fiery passion of her race, yet it seemed as though she kept from me, with tantalising persistency, just those facts I desired explained. She seemed half incredulous, too, that I should be prepared to make another strenuous effort to reach Mohammed ben Ishak merely upon the expression of her desire, for after a short silence, during which her peach-like cheek, fragrant with perfume, lay against mine, she suddenly exclaimed-- "Dost thou, O Ce-cil! believe me blindly, even though I admit to thee that I--I am unworthy thy generous love? To me, alas! debased and degraded as I am, the fruit of the great lote tree is forbidden, and the water of Salsabil may never cool my lips." Then, sinking upon her knees before me, she suddenly burst again into tears, covering her face with her hands. "Come," I said, "let not thoughts of thy past cause thee unhappiness. There is danger; and we must arm ourselves, and both bear our burdens bravely." "Ah!" she cried in accents of poignant bitterness, "it is impossible that thou canst ever love me sufficiently to make me thy wife, even when thou, at last, knowest my story. See!" and, throwing out her arms wildly, she stretched forth her open palms towards me. "See! I am held to this horde of cut-throats by gyves invisible yet unbreakable! I kneel before thee, my Amin! a despicable, vile-hearted woman, whose whole life hath been one of ignominy and deceit, whose very name is a by-word of reproach! Forsaken by Allah, defamed by man, I confess myself unworthy thy thoughts. I cannot--nay, I will not bring upon thee disgrace and shame, for my hands!--they are stained by heinous crimes!" she added hoarsely, bowing low and hiding her face. Taking her by the wrist, I was about to assist her to rise, when she snatched away her arm as if she had been stung. "No, no!" she cried in heart-thrilling tones. "Place not thine hand upon me! My touch polluteth thee! It will perhaps be best--best for both of us if we part to-night to never meet again!" "Tell me," I demanded quickly, "have not thy crimes been committed under compulsion?" "Yes, they have! I swear--they--have!" she answered brokenly. "And thou art the wife of Hadj Absalam?" I said fiercely, half convinced that I spoke the truth. "Ah! no, no!" she protested, with feverish anxiety, raising her pale, haggard face imploringly to mine. "Judge me not too harshly," she cried. "Though the awful stigma of sin lieth upon me, and my life is accursed, yet here at thy feet I tell thee I am neither wife nor slave. I have suffered no man to hold me in fond embrace, nor to kiss my lips, save thee. I take oath upon the Book of Everlasting Will." "Canst thou not tell me why thou, a pure and innocent woman, art here among these barbaric Sons of the Desert?" I asked, now convinced by her terrible earnestness that my suspicions were groundless. "I am not innocent, I confess to thee. How can I be, when to my vile cunning is due that inhuman butchery which causeth the Ennitra to be held in terror throughout the Desert? Until thine eyes met mine, I knew neither mercy nor remorse, but now--Faugh! I see my crimes in all their revolting hideousness, and I--I hate--I loathe myself--for I am the Slave of the Destroyer!" "Let us bury the past," I said, slowly and with sincerity, assisting her to rise, and, holding her again in my arms, I rained passionate kisses upon her sequin-covered brow. "Though much that is incomprehensible remaineth like a curtain obscuring thee, yet I am satisfied that I bestow not my affection in vain--" "Ah, my Amin! thou knowest not how dearly I love thee," she interrupted, raising her lips slowly until they met mine. "I can gauge thy feelings by mine own," I answered. "Thou must leave this life of outlawry; but ere thou canst escape from thy people, I am compelled to gain certain knowledge. This will I strive once again to accomplish; but in the meantime I desire not to gaze down the uninviting vista of thy past, or tear the veil from unpleasant facts that thou wouldst hide from me. I am confident in the knowledge that thou art neither a wife nor an inmate of thy Sheikh's harem, and that, though morally guilty of the massacres that have sent a thrill through two continents, yet thy position hath, in some way unexplained, been thrust upon thee. I consider this in considerable measure palliates thy crimes, and--" "I vow I have acted always against my will--always! It was horrible!" she interrupted. "Yes, I know," I said, tenderly stroking her long silky hair. "Thou hast my love, sympathy, and forgiveness. Some day, when we are wedded, peradventure thou wilt tell me how thou earnest to rule this piratical band." "It was to save mine honour," she declared, with fervour. "Then I will demand no further explanation," I said. "It sufficeth that we are confident in each other's love." "Yes, we are, we are!" she cried, with a wild outburst of passionate affection, kissing me again and again. "I have spoken the truth as clearly as circumstances will allow, nevertheless, thou hast faith in me. Thou art still my Amin, generous and true. For thee will I live in the hope of eventual freedom, and should misfortune overtake us, by thy side will I die!" "Let us anticipate success," I said. "Yes," she answered, smiling, as she dashed away her tears. "If thou gainest the Great Secret, thou wilt obtain strange knowledge, which will prove to thee amazing, and reveal an unheard-of marvel. Therefore strive on. Though thou mayest see me sometimes, seek not to hold converse with me. Remember always while thou art with us that we are watched closely by those only too eager for a pretext for killing thee. Indeed, if thou wort discovered here, thine head would quickly be smitten off and mounted upon thy tent-pole, so likewise any attempt to speak with me would inevitably cause a dozen knives to pierce thine heart. Henceforth we are strangers until I restore to thee the Crescent, and thy mission is safely accomplished." "I will preserve silence, and seek thee not." "Make me one other promise," she exclaimed in grave earnestness. "Whatsoever thou mayest witness during our advance upon Agadez, never wilt thou think ill of me. Remember always that I am forced to act as I do in order to preserve mine own honour." "I promise," I replied, sealing the compact with a lingering, ecstatic kiss. Next second her slave entered excitedly, with the news that prayers were over, and that the people were flocking back to their tents. "Thou must, alas! leave me, my Amin," Zoraida cried, on hearing the negress's unwelcome announcement. "Would that we could spend some hours longer together! but we must not run too great a risk. May Allah, the Merciful Protector of the weak, watch over and guide thee, and may thy footsteps fall in paths of peace. _Slama. Allah iselemeck_!" Our leave-taking was tender and affectionate, for I saw how fervid and passionate was her love, nevertheless she compelled me, firmly yet kindly, to tear myself from her, and a few minutes later I was seated in dreamy thoughtfulness outside the little tent which my enemies had given me. A few brief days, I reflected, and my fate would be decided. Would the mystery of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, with its undreamed-of marvels that she had promised, ever be revealed? CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. BY THE DRUM OF NAR. The bid for fortune was desperate and perilous. I had become an outlaw, a member of one of the most daring bands of freebooters that ever robbed a caravan or tortured a wanderer of the plains. To the civilising influence of French authority Hadj Absalam was as defiant and his identity as mysterious as the Mahdi himself; while his followers were for the most part an ill-dressed, well-armed horde, whose torn and dirty burnouses and general negligence of attire showed plainly that they were Desert rovers, whose ramshackle tents were their only homes, and whose existence depended on the result of their depredations. The knowledge that I was an Infidel, combined with the secret inflammatory utterances of Labakan, created bitter prejudices against me, causing them to jeer and make matters exceedingly unpleasant generally. Among that legion of marauders I had not a single friend, with the exception of Zoraida and Halima, neither of whom were ever visible. Fierce guttural oaths and exclamations of disgust that a dog of a Christian should be permitted to live among them were muttered by dark-skinned, evil-faced ruffians, who squatted idly before their tents cleaning guns, burnishing knives, and filling powder-flasks. Sometimes, after I had passed, they would spit upon the ground to emphasise their contempt, or openly declare that I was a harbinger of evil, a precursor of defeat. Affecting to take no notice of the variety of insults flung into my face, I suppressed any rebuke that rose to my lips, remembering Zoraida's words, and determined that when the time came, I would show them that a Christian could handle a rifle with as deadly effect as a True Believer. The long hot day following my interview with the woman I loved I spent in lonely unhappiness, and my sense of insecurity was very considerably increased by receiving a secret visit, at the mild and balmy dawn of the following day, from one of the men who, after assisting Halima and myself to escape from the Sheikh's house, had accompanied us on our journey. On recognising him, I extended to him a warm greeting, much gratified that at last I had found a friend; but I paused when, raising his hand quickly, he exclaimed in a deep whisper-- "Hush! Let not thy voice be heard! I come to thee, unseen by thine enemies, to give warning unto thee!" "Is there danger?" I gasped. "Know, O Roumi," he answered, "thine enemy Labakan--on whom may Allah not have mercy!--hath formed a dastardly plot to kill thee! Our Lady of Beauty, Halima, hath heard of it, and sendeth thee word. Be careful of thyself, or of a surety thou wilt yet fall beneath the knife of the assassin." "Tell the Lalla Halima I send her greeting. Thank her for placing me upon my guard, and from me give unto her perfect peace," I said; adding, "Is it possible that I might see her?" "Alas! no," the man replied in consternation. "Seek not to converse with the women of the Faith of our Lord Mohammed. The eye of the Infidel defileth them." "Why?" I asked, laughing at the Moslem prejudice which even his friendship could not stifle. "It is written," he answered piously. Without attempting to argue the point, I learnt from him, in reply to my questions, that in travelling to the camp we had journeyed due south, and that the valley where we were in hiding was called Akoukou, distant seven days from Agadez, and almost inaccessible from that city. Other hordes of the Ennitra had migrated in small parties, so as not to attract the attention of those they intended to attack, and were now congregated to the number of about four thousand, one body being at the Efigaguen Oasis to the north-east of the City of the Sorcerers, another at the well of Enouaggued, and a third lying in ambush to the north-west, in a secluded valley in the waterless wilderness known to the Arabs as the Kahir d' Ibn Batouta. With that cunning of which the Ennitra were past masters, they had gradually moved from their own region across the Great Desert, many of them under the guise of traders, to the points indicated, and now, having collected their forces, had practically surrounded the country of the young Sultan Abd-el-Kerim, and for several days had been awaiting the order from Hadj Absalam to make a concentric movement upon Agadez. He told me that in our camp we had over three thousand fighting men, but that, even with such forces at their command, we should experience some hard fighting, for the men-at-arms of the Sultan of the Ahir were more than double our number. Then he questioned me as to my future movements, and I told him briefly that I intended to fight side by side with the warriors of Hadj Absalam. To this he answered-- "Verily, O Roumi, thou art a friend of the Faith. May Allah honour thy face and perfect thy light! May the One Giver of Life abandon thee not to the consequences of thy sins without pardoning them, or to thy griefs without consoling them, or to thy fears without removing them!" "I salute thee with salutation, O friend," I answered. "To our Lalla Halima, and unto thee likewise, I hope to be enabled to show my thankfulness, for I was a stranger, and thou didst give me succour." "Some day thou wilt turn from thy paths of infidelity," he murmured in an impressive tone, his dark, deep-set eyes riveted upon mine. "If Almighty Allah, the Omniscient, pleaseth, thou wilt at last know the great Truth and drink of the fountain of joy and gladness. Verily, none but He can remit a sin; of a truth He veileth our offences, broadeneth our breasts, and causeth our last words in the supreme hour of life to be the words, `There is no Ilah but Allah.'" Assuring him that I was no "abuser of the salt," that I entertained nothing but profound respect for the people of Al-Islam, and thanking him for conveying Halima's message, we wished each other a cordial farewell, and he crept away from my tent without apparently having attracted any attention. My wound was still rather painful, yet the fever had entirely left me, and I felt much better, although far from strong. Throughout the greater part of the blazing day I remained alone in my tent, drowsily smoking some cigarettes Zoraida had given me, and making a meal of some dates and lentils brought by a negro who was one of Hadj Absalam's slaves. An hour before _el maghrib_, however, a great consternation seemed to be produced throughout the camp, for armed men hurried past my tent, and the few women who had accompanied them into the land of their enemies waddled along after them, closely veiled. Evidently something unusual was taking place, therefore I donned my burnouse, tarboosh, and haick, and, strolling out, followed the crowd to the open space before the three pavilions of the self-styled Sultan of the Sahara. Here the marauders had assembled, and were the most brigandish-looking horde of ruffians that my eyes had ever encountered. As I pushed my way in among the throng, the abhorrence in which I was held was plain, for scowling men drew aside their burnouses so that they should not come in contact with me, and women shrank from me and turned away to avoid my glance. Fortunately I was enabled to get to the front of the great ring of spectators that had been formed, and as I did so, the crowd opened to allow the tall, regal figure of Hadj Absalam to advance into the open space, followed by the two cadis who had lounged on his divan when I had been brought before him, as well as his Grand Vizier Labakan, and four other men in silken robes. Wild with excitement, the crowd raised their voices, shouting-- "_Howa-tha_! O Just and Generous Ruler! _Marhaba_! O Sultan of the Great Desert! Hail! O Conqueror of Roumis, O Exterminator of Infidels! O Fearless Defender of the Faith! Hail! Hail! Hail!" Halting in the centre upon an improvised dais, the old Sheikh, arrayed in robes of bright green silk embroidered with gold, and wearing in his white head-dress an aigrette of sparkling diamonds, raised his hands, an action which commanded instant silence. "Know, O my people! thy Sheikh standeth now before thee!" he cried in a loud voice, as with resolute bearing he gazed round upon the circle of bronzed and bearded faces. "He hath decided that the time hath come when it is meet for thee to spur onward unto Agadez; that the hour hath arrived when salutation should be sent unto our brethren, so that they may co-operate with us in the swift and merciless attack. If there be anyone who craveth to offer advice unto us, let him now speak." The Pirates of the Desert whispered expressions of satisfaction among themselves, but no word was uttered in response to Hadj Absalam's invitation. Several minutes thus elapsed, when suddenly there was a movement in the crowd in the direction of the pavilions, and then the fierce piratical band again shouted themselves hoarse in enthusiastic cheers and utterances of welcome, as a veiled woman, wearing a dainty zouave of amaranth velvet embroidered with emeralds and seed pearls and _serroual_ of golden sheen, advanced and took up her stand on the dais beside the Sheikh, being followed by six men armed to the teeth and mounted on splendid Arab stallions. She was attended by two female slaves, who, between them, carried an ancient conical-shaped drum, the skin of which was almost black with age. Having placed the instrument on the ground, they unveiled her. The woman who had received the wildly-enthusiastic plaudits of the robbers was Zoraida! Pale, erect, calm, she gazed slowly around her, apparently in search of someone, and heedless of a second outburst of cordial welcome. Suddenly her eyes met mine. She started visibly, turned a shade paler, I thought, then set her teeth firmly, as if bracing herself up for some supreme effort. Her handsome face, with the slight touch of sorrow in its expression, looked even more beautiful than in the subdued light of the harem, and as the brilliant sunset tipped her dark unbound hair with gold and fell upon her breast, whereon lay a great single emerald suspended by a chain of pearls, she seemed standing in hesitancy, as if shrinking from some action she was compelled to perform. Once again she lifted her long lashes in my direction, but only for a second, for, drawing a deep breath, her gaze wandered round the sea of dark, anxious countenances, as she raised her white bare arm heavenward. In a moment there was a dead silence. The men about her, who had given vent to words of admiration on seeing her unveiled, were breathless in expectancy. "Behold! my people! At my feet lieth the Drum of Nar!" she cried in clear, resolute tones, though at first there seemed a slight quiver in her voice. "Times without number hast thou and thy forefathers gone down into battle to its sound. Its note is to thee of a verity a note of victory; to thine enemies a knell of speedy death. To its tones hast thou defeated the legions of the Infidels, and to its roll canst thou now, if thou wilt follow me, overthrow the Sultan of Agadez." "Wheresoever thou goest, there also will we go!" shouted the evil-looking crowd enthusiastically with one accord, flourishing their rifles high above their heads. "Lead us, O our Malieah! [Queen] O Beauteous Daughter of the Sun! O Bringer of Victory! We will follow thee!" "Give ear unto me!" she cried again, silencing the wild tumult of enthusiasm with uplifted hands. "I would have brief speech with thee before we commence the advance to Abd-el-Kerim's stronghold. Verily I tell thee that--" "Cease thy chatter, I command!" cried Hadj Absalam, in a sudden ebullition of anger. "Have I not forbidden thee to address unto the people words other than those which have received my sanction?" Glancing towards him, the colour left her face, and she trembled as if in fear, but the people, noticing the dispute, cried loudly, "Let the Lalla, Queen of the Noor, speak unto us, O our Father! In her wisdom do we place our trust." This popular demonstration in her favour gave her courage, and heedless of the fiercely-uttered imprecations of the pirate chieftain, Zoraida, drawing a long breath, continued-- "For many moons now past there hath been amongst thee, my foster-brethren, signs of discontent," she said. "Grim whisperings have caught mine ear, and many a sinister rumour regarding myself hath been conveyed unto me. To-day, ere we set out towards the dazzling Palace of Delights, where some of us will peradventure find a grave, I desire to render thee personal explanation." She paused, glancing at me with unwavering eye. Every voice was hushed, every face expectant. "It hath been alleged against me that I have betrayed the secret of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, but before thee all I deny it. Some have said that I have delivered the Crescent itself into the hands of a Roumi. Behold! I have our treasure still in my hands!" And as she drew it from beneath the folds of the bright-coloured silken scarf that girt her waist, and held it aloft, her words were greeted by loud, ringing cheers. "Those who declare that our power hath been weakened by the supposed loss of the Crescent may here witness it for themselves," she went on. "It hath further been alleged that the presence of an infidel in our camp bodeth ill-fortune; but I, thy soothsayer, tell thee that his companionship will be of the utmost value unto us. Already hath he been held captive in the great Fada, and, knowing its intricate courts and pavilions, will render valuable aid in serving as guide when, in the supreme moment, we make the final onrush. Think, then, those of you who seek by sinister device to encompass the death of this stranger from beyond seas! Stay thine hands, thou who art seeking to destroy the one man who can show us the means whereby we can reach the Hall of the Great Divan!" Every eye was turned upon me with mingled scorn and surprise. Zoraida was endeavouring to ensure my safety! A wild excitement seemed to burn in her veins, and after a few seconds' pause she again proceeded-- "This expedition requireth the fall strength of each one of us, therefore let none seek to wreak vengeance upon his neighbour. Heed these the words of thy Daughter of the Sun, whose prophecies have been fulfilled, and whose curse falleth swiftly upon her enemies. The barriers of Agadez, held by the peerless scimitars of Abd-el-Kerim, can only be broken by the gallant, patient `brothers of Zoraida'--the soldiers of destiny. Accept the Roumi who hath eaten thy salt as thy clansman, for of a verity he is a friend of True Believers, and will fight by thy side under this the glorious banner of the Ennitra, our green standard that striketh terror into all hearts from Khartoum unto Timbuktu! Let not thy belief in our power be shaken, but act with one accord, follow me with faith, and, striking down thine enemies, thou shalt dash onward through the iron-barred gate of the great Fada, whence thou wilt bring forth many camel-loads of treasure and many scores of slaves. Verily, I tell thee, thou shalt drive thine enemies to their doom, even as cattle are driven unto water." Hadj Absalam stood scowling, with folded arms. His Argus eyes were everywhere. By the expressions of approbation and loudly-uttered promises to carry out her wishes, it was plain that Zoraida's words had the effect she desired. Over this fierce horde of cut-throats she exercised such regal sway that her every wish was law. So attentive were they to her utterances, that it seemed as if her marvellous beauty entranced them, causing them to fight for her. How strange was her position; how strenuously was she struggling on my behalf! An undying bitterness, a hatred born of fanaticism, the scorn of the Moslem for the accursed Roumi, had been conquered by her words; for ere she had finished speaking, the fierce warriors of the Desert, who a few minutes before had cursed me under their breath, were wildly enthusiastic, and gave me "peace" on every hand. Again raising the mysterious Crescent above her head, she demanded in a loud voice, "Hast thou still confidence in me?" The echoes were awakened by shouts in the affirmative, and one man near me cried, "We fear not the stars when the moon is with us." "And thou entrustest to me the success of this bold dash into the stronghold of our most powerful enemy?" she asked again. "Thou art our light!" they cried. "Lead us, O Daughter of the Sun! and we will follow thee." "Is the Roumi yonder thine ally and friend?" "Yes," they answered. "Already have we given him `peace.'" "May the Giver of Good Gifts bestow upon thee blessing!" I cried, in acknowledgment of their declaration of friendship. I was about to address some words to the woman I loved, when suddenly I remembered she had forbidden me to speak, and stood gazing at her in silence. Upon the sinister face of Hadj Absalam there rested a dark look of displeasure. Zoraida was doing her best to save me, but in the crafty eyes of the Sheikh there lurked treachery and deadly hatred. A pause ensued. Zoraida, standing erect and glancing around her, smiled as if a great weight had been at last lifted from her mind, while her women on either side slowly moved their great fans of yellow ostrich plumes. A few seconds later, the two cadis who had accompanied the Sheikh advanced, and, taking up the Drum of Nar, knelt before her. "Lo! the note of victory soundeth!" she cried. "From this moment none shall rest until the banner of the Ennitra hath been planted on the Fada of Agadez!" and with her open palms she suddenly struck the drum, and beat a rolling tattoo, that swelled louder and louder, and then gradually died away. The call to arms caused the wildest enthusiasm, and the final notes of the rude, ancient instrument were drowned by the fierce war-cries that rent the air on every side. All seemed filled with delight at the prospect of the fight, and these shouts were repeated as the Drum of Nar was beaten in a similar manner by the outlaw Sheikh himself, whose bearded face seemed harder than flint. The stallions of the six mounted Arabs pawed the ground, impatient as their riders, who, on hearing the sound of the drum, yelled themselves hoarse, throwing back their burnouses and flourishing their rifles high aloft. "Whomsoever thou shalt fight we will fight, O Ruler of the Desert!" they shouted, and again the cry was taken up by the people, who, amid a scene of intense excitement, handled their knives, swords, and guns, vowing to give no quarter to their enemies, and to make no halt until the Fada had fallen into their hands. Zoraida and Hadj Absalam were standing side by side, a strangely incongruous pair--she young, fair, and smiling; he aged and scowling, with merciless brutality portrayed in every line of his sun-tanned, aquiline features. Turning to her, he uttered some words in a low tone, intended for her ear alone. What they were none knew, but she glanced at him, shrugged her shoulders, and, without replying, glanced across at me with a kindly look of recognition. Yet I dared not to approach her. Just at that moment a standard was raised aloft, and a green silken banner, embroidered with gold, unfurled, hung over the pair motionless in the heavy, sultry air. The sight of this emblem of war was greeted with renewed shouts of delight, and as Zoraida slowly waved it, there went up on every side deep, fervent declarations of devotion to the Daughter of the Sun. "Whithersoever thou goest, O Malieah of Beauty! we will go. Thou art still our Bringer of Victory, and we fear not while thou art at our head!" they shouted hoarsely, half mad with eager anticipation. With queenly air her head bowed slowly in graceful acknowledgment of their compliments, then, raising both arms to heaven, she uttered some words that were lost in the tumult of excitement. The six horsemen drew up before the dais, one of them dismounting, and taking his capacious saddle-bag, held it open, while Zoraida with her own hands placed in it the Drum of Nar. In a few moments the bag was again upon the animal's back, the tall Arab vaulted into his high-backed saddle, and waited immovable as a statue. There was a dead silence. At last Hadj Absalam addressed them in a loud voice, saying-- "Speed thee onward, my sons. Halt not until the Drum of Nar hath sounded its note of victory in the Efigaguen, the Kahir d' Ibn Batouta, and at the well of Enouaggued. Unto our people carry forth our greeting, and tell them that on the tenth day from to-morrow shall we make the dash upon the Fada, where we shall expect them to aid us in the attack, and to destroy our enemies as were destroyed the tribes of Ad and Thamud. Away! Linger not until thou hast returned unto us with the Drum of Victory." "Go!" added Zoraida, stretching forth her tiny white hand. "Upon thee be perfect peace, and may Allah, Answerer of thy Supplications, shadow thee with His shadow, and guard thee in thy peril. _Fi amani-illah_!" The six sturdy horsemen bowed till their foreheads touched their horses' necks, then, raising loud shouts, they fired their rifles into the air, and, spurring on, dashed through the wildly-excited crowd that opened to let them pass, and in a few minutes were galloping away down the rocky valley, where the misty shadows of sunset had already gathered. Hadj Absalam's orders had been despatched, and the Ennitra were now working themselves into a frenzy of excitement, preliminary to a mad ride over the ashes of burned homes and the bodies of their enemies, to pillage the richest and most extensive palace in the Great Sahara. Half demented by enthusiasm, each endeavoured to talk more bravely than his fellow, commenting in anticipation of the amount of loot to be obtained from the Sultan's abode. Upon this point I was closely questioned, and, in reply, I gave a brief description of the place. The ceremony of sending forth the Drum of Nar was over, for Zoraida's women had wrapped her haick about her, and, with a last wistful glance at me, she turned and walked between them back to her pavilion, followed by the great Sheikh and his companions, who, amid the plaudits of the slowly-swaying crowd, bore aloft the green standard under which we were so soon to fight. Zoraida had gone. Half an hour later, while my companions were repeating their Fatiha, I stood aside deep in thought. The unquenchable flame of love, I knew, glowed within her heart. Stone to all else, she, forced by some extraordinary circumstance to be the leader of a band of cut-throats, had promised to become my wife. The Ennitra had replaced their faith in her with renewed confidence by reason of her possession of the Crescent, and this she had turned to the best advantage by securing my immunity from molestation. Yet I remembered that, after all, the chances of safety were exceedingly small, and wondered how many of those who were now so ready to murder and plunder would fall under the keen scimitars of the janissaries of the Fada, and be food for the ever-hungry vultures. Night fell. The bright white stars shone forth in the clear vault of deep blue with a brilliance that is nowhere seen except in the Great Desert, but through the dark hours the men who had pledged themselves as my friends were busy packing their tents, and at dawn, headed by the green and gold standard, we moved away on the first stage towards the City of the Ahir. In order to allow time for the other bands of our people to reach Agadez simultaneously with ourselves, we had ten days in which to accomplish a seven days' journey; therefore the first part of our march was at an easy pace, and with everybody buoyant and in excellent spirits, it was not unenjoyable. Throughout the long day we travelled onward, first down the rocky ravine until we came to a great open, sun-baked plain, devoid of even a blade of herbage, where the way was rough and progress slow, then out into the trackless, stony desert, wherein few, even of the people of Ahir, had ever ventured. Wild, barren, and parched, the broad expanse of uneven stones and patches of sand stretched away as far as the eye could discern, a lone, silent, nature-forsaken land, where not a living thing could exist. Onward over the uneven ground our _meheris_ plodded, their spongy feet falling with slow, tedious tread, and our horses stumbling at every step, causing the arms to clank and jingle. Upon a milk-white horse, handsomely caparisoned in gold and purple, Hadj Absalam rode, with keen eye, imperious and commanding, surrounded by his people, to whom his merest gesture was law. Behind him, in litters on the backs of camels, were several women, but the silken curtains of each were drawn to shade them from the sun, therefore I could not distinguish in which Zoraida rode. Around them were a number of faithful horsemen, with rifles across their saddles, while following came a great body of the Ennitra, heavily armed and eager for the attack. My horse, a fine bay thoroughbred, carried me splendidly; nevertheless, the heat was terrific, and throughout the day I suffered greatly from thirst and fatigue. But my companions, careless and light-hearted, discussed on all sides the probabilities of a successful attack, and whiled away the weary, monotonous hours by singing snatches of quaint Arab songs. Thus we marched forward, day after day, over the rugged, waterless wilderness, towards the gilded courts of the Sultan Abd-el-Kerim. Our guns and pistols--many of them ancient flint-locks, with curiously inlaid stocks--were primed, our daggers whetted, and we were all ready for the desperate, bloody struggle into which we must quickly plunge. The Drum of Nar had gone forth; the Ennitra were rapidly closing in upon the proud and wealthy city. Spies, who met us in the garb of camel-men, reported that the people of Agadez were continuing their merry-making, in celebration of the formal accession of the young Sultan, and were not dreaming of attack, therefore the way was clear, and a sudden dash would carry us onward, unchallenged, to the Fada. During the sunniest hours, from noon to _el maghrib_, we usually encamped, making our long, weary journeys over the almost impassable country through the night and early morning; and this having continued for nine days, we at length found ourselves twelve hours' march from the city we intended to plunder. Encamping, we spent six breathless hours, lying hot, panting, and thirsty under what small shade we could improvise; then the order went forth, horses were resaddled, camels, struggling under heavy burdens, regained their feet, and onward we moved again, every eye strained straight before, endeavouring to catch the first glimpse of the square minaret of the Great Mosque which was my goal. In the direction of Agadez the sun sank, and the grey, misty horizon was streaked with lines of blood-red light, Nature's presage, it seemed, of a reign of terror, fire, and sword. The crowd of stern-faced, hawk-eyed horsemen around me was, for the most part, a motley collection of brutal, villainous-looking Arabs; indeed, from their physiognomy, one could almost imagine that all the criminals of the Algerian cities had formed themselves into a tribe to wage war against their law-abiding compatriots. With coarse jest, low laugh, and murmured imprecation, they spoke of bloodshed and murder with a flippant air, exhibiting always a keen anticipation as to the amount of loot that would fall to their lot, and discussing the probabilities of the women they might capture from the Sultan's harem realising good prices in the slave-markets of the south. Before me was the upright, statuesque figure of the pirate chieftain, and beside him, mounted on a black stallion, with rich gold trappings, was the slight figure of a youth in a dress similar to my own, with white haick, burnouse of palest amaranth silk, and many yards of camels' hair twisted around his head. The rider, whose back was towards me, was unfamiliar, but presently I managed to rein up level with him, and, turning to look, I was amazed to find that the face was that of Zoraida! Her beautiful countenance was unveiled, and as our eyes met, she nodded and smiled a graceful recognition. Involuntarily I was prompted to ride up and speak with her, but again remembering her strict injunctions, refrained, and, laughing back to her, spurred onward in front, where the dreaded banner waved lazily in the breath of hot, sand-laden wind. Hiding like any scarred warrior of her tribe, she sat her horse as firmly as if she were part of it, and, heedless of the cloud, of dust raised by those riding on before, or of the constant stumbling of the animal over the rough ground, she seemed the least fatigued of any. Her pale, delicate features, with eyebrows darkened by kohl, were by no means ferocious in the spotless haick that surrounded them, yet it was apparent that she had assumed male attire in order to place herself at the head of these fierce brigands, and that her wistful eyes were constantly turned in my direction, as if wishing to speak, yet not daring to do so. Once she left Hadj Absalam's side and galloped up to a camel whereon a woman was reclining in a rich, cage-like litter. The occupant drew aside the curtains to speak with her, when I recognised it was Halima. Exchanging a few hurried sentences, they glanced significantly in my direction, by which I knew that I was the object of their conversation, and then Zoraida, with a parting word which seemed like an injunction, spurred back again to the Sheikh's side, while Halima, laughing and waving her hand towards me, drew her curtains again to exclude the hot gusts of whirling sand. Throughout the evening Zoraida rode onward, smiling with an outward show of happiness, and although I pressed on close to her, she addressed not a word to me. Now and then the Daughter of the Sun would laugh, and the love-look in her eyes told me that her thoughts were constantly of me, and that her silence was enforced. She was leader of the marauders, and her orders were obeyed instantly and faithfully. Hadj Absalam had delivered his authority into her hands, and she had assumed command with the firmness of a military officer, in a manner which showed that it was not the first time that she had occupied that strange position. In galloping, she rode as swiftly and well as any of the bronzed Sons of the Desert, though her hair became unbound and fell in profusion over her shoulders, and she lost one of the tiny heel-less slippers, which, however, was afterwards searched for and recovered by two of her younger cavaliers, one of whom placed her bare foot in it, and received a smile and a word of thanks as reward. Over sharp rocks and treacherous tufts of hulfa grass, through pebbly ravines and soft sand, into which the horses' hoofs sank deeply at every step, we spurred onward. Zoraida, the beauteous Bringer of Victory, led us to the attack, and of that host none were afraid. From four directions the pirates of the plains were advancing on the City of the Ahir, and all were enthusiastic and confident except myself. What, I wondered, would be the outcome of this carefully-planned attack on the great Fada? For Zoraida's safety I trembled. What her fate would be should she chance to fall into the hands of the brutal janissaries, I feared to contemplate. However, though no word was exchanged between us, I was determined to fight by her side, to protect her from her enemies, and dash with this horde of thieves onward to the city in which my one hope was centred. The Arab had spoken the truth. We had the moon with us, and cared naught for the stars. Zoraida was our light, and we were following her, stout-hearted and strong-armed, prepared to plunder, to murder, to deal death and to spread desolation at every step. CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT. HADJ ABSALAM'S DECREE. The attack delivered during the moonlit hours was sharp, decisive, and, being unexpected, was at first little short of a massacre. Yelling with wild, fiendish delight, my companions, Zoraida at their head, swept onward through the gate of Agadez up to the great, gloomy portals of the Fada, ruthlessly shooting down those who attempted to bar their passage, and engaging in desperate mortal combat with the armed guards, who offered stubborn resistance. Our success, however, was brief, for our reinforcements had unfortunately not reached us. Recovering quickly from the first shock, the alarm was at once sounded throughout the city. All those capable of bearing arms united to repel us, and as the janissaries in strong bodies poured forth from the Palace gate, the fray soon became fierce and bloody. The Ennitra struggled with desperate courage begotten by the knowledge that they were surrounded by hundreds of the defenders, who would slaughter them and torture those who fell into their hands as prisoners. Knowing not a man would survive if they were defeated, they fought on, madly reckless in their insatiable desire for blood, as with their keen knives they dealt deathblows at those who were defending the gateway, being in turn slashed and maimed by the keen scimitars of the janissaries, until the roads ran with blood, and our horses leaped and stumbled over piles of dead and wounded. The fight was desperate; the carnage horrible. On every side men yelled and struggled, while the ill-fated ones fell to earth and died with curses upon their lips. The scene was awful, almost demoniacal, for the shrieks of the vanquished, mingled with the shouts of the victors and the continuous rattle of rifles, drowned the clash of arms. Amid the desperate conflict I kept as close to Zoraida as possible, though the Ennitra pressed around her, fiercely repelling those who attempted to capture their banner. The Daughter of the Sun, sitting on her sable stallion, with face firm set, gripped in her bejewelled hand a small curved dagger, which from time to time she flourished over her head, urging her outlaw cavaliers to valiant deeds. Time after time her slim, supple figure showed in the very thickest of the melee, as with desperate rushes we dashed onward towards the great horse-shoe arch which gave entrance to the Fada, being, alas! on each occasion met with such strenuous opposition that we were compelled to fall back again, leaving dozens of corpses strewn upon the roadway. Men and horses were hacked in a manner truly horrible by the scimitars of the Sultan's guard, and once or twice Zoraida herself had a narrow escape of death. At moments of extremest peril she behaved in a manner that would have done credit to any trained soldier. Once, as I engaged a well-armed janissary hand to hand in mortal combat, I saw that the guards had broken the ring of fierce warriors who had formed themselves around our standard and dashed into the centre of the group, causing a frightful conflict. Fighting at such close quarters, the long-barrelled guns of the Ennitra were useless, therefore they were compelled to use their knives and swords. Just as, by a lucky cut, I had slashed the right arm of my adversary, I turned to witness a gigantic guard of the harem rush up to Zoraida, brandishing his heavy scimitar, a formidable weapon that I had often burnished and whetted. "Die, thou accursed son of Eblis!" he shrieked loudly, bringing down his broad, curved blade, that gleamed for a second in the moonbeams; but the fearless leader of the marauders had already become aware of her danger, and, lifting her left hand until it was only a foot from his great brutal countenance, fired her old-fashioned pistol full into his face. The sword fell from his paralysed fingers, and back he staggered next second with half his skull blown away. Her escape was almost miraculous, yet she betrayed not the slightest trace of fear, although the rust of dust had settled upon the mirror of her beauty. Without a second glance at the body of her slain enemy, she sat her black horse firmly and well, re-primed her pistol, and then fought on with calm courage, heedless of the fact that those whom she led were slowly but surely being swept into eternity by the well-organised opposition they were encountering. Again and again the soldiers of Abd-el-Kerim closed around us in a frantic endeavour to capture the green banner that swayed gloomy and ominous in the brilliant night; but with dogged persistency our men, better armed than their adversaries, fired their rifles with deadly effect, and stood together prepared to fight on desperately until the end. Many were the deeds of cool daring I witnessed during that midnight hour, while men in white burnouses, looking almost ghostly in the deep, enmassed shadows cast by the high walls of the Fada, struggled with the gorgeously-attired retainers of the Sultan. Unfortunate wretches, mortally wounded, struggled on till they sank of sheer exhaustion and were trampled to death, and their fellows, some horribly mutilated, with dark, ugly stains upon their burnouses, fought again ere they died, killing their enemies in a frenzy of mad revenge. The encounter grew more desperate every moment. Our hands and faces were besmirched with blood, as larger and more impassable grew the barrier of the slain. Hadj Absalam had miscalculated the time which must be occupied by the march of our reinforcements, and we had made the assault too early! Again the heavy gate of the Fada opened; again there emerged another body of troops. For a moment they halted, then there was a bright, blinding flash, as into our midst a volley was poured, by which a dozen men around me fell from their horses dead. Breathlessly I glanced towards Zoraida, half fearful lest a bullet should strike her, but breathed more freely when I saw her unharmed, still brandishing her knife aloft and shouting words of encouragement to the desperate group of horsemen pressing around her. "Courage! brothers, courage!" she shouted. "Keep thine enemies at bay, for ere long thou shalt seek revenge within yonder walls. Give no quarter. Let thy strong arms sweep to earth the gilded popinjays of the Sultan!" "Behold!" cried Amagay, commanding the janissaries, and speaking in a voice that sounded loud above the din of battle. "Lo! the horseman who commandeth the Ennitra seemeth frail, like a woman! What trickery is this? Falter not, fight on! Let not thy scimitars return unto their scabbards until all have fallen!" Responding to these words, the janissaries made an onward rush that almost overpowered us. With great difficulty, however, we managed to make a stand against it, firing our rifles and slashing at our adversaries in frantic desperation, just managing at length to repulse them sufficiently to prevent our banner from falling into their hands. A serious attack had been made upon Zoraida and Hadj Absalam, but both had struggled with redoubled energy, succeeding in warding off the repeated murderous blows levelled at them. Those moments were critical ones. Each of us felt that a second rush as powerful as the first would totally annihilate us. Our fate, indeed, seemed sealed. Just as our enemies fell back a little, I managed to draw so close to Zoraida that my hand brushed her silken robe. As I reined up, she shouted an order, a dozen rifles rang out, and in a moment the conflict became even more fiercely contested than before. One by one, however, our men dropped their arms and fell from their horses, never to mount again, and I could see that, with the exception of the couple of dozen old men whom we had left on the previous day in charge of the women, camels, and tents, nearly three-fourths of our body had been killed or wounded. Beside Zoraida I sat in the bright moonbeams, anxiously on the alert. When I saw how critical was our position, I became regardless of her injunctions, and cried-- "It is useless! Let us fly and save ourselves!" With a strange fire in her beautiful eyes, she turned quickly upon me. "No," she answered calmly. "Have courage, O Cecil! Dost thou not remember what stake thou hast in the result of this attack?" Again the rifles of the defenders belched forth their ominous red flashes, as amid the din and rattle a perfect hail of bullets whistled about us; yet she seemed to shed a charmed halo around her, for neither Hadj Absalam nor myself were struck. With teeth firmly set, we struggled on, cutting, slashing, striking death at every blow, amid a scene indescribably weird and ghastly, until each well-delivered volley of the defenders felled dozens of our band to earth, and I knew that the slaughter of my undaunted companions-in-arms would be complete. The fortune of the fight trembled in the balance. Zoraida's cool, inspiring demeanour and encouraging words stirred the nomadic Ennitra to bold, fearless deeds, and many were the feats of prowess the brigands of the plains in that dark hour accomplished. My life was saved by one of the faithful followers who had assisted Halima and myself to escape. A gigantic, fierce-eyed negro slave of the Fada had rushed towards me, brandishing his crooked _jambiyah_, and I had fired, missing him. Next moment he closed with me, gripping my throat with long, sinewy fingers, as with a demoniacal, exultant laugh he raised his knife to plunge it deep into my breast, when Halima's slave, fortunately noticing my peril, raised his sword and clave my enemy's skull so swiftly that the warm blood spurted forth over my hands. Without uttering a sound, the dark, evil-visaged brute who intended to kill me staggered and fell back stone dead, while I remained breathless but unharmed. I gasped a word of thanks to my deliverer, but, shrugging his shoulders, he merely answered, "The Ennitra assist those who fight with them side by side, be they Infidels or Allah's chosen. Thou art our friend and the friend of the Lalla Halima, therefore we are loyal unto thee, and require no thanks for obeying that which is written." "May Allah honour thee!" I said, fervently thankful, fully realising how narrowly I had once again escaped a violent end. "And may He be as a lamp shining upon thy path," the man murmured in pious response. In the desperate onslaught made a few minutes later by the soldiers of the Sultan, now reinforced by a squadron of horsemen who had approached with all speed from the opposite side of the city, Zoraida and I found ourselves together in the thick of the fray. Grappling with their enemies, the Ennitra, with all their bellicose instincts now thoroughly aroused, closed with them in a terrible death-struggle. Each desert-wanderer, determined to sell his life dearly, bade defiance to the great body of janissaries, eunuchs, palace guards, and soldiers, and, armed to the teeth, cut, thrust, and charged, pressing the defenders hard, bearing the brunt of the fight, and showing a bold front in a manner truly astonishing. With their white drapery flowing in the wind, as they spurred on their horses in repeated efforts to successfully storm the gate of the Fada, my companions fought like demons. But the defenders held together in solid phalanx, and repulsed us time after time, until many more of our bold, undaunted horsemen lay weltering in their blood. Again and again Zoraida, whose slim form still showed under the dark standard of the outlaws in the very midst of the desperate conflict, shouted words of encouragement, and each time we swept forward upon the stubborn ranks of the janissaries, only to be ignominiously driven back under a withering fusillade of bullets. Hadj Absalam's gruff voice, raised in desperate imprecation, roared above the din of the fray, but he was unheeded. They obeyed only the commands of the Daughter of the Sun, whom they still implicitly believed would lead them to victory. In deadly embrace we fought with ferocious strength, grappling our adversaries, and using our knives with horrible fiendishness. Janissaries and eunuchs, slashed and mutilated by the dexterous blows of my dauntless fellow-horsemen, fell groaning to earth, staining the burnouses of the outlaws with their blood; but even then, when slight success aroused redoubled energy within us, any hope of the investment of the Fada still seemed utterly forlorn. Suddenly above the noise and tumult there was a loud rumbling, which at first I thought was distant thunder. "Hearken!" eagerly shouted Zoraida, at that moment only a few feet from me. "Give ear unto me! Lo! it is the rolling of the Drum of Nar! Fight on! Our brothers are advancing! For evil men Hell, the Worst life; for the righteous the Best Mind, Paradise!" With a shrill whoop, the Ennitra took up the last sentence as a war-cry, and, with courage strengthened by the knowledge that at last assistance was at hand, dashed forward wildly towards the great arched gateway, many of them being in their reckless onslaught impaled upon the defenders' spears. Then, ere five minutes had passed, with loud, reassuring shouts, mingling with the monotonous thumping of the Drum of Victory, the three bodies of the Ennitra, who, it afterwards appeared, had effected a junction near Tanou-n-Toungaiden, made a vigorous demonstration, by which, in the course of a quarter of an hour, the defenders became hemmed in between two galling fires. Closely pressed, they were at last, after holding out with dogged resistance until the first flush of dawn, driven back against the gloomy walls of the palace, and there slaughtered without mercy. The tide of battle turned in favour of the brigands. There ensued a revolting massacre, from which Zoraida, breathless and panting, turned and shut out its sight by covering her eyes with her delicate hands. The soldiers of the Ahir, finding themselves overpowered by the dreaded band whose vengeance was feared throughout the Soudan, threw down their arms and craved for quarter. But the Ennitra had given rein to their savage bloodthirstiness, and no words from their beautiful leader could avert that fierce, horrible brutality which caused them to be held in dread. Upon their knees proud janissaries of the Sultan Abd-el-Kerim sank in the blood of their comrades, crying hoarsely for mercy, but none was shown them. Dismounted, the men whom Zoraida had rallied and incited to victory threw themselves upon their adversaries, butchering them in cold blood. Murder, mutilation, and torture were rife everywhere in the vicinity of the Fada, and as the bright streaks of saffron spread in the east, heralding the sun's coming, the massacre was awful. "Spare the Mesallaje!" cried Zoraida, pointing to the square minaret that loomed dark against the grey of dawn. "Defile not the Great Mosque! The curse of the One of Might rest upon any who dare to enter the holy place with blood upon their hands!" Quickly the order, shouted aloud, was passed from mouth to mouth, and a few moments later, Zoraida, as she rode swiftly past me, exclaimed-- "With the Mosque free from attack, thou wilt of a surety find the _imam_ thou seekest. When it is time I will tell thee;" and away she galloped to where a large force of our people, climbing over the great heap of slain, were battering in the heavy gate of the Fada, that for centuries had withstood all attack. At last, by dint of supreme effort, the door was burst open, and with loud, victorious yells, there rushed into the first of the great courts a legion of ferocious brutes, who ruthlessly murdered those who stood in their path. Guards, servants, courtiers, and eunuchs were ferreted from their hiding-places and slaughtered with horrible ferocity, as, headed by Hadj Absalam under his green standard, the thieving hordes swept onward through the luxuriant palace to the Court of the Eunuchs, with which I was so familiar. Then, storming the three great doors of the Sultan's harem, they at last gained that most luxuriant portion of the Fada. Zoraida drew back, as if fearing to enter, and for a few seconds stood beside me in the gateway trembling. Summoning courage at last, she allowed herself to be carried on over the bloodstained floors of polished sardonyx and agate into the great arcaded courts, with their columns of marble, plashing fountains, and cool palms. Huddled together in little groups stood the beautiful prisoners of the Sultan, with fear depicted on their handsome faces, as if they had received forewarning of their untimely end. Uttering fiendish yells, the flint-hearted Ennitra, intoxicated by success, bounded towards them, and the awful scenes of loot and massacre that ensued I will not attempt to describe. Suffice it to say that no mercy was shown even to the women. Their jewels were torn from them, fingers on which were valuable rings being unceremoniously hacked off, and their slim white throats and bare breasts were cut and slashed with hellish fiendishness. A few of the more beautiful were chosen by Hadj Absalam to grace his own harem, but the remainder were simply butchered with merciless ruthlessness, the jewels filched from them being flung unceremoniously into a great heap in the centre of the gorgeous Courts of Love, and over it a dozen of the outlaws mounted guard. The massacre was sickening. Piercing screams of the women as they fell under the knives of their pitiless captors echoed along the great arcades, mingling with the jeers of the outlaws and the hoarse cries of the dying. Blood ran across the polished floors, and, trickling into the fountains, tinged their waters, the walls of marble were bespattered with it, and the once-beautiful Courts of Love were rendered hideous by their piles of mutilated corpses, and became a ghastly Inferno, to be remembered with a fearsome shudder until one's dying day. Horrified by the terrible sights I had witnessed, I endeavoured to draw back, but with loud shouts the crowd, excited to madness by their work of murder and pillage, made a sudden rush to the Sultan's pavilion, and involuntarily I was carried onward. "Seek Abd-el-Kerim!" they cried. "Kill him! kill him!" Through the harem-garden, along the edge of the great lake, and on into the Hall of the White Divan they pressed. On entering, we found under the great baldachin of silk and gold the young Sultan, with his Grand Vizier Mukhtar and Amagay, the chief of his eunuchs, on either side, standing erect, regarding our entrance with regal air and unflinching eye. He had drawn his scimitar and was prepared to defend himself. "What meaneth this intrusion?" he cried, the fierce fire of anger in his face. "Verily hast thou rushed into the Wrath, and the blow of destruction shall descend upon thee!" "Spare us!" cried Mukhtar, rushing forward, trembling, cringing coward that he was. "We are thy slaves," added Amagay, throwing away his sword. "Have mercy upon us! Take what thou mayest, but slay us not!" The fierce, dishevelled band, heedless of all appeal, dashed onward, led by Hadj Absalam. A dozen men rushed forward to dispatch the Sultan, but the latter, wielding his jewelled scimitar, felled the first outlaw who approached, inflicting a mortal wound. Next moment, however, the youthful ruler of the Ahir, pulled unceremoniously off the divan, was struggling powerless in the hands of his ragged conquerors. For his curses they cared naught, but at a signal from Hadj Absalam, who had in the meantime mounted to the deposed monarch's place, Labakan stepped forward, armed with the executioner's heavy _doka_, which he had just found while searching for plunder. "Let him die!" exclaimed Hadj Absalam briefly. "Ah! spare me, O conqueror!" gasped the unhappy youth. "It is written-- it is written that the blessings of Allah rest upon the merciful! Spare me!" But the Sultan, pale and haggard, was quickly forced to his knees upon the polished pavement before his own divan and held with his hands behind his back. Piteous were his appeals, but they softened not his captors' murderous, sanguinolent hearts. The great diamond aigrette was ruthlessly torn from his turban and handed to the robber Sheikh, and then, as the men held him down firmly, Labakan stepped forward, and, swinging the _doka_ with both hands, smote off his head at a single blow. The body, quickly despoiled of its jewels, was kicked aside into a corner, while the head, mounted on a spear, was sent forth into the city in order to strike awe into the hearts of those citizens who refused to submit to the conquerors. Mukhtar and Amagay were also decapitated in like manner and without ceremony by the villainous Labakan, who, judging from the self-satisfied grin upon his sinister countenance, delighted in the gruesome duties of his self-assumed office. Once he glanced at me and smiled. Doubtless it would have afforded him considerable pleasure to strike off my head by the same means. In their frenzied thirst for blood, many of my companions, rushing onward, pillaged the Sultan's private apartments and the Treasury. Thence they went to the Hall of Audience. Here a band of janissaries at first made a desperate stand, but they were eventually butchered, even to the last man. Through the city wildly yelling bands of the Ennitra were rushing with fire and sword. The hours were spent by them in murder and pillage, in mutilation, in every conceivable kind of nameless atrocity. Into the houses they rushed, penetrating to the apartments of the women, murdering the occupants, and carrying off all that was valuable. Deeds of violence and lawlessness were committed with cruel brutality and heartlessness; women and children were slaughtered before the eyes of husbands and fathers, who in their turn were also murdered in cold blood. Many went down on their knees, supplicating with heads bent to the ground, crying for quarter, and in that attitude were butchered mercilessly by their conquerors. In the open space called the Azarmadarangh between four and five hundred young men and women had by noon been collected to be sold as slaves, and as each hour passed, others were added to the number. Some attempted to escape, and were shot down in consequence, but the majority gave themselves up to their fate, and squatted on the ground silent and morose. The women wept and wailed, but the men made no complaint. They had fought, Fortune had deserted them, and their Sultan's head was being carried around Agadez to the monotonous thumping of the ancient Drum of Nar. Upon the pinnacles and minarets the great vultures of dirty-greyish plumage with naked necks were awaiting impatiently the feast that the marauders had provided for them, and the captives, noticing them, regarded their presence as an omen that the power of the Sultans of the Ahir had been broken for ever. In Abd-el-Kerim's pavilion, where I remained, Hadj Absalam, with his banner planted over the great canopy, was seated upon the divan with Zoraida at his side. While the work of plunder was proceeding throughout the Fada, the apartment was filled to overflowing by a crowd of the less excited of his bloodthirsty band. Labakan having taken his stand on the other side of the chieftain, resting upon his great bloodstained executioner's sword, Hadj Absalam at length commenced an address to his people. But the latter, after he had uttered half a dozen sentences, mainly egotistical of his own prowess, refused him further hearing, crying-- "Let our Daughter of the Sun speak, O Mirror of Virtue! We trusted her and were not afraid. Let her have speech with us!" "Speak then," he said, annoyed, turning to Zoraida. "May the fear of thy Ruler lie upon thy lips." Casting a quick inquiring glance at him, she smiled pleasantly upon those around her, saying-- "Lo! thy Sheikh, thy Branch of Honour, hath led thee through these courts of the Fada--wherefore dost thou not honour him?" "It was thy voice alone that rallied us when we were failing, and guided us at the critical moment unto a victory great and glorious!" cried one of the warriors, a statement that was hailed with extreme approbation. Gracefully she bowed in recognition of the compliment, saying, "What I have done hath been in accordance with the promise given unto me. Once again have I led thee to victory, though it be for the last time." A murmur of dissent went round, and a voice inquired the reason. "Because," she said,--"Because thou hast conquered the City of the Ahir, therefore thou hast no further need of my services--" "I have. Thou shalt now become Pearl of my Harem!" Hadj Absalam interrupted, with a scowl of displeasure upon his furrowed face. This declaration produced a sensation almost electrical, and it seemed that, even though the prospect might be distasteful to them, none dare challenge the autocrat. Zoraida, too, turned pale, clenched her tiny hands, and bit her lips to the blood. "Brothers," she gasped, her voice faltering, "I, Daughter of the Sun, am thy sister. Oft-times have I risked my life to ensure success in thy forays. Art thou still loyal unto me?" "We are," they answered, as with one voice. "Then I fear not mine enemies," she exclaimed, drawing herself up and flinging back her blood--besmirched silken robe with a defiant air. "To-day thou hast broken the power of a great Sultan and beheaded him; thou hast invested the palace that all thought impregnable; thou hast captured many slaves, and thou hast secured plunder almost as valuable as the Treasure of Askia, which lieth hidden. I led thee hither, but the tenure of my leadership is at an end. Bow now unto the authority of thy Sheikh, and treat me only as one who hath rendered thee a service." "It is but fitting that, now we have conquered Agadez, thou shouldst become Malieah of the Ahir," Hadj Absalam protested. "I appeal to thee, my people. Do I give voice unto thy wish?" The armed men looked at one another in hesitation. Then one, a big, hulking, half-witted fellow, stepped forward, and, turning back to his companions, exclaimed-- "Is not the beauty of our Daughter of the Sun known throughout the Great Desert; is she not our Lady of Wondrous Beauty, with whom none can compare? Did not the great Sultan, Mulai Hassan, of Fez, offer one hundred bags of gold for her? Why should she not grace our people by becoming the chief wife of our wise and just ruler? She would still retain her power to bring victory unto us, and would at the same time reflect upon us perpetually the light of her beauteous countenance." Labakan grinned. It was, I felt sure, one of his devilish schemes. "Are any of the houris whom thou hast spared in yonder harem half as beautiful as the Lalla Zoraida?" he asked. "Surely she with the loveliest face should become Queen?" "Hearken unto me, O my brothers!" Zoraida cried anxiously. "Until this moment thou hast granted me freedom. It is a privilege that as long as I live I will not forego; if thou forcest upon me this marriage, remember that my self-sought death will fall upon thee as a curse, swift and terrible." "Thy beauty designateth thee as our Sultana!" they answered, influenced by the arguments of the wily Labakan and the others. "Thou must become Queen of the Courts of Love!" "And is this--is this how thou repayest one who hath acted as a lamp in thy darkness; thy Lode Star that hath led thee unto prosperity?" she cried, with bitterness. "Of a truth herein thou showest--" "Daughter, thou treatest the generous gift of thy Ruler with contempt," Hadj Absalam roared in anger. "I utter no contemptuous words," she answered, resolutely calm. "Thou hast conceived a plan to marry me against my will, because of what thou art pleased to call my fair face. Verily, I tell thee that if thou attemptest to force thine hateful favours upon me, my knife here shall score mine own cheeks and render them hideous unto thy sight! Failing that, I--I will kill myself!" "Bah!" cried the Sheikh, impatiently tugging at his beard. "Thou lovest the white-faced Roumi to whom we have given succour!" "If he were killed, her objection would be removed," observed Labakan, gesticulating with hands that were smeared and sticky with blood. His cool suggestion was received with mingled approbation and dissent. "Wouldst thou murder one who hath proved himself thy firm friend?" Zoraida asked, her eye fixed upon the man who had already attempted to assassinate me. Shrugging his shoulders, he showed his even white teeth in a hideous grin, but made no reply. "Vengeance cometh--vengeance just upon the faithless and those who betray their friends. Their couch shall be in hell!" she continued. "If thou forcest me to sacrifice my life, of a verity wilt thou deliver the Lie unto Truth, and bring upon thee ruin and shame abiding. _Cama tafakal kathalik tola ki_!" ["Such as you will do, so will you find."] But the fierce, brutal murderers grouped around only laughed. Her strange power over them seemed to have suddenly vanished, for, with her uncovered face handsome in their eyes, there was, alas! a consensus of opinion that she should become the chief wife of their chieftain! What could I do to save her? Nothing. Glancing across at me with a look of mute appeal, she stood silent, her hand upon the hilt of her knife. She seemed deeply agitated, for though her lips moved, no sound escaped them. Again the half-witted brute who had urged the desirability of the hateful union turned to his companions, asking: "Is it thy desire that the Daughter of the Sun should be exalted and become our Queen of Delights and the Light of our Darkness?" "Thy words are truly words of wisdom!" his companions cried loudly, with only two or three dissentients. "Our Ruler must take her as his wife." The cruel face of Hadj Absalam broadened into a benign smile, while Labakan's eyes glittered with murderous craftiness, as, with hands tightly clasped and tears upon her beautiful cheeks, Zoraida made a final desperate appeal-- "A moment ago didst thou vow loyalty unto me, my brothers. Yet even now wilt thou force me into a loveless union that is distasteful--that--that will cause me to seek death by mine own hand! If I have offended, cast me from thee, but wreck not my happiness by an odious marriage! Ever have I been unswervingly loyal unto thee, and He in whose hand is the Kingdom of all Things will assuredly be swift in punishing those who seek my self-destruction. Blessings are the lot of the pure and the merciful. Force this not upon me, O my brothers! Hear and grant this my most fervent supplication!" There was silence. Fierce words in her defence were upon the tip of my tongue, but--fortunately perhaps--I managed to suppress them. "It is to-day, peradventure, too early to carry out my generous proposal," Hadj Absalam observed, utterly unmoved by her appeal. "In one moon shall I compel the Lalla Zoraida to become the Pearl of my Harem." "Thy will be accomplished, O Ruler of exalted merit," they answered. But the woman I loved, hearing his decision, clasped her hands to her temples, murmuring in dismay, "One moon! One moon!" and, taking two or three quick, uneven steps, tottered forward and fell heavily upon her face ere a hand could be outstretched to save her. A dozen men rushed forth, I among the number. Water was given her quickly, and in obedience to an order from the Sheikh she was carried away, helpless and unconscious, to one of the apartments in the great harem, which, alas! was now strewn with the corpses of its former luxury-loving inmates. I dared not follow, so remained, to hear my companions extolling the wisdom of Hadj Absalam's brutal decision. Nauseated by the hideous sights of blood that everywhere met my gaze as I wandered through the spacious courts so familiar to me, the afternoon passed heavily. None of my companions, save the wounded, sought their siesta; all were too absorbed in their work of plunder, bringing the treasure they discovered before the Sheikh, who remained seated beneath the royal canopy, so that he might inspect all that was found. Every hole and corner of the spacious Fada was ransacked, and the pile of gold and silver vessels, jewels, ornaments, and pearl-embroidered robes swelled larger and larger, until it formed a heap that reached almost to the painted ceiling of the pavilion. Backwards and forwards I passed unnoticed, for all were now totally absorbed in their diligent search for articles of value. My only thought was of Zoraida. The decree of the cruel, heartless Sultan of the Sahara had gone forth, endorsed by the decision of the people, and to rescue her from becoming an inmate of the old brigand's harem seemed an impossibility. An hour after sundown, as I was wandering through the wrecked Court of the Eunuchs, revisiting the scene of those toilsome days of my slavery, a veiled woman approached. Drawing aside her _adjar_, the bright, smiling face of Halima was revealed. The women we had left outside the city prior to the attack had already arrived, for in a few brief words she told me that Zoraida had been placed under her care. Her mistress, who had recovered from her faint, had expressed a desire to see me immediately, therefore she had come in search of me. "Enter the harem," she said. "Walk down the arcade on the right until thou comest unto the third door. Push it open, and therein wilt thou find our Daughter of the Sun." I briefly thanked her, and, rearranging her veil, she strolled leisurely away to avoid arousing suspicion. Within ten minutes I was speeding along the arcade, gloomy in the darkening hour, and rendered ghastly by the presence of the mutilated dead. My heart beat as if it would burst its bonds. At the third door I halted, and, pushing it open, passed through a kind of vestibule into a small thickly-carpeted apartment, hung with rich silken hangings, and fragrant with sweet odours that rose from a gold perfuming-pan. From her soft, luxuriant divan, Zoraida, still in her masculine dress, rose to meet me. She was pale, and her hand trembled, as for a few moments we remained clasped in affectionate embrace, while I kissed her in rapture, with many affectionate declarations of love. "What must I do?" I asked breathless, at last. "How can I save thee?" "By performing the mission thou hast promised," she answered, the pressure of her hand tightening upon mine as she gazed into my eyes. "That I will do most willingly," I said. "Then lo! here is the Crescent of Glorious Wonders," she said, producing that mysterious object from between the cushions of her divan, "and here also is a letter to Mohammed ben Ishak. Deliver it, and learn the Secret. Then canst thou extricate me from the danger that threateneth." "But must I be absent from thee long?" "I know not. Thy mission may perchance occupy thee many days." "And in the meantime thou mayest be forced to become the wife of that brute, Hadj Absalam!" "Never!" she cried, setting her teeth. "I will kill myself!" "Is it imperative that I should be absent from thy side in this the hour of thy peril?" I asked, placing my arm tenderly around her neck and drawing her closer towards me. A flash of love-light gleamed on her sweet face. "Yes. Seek the _imam_ to-night, ere it be too late. Whatever he telleth thee, investigate at all cost. If thou art successful in obtaining a revelation of the Wondrous Mystery, assuredly thou wilt save me from a fate that I fear worse than the grave." "Trust me, O Zoraida!" I answered, kissing her fervently, as I took the Crescent and the scrap of paper, concealing them in my clothing. "On leaving thee, I will not halt until I have found the holy man, and have gained from him that knowledge which he alone can give. But what of thee? While I am absent, thou wilt be friendless!" "Allah, the One Merciful, all things discerneth; to us shall it be as He willeth," she said, slowly raising my hand and pressing my fingers to her lips. "If thou art, alas! forced to become Queen of this kingdom of murderers! If thou art--" "I am a follower of the Faith, and place my trust in the Uniter of the Lover and Beloved," she interrupted softly, clasping me in her clinging arms. "By woman's wit I may perchance escape the hateful doom that Hadj Absalam hath devised, under the advice of our enemy, Labakan; therefore let the burdens of my peril be uplifted from thine heart. Seek the director of those who tread the Path, and attend with faith and minuteness unto his instructions." "The thought that we may be for ever parted must fill me until my return," I said. "But canst thou not fly with me, even now?" "Alas! no," she answered gloomily. "Escape ere thou hast fathomed the Great Mystery is impossible. I must abide in patience, overshadowed by deadly peril and the dread thought that we may never meet again. But"-- and she hesitated--"tell me--answer me with thine own lips one question I would address unto thee." "What wouldst thou know?" "Tell me," she said, burying her head upon my breast--"Tell me if thou wilt forgive me for--for the awful massacre that hath to-day been committed?" "Forgive thee!" I cried, my kisses warming her waxen hands. "Of course I do. Forced to occupy a strange position, thou canst not struggle against thy fate, therefore the horrible butchery is due to neither plot nor strategy of thine, but to the fierce avarice and brutal bloodthirstiness of those who now prove themselves thine enemies." "Ah! verily thou art generous!" she exclaimed, with tears in her luminous eyes, around which dark rings were showing. "The life of cities, as the life of men, is a vain and uncertain thing, and none knoweth the weal or ill thereof, and none knoweth the end or the way of the end, save only Allah. To thee I entrust my life. Go! seek the key to the Great Mystery, the knife by which my bonds can only be severed. I will fight to preserve mine honour until I die. I am thine until the heavens shall be cloven in sunder, and the stars shall be scattered. May Allah shadow thee in His shadow, and give unto thee strength to perform in faithfulness thy covenant! May He bless and preserve thee, and may He cause thee to drink from the cup of His Prophet, Mohammed, that pleasant draught, after which there is no thirst to all eternity! It is time, O Cecil! Go!" "Farewell, my one beloved," I said, with a lingering kiss, as her fair head still rested upon my breast. "May the One who sweepeth away darkness guard thee and disappoint not thine hopes! Verily will I set out upon this mission at once, for as steadfastly true thou art unto me, so am I unto thee." For a long time, as we stood in silence, I rained passionate kisses upon her lips, cold as marble. She trembled, fearing the worst, yet, gathering her strength in a supreme effort to preserve her self-control, she at last pushed me from her with gentle firmness, saying-- "Hasten! Night draweth quickly on, and thou hast but little time to spare. Hourly shall I think of thee until thou returnest with the glad tidings. _Slama_! Allah knoweth the innermost parts of the breasts of men. May His mercy and His bounteous blessing be upon thee!" "Verily He is Praised and Mighty!" I responded. Then, with a long kiss of farewell, I breathed a few whispered words of passion into her ear, and, promising to return at the earliest moment, I released her supple form from my embrace, and, stumbling blindly out, left her standing, pale, friendless, and alone. Devoutly-murmured words of a fervent prayer fell upon my ears as I turned from her presence, but I halted not, striding onward--onward in search of the knowledge and elucidation of the Great Mystery, onward to an unknown, undreamed-of bourne. CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. MOHAMMED BEN ISHAK. That night, while the ferocious horde, half demented by delight, still continued their fell work of massacre and pillage, I slipped through the small arched gate into the courtyard of the Great Mosque. Outside, in the roadway, corpses thickly strewn showed how desperate had been the conflict. Bodies of men were lying about the streets in hundreds, perhaps thousands, for I could not count--some with not a limb unsevered, some with heads hacked and cross-cut and split lengthwise, some ripped up, not by chance, but with careful precision down and across, disembowelled and dismembered. Indeed, groups of prisoners, tied together with their hands behind their backs, had been riddled with bullets and then hewn in pieces. The sight was awful; but why repeat it in all its painful detail? The Ennitra had, however, faithfully obeyed Zoraida's injunctions, and the sacred building remained deserted and untouched, although a guard was stationed at the gate to prevent any fugitive from seeking shelter there. In the lurid glare cast by the burning houses to which the firebrand had been applied, I saw how spacious was the open court. A great fountain of black marble, with ancient tiles of white and blue, plashed in the centre, inviting the Faithful to their Wodu; a vine, centuries old, spread its great branches overhead in a leafy canopy, shading worshippers from the sun's scorching rays; while the stones, cracked and broken, the exquisitely dented horse-shoe arches, the battered walls of marble and onyx, all spoke mutely of the many generations who had performed their pious prostrations there. Like sentinels, fig and orange trees stood black against the fire-illumined sky, and as I halted for a moment, the tumult beyond the sacred precincts grew louder, as those whom I had been compelled to call "friends" spread destruction everywhere. The white facade of the majestic structure presented a most picturesque aspect, with its long arcade of many arches supported by magnificent pillars of marble, while above rose a handsome cupola, surmounted by its golden crescent and its high square minaret, bright with glazed tiles, whence the _mueddin_ had for centuries charted his call to prayer. Kicking off my shoes at the great portal of porphyry, I was about to enter, when my eyes fell upon a stone above, whereon an Arabic inscription had been carved. Translated, it read as follows-- "The virtues of this sanctuary spread themselves abroad Like the light of the morning, or the brilliancy of the stars. O ye who are afflicted with great evils, he who will cure them for you Is the son of science and profound nobility, ABDERRAHMAN. 745 of Hedjira." [A.D. 1353.] On entering, all seemed dark and desolate. At the far end of the spacious place a single lamp burned with dull, red glow, and as with bare feet I moved noiselessly over the priceless carpets, my eyes grew accustomed to the semi-obscurity, and I saw how magnificent was the architecture of the lofty interior. Three rows of horse-shoe arches, supported by curiously-hewn columns, divided it into three large halls, the roofs of which were of fine cedar, with wonderful designs and paintings still remaining. From the arches hung ostrich eggs in fringed nets of silk, the walls were covered with inscriptions and arabesques in wood and plaster, while marbles of divers colours formed a dado round the sanctuary, and the glare of fire outside sent bars of ruddy light, through the small _kamariyas_, or windows, placed high up and ornamented with little pieces of coloured glass. Lamps of enamelled glass, of jasper, of wrought silver and beaten gold hung everywhere, and the niche, or _mirhab_, indicating the direction of Mecca, before which a solitary worshipper had prostrated himself, was adorned with beautiful mosaics of marble, porphyry, and mother-of-pearl, with sculptured miniature arcades in high relief, framed with a border of good words from the Koran. Astonished at the vast extent and imposing character of the building, I halted behind the _mimbar_, or pulpit of the _imam_, and, gazing round upon the dimly-lit but magnificent interior, awaited in silence the termination of the single worshipper's prayer. At last, as he rose, slowly lifting his hands aloft in final supplication, I saw he was one of the _hezzabin_. As he turned, I advanced, addressing him, saying-- "May the peace of Allah, who taught the pen, rest upon thee, O Header of the Everlasting Will!" "And upon thee peace amid the tumult!" he answered. "I seek the Hadj Mohammed ben Ishak, director of the Faithful," I said. "Canst thou direct me unto him?" But even as I spoke, the reader of the Koran had detected by my dress that I was one of the hated devastating band, and poured upon me a torrent of reproach and abuse for daring to defile the mosque by my presence. Assuring him that I had the best intentions, and showing him the scrap of paper Zoraida had given me, whereon the _imam's_ name was inscribed, I at length appeased him. "If thou desirest to convey unto the Hadj Mohammed the written message, I will take it," he said reluctantly, at length convinced by the strenuous manner in which I urged the importance of my business with the head of the Mesallaje. "I am charged to deliver it only into the hands of the _imam_ himself," I answered. "Wilt thou not lead me unto him, when I tell thee that the matter concerns the life of one who is his friend?" Still he hesitated; but further appeal moved him, and, ordering me to remain, he reluctantly passed through a small panelled door, inlaid with ivory and ebony, that led from the _liwan_, or eastern recess, leaving me alone. Nearly ten anxious minutes went by ere he returned; then, without utterance, he motioned me to follow him. This I did with alacrity, passing through the door, so constructed as to be indistinguishable from the other panels which formed the dado in that portion of the sanctuary, and as it closed behind us noiselessly, I found myself in total darkness. There was a smell of mustiness and decay; but I was prepared for any adventure, for was I not seeking to obtain knowledge of a mysterious and extraordinary secret? "Let me guide thy footsteps," muttered my companion, and, taking me by the arm, he led me along a narrow passage apparently running parallel with the sanctuary, and constructed in the width of its massive walls. Stumbling along for some distance, we at last turned sharply, where in a small niche there stood a lighted hand-lamp, so placed that its rays remained concealed. Taking it up, he held it before him, and by its yellow, uncertain glimmer we descended a long zig-zag flight of steep, broken steps, deep down into the earth. At the bottom he suddenly drew aside a heavy curtain that hung behind a low arch, and I found myself in a small subterranean chamber, dimly-lit by a brass hanging lamp. "Lo! the stranger entereth thy presence!" my guide exclaimed, withdrawing almost before my eyes could take in the details of my strange surroundings. "_Min aine juyi_!" exclaimed a thin, weak voice, and I saw enshrined upon a divan on the opposite side of the apartment a venerable old man of stately presence, his long white beard and portly figure adding materially to the dignity of his bearing. Returning his greeting, I advanced, noting his thin face, parchment-like skin, and his wasted fingers grasping the black rosary that showed he had made the pilgrimage. "Know, O Director of those who follow the Right Way, that I bear unto thee a message from Zoraida, who is called the Daughter of the Sun!" "A message--at last!" he cried, removing his pipe in sudden surprise, as, struggling to his feet, he strode to the door, drew back the curtain, and looked up the stairs, to make certain that the reader of the Koran had actually departed. Quickly returning, with his wizened face full of agitation and his piercing coal-black eyes fixed upon me, he requested me to hand him the letter. Breaking the seal, he opened the crumpled but precious piece of paper and eagerly devoured the lines of Arabic. As he held it beneath the lamp, I caught a furtive glimpse of it. The scrawled lines had apparently been hastily penned, and beneath there was a dark oval blotch. Straining my eyes, I could just distinguish that it was the impression of a thumb that had been dipped in blood--a seal that could not be imitated! Without a word, the aged man crossed to an ancient cabinet, inlaid with ivory and silver forming texts from the Koran, and therefrom took a parchment. With trembling hands he unrolled it, and, bringing it to the light, compared it minutely with Zoraida's letter. Upon the parchment was a similar impression, which apparently corresponded to his satisfaction with that on the paper I had brought. "So thou art the Roumi from beyond the sea upon whom our Lady of Beauty hath gazed with favour?" he exclaimed, turning and surveying me critically after he had carefully put away both documents. "I am, O Father," I answered. "For many moons have I travelled to seek thee, but have been thwarted in all my efforts until this moment. I am bearer of a precious object, the secret of which thou alone knowest;" and from beneath my gandoura I drew forth the Crescent of Glorious Wonders. "Verily hast thou acted with faith and fearlessness," he said, taking the piece of metal in his talon-like fingers and seeking the mystic inscription. "Undaunted, thou hast faced many perils in order to fulfil thine oath. Already the report of thy sufferings and thine hardships, and the attempts made upon thy life, hath been conveyed unto me. While thou wert a slave in the Fada, I knew of thy bondage, and tried to reach and release thee, but without avail. To me the circumstances of the loss and extraordinary recovery of this strangely-shaped phylactery entrusted to thy keeping are no new thing, for while upon thy wanderings thou hast been watched by eyes unseen." "Didst thou know that I was endeavouring to reach thee?" I asked, amazed. "How didst thou obtain thy knowledge?" "The Wearer of the Flower knoweth all things he desireth," the aged _imam_ answered simply. But his words were full of meaning, for they implied that I had been watched by secret emissaries of the Senousya. Members of this secret brotherhood of Al-Islam are initiated by the taking of a flower, of which there are fifteen, each being significant of a certain sect. When two Believers meet as strangers, one will say to the other, "What blossom wearest thou?" a question which is the "Who goes there?" of the affiliation. If the individual to whom the question is addressed has not been initiated into the Senousya, he will reply, "I am no Wearer of the Flower. I am simply the humble servant of Allah." "The Wearers of the Flower are all-powerful," I said. "Thou speakest the truth," he answered; piously adding: "Of a surety will the Prophet send his liberator, who will drive the Infidel invaders into the sea. Then will True Believers rise in their millions, and the land of Al-Islam will be delivered out of the hands of the oppressor. As the locusts devour all green things, so shall the Senousya smite and destroy the Infidels with a strength as irresistible as the falchion of Fate." "I am one of thine oppressors," I hazarded, smiling. "No. Thou, although a Roumi, art a respecter of our laws and a friend of our people. At what is written thou hast never scoffed, but hast sought to deliver the fairest woman of Al-Islam from dangers that have beset her feet." "Wherein lie those dangers?" I asked anxiously. "In vain have I tried to obtain explanation." "Unto thee the truth will be revealed in due course. From her own lips wilt thou obtain knowledge," he replied impressively. "Thou lovest her. Some day thou wilt tread the Right Path and believe in Allah, Lord of the Three Worlds. Then shalt thou marry her." "She hath sent me unto thee because, in Algiers, the Secret of the Crescent was denied me," I said. "Of that I am aware," he exclaimed. "Already hast thou sought the Unknown and witnessed some of our marvels; but there are others more wondrous that must convince thee. Faith shutteth the seventy doors of evil, and giveth passage over Al-Sirat, the bridge, sharp as a sword and finer than a hair, that stretcheth between hell and Paradise." "I have faith," I said fervently, remembering the weird things Zoraida had shown me. "Thou knowest the Great Secret, and if thou art so inclined, canst impart unto me knowledge whereby I may rescue the woman I love." The holy man asked me what peril appeared to surround Zoraida, and in reply I briefly described the scene that had been enacted in the Fada that day, and told him of Hadj Absalam's declaration of his intention to make her his wife. My words aroused within him the fiercest anger, and as he paced the apartment with feverish steps, he uttered terrible threats against the Sheikh of the despoilers. "Twice would the Sultan of the Sahara have taken my life, had not Zoraida saved me," I pointed out. "Allah showeth mercy only to the merciful," he observed, halting suddenly before me. "Cast thine eyes about thee here in Agadez, and gaze upon the frightful ruin wrought to-day by those hell-hounds. Verily are they the sons of Eblis, who walk in the darkness, and to whom all blessings are denied. May their vitals be burned with the fire unquenchable, and may their thirst be slaked with molten metal. Abuser of the salt, and unfaithful Wearer of the Flower, Hadj Absalam seeketh now to crown his many villainies by forcing the Lalla Zoraida, who is pure as the jasmine blossom, to become his wife! _Hasha_! We shall see! We shall see!" "She telleth me that I can save her if I discover the Great Secret," I said, with anxious impatience. "Thou hast not been initiated into the Senousya, neither art thou a True Believer; nevertheless, thou hast kept thy word even at risk of thine own life," he exclaimed, reflectively twisting his rosary between his thin, nervous fingers. The thought of Zoraida's peril seemed to have completely unnerved him. "Hither have I journeyed from Algiers on purpose to seek explanation of thee," I urged. "Think! the liberty, nay, the life, of one who is as innocent as she is fair is at stake. If thou refusest, I can do nothing. She will become the wife of a man whose fiendish brutality is a by-word and a reproach to the Moslem world. Is it surprising that she hath decided to take her life rather than fall into his polluted hands? Consider, O Reciter of the Prayers--thou who teachest goodwill towards men--reveal unto me, I beseech thee, that which is hidden and the elucidation of which can alone secure the safety of my betrothed." "But thou art not a True Believer," he protested, shaking his head gravely. "How dare I invoke the Wrath by revealing unto thee the Great Secret, with which I alone of men have been entrusted?" "Wilt thou not--for Zoraida's sake?" I urged again, growing alarmed at his increasing inclination to preserve the mystery. "Within this steel there lieth hidden a secret which none know," he said, again examining the Crescent carefully. "Through ages hath it been passed from hand to hand, experiencing many vicissitudes, stranger even than the tales of the story-tellers, or the romances of the Thousand and One Nights, yet its true power hath remained hidden from its various owners, and its secret influence is to all undreamed of." "How can its power avert Zoraida's peril and give unto her peace?" I inquired anxiously. "I know not. Peradventure there are minor secrets connected with it of which even I am in ignorance. Yet assuredly must a man believe that there is no God but Allah ere he can rest beneath the tree called Tuba [the tree of happiness], or dwell within the Jannat al Naim." [The garden of pleasure.] "Though an Infidel, I respect thy belief profoundly," I said, endeavouring to break down the barrier of his fanatical prejudice. "That I have never reproached a True Believer, impugned his devoutness, or ridiculed that which thou boldest sacred, thou hast already acknowledged. Indeed, I follow many of thy beliefs, and acknowledge the truth of the declaration of thy Khalif Omar ebn Abd'alaziz, that prayer carrieth us half-way to Allah, fasting bringeth us to the door of His palace, and alms procureth us admission. But not as one who respecteth and honoureth thy people of Al-Islam seek I the elucidation of the Great Mystery; it is in order that the life of the Lalla Zoraida may be spared, and that she and I may at last become united in wedlock." The patriarchal head of the old _imam_ was bent as he mumbled over his rosary. The words I uttered were intensely in earnest, for Zoraida's final appeal still rang in my ears, and I knew that I had but one short month in which to rescue her from the clutches of the inhuman brute who would snatch her from me for ever. "Believe," he urged at last. "Turn not to folly, but learn thou the truth, and live in piety; for verily I tell thee that the Holy War is near at hand. Then all of us,--with the exception of the Ennitra, who are the thrice-cursed sons of Eblis,--laying aside all fear and dread, will, guided by the Giver of Strength, strive with one accord against the enemies of the Faith; for Allah the Comforter knoweth that if any man die, he dieth for the truth of the Faith, for the salvation of his land, for the protection of the tombs and holy cities, and the defence of the Belief. Therefore shall he obtain of Him the bounteous reward in the Jannat al Ferdaws, peopled by the beautiful Hur al oyun, that He alone can give." "I believe in the marvels I have already witnessed," I answered. "I am convinced that thou canst reveal unto me means by which I can release the woman I love from the harem of villainy, ere it be too late. Has she not in her letter requested thee to afford me explanation, in order that I may gain the knowledge for our mutual advantage?" He hesitated. With his dark, gleaming eyes fixed steadfastly upon me, he remained motionless in deep reflection. "Darest thou leave this City of the Doomed to go forth in search of what may appear unto thee but the merest phantom?" he asked slowly. "Zoraida is in deadliest peril," I urged. "Would my absence be of long duration?" "I cannot answer. Thou art young and reckless. With a stout heart thou mightest obtain knowledge of the truth within short space." "But within one moon, Zoraida--with whom no woman of Al-Islam can compare--will be imprisoned in the harem of the conqueror, and she will be irretrievably lost to me!" I urged. He shrugged his shoulders. "Art thou still undaunted?" he asked. "Art thou still prepared to continue thine efforts to effect her rescue?" "I am, O Father," I answered fervently. "Tell me, I beseech thee, how to act." "The medium through which thou canst alone seek to elucidate the Great Mystery hath been hidden from man through many ages," he said in a strange, croaking voice, handling the Crescent of Glorious Wonders as tenderly as if it were a child. "This ancient talisman, which bringeth good fortune and victory to its possessor, containeth a property which is unknown to the wise men of our generation, though when Cleopatra reigned in Egypt the hidden force was well known and freely utilised. To the True Believer this Crescent giveth valour and power over his enemies, besides averting the evil eye, like the hand of Fathma; but profaned by the touch of the Roumi, it assuredly bringeth ruin, disaster, and death. Over our Lalla Zoraida there hangeth a fate that is worse than death, yet that can be averted, provided thou canst fathom that which the wise of successive ages have attempted and failed. She now chargeth me to impart to thee the key of the Wondrous Marvel, the Secret entrusted unto me alone. Verily I declare unto thee, only the deadly peril of the fair woman thou lovest causeth me to unloose my tongue's strings--only the imminent likelihood of her abandonment to that fiend in man's shape induceth me to withdraw the veil." "Before thee I stand prepared to attempt any task that hath for its reward her escape from the power of the brigand," I said. "Until now thine heart hath not failed thee. Despair not, for peradventure thou mayest crush those who, while calling themselves her friends, nevertheless seek her destruction," he said encouragingly, stroking his white beard in thought. "Guide thou my footsteps, O director of men, and I will speed upon the path that leadeth unto truth," I said. "So be it," he answered, after a pause, waving his thin hand. "Be not sceptical of what strange things thou mayest witness; only believe, and the Way may be opened up unto thee." His small jet-black eyes glittered with a brilliant fire unnatural to one so old, as, placing both his hands upon a portion of the dark wall, he pushed it, revealing a door constructed by a section of the wall itself being made to revolve upon a pivot. Then, pointing to the cavernous darkness beyond, he said in a commanding tone, "Come, follow me!" Excited at the prospect of ascertaining at last the Great Secret so long promised, I obeyed instantly, and when a few seconds later the piece of the wall slowly swung back into its place, closing with a clang which made it clear that it was of iron painted to resemble stone, I found myself in another passage. The brass lamp, which he had detached from its chain, revealed that the strange corridor was carpeted and hung with rich fabrics, and as we proceeded along, the close air seemed heavy with a sweet, fragrant perfume. "Fearest thou Azrail?" he suddenly asked in a deep, mysterious voice, halting for a moment to gaze into my anxious eyes, as if to detect any sign of faltering. "All men who have dear ones upon earth live in terror of the eternal parting," I said. "Azrail, inexorable conqueror of the mighty, causeth even Sultans to crave mercy on bended knee. Truly he is the Terrible!" My aged companion grunted, apparently satisfied with my reply to his abrupt question, for he moved along noiselessly over the thick carpets, and I followed, wondering whither he was leading me, and puzzled over the sentences he continued to mumble to himself over and over again: "The gainsaying of the unbelievers ceaseth not. The two-edged sword is already whetted. Verily shall they writhe their mouths, for their iniquities shall eat away their tongues like a corrosive acid." When we had walked along the curious subway for some distance, we came to a flight of spiral stairs so narrow as to admit of only one person at a time. My guide commenced to ascend, and I followed, filled with curiosity. Upward he went, without a pause, and with footsteps so agile that I was at length compelled to halt to regain breath. He smiled disdainfully at my fatigue, but waited a few moments; then on again he went, higher and still higher, until I felt convinced that we had ascended to the level of the earth. This suspicion was soon afterwards confirmed, for we came to a small door, the heavy latch of which he lifted, and on opening it, I was surprised to find myself in the open space before the palace, at a considerable distance from the courtyard by which I had entered. Gazing round upon the roaring flames that seemed to leap up in every direction, casting a lurid light that revealed the hideousness of the piles of dead about us, and cast long, grotesque shadows over the wide roadway, the old _imam_ drew his haick closer to conceal his features, and in a hoarse voice said-- "Come, let us quicken our footsteps, so that thou mayest bear witness, ere it be too late." CHAPTER FORTY. THE KEY TO THE MYSTERY. Onward we went across the camel market, where a body of the Ennitra were carousing, and, having managed to escape their notice in the deep shadow, we hurriedly traversed several irregularly-built streets, wherein corpses lay thickly, mute witnesses of the frightful massacre; then suddenly we plunged into a narrow, tortuous passage that I remembered I had sped along in my wild scamper for life after fleeing from my taskmasters. The further we went, the nearer we approached the houses that were burning unchecked like veritable furnaces, and as we rounded a bend in the narrow, alley-like thoroughfare, where was situated the well called Shedwanka, and came into full view of the great fire, my guide gave vent to an ejaculation of dismay. "Behold!" he cried excitedly. "The flames! They are spreading rapidly, and will consume that upon which thine eyes must rest. Let us hasten with all speed!" This portion of the city seemed deserted, therefore we dashed forward with one accord, the _imam's_ nimbleness of foot surprising me. It was well that none of Hadj Absalam's cut-throats detected us, otherwise my guide would no doubt have fallen a victim to their ever-increasing bloodthirstiness. No one had been spared. The whole city had been mercilessly swept with fire and sword. As we drew nearer, we could see plainly that the great conflagration was spreading in our direction, for the heat and smoke stifled us, and great sparks fell in showers around. Suddenly, however, he halted before the arched door of an ancient house, towards which the flames were rapidly darting. Indeed, only two houses remained uninjured between us and the blazing, roaring mass, and already they were being licked by great tongues of fire. "Though dangers beset thee, O Roumi, let not fear dwell within thee," my aged companion said, taking a key from the inner pocket of his gandoura and quickly unlocking the heavy door. "Know, O wanderer from beyond seas, thou now goest in with me unto the bower of Al Barzakh, the Presence-chamber of the Marvellous, whence those who enter issue forth changed men!" "Changed?" I cried, amazed. "Shall I also be changed?" "A transformation, strange but invisible, is wrought in all who enter here," he croaked, as, breathless and excited, with eyes smarting under the choking volumes of smoke, I stumbled onward after him. Closing the door quickly, he sped across the open patio, into which pieces of ignited wood were falling thickly, and entered another door the arch of which was supported by handsome twisted columns of marble. Through two small apartments, hung with beautiful hangings and furnished with luxurious divans, we passed, until he halted at a door which sprang open at his touch. Evidently it opened by means of a spring, but I sought not explanation, for I held my breath, wondering into what strange chamber I was about to enter. With mumbled words, as he fingered his rosary, Mohammed ben Ishak advanced slowly into the darkness, where a single light in a globe of cut crystal glimmered without illuminating the objects around. As we stepped inside, and the door closed after us automatically, there was a loud, vicious hiss close to me. I halted, startled, for I knew the sound was that of a serpent, and I feared to tread, lest its deadly fangs should be fastened in my feet. The old _imam_, droning a strange incantatory chant, advanced to the altar upon which the light was burning, and, turning the wick higher, so that it shed a brighter light, raised both hands piously and called aloud for forgiveness. Glancing about me in amazement, I found that my surroundings, weird and extraordinary, were almost an exact reproduction of the mysterious subterranean temple to which Zoraida had conducted me in Algiers! The black carpet and hangings reminded me vividly of European funeral palls, while the curious open-work screen, the inlaid _kursy_, or table, of arabesque filigree, and, most remarkable of all, the stone sarcophagus, were all of exactly the same design as those in the mysterious chamber wherein the Crescent of Glorious Wonders had been first revealed unto me. Amazed, I stood with transfixed gaze and bated breath. There were movements on the carpet, and I became aware of the unpleasant proximity of several snakes. Some coiled themselves and raised their heads, holding them immovable, with their tiny, bead-like eyes riveted upon us, while others darted away, holding themselves on the defensive in darker corners. A few seconds of silence, and Mohammed ben Ishak turned to me, with hands still uplifted, asking-- "Believest thou that unto Allah belong the hosts of heaven and earth; that Allah is mighty and wise; that unto those who obey the Everlasting Will He showeth mercy?" "I do," I answered. "Speak not with thy tongue that which is not in thine heart, for of a surety they who believe not will be chastised with a severe chastisement," he exclaimed solemnly. Then again facing the altar, he cried, "Whoso believeth not in the One Allah and in Mohammed his Prophet, verily shall he be cast into the fire prepared for the unbelievers; but whosoever shall perform that which he hath covenanted, so surely shall he receive great reward, and be admitted to the gardens beneath which rivers flow, to dwell therein for ever. Verily hath a Sura been revealed commanding war against the Workers of Iniquity, and they look towards us with the look of those whom death overshadoweth. Those are they whom Allah hath cursed and hath rendered deaf, and whose eyes He hath blinded. Assuredly have we armed ourselves with an armour invulnerable, and we await the word from the Holy City to rise in our might and sweep from earth the Infidels, in obedience to the law that is written. In that day will the Senousya, whose teeth are as spears, and whose tongues are as sharp swords, fight valiantly and persevere with constancy, for they are the True Believers, who will, ere many moons, rejoice with a great rejoicing." He paused, prostrating himself, devoutly gabbling a two-bow prayer with many quotations from the Koran, at the same time swaying himself backwards and forwards, throwing his head energetically to and fro till the perspiration streamed down his face. In his paroxysm of religious fervour, he suddenly grasped a serpent and wound it around his head in such a manner that it remained there with its flat head reared in front in the place where an aigrette might have been. Then he arose, and, with the snake still coiled upon him, advanced and held my hands. Instinctively I drew back, for the energy of his devotions had wrought in him a hideous transformation. His cheeks were more sunken, his face seemed but a skull covered by brown, wrinkled skin, and from his wild, wide-open eyes there flashed the terrible fire. With his glittering orbs upon mine, he held me in a grip of steel. Under his searching gaze I flinched, and tried to extricate my hands, but he had pinned me powerless, and so strange was his demeanour that I grew alarmed. He seemed possessed of demon strength; in his hands I was helpless as a child. I was an Infidel, and he a religious fanatic. Might not this sudden fit of uncontrollable _diablerie_ cause him to kill me? The fiery eyes had fixed themselves searchingly upon me in a manner that seemed to fascinate and draw me closer towards him, causing my strength to fail, and inducing a feeling of languor and helplessness. Setting my teeth, I struggled against it, and, remembering we were in a house that in a few minutes must fall a prey to the flames, demanded release. But he took no heed. Crying aloud his intentions of leading the Ghuzzat in a merciless campaign against the Infidel invaders, and predicting that the soldiers of the Faith would obtain great spoils, he suddenly released my left hand, but still kept his grip upon the right. "Thou desirest to learn the Great Secret," he exclaimed. "Thou, the beloved of our Queen of Beauty, art the only person to whom the strange wonders may be revealed. Verily I say unto thee, thou must fight a great fight in regions unknown, exerting a power that I will impart to thee, the secret whereof none can discover." His eyes seemed to dilate and glow like live coals, while the pain at first caused by the steady pressure upon my wrist was succeeded by a strange tingling sensation, rather pleasant than otherwise. Held in fascination by his glance, every nerve was strained to its utmost tension; then gradually I seemed to sink into a dreamy half-consciousness. With all the self-control I possessed, I strove against the curious delirium into which I was slowly lapsing, but without avail. He held my hand, and with his glaring eyes riveted to mine he seemed gradually to bring me under his thrall by some irresistible magnetic influence. Mingled sensations of delight and repugnance such as I had never before experienced ran through me, and I seemed seized by an indescribable horror of being compelled to perform deeds that in my inner consciousness I regarded as crimes. I felt myself in a state of mind that permitted the creation of hallucinations, for rapidly I saw the weird objects around me distorted into grotesque shapes, sometimes ludicrous, sometimes horrible, with the ever-changing face of Mohammed ben Ishak always the central figure. My limbs felt limp, and I had an inaptitude for any spontaneous action. I was fully conscious of all this, and the inertia alarmed me. "Verily shalt thou know the Truth that hath so long remained hidden. Thou shalt save the woman thou lovest and who loveth thee so passionately. Behold!" he cried in a loud voice. "Hearken, and likewise let thine eyes bear witness!" and, releasing me, he stepped back to the altar, and, taking a pinch of some white powder, he cast it into the flame of the lamp. Instantly the place was filled by a brilliant light, followed by pungent, suffocating fumes. Then, having repeated this action three times, he drew forth the Wonderful Crescent from his girdle and placed it upon the altar, bowing low in silence. The strange feeling of half-consciousness faded quickly, and in a few moments I had quite regained my normal state of mind. All had been, I felt convinced, due to over-excitement, combined with the weakness induced by the wound from which I had not yet completely recovered. "Miserable shall be the abode of the proud!" cried the aged reciter of the daily prayers. "Verily, the Day of the Great Wrath is at hand, when the unbelievers who dwell in darkness shall be driven before the troops of the Senousya. The world shall become paralysed by the awful slaughter of the Christians, who will be cast into hell, therein to dwell for ever. It is written that excellent is the reward of those who work righteousness, and turn not aside from the right path. To Thee who alone canst direct us unto the Behishst of Delights we make supplication, and ask of Thee Thine aid." Impatiently I awaited the conclusion of his curious prayers, rites, and ceremonies. He seemed to have forgotten the imminent peril in which the house was placed, as with his string of black beads between his skinny fingers, he murmured prayer after prayer, expressing at every breath fervent hope that I might turn from the ways of the Infidels and embrace the Faith. With a long, final appeal for forgiveness for bestowing the key to the Great Secret upon one who had not been initiated into the mysteries of the Senousya, he turned slowly, and, walking towards the tomb of carved stone, commanded, "Come hither." As I obeyed, he raised the heavy lid with his hands and cast it aside. Then, peering in, I saw a body. I recognised the face. It was the same man who had been so strangely resuscitated by Zoraida! Her actions in stabbing the body were repeated by the old _imam_ with almost identical sequence, and at length, in response to Mohammed ben Ishak's command, he rose slowly from his tomb, and, stepping forth in his white grave-clothes, advanced in silence to the altar. Taking up two asps that squirmed and writhed under his touch, he knotted them together, heedless of their vicious bites. As he placed them upon the slab of hewn jade that formed the altar, my companion uttered some incantation which was to me unintelligible, and then a few seconds later the ghastly visitant who had risen from the tomb took up the Crescent and with it smote the serpents as they lay. The single blow killed them. "Assuredly as the _af'a_ are in an instant struck dead, so also will the Senousya smite the Infidels and sweep away all evil from our land," Mohammed ben Ishak cried, his voice growing deeper. In the short pause that followed, the weird figure at the altar placed the Crescent upon a great perfuming-pan of gold, afterwards lighting the small brazier of wrought silver beneath. Again my companion, the _imam_, droned his guttural chant, while the white-robed figure, whose back was always turned towards me, sank upon his knees and remained statuesque and motionless. "Bear witness, O Roumi," cried the aged official of the mosque. "Earnestly I seek permission to impart unto thee that knowledge which thou seekest;" and, taking from a niche in the wall a great golden goblet, filled to the brim with water, he placed it upon the little inlaid table in the centre of the sanctuary. Advancing to the altar, he took from it the crystal lamp and held it over the goblet. In his hand was a lump of yellow wax, and, uttering an incantation in a language unknown to me, save that the words _abarkan_ (black), _adhu_ (wind), and _thamat't'uth_ (woman), I distinguished as being in the Kabyle tongue, he presently melted the wax in the flame, and allowed the liquid drops to fall into the water. Breathless, and with eager eyes, he gazed into the bright goblet, watching each drop as it fell and hardened, until suddenly his contenance relaxed, and he ejaculated-- "Yes! Thou mayest know! The key to the Great Mystery may now be given into thy keeping." Casting the wax down, he replaced the lamp, for the ceremony was over. By the formation of the drops in the water, he had become convinced that he might, without harm accruing, divulge the secret locked in his heart. On putting the lamp back into its place, he took from the altar a crystal mirror, about a foot square, in a broad frame of solid gold, delicately chased. Placing it in my hands, he said-- "Breathe upon this; then tell me what thou seest." I dimmed the surface with my breath, as he had commanded, and, lo! in an instant there appeared a picture that entranced me. "What seest thou?" he inquired. "There is revealed unto me a landscape, strange and weird," I answered. "By what magic is this effect produced?" "Describe what is therein revealed," he urged. "I see the Desert at sunset," I said. "The sky is ablaze, and against it there riseth from the sea of burning sand a single mountain, shaped like a camel's hump. It is far distant, and growing purple in the evening hour, but I can distinguish upon its summit three giant palms. In its side there is apparently a cave." "And in the foreground?" "There is a single traveller. He is an old man, who hath fallen from his horse, and while one hand clutcheth at his throat, the other is outstretched towards the mountain. He is in pain," I added; "apparently he is dying of thirst, for birds of prey hover about him, and his eyes have in them the glitter of madness. The picture is beautiful, yet terrible!" "Good!" he said. "It is finished!" and taking the mirror from me, he returned it to its place. The illusion puzzled me, yet he would not allow me to investigate. At that moment, however, I became aware that the place was filling with a dense smoke, and from beyond the closed door there came a noise as of the roaring and crackling of flames. The house in which we were was already on fire! Pointing out the fact to him in alarm, I urged him to tell me at once how to use the Crescent; but he heeded not my words, so absorbed was he, bowing before the mysterious tenant of the grave in pious devotions. "Tell me," I cried. "For Zoraida's sake, withhold not from me the Secret which thou hast promised, so that I may save her!" The flames had burst through some panelling behind the altar, and the place was filled with sparks and dense smoke. Just at that instant the statuesque figure turned, raising its hand wildly. For a moment a gleaming knife trembled aloft in the dull glare of the flames, and next second it was buried deep in the breast of Mohammed ben Ishak! I shrieked, but my companion only laughed a mocking, hideous laugh, and, reeling slightly, stood contemplating the approaching flames quite calmly. The shock seemed to have paralysed him. "Come, let us fly!" I urged, dashing wildly across to save him. "See, the door is still intact! There is yet time!" Turning upon me fiercely, he shook me off. It was a terrible moment. I stood transfixed by horror. "No," he cried, with a strange light in his eyes. "It--it is the blood revenge, the swift vengeance that I dreaded, the punishment I deserve for my sin against the Brotherhood--I--I am a traitor--but I fear not to die--I go--through fire--to the cool waters of Tasnim!" "Surely thou wilt not seek thine own destruction, and take thy Secret with thee?" I gasped. He remained silent; he did not even turn towards the man who had struck the fatal blow. The flames were roaring, and the heat had become so intense that the perspiration in big drops rolled from my face. "Speak!" I shrieked. "For the sake of the woman whose young life dependeth upon thy word! Be merciful unto her! Tell me what to do!" But, with a hoarse, defiant laugh, he folded his arms, saying, "I refuse!" "By Heaven!" I burst out, in sudden anger, "this is no time for dallying words. If thou wilt not, then may the curse of the Daughter of the Sun, whose life thou sacrificest, hang upon thy neck, heavy as a millstone, and may it drag thee down to the place that is prepared for evil doers." The effect of my words was electrical. "No! No!" he cried, evidently in as deadly fear of the imprecations of Zoraida as the Ennitra had been. "No! I--I have reconsidered!" he gasped. As the words left his lips, I saw that the flames had ignited the flowing robes of the man from the tomb, and though he rushed about in paroxysms of intense pain, and at last fell, unconscious, he uttered not a sound! Swiftly, indeed, was he punished for his crime. "Tell me, quickly!" I cried aloud. "In another moment we shall both be lost. Fly! Let me assist thee. Even now we can escape!" and as I spoke, a tongue of fire singed my hair and burned my eyebrows. "No!" he shrieked, his voice sounding shrill above the dull roar, as his eyes rolled wildly. Undoubtedly a terrible madness had seized him, and so vigorously did he threaten, rave, and curse, that I felt half inclined to make a desperate dash for life through the door by which we had entered. Again I clutched him, frantically appealing to him to tell me the secret, and as I did so, the flames leaped past us, and we were both half suffocated by the smoke. Fortunately, I possessed sufficient presence of mind to snatch up the Crescent, and, regardless of the manner in which it blistered my fingers, I wrapped it in my burnouse, crying-- "Impart unto me the Great Secret, I beseech thee! Quickly!" Reeling, he staggered and fell. The mysterious vengeance of the Senousya had descended upon him, and the life-blood flowed from the ugly wound. In a moment I dropped upon my knees and supported his head, determined that he should not lapse into unconsciousness, and so carry with him to the grave the key to the extraordinary enigma. In desperation, I shrieked a final appeal to him to fulfil his pledge. Death stared us both in the face, for already had I become seized with a sudden faintness. It all occurred in a few brief moments. "Yes," he gasped, wildly and with difficulty, at last. "I--I will save the beauteous Lalla Zoraida. She shall lead the Senousya into--into the holy war, as she hath done the Ennitra. In the great fight every Infidel shall be slain with sharp swords. Yes!--I will tell thee how thou canst save her. Travel with all speed over the Desert to the Oasis of Agram, in the country of the Kanouri, which lieth in the direction of the sunrise. Thence ride onward across the plain of Ndalada, past the town of Dibbela, until thou comest to the Well of Tjigrin, and when thou hast accomplished two days' journey still due eastward from the latter place, past the ruins of a town, thou wilt find a single clump of palms. Then take the Crescent, and--" His thin lips moved, but no sound came from them. His eyes slowly closed! It was, indeed, a critical moment. My heart sank, for it seemed as though he was no longer aware of the things about him. "Speak!" I yelled in his ear. "What must I do with the Crescent?" His eyes opened, but they were dim. In their depths a film was gathering, as life fast ebbed. With a supreme effort, however, he raised his bony hand, pulling down my head until my ear was close against his mouth. Then, struggling to articulate, he whispered hoarsely, and with extreme difficulty-- "Obey my injunctions strictly. Take the Crescent, and--and when thou hast arrived at the spot I have indicated--not before, or thou wilt never gain the Great Secret--_place--it--upon--thy brow_! Then--will-- marvels--undreamed of--be revealed. Remember--attempt not to fathom the Mystery until--until thou hast passed the Well of Tjigrin two whole days! May--may Allah--preserve and guard thee, and may thy--" But his final blessing was never completed, for convulsions shook his frame, and he fell back heavily and breathed his last. Springing to my feet, I stood for a second. Flames seemed threatening me from every side, but, with a sudden desperate dash, I rushed, half blinded, towards the door, which at that moment was being licked by the darting fire. Then, opening it by raising a curious latch, I fled quickly through the two small apartments, now filled with smoke, out across the patio, finding myself in a few moments standing in the road fainting and unsteady, clutching at a wall for support. How I accomplished that flight for life I scarcely know. Panting, I stood, unable for a few moments to realise how near I had been to a horrible end. Though my clothes were brown and scorched, my arms blistered, and my hair and beard severely singed, I cared not. Zoraida's future was now in my hands, for at last I had succeeded in obtaining the key by which the Great Mystery might be elucidated--at last I should know the Truth--at last the hidden Secret of the Crescent, the undreamed-of marvel, would be revealed to me! CHAPTER FORTY ONE. THROUGH ROSE MISTS. Mounted on a _meheri_, and alone, I toiled with all speed onward over the glaring, sun-baked Desert, towards the spot indicated by the man from whom I had, at the eleventh hour, wrung the key of the Great Secret. Had he fooled me? Were not his instructions remarkable; did they not bear suspicion of some ulterior object? Even as I rode along, with face set sternly towards the sunrise, the thought that the dead man had sent me on a bootless errand caused me considerable anxiety. Reviewing his words and actions, I saw how ineffectually he had striven to conceal the bitter prejudice he entertained for unbelievers, how intensely he hated all Christians, and with what eagerness he contemplated the eventual triumph of the Senousya. Such being the case, I reflected, what more natural than he should resolve to retain Zoraida in the ranks of the conspirators, in order that she might lead them to the contemplated victory; what more natural than he should refuse to impart to me the knowledge whereby I might rescue the Daughter of the Sun from the dangers that were fast closing in upon her? Again, by the Ennitra, and in all possibility by the Senousya also, the Wonderful Crescent was believed to be a talisman that gave triumph to its possessor. Was it probable that he would, even though Zoraida had commanded, reveal to me, a Christian, the elucidation of the problem that he had denied to all True Believers? No. In both word and action the old _imam_ had betrayed a firm disinclination to assist me to elucidate the Great Secret, and as I journeyed on day after day, lonely and friendless, in that barren, unfamiliar country, the conviction within me grew stronger that the revelation he had gasped with his last breath was merely a base device to part me from the woman I worshipped. Yet it was a relief to get away from that doomed city, with its flood of fiendish exultation; to escape from the revolting ebullition of barbarism, and the fiendish glee of my treacherous friends, who were no doubt overwhelming their Daughter of the Sun with attentions that she loathed, like caresses from the ghouls of hell. Even the dead silence of the wilderness was preferable to the din of the hard-fought conflict, with its sickening sequel. The camel I rode I had found straying at some distance from Agadez, when on the eventful dawn I fled from the city on foot. It was handsomely caparisoned, and, to my delight, I had found that its provision-bags, ornamented in a manner that showed its owner to be a cadi, were packed with necessaries for a long march. In all probability its hapless owner had prepared to fly at the approach of the bandits, but had been murdered when on the point of starting. After a hurried inspection of the bags, satisfying myself that there was a supply of comparatively fresh water in the skin, I concealed the Crescent of Glorious Wonders within a bag of fodder, and, mounting, had started off, without map or plan, upon what, from various appearances, I judged was the caravan route to the well of Tin-daouen. This surmise fortunately proved correct, for in three days I reached it; then, after halting the night, I discovered a valley full of luxuriant vegetation, with high doum and talha trees and great patches of camomile flowers growing in rich profusion. Continuing through this verdant glen, where antelopes and giraffes disported themselves, I ascended over the rough, rocky ground to a high, barren plateau, and, with my face always to the east, plunged, with a reckless disregard for the consequences, into the great unexplored desert which forms an effectual barrier between the country of the Ahir and that of the Kanouri. I pushed on with all haste, so that if it proved, as I feared, a fool's errand, I might, by almost ceaseless travel, be enabled to return again to Agadez before the moon had run her course. Armed with a rifle, powder-horn, and crooked dagger that I had taken from the body of an unfortunate janissary, I sped onward through the great lone country. From sundown until dawn I journeyed, resting through the day in what little shade I could devise, then setting forth again, always leaving the setting sun behind, always remembering that each stride of the faithful animal beneath me took me further and further from the woman whose life lay in my hands. Gradually and irresistibly had I been drawn into a vortex of mystery and treachery, from which I was struggling to extricate myself. Zoraida's piteous appeal rang in my ears; the very thought of her as the wife of that villainous archrebel caused me to grind my teeth. Feeling convinced that the errand I had undertaken must be futile, I was, in my more gloomy moments, sorely tempted to disobey Mohammed ben Ishak's injunctions, and try the effect produced by placing the Crescent of Glorious Wonders upon my brow. Each time, however, the intensely earnest, agonised face of the aged prayer-reciter, as he implored me not to try to fathom the Great Mystery before arrival at the spot indicated, came vividly before me, causing me to stay my impatient hand. The fatigue of those long anxious nights and blazing days was so terrible, that, on more than one occasion, faintness seized me, and I had a recurrence of those strange hallucinations from which I suffered after Labakan had dealt me the cowardly blow. I seemed at times light-headed, eager and jubilant one hour, despondent and contemplative of suicide the next. But the recollection of the deadly peril of Zoraida, whom I loved with a true and fervent devotion, spurred me onward over shifting sands and treacherous rocks, onward to the place where the dead man had promised the Great Secret should be revealed. On the seventh day after leaving Agadez, I slept under the palms of the Agram Oasis, filled my water-skin at the well, and, representing myself as a straggler from a trading caravan, begged some food from the camp of the Bedouins of the peaceful Kanouri. It has always struck me as curious how rapidly news travels in the Desert. Already these men had heard rumours of desperate fighting in the city of the Ahir, although it must have been conveyed by way of Tin-Telloust and Bir-ed-Doum, the circuitous route by which caravans travel on account of the wells, and fully one hundred miles further than the straight journey I had accomplished. For several reasons I had deemed it best to feign ignorance, therefore to all my anxious inquirers I represented I had travelled direct from Akoukou without touching Agadez. Spending one day only with these tent-dwellers, tall, bronzed, handsome, good-natured fellows, I gave them peace, and, with the brilliant sunset once more behind me, rode away through great patches of a poisonous plant my friends called "karugu," and out again upon the plain towards the remote little Arab town of Dibbela, where I arrived two days later, after a somewhat perilous journey across some almost inaccessible rocks which the Arabs call the Tefraska. At dawn on the second day after leaving this place, having travelled due south under the direction of the leader of a caravan conveying ivory and rose oil from the Tsad to exchange for cotton goods, razors, sword-blades, and pieces of paper with the sign of the three moons, I came upon the Oasis of Tjigrin, rich in herbage, date palms, and clusters of tangled bushes, among which ostriches and gazelles were moving. Here, wearied out, I tethered my _meheri_ to a palm tree, and, reflecting that in two days I should know the truth, flung myself down and slept soundly in a dream of quiet ecstasy. My awakening, however, was sudden, for, feeling myself grasped roughly by the shoulder, my hand instinctively sought my knife, but a loud, hearty laugh caused me to rub my eyes and look up into the sun-tanned, bearded face which shadowed the glare from my eyes. "_Que diabe_!" cried a voice in surprise. "Then I'm not mistaken. It _is_ you!" "_Eh bien! eh bien_! old fellow!" I cried, amazed, jumping to my feet and grasping the rough brown hand that shot from between the folds of the burnouse. "This is indeed a pleasant meeting!" The man who stood holding the bridle of his milk-white horse was none other than Octave Uzanne, the Spahi who, when we had met on the fatal Meskam Oasis, had told me his life's romance! "Really, I can scarce believe my eyes," I continued, speaking in French. "I was at Tuggurt when a messenger arrived with the news that Paul Deschanel's column had been cut up and massacred at the Well of Dhaya, near Ain Souf, by the Ouled Ba' Hammou. I naturally concluded you had also fallen." "_Sapristi! Je suis un veinard_," he answered in the slang of the Army of Africa, still holding my hand in his hearty grip. Then, with a sigh, he added, with seriousness, "It is, alas! true that our column was enticed into an ambush by the Ennitra, assisted by the Ouled Ba' Hammou, and slaughtered, myself with eight others being the sole survivors. For two months we were held prisoners by Hadj Absalam, until at length I managed to escape and travel back alone to Tuggurt to relate the terrible story. Poor Deschanel! his was indeed a sad end--very sad!" For a moment he seemed overcome by thoughts of his dead comrades, but in a few seconds he had reassumed his old buoyancy, and, offering me a cigarette, took one himself, and, having lit up, we squatted side by side in the shadow to talk. "Well, what brings you here, so far from Biskra?" I asked presently, after he had related to me his adventures at the mountain stronghold of the Ennitra, which were almost as exciting as my own. "Duty," he answered briefly, with a hard look upon his handsome face quite unusual to him. "You are not alone?" I queried. "No--not exactly alone," he answered abruptly, without apparently intending to tell me the object for which he had penetrated so far south, for he suddenly exclaimed, "You have not yet told me what sort of life you have been leading among the Bedouins--or why you are here alone." Briefly I related the story of my capture, my slavery, and my escape, without, however, telling him the real object for which I was working, or mentioning the assault on Agadez. "You are a born adventurer; I am one by circumstance," he exclaimed, with a good-humoured laugh, when I had concluded. Then he added, "Although my life with the Ennitra was one of terrible drudgery, yet, after all, I would rather have remained with them--had I but known;" and he sighed regretfully. "Why?" I asked, surprised. "_She_ is here!" he answered meaningly. "Do you mean Madame de Largentiere?" I asked, remembering in that moment how dearly he loved the woman who had been so cruelly snatched from him, and with what self-sacrifice he had buried himself beneath the scarlet drapery of a _homard_ of the Desert. "Is _she_ in Algeria?" I inquired. For answer he blew a cloud of smoke slowly from his lips, then from beneath the folds of his burnouse he drew forth a worn but carefully folded copy of the Algiers newspaper, _L'Akhbar_, which he handed to me, saying, "Read the first column." Opening the limp paper, I noticed it was dated two months before, and on glancing at the column indicated, my eyes fell upon the heading in large type: "The New Governor-General of Algeria: Arrival of Monsieur de Largentiere." Eagerly I read on. The report described the landing and enthusiastic reception of Monsieur de Largentiere, who had been appointed Governor-General. The streets had been gaily decorated with Venetian masts and strings of flags, salutes had been fired from the warships in the harbour and from the Kasbah, as the vessel conveying his Excellency from Marseilles had cast anchor, and as the party stepped on shore, the little daughter of the General of Division had presented a bouquet of choice flowers to Madame de Largentiere, who, the journal incidentally mentioned, was "well known as one of the most beautiful women in Paris, and a leader of fashion." Algerian society, continued _L'Akhbar_, welcomed her as its queen. No doubt, during the coming season the Governor's palace would be the scene of many a brilliant festivity, and the colony owed a debt of gratitude to the Government for appointing as its representative an official so upright, so experienced, and so genuinely popular. All Algeria, it concluded, extended to the new Governor and his beautiful wife a boundless and heartfelt welcome. "Well?" I exclaimed, handing back the paper. "You will have an opportunity of seeing her very soon, I suppose?" "See her? Never!" he answered, with poignant bitterness. "Already I have discovered that she is instituting inquiries about me; that is the reason why I have not sought to return to Biskra. I do not desire the past disinterred;" and he thoughtfully watched the ascending rings of smoke. "Fate plays us some sorry tricks sometimes. Most probably you will meet her just when you least expect--" "What?" he cried, interrupting. "Face her? To hold her hand as before--to tell her that her husband, the man whose ring she wears, and over whom the journalists gush and drivel, is--is a murderer! No! No! I never will!" "But, my dear fellow, is it not your duty to denounce him if you possess absolute proof of his guilt?" I argued. "My duty? _Bien_" he answered reflectively. "But the denunciation would bring no satisfaction to me--on the contrary, it would kill her." "You are right," I conceded reluctantly, after a pause. "Your silence and self-denial is the greatest kindness you could show towards her. Indeed, your affection must be very deep-rooted, or your patience would long ago have been exhausted amid this hard life and social ostracism." "Ah! Heaven knows how well I love her," he said, turning to me with a deep, wistful look. "She loves me too, and the fact that she has sought to find out where I am shows that she thinks sometimes of me. But I mean to keep the resolve I made long ago, for under an assumed name and in the Spahis she will never discover me." "Now that De Largentiere is Governor, he is all-powerful," I observed. "I wonder what he would do if he discovered you, and found out that you held absolute proof of his guilt?" "Cr-r-r!" he exclaimed, as with a sad smile he drew his finger across his throat. "If he dared not commit the crime himself, he would hire one of the many obliging Arab desperadoes who hang about the fringe of the Desert." "Yes," I said. "He would, no doubt, make some serious attempt to seal your lips." "I shall give him no opportunity. As far as I am concerned, he will, for Violet's sake, enjoy his reputation for honesty and uprightness," he declared. Then he added quickly, "But why should we drift to a subject that is to me so painful? The romance of my life has ended. I am a derelict, a piece of human wreckage drifting helplessly upon the sea of despair." "So am I," I said gloomily. "Only I am struggling to reach a landmark that will direct me to a harbour of refuge." "I scarcely follow you," he observed, suddenly interested. "That you have some very strong motive for spending your days in these uncivilised regions seems certain, but as you have never exchanged confidences with me, I remain in ignorance. Is it in your case also a woman?" I nodded an affirmative. "Tell me about her. Who is she?" he inquired, looking straight into my eyes. For a few moments I remained silent. Then, returning his steadfast gaze, I answered-- "I love Zoraida!" "Zoraida!" he cried, starting up. "Surely you don't mean the woman of the Ennitra, known as Daughter of the Sun?" "The same," I replied. "You may laugh, sneer, tell me I am a dreamer, dazzled by the glitter and splendour of an Eastern court, fascinated by a pair of kohl-darkened eyes and a forehead hung with sequins, but, nevertheless, the fact remains that she and I love each another." "It seems impossible," he said. "You have actually looked upon her unveiled, and spoken with her, then?" "Yes. Why?" "Because it is death to an Infidel to either look upon her countenance or seek to address her. While a prisoner in Hadj Absalam's palace, I heard most extraordinary things regarding her. The terrible story was told me how, on one occasion, three Chasseurs, held captive by the old robber, had, by the purest accident, discovered her passing unveiled from the court of the palace guards into the harem. Amazed at her extraordinary beauty, they stood gazing at her, but those looks of admiration cost them their lives. Their gaze, it was alleged, had polluted her, and within an hour their heads were smote off and their bodies thrown to the dogs." "Then you have never seen her?" "No. During the time I was in the hands of the Ennitra, she was absent. Many were the strange rumours I heard about her, however: how she was possessed of almost supernatural power, how she had planned most of the raiding expeditions of Hadj Absalam, how she ruled the fierce band as their Queen, and, attired as a youth, had actually led them successfully against our forces! I can scarcely believe it all, but the palace guards assured me that all they told me was the unexaggerated truth. Six months ago the Government issued a proclamation, offering two rewards of ten thousand francs each for the capture of Hadj Absalam and Zoraida." "I know what you have heard is the truth, from personal observation," I said quietly. His statement about the reward was, however, startling, and caused me increased uneasiness. "Tell me all about her," he urged. "How a Christian could succeed in approaching her, judging from all I have heard as to the rigorous manner in which she is guarded, seems absolutely incomprehensible." "It forms a strange story," I admitted, and then, while he consumed a fresh cigarette, I proceeded to briefly relate the manner in which we became acquainted, and the weird and startling events that followed, suppressing only the fact that Agadez had been occupied by the outlaws. I hesitated to tell him this, because I feared that if a large body of Spahis were in the district, they would at once proceed there, and in all probability capture both the robber Sheikh and Zoraida, to secure the reward. Nevertheless, I explained how I became possessed of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, of which he had heard rumours, and which he examined with intense interest when I produced it from my forage-bag. Then, after I had replaced it in its hiding-place, I told him of the extraordinary directions the dead _imam_ had given me, and that I was on my way to test the truth of his strange statement. "In two days you will arrive at the spot he has indicated," he observed, after listening to my story with breathless interest. "The mystery is so remarkable, and has so excited my curiosity, that I wish I might be permitted to accompany you in this search for an explanation. Do you object?" "Not in the least," I answered, laughing. "There is something so uncanny about the whole affair, that your companionship will be most acceptable. When shall we set out?" "To start now would be unwise," he said, gazing round with practised eye at the Desert, already aglow in the brilliant sunshine, and observing, at a glance, its atmospheric conditions. "Let us eat and idle now, and leave at sunset." To this arrangement I acquiesced. Then he told me how the Spahis had encamped four hours' march away, that he had strayed from a reconnoitring party, and, having regard to the fact that they were remaining there at least a week and that we should be only four or five days absent, he did not consider it necessary to undertake an eight hours' ride to ask permission of his captain before starting. "Military regulations are sometimes relaxed in this out-of-the-world spot," he added, laughing. "When they find I'm missing, they will probably search for me; but having now lost myself, why should I return just at present, especially as they are not likely to move on before they find traces of me." "In what direction are you marching? Towards Agadez?" I inquired anxiously. "Scarcely," he replied, with a smile. "We have no desire to be annihilated by the Sultan of the Ahir. No. We are travelling due south to Lake Tsad." His answer reassured me, and, having prepared and eaten a rather primitive meal, we sought under a tree that dreamy, peaceful repose that desert travellers find so refreshing in an oasis. An hour before the sun had sunk in its fiery glory of gold and crimson, there was a beautiful mirage of water, rocks, and feathery palms upon the sky, but, as we prepared to depart, it faded from our gaze as rapidly as it had appeared. With the brilliant glow of the dying day behind us, we set forth into an unknown country, Uzanne upon his white Arab stallion, I upon my handsomely-caparisoned camel. Riding down the eastern side of the wooded hill we almost imperceptibly entered the plain, the slope being so gradual. After travelling for some time in the darkening hours along the level ground, we found it was by no means flat, although it usually appeared so in our immediate neighbourhood; yet it had an upward trend, and some distance beyond it rose and fell in long, wavelike swells of sufficient height to hide, at times, even such an object as the range of Gueisiger mountains on our left. On all sides we scanned the fertile plain for any signs of life. A herd of gazelles scampered along in front, but no other living thing seemed near. When we had been riding about five hours, we detected straight before us, rising from the level of the plain, now sandy and desolate, a long black line, jagged and irregular, which gradually developed, on nearer view in the brilliant moonbeams, into something like a mass of ruins resembling a deserted town. Evidently we were on the right path, as indicated by Mohammed ben Ishak. In this he certainly had not deceived me. On the outskirts of this desolate pile, lying so far from civilisation, we saw first an old reservoir, edged in with rough-faced blocks of granite. No wall or gate marked the city boundary, nor were the ruined buildings, half buried in drifting sand, conspicuous by their architectural beauty, for square black stones, piled on one another without mortar, formed houses that for size were larger than those in Agadez, but the stony desolation was not relieved by a piece of either wood or metal. Many of the houses seemed in an excellent state of preservation, and all seemed as if the inhabitants had left through a pestilence rather than the ravages of war; time alone, assisted by the wind and tempest, appeared to have dismantled others. There were three mosques, but all were however, in a confused mass of ruins, the cupola of one alone remaining intact, though its crescent that had pointed skyward had rotted and fallen. It was strangely weird riding through that deserted city in the brilliant moonlight, amid grotesque and ghostly shadows. Upon the last-mentioned mosque we discovered a stone, rudely inscribed, in Arabic, with the words, "The building of this holy place was ordered by the Khalif Othman." This gave us a clue to the age of this half-effaced city, for the Khalif was all-powerful in Northern Africa in the twenty-seventh year of the Hedjira (A.D. 647), and lived at Sbeitla, once a great city, but now, like this forgotten place, a mere heap of crumbling ruins. Continuing our weary way, we journeyed straight on between a parallel range of sand dunes, until we came to the open plain again. More stony the country grew, as we proceeded, hour after hour, guided only by the stars, through the barren, desolate land, until we halted at sunrise in the midst of a vast wilderness, where no rising ground relieved the monotony of the rocky level. Eating, resting, and sleeping, we resumed the journey again at sunset, and, throughout the night, pushed onward in eager search of the single clump of palms beneath the shadow of which I was to seek to elucidate the Great Secret. At last, however, the ground ascended gently, and we saw, away to the south-east, hills rising, peak after peak, as far as the eye could reach. The outlook of rounded hill-tops was varied occasionally by a small plateau, but the landscape was terribly arid and dispiriting. Nevertheless, we plodded still onward in the direction the dead man had indicated, until at length our eager, impatient eyes were rewarded by the sight of a low hill, surmounted by a single dump of about half a dozen palms, their feathery tops looming darkly against the horizon already flushed by the delicate rose-tints of dawn. We both detected our goal at the same moment, and, with ejaculations of satisfaction, spurred forward excitedly at redoubled pace, breathlessly impatient to put the Crescent of Glorious Wonders to the crucial test. The spot was actually within sight! Swiftly we rode over the soft, treacherous sand and great patches of rough stones, our adventurous spirits suddenly stimulated by the anticipation that probably within an hour, the Great Mystery--the secret preserved through so many ages, the knowledge by which alone I could effect Zoraida's rescue--would at last be revealed. CHAPTER FORTY TWO. VAGARIES OF VISION. Over the rising ground we eagerly sped, halting not till we dismounted beneath the palms. The spot bore no trace of having been visited by travellers; indeed, for the past two days we had not come across a single bone of horse or camel, the country being apparently desolate and unexplored. Having carefully recalled the old _imam's_ dying instructions, Octave and I became both convinced that this must be the place he had indicated. Standing together, we cast our gaze wonderingly around, but saw nothing to relieve the dreary monotony of sand and sky, except far away eastward on the distant horizon, where a great mountain loomed, misty and indistinct, in the purple haze. "At last the supreme moment has arrived," I said excitedly, drawing the Crescent of Glorious Wonders from the bag in which I had hidden it. "We will put the truth of Mohammed ben Ishak's assertions, to the test." "How that piece of engraved metal can effect the rescue of Zoraida remains to me a mystery," Octave exclaimed, intensely interested in the strange experiment I was about to make. He had tied his horse to a palm trunk, taken a draught from his water-skin, and now stood with folded arms, intently watching my actions. Still half dubious as to whether the old _imam_ had spoken the truth, I gazed upon the Crescent, tracing its mystic inscription, and vainly endeavouring to decipher it. "Did the _imam_ explain the exact position in which you were to place it upon your head?" asked my friend. "He told me to let it rest upon my brow," I answered. "Then you must remove your head-gear." This I did at once, casting it upon the sand. Then, breathless with excitement, knowing how much depended upon the elucidation of the Great Mystery, I took the strangely-shaped object that had experienced so many vicissitudes, and, while Uzanne riveted his dark, serious eyes upon mine, placed it upon my forehead. Pressing its inner edge against my brow, it fitted tightly, the horns gripping my temples with an unpleasant pressure that caused them to throb violently. "_Dieu_!" cried Octave, grasping my left hand suddenly. "Tell me--tell me quickly--what ails you?" I was staggering as one intoxicated. I heard his voice, but it seemed distant, even sepulchral, for when the cold metal came in contact with my brow, I experienced sensations excruciatingly painful. Across the top of my skull and through my temples and eyes sharp pains shot, producing an acute sensitiveness, as though flesh and brain were being torn asunder by sharp hooks. In the first acute spasm of suffering, I cried aloud, causing Uzanne considerable anxiety. For a few moments the agony was intense. The tapering ends of the Crescent pressed into my temples, causing them to shoot in spasms that lancinated every nerve, and I felt myself on the point of fainting under the horrible cruciation. With a sudden impetuous movement I tried to doff the semicircle of metal, but whether I did not pull it evenly, or whether my head had swollen after I had assumed it, I could not tell. All I knew was, that I could not disengage my head from its tightening grip. Clenching my teeth, I struggled against the nauseating faintness that crept over me, and gradually the sudden pangs decreased, until the maddening racking of my brain was succeeded by a curious tranquillisation that caused me to involuntarily reconcile myself to circumstances. Octave's presence, and indeed all my immediate surroundings, seemed to fade from my sight, and in their place there was conjured up in the vista down which I seemed to gaze a vision indistinct at first, but gradually becoming more and more vivid. With my face to the east, a feeling of calm pleasure and enchantment overspread me as my vision seemed to extend to treble its normal range. It was an extraordinary phenomenon. With my eyes fixed upon the purple mountain fading into a shadowy outline against the clear and brilliant sky, I appeared to gradually approach it. As it grew larger and more distinct, I was enabled to take in the details of the scene, and become enraptured by its charm. The sides of the mountain were clothed by luxuriant foliage and sweet-smelling flowers, and when, in the strange hallucination which had taken possession of me, I approached still nearer, I suddenly experienced a conviction that I had on a previous occasion gazed upon the same scene. Vainly I tried to recall it. The pressure upon my temples appeared to have crushed and dulled my senses so that any effort to recollect the past was unavailing. My brain seemed electrified by the sudden shock when I had placed the Crescent upon my brow, and now all the past was but a blank, all the present chaotic and incomprehensible. Yet the scene was so familiar, that my inability to recollect where I had before witnessed it was tantalising, and caused me to wonder whether my mind had become unbalanced and the exteriorised image had not been induced by insanity. I dreaded to think it might be so. Yet I now experienced no pain, only a strange, uncontrollable desire to draw nearer. The mountain seemed to act as a magnet, transfixing me, drawing me closer and closer, with a force mystic, but utterly irresistible. Within me was a violent craving, a sudden longing to search for some unknown person or object concealed there, the truth of which I must at all hazards discover. Words fell upon my ear; but they were unintelligible. Uzanne was no doubt asking me a question in his eagerness to know what had caused my alarming change of manner, but I heeded not. Swiftly I approached the single mountain rising in its solitary beauty in that vast, lonely land, until suddenly its highest point attracted me, and at last, with an ejaculation of joy, I remembered. The summit was shaped in the form of a camel's hump, crowned by three palms that looked at that altitude no bigger than the little finger-joint. The centre tree raised its feathery head higher than those of its companions. Yes, it was the same! The scene that my keen vision now gazed upon was a reproduction, exact in every particular, of the picture that had been revealed by the crystal mirror that Mohammed ben Ishak had allowed me to gaze upon! In the mirror I had been painfully impressed by the figure of a dying man in the immediate foreground, but the presence of death no longer marred the scene. Pushing forward still nearer, over rough, broken ground, without experiencing any physical fatigue, I distinguished straight before me a dark spot in the side of a great wall of grey rock, just at a point where it rose from the plain to form part of the mountain. Presently I could see that it was the low arched entrance to what appeared to be a cave, and as a sudden desire seized me to investigate it, I pressed forward, overwhelmed by a vivid conviction that within that cavern lay an elucidation of the Great Mystery. Eagerly I approached, until I had come within a leopard's leap of the gloomy opening, then suddenly some inexplicable power arrested my progress. Struggling to proceed, I fought desperately with the unseen influence that held me back, determined that even though I risked my life, I must enter that rocky portal and search for the knowledge by which I might rescue Zoraida. Her words of piteous appeal urged me forward, but though I exerted all my strength and will, yet I did not advance a single inch further towards my weird and gloomy goal. Some strange intuition told me that this cavern was the spot I sought, yet, though again and again I strove to shake off the shackles that had so suddenly been cast about me, all effort was in vain, for an instant later my heart sank in despair as the scene gradually dissolved and receded from my gaze, until the mountain grew so distant as to appear the mere misty outline that I had at first witnessed, and I was rudely aroused from a state of dreamy wonderment by hearing Octave exclaim in alarm-- "_Sapristi_! old fellow, I'm beginning to think you've taken leave of your senses!" "No," I answered, endeavouring to calm myself. "I--I have witnessed an extraordinary scene." "Has anything remarkable been revealed?" he anxiously inquired. "Yes. I have had a strangely vivid day-dream, by which I have been shown the spot whereat to search for the promised explication." "Where is it?" he asked quickly. "In a cavern in yonder mountain," I replied, pointing to the horizon. "In a cavern?" he cried in surprise. "How have you ascertained that?" I told him of the success of the catoptromancy, of the picture that my breath had produced upon the mirror, and of the exact reproduction which I had just witnessed. "But do you think the Crescent has produced this remarkable chimera?" he asked. "Undoubtedly," I replied, releasing my head from it at last, and offering it to him, in order to see whether a similar illusion would be revealed. Removing his head-gear, he allowed me to place it upon his brow in the same position as I had assumed it. I held it there several minutes, and asked whether he experienced either pleasure or pain. "I feel nothing," he declared at last. Then, with an incredulous smile, he added, "I'm inclined to believe that your remarkable extension of vision is mere imagination. Your nerves are unstrung by thoughts of Zoraida's peril, in combination with the fatigue of your journey." "But I can describe to you yonder mountain minutely," I said. "The cave is in a high wall of grey granite, and its mouth, once evidently of spacious dimensions, has been rendered small by sand that has drifted up until it has almost choked it. It is semicircular, but seems narrow inside, forming a kind of shallow grotto." "And what is the general aspect of the mountain side?" The picture still remained vividly impressed upon my memory, so I had no difficulty in giving him an accurate description of what I had seen. "_Eh bien_! Let us investigate," he said, evidently amazed at my very detailed word-picture of the place. "Let us see how far you are correct. For ten minutes you've been gazing at it with such a strange, far-off look in your eyes, that I confess I began to be concerned as to your sanity. I have seen a similar look in the eyes of Chasseurs who have fallen victims to sunstroke." "The mystery is just as inexplicable to myself as it is to you," I answered. "Somehow, however, the contact of the Crescent has created within me a firmly-rooted conviction that we shall discover something in that cavern." "If we can find the place," he added, laughing good-humouredly. "Let us try," I said, climbing upon my camel, who had been resting on his knees a few yards away, and causing him to rise. Uzanne, after another pull at his water-skin, sprang upon his horse, and we both commenced to descend again to the sandy plain. With eyes fixed upon the mountain, rising like an island amid that inhospitable sea of sand, we pressed forward, Uzanne from time to time expressing a hope that we were not seeking a will-o'-the-wisp, and speculating as to what mystery might be concealed within the gloomy opening I had described. The way grew more rough, sand being succeeded by great sharp stones, which played havoc with my camel's feet, causing me to travel but slowly, for my animal's lameness in this vast wilderness might result disastrously. Still we journeyed on, as slowly the great mountain assumed larger proportions, until, after a most tedious course of travel, we found ourselves but a few hundred yards from its base. The three trees were growing upon the summit as I had seen them in my mental picture, and every detail was the same in reality as I had witnessed it. The ground rose gently, with palmetto and asphodel growing and flourishing among the rocks, but there was no steep cliff of granite--there was no cave! Uzanne laughed at my abject disappointment. "My surmise was correct, you see, old fellow," he exclaimed, pulling up for a moment to light a cigarette. "The mysterious cavern only existed in your distorted imagination." "But how do you account for the fact that I was able to describe the place to you before I had seen it?" Shrugging his shoulders with the air of the true Parisian, he answered, "There are mysteries that it would be futile to attempt to fathom. That is one." His reply annoyed me. It seemed that he either doubted me, or attributed my illusion to some trick of my own. "At least you will accompany me on a ride around the base," I said. "I have not yet abandoned hope." "Oh, very well," he said, with a reluctance that was apparent. "As you wish. I'm afraid, however, you're in search of a phantom." The mountain cast a welcome shadow, and as we turned our faces northward and picked our way over the stones, riding was not at all unpleasant. For some time, however, neither of us spoke, but when we had ridden about a quarter of a mile further round the base, I suddenly reined up, and, pointing to a great precipitous cliff of granite that, jutting out before us, rose about a hundred feet from the plain, cried-- "See! The cave! At last! Surely that is more than a phantom?" My companion shaded his eyes with his hands for a second, then, turning to me, in an awed voice answered-- "Yes! It is indeed a cave, exactly as you have described it! Forgive me for doubting, but the puzzling strangeness of these extraordinary incidents must be my excuse." "Of course," I answered, too excited for complimentary phrases, and with one accord we both bounded forward, dismounting a few moments later before the strange, mysterious cavern. Taking our rifles, we both peered into the darkness, which was rendered more impenetrable on account of the brilliance of the day. Breathlessly excited, we stood on the threshold of the natural chamber, the existence of which had been so curiously revealed to me. What mystery lay therein hidden we knew not, and for some moments stood straining our eyes into the dusky gloom. The Crescent of Glorious Wonders had so far revealed the mystery; we had now to explore the cave in search of the Great Secret which Mohammed ben Ishak had promised would be revealed. "If we are to enter, we shall want a light," Octave said at last, in a voice strained by excitement. "Around my water-skins are ropes of plaited grass. They will serve as torches," I exclaimed; and, rushing back to where my camel was calmly kneeling, I took my knife and cut the cords away, dividing them into four long strips, two of which I gave my companion. Striking a match, he lit one, and with our rifles slung behind us, we climbed over the great heap of drifted sand and entered the weird and gloomy grotto. The uncertain light of the torch was scarcely sufficient to illumine our footsteps. The cavern was spacious, the arched roof being formed of bare, jagged rock, but the sand of the Desert, having drifted in, had so closed the entrance that we had to stoop until we had entered some distance, then we went by gradual descent over the mound of soft sand, down some sixteen feet to the floor of the cavern. Here it widened until it was some twenty feet across, then gradually narrowed, as the ground, formed of rocks over which we clambered, shelved gradually down. Eagerly we gazed on every side, but only saw rough rocks above, beneath, and around us. So dark was it, that I suggested I should ignite a second torch, but Octave would not hear of it, pointing out that we might be in need of them later. Weirdly our voices echoed, and it was altogether an uncanny place. Penetrating at length to the extreme end, and finding absolutely nothing, we proceeded to make a closer inspection of the sides of the place, for we had now resolved to thoroughly explore it. Eagerly we searched every nook and cranny, expecting every moment to discover something, but being always disappointed. So lofty was the place in one part that the light did not reach the roof, and above us was an impenetrable gloom, into which we vainly strained our eyes. The dead silence, the intensely dispiriting character of our surroundings, and the unnatural echo of our voices, so impressed us, that we found ourselves conversing in whispers. Indeed, we were awestricken. A great secret--the character of which we knew not--was to be made known to us, and each time we cast our eyes about us, we glanced half in fear that some strange and extraordinary horror, of which we had not even dreamed, would be suddenly revealed. Having nearly completed our inspection, we were suddenly startled by a curious noise which sounded in the darkness close to us. Halting, we listened breathlessly for some moments. "Bah! it's only a bird," I said, and we moved on again. Suddenly, however, my companion, holding the torch higher above his head, and pointing straight before us, started as he shrieked-- "_Dieu_! See! What is that? Shoot! For God's sake, fire!" So startled was I by his sudden ejaculation, that at first I could see nothing, but, peering in the direction he indicated, I saw in the dusky gloom, about ten yards away, a pair of eyes that in the darkness seemed to emit fire. The eyes moved quickly from side to side, and without a second thought I took my rifle and, aiming full between them, pulled the trigger. The report, deafening in that confined space, was followed by the thud of a falling body, and, rushing up, we discovered that a great panther lay there dead. Our escape had been almost miraculous. The animal had, no doubt, been watching us ever since we entered, and at the very moment when discovered was crouching for a spring. Fortunately, however, my bullet passed through his skull, causing him to leap from the ground and fall in a heap, dead as a stone. "_Nom d'un tonnerre_! That was a narrow shave! Another instant, and one of us would have been under his claws." "Yes," I replied. "It was fortunate you noticed him." But we were both too much absorbed in endeavouring to discover the character of the Great Secret to further comment upon the incident. Resuming our search, ever on the alert lest a similar danger should threaten, we at length found, half concealed behind a projecting rock, a deep recess about four feet square on a level with the ground. Uzanne thrust his flambeau into it, and we were at once surprised to find that the extent of it was not revealed. Briefly we discussed our situation, when my companion exclaimed-- "Well, here goes! I mean to explore this;" and with rifle slung behind, and torch in his hand, he went down upon his knees and crawled into the narrow entry. Following close behind him, with heart beating quickly in anticipation of some startling revelation, I crawled onward through the tunnel-like passage, grazing elbows and knees upon the sharp rocks, heeding nothing in my eagerness to explore the depths of this subterranean grotto. The air was not foul, and we had confidence that the narrow passage was more than a mere recess, but were dismayed a few minutes later, when we came to the end, only to find further progress barred by a wall of rugged rock. Octave minutely examined the great black stones before him, for the passage was so narrow that I could not pass, and therefore could see but little. "Strange!" he ejaculated, after he had been carefully examining a long fissure and thrusting his fingers into it. "These stones appear suspiciously as if they have been placed here to block up an entry." "What causes you to think so?" I inquired. "Because the stratum runs at a different angle to the rest of the stone. There must be some opening beyond." "Cannot we force an entrance?" I inquired. Taking up his rifle, he struck the two great blocks of rock with the butt. A hollow sound was emitted. "Yes," he said. "We must break down this barrier. But how?" "Why not blow it up with powder?" I suggested. "Excellent!" he cried, and forthwith I proceeded to put my suggestion into execution. The only receptacle that we had in which to place the powder, was a large cigarette-case of chased copper, which Zoraida had given me on the last occasion we had met, and though I cherished it as a gift from her, I found myself compelled to sacrifice it. Therefore, filling it from my powder-horn so full that it would not quite close, I bound tightly around it a long piece of wire which Octave chanced to have with him, for the Spahis have capacious pockets, and are in the habit of carrying with them all sorts of odds and ends. This done, I gave the charge to my companion, who carefully placed it deep into the crevice, emptied the powder-horn into the small fissure, and then with considerable ingenuity constructed a slow match. While he laid a train of powder, we gradually receded until we were about half-way back to the large cave, and then, telling me to continue on and carry his rifle, so that nothing might prevent him from getting out quickly, he ignited the match, and followed me with considerable alacrity. With bated breath we threw ourselves down at some distance from the mouth of the passage, awaiting results. The moments passed like hours, until suddenly there was a bright flash in the low, rocky recess, and next second a terrific explosion caused the earth to tremble. There were sounds of falling rocks, followed by a volume of thick smoke that belched forth and went past us like a cloud; then all was silent again, and we waited another five minutes to allow the fumes to disperse before again venturing into the narrow tunnel. CHAPTER FORTY THREE. THE GREAT WHITE DIADEM. Impatiently we at last crawled forward again, eager to ascertain what our attempt at blasting had effected. Our first impression was that we were worse off than before, as the explosion had hurled great portions of rock along the tunnel, where they now lay nearly blocking it, and in several places we could only advance by squeezing ourselves flat upon our stomachs or struggling sideways between the boulders and the rocky sides of the long recess. Our tedious advance was once or twice almost effectually barred, but each time Octave, whose arms were stronger than I had imagined them, succeeded in pushing back the great pieces of stone sufficiently to allow the passage of our bodies. "_Epatant_!" cried my companion suddenly, just as he had squeezed himself flat to pass a piece of rock that almost barred our passage completely. "Excellent! The stones that blocked the entrance have been entirely blown away!" "Hurrah!" I shouted excitedly, struggling along after him. "Can you distinguish anything?" "Nothing yet," he answered. A second later I scrambled up close behind him, but, peering forward over his shoulder, I saw only an impenetrable darkness beyond. The torch he now held did not burn as well as the first, shedding only a flickering, uncertain light. Through the breach we had made we crawled together, and as we stumbled on over the rocks that had been displaced by the explosion, we found there was room to stand upright. The flambeau, held high by my companion, revealed only a portion of the gloomy chamber we had opened, but against the rugged walls, that glistened here and there as the rays fell upon them, we saw black, mysterious-looking objects that in the fickle light looked shadowy and indistinct against a background of Stygian darkness. Their sight startled us. Half choked by smoke and dust, we knew not whether there might be another entrance to this pitch-dark cavern, where wonderful stalactites hung glistering from the roof, or what wild animals might be its tenants. Holding our loaded rifles in readiness, we listened. But the silence, complete as that of the tomb, remained unbroken. Igniting one of the torches I held in my hand, the light became so far increased that we could distinguish we were in a spacious vaulted natural chamber, that bore traces of previous occupation. My feet caught an object on the ground, and, picking it up, I examined it. It was a leathern scabbard curiously ornamented with metal that was black with age. As we advanced, we found that the dark, mysterious objects we had at first noticed were great packages strongly bound in skins. We counted them; there were thirty-seven. Dust, inches thick, was upon them, for they had evidently been borne over the Desert by camels, and lain secreted there many years. What, we wondered, did they contain? After a brief inspection of the place, we set to work to investigate. Taking our knives, we commenced upon the pack nearest the place we had entered, but so rotten was the leather that our impatient fingers tore it asunder like paper, and the ropes that had once secured it crumbled into dust at our touch. In breathless eagerness we thrust both hands into the openings we had made and drew them forth. With one accord we uttered loud ejaculations of abject amazement. _Our hands were filled with precious stones_! We could scarce believe our eyes, each half fearing that our sudden good fortune was but a dream. Yet, nevertheless, in a few moments we were convinced of its reality, for time after time we thrust in our hands and allowed the unset gems to run through our fingers like beans. In our delirium of intense excitement as we tore away the wrappings, the jewels became scattered about the ground, and many were trodden under foot. Beyond ejaculating expressions of amazement, we could not speak. Dumbfounded, we stood caressing in our hands the newly-discovered treasure, vaguely conscious of its enormous value and of the fact that Fortune had at last, in a most extraordinary manner, bestowed her favour bountifully upon us. Our wealth was beyond our wildest dreams. We were absolutely bewildered by the sight that met our gaze. The brilliance of the gems, though somewhat dulled by the dust of ages, held us with fascination. Upon the ground around us they lay heaped in such scattered profusion that we seemed powerless to collect them. There were great diamonds of enormous value that flashed, scintillated, and dazzled us under the uncertain rays of the torches, magnificent emeralds, some almost yellow, others green as the deep sea, white, yellow, and rich blue sapphires, huge purple amethysts, pale, exquisitely-coloured beryls, peerless pink and black pearls larger than any in the Crown Jewels, green, straw-coloured, and blue topazes of enormous size, beautiful topazolites of delicate hues, huge blood-red jacinths, opals marvellous in their iridescent reflection of light, and matchless spinels, turquoises, and other stones of all difference of colour and shade and every degree of translucency. "Come!" I cried excitedly at last, when speech returned to me; "let us see what the next contains!" and together we tore asunder the wrappings, to discover a similar hoard of unset gems, many of the diamonds being even larger and more magnificent than those we had at first discovered. Intoxicated by delight, we proceeded to further investigate our newly-discovered wealth, passing on from bale to bale, finding in each a wondrous collection of precious stones of such size and brilliancy, the like of which our eyes had never before encountered. "Look!" I ejaculated, picking out three enormous diamonds that were lying in a heap upon the floor. "Each single stone will realise a fortune!" "True," answered Octave gleefully, his eyes glistening with delight. "They are as large as any in the world." Finding a piece of rotten wood that had originally been placed along the edge of one of the packages, apparently to strengthen it, we utilised it as a flambeau, and, proceeding with our investigations, we found that no fewer than sixteen of the great bales contained nothing but gems, most of which had evidently been hurriedly knocked from their settings in order to be more easily transported. One pack was nearly filled with treasures that were absolutely priceless from an archaeological point of view, for they were genuine and well-preserved relics of bygone ages. Strangely--engraven zircons, hyacinths, tourmalines, spinels, beryls, all of exquisite hues, delicately carved emeralds, and deep blood-red sards with mystic inscriptions and remarkable designs. Hundreds of Egyptian seals in the form of the scarabaeus, or sacred beetle, curious cylindrical seals in chalcedony, and beautiful Greek scarabs, the engraved intaglio of which in most cases was enclosed in a guilloche or engrailed border. There were also large numbers of finely-engraved ornaments of carnelian, chrysoprase, plasma, bloodstone, jasper, beryl, agate, and onyx, and many seals of thin form, through which the light passed sufficiently to show the engraving by transmitted rays, the stones with this view being mostly cut _en cabochon_. In another package we discovered, carefully wrapped by themselves in cloths of fine linen--now yellow with age and rotten as tinder--a number of strangely-shaped amulets. Upon many of them were engraved in Arabic gnomic or other sayings, indicating that they were believed to guard the wearer against demons, thieves, and various evils, or regarded as charms for procuring love; while others had on them the names of their possessors, various mottoes, good counsels from the Koran, and even distichs of Arab poetry. Continuing our search, we came across a great pack of ancient ornaments of gold. Time had in some instances dulled them, but their weight showed their solidity, and the stones set in them were the most magnificent we had ever seen. Rings, bracelets, anklets, necklets, great bands of gold for the arms, earrings, buckles and girdles encrusted with diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires, marvellously-enamelled clasps, jewelled sword-hilts, aigrettes with diamond bases, finely-worked filigree balls of gold, and four magnificent diadems, one of which was set entirely with huge diamonds, that gleamed and flashed with a thousand fires as we held it up, while another was adorned wholly by emeralds. From their delicacy of construction, we judged that their wearers must have been Sultanas. Who, we wondered, were they? Whose harem had their dazzlingly-ornamented figures graced? From the bottom of this pack I at length drew forth a small oval-shaped casket of tortoise-shell beautifully inlaid with gold devices, around the sides of which was a pious inscription in Arabic. The lid refused to open, therefore I placed it aside, and assisted Octave to further investigate. On we passed, our amazement becoming more complete every moment, ejaculations of profound surprise and admiration escaping us at almost every breath. In the remaining packs we cursorily inspected, we found a most valuable collection of vessels, goblets, dishes, salvers, urns, and wine-vessels, all of solid gold, each very heavy and exquisitely chased in designs that told their age to be considerably over a thousand years. Some bore hieroglyphics that showed that they had ages before been brought out of Egypt, while upon others were Arabic characters that were easily decipherable. Some indeed were Chaldean, many were Byzantine, while greater portion of the goblets bearing Arabic were profusely set with gems. Fine lamps of chased gold, great heavy ornaments that had once graced the dazzling Courts of Love of some powerful potentate, and beautiful jewelled breastplates we unearthed, together with a large number of shapeless masses of gold, ornaments with the gems still set in them having apparently been ruthlessly melted down in order that they might be the more easily secreted. These rough lumps varied from the size of an orange to that of a man's head, and in several diamonds and other stones were protruding, showing how hurriedly their shape had been altered, and the whole system of careless packing testifying to the fact that they had been brought there with swiftness and secrecy. "Are we dreaming?" cried my companion in an awed tone, when we had finished examining the contents of the last pack, and relighted another piece of wood we had found. "I cannot yet fully realise the extent of this wonderful discovery!" "It is indeed amazing," I said, looking around upon the vast hoard of treasure that lay heaped in every direction. "This then is the Great Secret revealed by the Crescent of Glorious Wonders!" "And a secret worth obtaining," my companion added. "It is yours, for you discovered it. You are indeed a Croesus!" "Yes, no doubt its value is enormous," I answered. "But in what manner can its recovery effect Zoraida's safety?" I thought only of her. In my waking hours her fair, wistful face was ever before me; in my dreams she appeared, urging me on to seek the solution of the mystery. I had found an extraordinary and magnificent collection of gems, hundreds of which were unique in the world. They would give me enormous wealth; but would they also bring me happiness? Alas! I feared they would not, for I had not fully solved the problem. I stood silent, thoughtful, and disheartened. Octave Uzanne roused me. I was thinking little of the piles of gorgeous jewels at my feet; my thoughts were all of her. "You haven't opened that tortoise-shell box yet, old fellow," he exclaimed. "There might be something in it." "Ah! I had forgotten!" I answered, suddenly recollecting its existence. Truth to tell, in the excitement of the moment I had thrown it aside, and it lay in a dark corner unheeded. My companion searched for a few moments, found it, and handed it to me. With trembling hands I tried to wrench off the lid, but it would not budge. No clasp secured it, yet the lid fitted with an exactness that rendered it quite air-tight. Several times I made vain efforts to open it, and at last was compelled to draw my knife, insert the point of the blade, and so wrench it asunder, utterly ruining the lid. From inside I drew forth a folded piece of skin, dried, yellow and wrinkled with age. So crisp and brittle was it that it almost broke asunder as, on carefully opening it, I found it covered with small Arabic characters closely written in ink that had faded and become brown and dim by time. Glancing at the bottom, my eyes caught the characters which, more legible than the others, told me its age. "It is actually over a thousand years old!" I cried. "See! The date is 311 of the Hedjira!" and with Octave holding the torch and eagerly following me, I proceeded to decipher the crabbed and difficult writing, reading it aloud as follows:-- "RECORD OF THE HADJ MOHAMMED ASKIA, SULTAN OF THE SONGHAY, PEARL OF THE CONCH OF PROPHECY, WHO DESCENDED FROM THE THRONE OF MAGNIFICENCE AND GLORY AFTER MUCH TROUBLE AND AFFLICTION, WHO FROM HIS HEAD REMOVED THE DIADEM OF RESPECT AND FROM HIS BODY THE CLOAK OF HONOUR, WHOSE ROSE-GROVE BECAME A HUT OF GRIEF, WHO WRITETH THESE WORDS IN THE DARK NIGHT OF SEPARATION. "In the name of Allah, the Merciful, the Clement! Praise is my garment, magnificence is my cloak, grandeur my veil, and all creatures within my kingdom are my men-servants and my maid-servants. O Discoverer of this my Word, know that thou who openest this casket and findest this my treasure, assuredly hast thou learned the secret by the power of the Crescent, the cusp of which is the wondrous Revealer of Secrets and its graven words are as a bright light in the darkness. Before its power men quake in fear, for it bringeth victory over thine enemies and exceeding wealth. By thy belief in the power of the Revealer, thou hast been translated from affliction to the happiness of dignity, and hast been promoted from baseness unto the summit of magnificence; thy mind will be illumined with the light of the interpretation of dreams, and in the storehouse of thine intellect wilt thou deposit the secrets of the treasure of prophecy. Remain ye steadfast, and if thou lovest a woman, be thou not discomforted, for Allah hath predestined blessings, and will bring thine affairs to the desired termination. Upon thee be most abundant salutations and greetings. Those beside whom I fought in battle have deserted me on account of the plague of bloodsuckers. I have descended the throne of dominion and have secreted my treasure, to wander in search of peace. Even though I have presage that I pass in short space from the Mansion of Vexation to the Imperishable Kingdom, yet my memory will only be blotted from the pages of the times to be revived. Happy thou who hast possessed thyself of my camels' packs, for they will guide thee out of the Valley of Confusion, and if thou lovest a woman, easy will be thy path to the tying of the knot of matrimony, and verily will the verdure of the meadow of life be as a cloak unto thee. O my soul, thou hast cramped mine heart; burnt my spirit. I said, I will complain, but thou hast burnt my tongue. Thou art gone, and we gave many promises of meeting, in hopes of which thou hast consumed me as a lamp. I said, I will lament my separation, but within me hast thou burnt that lamentation. I cannot wish evil to anyone, for the good and evil of this world are but transient. Know, O Discoverer of the Treasure, she who is the light of thine eyes will soon invest thee with the ennobling robe of her choice, for I have made thee a confidant of mysteries, and upon thee will the favours of Allah be plentifully showered. If adversities threaten her, give unto her this my record, together with the Great White Diadem, that is of diamonds, and they shall be weapons in her hands by which they who harbour evil designs against her shall fall, while thee and she shall walk in peace beside the limpid brooks, where the waters of good fortune meander into the river of dignity. If the flames of thine enemy's malevolence are kindled against thee, take thee also the Emerald Diadem for thyself, for it shall be an indication of prosperity that shall appear upon thy forehead, and shall astonish and disconcert them. To thee the world shall be pleasant as the face of the woman thou lovest. It is incumbent on thee who hast believed, who hast sought, and who hast found, to live merrily in this brief life during the season of flowers, for this is thy purpose, and life is short. Laugh at the times as the cloud wept, for roses smile because the dawn weeps. Unto one faithful follower, he who is named E'mran, son of Anush, son of Yusuf, who hath been compelled to leave me to travel afar over the Great Desert, have I entrusted the Crescent, to be handed down through generations, and after a thousand years have elapsed, to be given unto one who hath faith in its power, in order that he may solve the Great Mystery. Endeavour not to learn the cause of its secret power, for it is an influence the existence whereof none knoweth in thy generation. Suffice it that thou hast secured the Treasure of the Sultan Askia; that my hands, long ago crumbled unto dust, have watered the thirsty meadows of thine hopes, and that thou knowest thou wilt hereafter dwell in the meadows of felicity. Remember, O Holder of my Treasure, my commands. May thy feet never cross the threshold of the House of Misery, and may many years elapse ere thou art translated from thy frail abode to the Mansion of Eternity. Enduring and permanent is Allah alone. Peace. "Written on the fourth of the month Chaoual, 311 of the Hedjira." "Extraordinary!" ejaculated Octave. "It is a voice from the grave!" "The will of the most powerful of the Sultans, who has bequeathed to me all his riches," I said, almost stupefied by the stupendous wealth that had been heaped upon me. Handling the precious document with infinite care, I refolded it and placed it back in its broken box. "Shall you carry out his commands?" he asked. "To the letter," I answered; then, looking round, I added, "It seems that, having secreted his treasure here, he walled up the entrance with rocks which he cemented together, thus hermetically sealing this chamber, and so preserving its valuable contents." "Yes. But the mystic influence of the Crescent of Wonders, and its effect? How do you account for it?" "It is a mystery which I am commanded not to attempt to solve," I said quietly. "For the present, I am content with what has been revealed;" and, remembering the dead Sultan's instructions, I walked to the heap of gold ornaments and took therefrom the Great White Diadem. It was a magnificent ornament, encrusted with huge and wonderful diamonds of the first water, three exquisitely fine stones, cut in the form of a crescent, forming a centre-piece. After a short search, I drew from the pile of jewels the Emerald Diadem, an ornament of similar shape, but green with flashing gems, the central one, enormous, and of magnificent colour, being fashioned as a star. Dusting both of them lightly with my burnouse, the stones shone with bewildering brilliancy. To place the Great White Diadem and the parchment record in Zoraida's hands was my first object, and, with that end in view, my companion and I held brief consultation, the result being that, having promised my friend a portion of the treasure, we resolved to take a few of the more remarkable of the jewels, and leave at once, blocking up the entrance after us. As the packages had remained there untouched for a thousand years, it was scarcely likely anyone would find their way to that cavern in the unexplored Desert before we returned, and even if they did, the narrow passage would be barred in such a manner as to be utterly impassable except by blasting. Therefore, gathering together a number of set and unset gems, rings, bracelets, and seals, we filled our pockets to overflowing, and, wrapping others in a piece of the crumbling leather, we forthwith went back to the narrow entrance, leaving the jewels scattered as they had fallen from the camels' packs. By our united efforts we succeeded in rolling forward great pieces of rock, until the entry was entirely blocked up, and again, at the other end of the tunnel-like passage, we placed a similar barrier. Then, finding our way up to the surface again, we emerged into the brilliant day, and, after a hasty meal, mounted, and with eager faces turned towards Agadez, we set out hopeful and jubilant, with treasures of great price concealed in our capacious saddle-bags. CHAPTER FORTY FOUR. LE COMMENCEMENT DE LA FIN. Briefly resting during the blazing noon, we resumed our way speedily across the treacherous sand dunes and rough stones, through the nameless ruined city, until, at dawn of the second day, away on the plain before us, rose the tall palms of Tjigrin. On reaching the edge of the oasis, Octave took bearings by his pocket compass, and afterwards we continued our way in search of the camp of Spahis, to which it was imperative that he should return. We had arranged that I should rest and obtain supplies from them before continuing my journey alone to Agadez; and that he should, after obtaining leave of absence from his commander, follow me in the guise of a letter-writer. At the City of the Ahir, after I had placed the Great White Diadem and the ancient manuscript in Zoraida's hands, we could then decide the best means by which we could remove the treasure to Algiers. I still kept him in ignorance of the occupation of Agadez by Hadj Absalam, accounting for Zoraida's presence there by the fact that she had performed a pious visit to the tomb of a celebrated marabout in the vicinity. Knowing my friend's eagerness to secure the piratical old chieftain, and feeling that any attempt in that direction would seriously compromise Zoraida, if it did not, indeed, cost her her life, I considered the wisest course was to arouse no suspicion of the truth until he himself discovered the situation. Alone in Agadez, he would be unable to act; whereas if the Spahis obtained the slightest inkling of the whereabouts of the outlaws they had so long and vainly sought, it was certain they would rush to the attack, a proceeding which would no doubt be fatal to all my hopes, having in view the reward offered for Zoraida's capture. I had grown accustomed to this life of sorrow-dogged wandering--now here, now there--so accustomed to it, indeed, that I did not perceive fatigue. Mirthfully we travelled across the verdant, well-wooded tract, with eyes keenly watchful, until at last, when the sun was setting, tinting the beautiful landscape with exquisite lucent colours, amber and gold with amethystine shadows, we came upon the spot, only to find the camp had been struck. The empty tins that had contained preserved foods, the bones, and the black patches on the sand with blackened embers, told their own tale. The Spahis had resaddled their horses and ridden away, we knew not whither! These flying horsemen of the plains rarely remain at one spot for long, and move with a rapidity that is astounding; yet it puzzled Octave considerably, and certainly appeared to me curious, that they should have left their missing comrade to his fate. Uzanne, dismounting, examined the ground minutely, picked up some of the discarded tins and peered inside them, turned over the dead embers, and occupied himself for some minutes in inspecting the holes whence the tent-poles had been withdrawn. Then, returning to me, he said-- "They left hurriedly. Rations were flung away half eaten, and in some cases there was not even sufficient time to withdraw the tent-pegs!" "What could have alarmed them?" "Most probably they expected an attack by the Kanouri. Before I left, a scout had come in with the news that their fighting men were encamped in force in the valley beyond the rocks of Tefraska. We must endeavour to trace the direction in which they have gone." The thought flashed across me that each hour I lingered delayed Zoraida's emancipation. "Why waste time?" I urged. "What is there to prevent you from accompanying me to Agadez? You have not deserted; your comrades have been compelled to desert you!" At first he was obdurate. It was his duty, he declared, to rejoin his squadron. But presently, after I had persuaded him by every possible argument to continue his companionship, he at last, with much reluctance, consented. Then once again we turned our faces north-west, towards Dibbela. He had grown gloomy and thoughtful, uttering few words, and giving vent to expressions of impatience whenever his jaded horse stumbled or slackened its pace. The cause of this was not far to seek. Our conversation had turned upon Paris and her people. I had been recounting those happy, ever-to-be-remembered days when I lived four storeys up in the Rue St Severin; when, careless Bohemian that I was, the sonnets of Musset thrilled me, the quips of Droz convulsed me, the romances of Sue held me breathless, and the pathos of Murger caused me to weep. An unsuccessful art student, a persistent hanger-on to the skirts of journalism, I lived the life of the Quartier Latin, and though I oft-times trod the Pont Neuf without a sou, yet I was, nevertheless, supremely happy and content. "Until now, mine has been but a grim fortune," I said. "The money that took me out of the world I loved brought me only unhappiness and discontent. It caused me to become cynical, dissatisfied with my English surroundings, dissatisfied with myself. Even now I gaze back with regret upon those blissful hours of idle gossip over our vermouth and our mazagran; those frugal days of desperate struggle to obtain a foothold in literature, those mad, rollicking _fetes du nuit_; that pleasant, reckless life, so happily divided between pleasure and toil. How well, too, I recollect those easy-going, laughter-loving children of Bohemia, my boon companions, each of whose purse was ever at the other's command; how vividly their faces and their _bonhomie_ come back to me, now that I am, alas! no longer of their world, no longer a denizen of the Quartier where the man is not judged by his coat, and wealth commands no favours." "You are not ostracised as I am," he blurted out, with much bitterness. "You have riches; you will win the woman you love, and return to Paris, to Brussels, to London, there to live in happiness; while I--_mon Dieu_!--I, professing a religion I do not follow, sailing under false colours, eating kousskouss from a wooden platter, broiling always beneath this merciless sun, shall one day fall, pierced by an Arab's bullet! Bah!--the sooner it is all ended the better." "Why meet trouble half-way?" I asked, endeavouring to cheer him. "You have come out to this wild land to efface your identity, because if you had remained in Europe you would have been charged with a crime, the sequel of which would have been the lifelong unhappiness of the woman you love. I admit, your future appears dull and hopeless, but why despair? There may be a day when you will be able to return to her without branding her children as those of a murderer." "Never!" "_Tout arrive a point a qui sait attendre_," I observed cheerily. "Ah," he replied, smiling sadly, "it is a long and weary waiting. Even while she seeks me, I am compelled to go further afield, in order to conceal my existence." "I can sympathise with you," I said. "All of us bear our burdens of sorrow." "What sorrow can possess you?" he retorted. "The woman to whose arms you are now flying will accompany you back to civilisation, there to commence a new life. You will show her our world of spurious tinsel and hollow shams; you will educate her as a child into what we call _les convenances_, teach her what to accept and what to avoid, and she, who to-day is the leader of a band of outlaws, will become an idol of Society. Proud of her beauty, content in her love, you will at last find the perfect peace for which you have been searching, and for which you have risked so much." "Of you I will make the same prophetic utterances," I answered, laughing. "Your life will not always be darkened by this cloud. It is a passing shadow that will be succeeded by sunshine." But he only shook his head, sighed, and remained silent. To the sorrow weighing so heavily upon his brave, generous heart I made no further allusion during the ten days we travelled together, first to the little town of Dibbela,--where he discarded his Spahi's dress for the white burnouse and fillet of camel's hair of the Arab of the plain,--then, spurring over the boundless desert of Ndalada, and through the Agram Oasis, until, in the dazzling glare of a brilliant noon, we passed through a clump of palms, and distinguished, in the far distance, the dome and tall square minaret of the great mosque of Agadez. Approaching, we gradually discerned the high white walls of the city, with its flat-roofed houses rising tier upon tier upon the hillside, centring round the Mesallaje, while in the background the high strong walls of the palace, wherein Zoraida was incarcerated, awaiting my return, loomed stern and sombre against the cloudless cerulean sky. But I had elucidated the Great Mystery. I had unearthed the treasure that for a thousand years had lain lost deep down in the earth, and as evidence, in my saddle-bags I bore the two priceless diadems and the scroll traced by the powerful Sultan Askia himself. Ere long the coronet of diamonds would be in Zoraida's hands; she would open and read the faded record, and the power of the Great White Diadem to release her would then be put to its crucial test. Now that the Secret had been revealed to me in a manner so extraordinary, I doubted nothing. I had implicit confidence in the mystic power of the Diadem, and felt assured that in a few short hours I should hold Zoraida in my arms free, the mysterious trammels that had so long bound her to the Ennitra at last torn asunder. Suddenly we saw five horsemen galloping out from the deep archway of the city gate towards us. The guard of the Ennitra had evidently discerned us, and, taking us for stragglers unaware of the fall of the young Sultan, were riding forward to capture us. "They will be disappointed when they meet us," I exclaimed, laughing. "For the present I am under the protection of their Daughter of the Sun, and you, as my servant, are safe also." "Safe--_safe_!" he cried, a second later, pulling up his horse so quickly that he threw it upon its haunches, and shading his keen, practised eyes with both his hands. "See!--see! Those men who are raising a cloud of sand about them--cannot you recognise them?" Stopping my camel, I shaded my eyes, and peered eagerly before me. Through the whirling sand raised by their hoofs, and blown by the strong wind before them, I suddenly caught a glimpse of scarlet. Again I fixed my eyes intently upon them, until the sand obscuring them cleared. A second later I was startled, for, to my dismay, I saw that the party consisted of a single Spahi and four Chasseurs d'Afrique! "What--what does this mean?" I gasped, amazed, with my gaze riveted upon the soldierly figures, sharp cut against the sky, tearing rapidly along in our direction. "_Que diabe_! It's extraordinary! Come, let us hasten to ascertain the truth;" and, suiting the action to the word, he spurred forward, I following his example. Ten minutes later we met, and after the Spahi had recognised his comrade, and the Chasseurs had satisfied themselves that I was not an Arab, we learned from them that strange and startling events had occurred in Agadez since I had left it. As they rode back again with us at an easy pace, one of the Chasseurs, who had now sheathed his heavy sabre and lit a cigarette, replying to my hasty questions, explained the situation. With a strong Gascon accent, he said-- "The expedition was carefully planned, and carried out with considerable secrecy. Two months ago, when our squadron was at Tuggurt under Captain Carmier, we heard that the Ennitra were moving towards the Ahir, with the intention, apparently, of attacking Agadez. This news was telegraphed from Biskra to the General of Division at Algiers, who at once decided upon the plan of campaign to be carried out by a punitive expedition. Orders were immediately transmitted to the eastern advanced posts, by which a regiment of Spahis were moved to the Tjigrin Oasis, two regiments of Turcos, three battalions of Zouaves, and three batteries of artillery, with some light machine guns, to Tagama, while we of the Chasseurs--encamped outside Azarara, both of which places are four days' journey south and north respectively from the City of the Ahir. Only the commanding officers knew the object of these movements, and it appears that the plans were so preconcerted that we should combine against the Ennitra just at the moment they marched to the attack of Agadez." "You failed to arrive early enough to prevent the massacre," I observed. "Yes, unfortunately. Through some delay in the transmission of an order to the Spahis, several days were lost, and when, at last, two weeks ago, our squadrons effected a junction, and we stole silently at midnight, holding our scabbards until we came before yonder walls, we found the city in the possession of the Ennitra, those of its people who survived reduced to slavery, and Hadj Absalam installed in state in the palace. Swiftly we descended upon the place. Yells and savage cries rent the midnight silence. The crash of the volleyed firing sounded high above the shrieks for quarter. There was indescribable panic in the city, and although through the night the conflict was desperate and the Ennitra fought with that dogged courage that has always made them conspicuous, yet the havoc wrought by our machine guns appalled them from the first. Gaining the city walls at dawn, we stormed the Fada, and by noon had captured the place, and nearly four hundred of the Ennitra, including Hadj Absalam and the man known as Labakan, were prisoners in our hands." "And what of Zoraida?" I gasped, with sinking heart. "You mean, I suppose, the woman, known as Daughter of the Sun? She has been, it is said, leader in most of the marauding expeditions, and on that account a reward was offered by the Government for her capture. It was she who, still in her gorgeous harem dress, rushed out at the first alarm, and led her horde of cut-throats to the defence of the city. Armed with knife and pistol, she plunged with indomitable courage, and with an utter disregard for her life, into the thick of the fight, acting as courageously as any of those wild desert pirates whom she led with such extraordinary tact. Once or twice I caught a glimpse of her as she urged on our yelling and bewildered foe. Report had not lied as to her beauty. Her loveliness was entrancing." "Where is she now?" I demanded breathlessly. "I know not, m'sieur," the man answered, shrugging his shoulders. "But surely you know if she still lives?" "The bodies of some women were found," he answered carelessly. "It is believed hers was amongst them." "My God!" I cried brokenly, turning to Octave, who was riding on my left. "It can't be true--_it can't be_!" "Wait," he said quietly. "Seek Carmier. Perhaps the truth has been hidden from the men." "M'sieur has asked me a question," observed the Chasseur, raising his eyebrows; "I have replied to the best of my knowledge." "And Hadj Absalam? What has become of him?" I asked, noticing that we were now passing heaps of human bones, already stripped by the vultures and whitened by the sun. "We captured him when we entered the palace, and imprisoned him in one of the smaller chambers, under a strong guard. He endeavoured to commit suicide, but was prevented." I asked no further question. I remembered only the sweet, beautiful face of the brave, fearless woman to whom I owed my life, and who had promised to love me always. How her calm, serious, wistful countenance came up before me! Surely it could not be that I was never to look again into those dark, luminous eyes, so appealing and so true--surely they were not closed for ever in death! Now I had successfully elucidated the mystery that had remained an unsolved problem a thousand years, surely she would not be snatched from me! Yet Zouave guards were resting on their rifles at the gate; in the open space beyond a bugle was sounding, and a word of command shouted in French brought to a halt half a battalion of Turcos in marching order. Agadez was in the possession of the French. Ever extending their territory in the Soudan, they had, while breaking the power of the Ennitra, firmly established themselves at another important advanced post. But at what cost? Alas! at the cost of my happiness! I was dazed, stupefied. The only idea I could grasp was that all my efforts through long and weary months had been in vain; that I had been unable to save her. Truly, the Omen of the Camel's Hoof was being fulfilled! Without pausing to gaze upon the half-burned town, I sped onward to the Fada, where I was told I should probably discover my friend, Captain Carmier. My search did not occupy long, for I found him in the ruined Hall of the Divan, in conversation with General Seignouret, the elderly officer in command of the expedition. "You! _mon cher_ Cecil?" cried the Captain gaily, extending his hand as I advanced. "What brings you here?" "Cannot you guess?" I answered. "You told me months ago at Tuggurt that you were journeying here to fulfil some strange promise you had made to a woman. You little expected to find us here before you--eh?" he asked, laughing. "When I was your guest on my way south, I could not tell you the object of my journey, as I had promised to keep it secret." "Well, the woman must have been particularly fascinating to have induced you to undertake such a risky journey, especially with Hadj Absalam's band scouring the Desert." "You will admit, I think, that she was fascinating," I said as quietly as I could. "Her name was Zoraida." "_Dieu_! Not the woman who is known as Daughter of the Sun?" "The same. She has promised to become my wife. Take me to her. Let me speak with her," I urged, frantic with impatience. "Alas! _mon ami_! I regret I cannot," he replied, shaking his head sorrowfully. "She surely is not dead?" "No--not dead. She is a prisoner, and, with Hadj Absalam and a man called Labakan, is on her way, under a strong escort, to Algiers." "To Algiers?" I gasped, dismayed. "It is unfortunate that she of all women should have fascinated you," observed General Seignouret, who had been standing by, "because her career has been a terrible one. The Ministry in Paris gave orders for her capture months ago, and offered a heavy reward, which my men here have at last won. I have now sent her to Algiers for trial." "She is innocent. She hated the life; those scenes of bloodshed and horrible barbarities appalled and nauseated her," I cried in passionate protest. "Her strange position had been thrust upon her by sheer ill-fortune. Tell me, for what crimes will she be tried?" "For outlawry and murder," the General answered abruptly. "And the punishment?" "Why think more of her?" he suggested, casting away the end of his cigarette. "It is useless to still contemplate marriage, for her freedom is impossible when the punishment for either offence is the guillotine." "The guillotine?" I cried, in mad despair. "And your men are dragging her onward--onward across the Desert to a cruel, ignominious, and brutal end?" "Think of the massacre of Deschanel and his brave Spahis, of the many raids whereby unarmed caravans have been looted, and their owners butchered; think of the hundreds of our men who have been ruthlessly murdered or horribly tortured by the fiendish band under the leadership of this pretty savage! It was her presence, her voice, that urged on the Ennitra to the frightful massacre and awful barbarities after this city had fallen into their hands; and again she commanded her people in their desperate defence of the city when we endeavoured to take the place by surprise." "But I tell you the leadership was forced upon her against her will by those ferocious brutes!" I said warmly. "Ah! you do not know her as well as I." "We know her quite sufficiently to be aware that her crimes have cost many of our unfortunate comrades their lives, and that the death sentence is the only one that can be passed upon her. The Government are determined the punishment in her case shall be exemplary," the stern old General answered, turning from me to take a dispatch that had just been brought in by a Spahi messenger. "Come, old fellow," Cannier whispered, taking me kindly by the arm and leading me forth into the once-beautiful harem-garden. "Forget this woman. For her it must certainly be either the _lunette_ or _La Nouvelle_. No effort of yours can ever give her freedom. Besides, think of her past; is she, after all, worth troubling about?" "Worth troubling about? Yes," I answered promptly, turning upon him angrily. "Why should you judge her thus? You only know her by the idle and exaggerated gossip of the camp; yet you believe her to be a bloodthirsty harridan, delighting in scenes of massacre and pillage, a woman who regarded every caravan, every Zouave, and every Chasseur as her lawful and natural prey!" "No, not a harridan by any means!" he exclaimed. "I admit her beauty and grace is unsurpassed. She is by far the most lovely woman I have ever seen--and I have seen a few beauties in my time at Royat, Etretat, Biarritz, and Trouville." "I am not discussing her countenance, _mon ami_" I continued, with perhaps undue warmth. "I am asking why you condemn her. Tell me, have the authorities any direct evidence that she has ever been guilty of murder?" He hesitated, rolling a fresh cigarette thoughtfully. "Well--no," he answered. "As far as I am aware, there is no specific case upon which they rely." "Then they intend to transport her to New Caledonia for life, or perhaps even drag her to the guillotine, merely to deter other tribes from defying French rule!" I said, biting my lip. "_Sapristi_! It is useless to argue with you," he answered quickly. "You are fascinated by her, and, of course, will believe no ill. In your eyes she is simply a paragon of virtue. Therefore, the fewer words we exchange upon the painful topic the better." "You have declared my inability to save her," I exclaimed with anger, indignant at his prejudice against her and at the thought of her, a prisoner, roughly handled by the uncouth Chasseurs, who even at that moment were hurrying her with all speed over the Desert towards Algiers. "You predict that all my efforts will be in vain; nevertheless, I shall follow, and do my best." "If you attempt to rescue her from the custody of the escort, you will without doubt get a bullet in your head." "I need no warnings," I snapped; but further words were cut short by the sudden reappearance of General Seignouret, who, advancing to my friend, exclaimed-- "I must send an urgent dispatch to headquarters at Algiers. Whom do you recommend to carry it?" "I am starting at once for Algiers," I said; then, turning to Carmier, I urged, "Send Octave Uzanne, the Spahi. He is my friend." "Uzanne?--Uzanne?" repeated the Captain reflectively. "Ah! I remember, I have heard of him. He was a survivor of Deschanel's detachment, and a valiant fellow. Yes, he shall bear the message." "In an hour it will be ready," the General said; then, turning, he strode back into the Hall of the Divan, his spurs jingling, and his scabbard trailing over the polished floor that still bore ugly stains of blood. "So you really intend setting out again on this fool's errand?" Carmier asked, when his General had gone. "I do. I must--I will save her." "Bah! Was she not a sorceress, a priestess of that strange secret society the Senousya, of which we can discover nothing; was she not indeed an inmate of Hadj Absalam's harem, a--" "Nothing you can allege against her can deter me from the strenuous endeavour I am about to make," I interrupted, with firmness. "She shall not be snatched from me, for I love her. Be she innocent or guilty, I will save her!" But, with a cynical smile, he shrugged his shoulders, and, turning on his heel, walked away. CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. THE PRICE OF SILENCE. Along the broad Boulevard de la Republique the straight double row of gas-lamps that face the sea were already shedding their bright light, as Octave and I drove rapidly, having at last arrived at Algiers. Our toilsome journey over the sun-baked Desert from Agadez had occupied us nearly five weeks, and now, after twenty-four hours in an execrable railway carriage, we had arrived with aching bones, heads wearied, and thoroughly worn out by fatigue. Both of us were intensely anxious; he bound to deliver his dispatch, yet fearful lest the woman he loved should discover him, and I consumed by grief and despair, but nevertheless determined at all hazards to strive for the release of Zoraida. Inquiries we made at Biskra--the point where we had first touched European civilisation--showed that the prisoners, under a strong guard, had reached there and gone on by train to Algiers, thirteen days before our arrival. I saw, therefore, there was not a moment to lose. Zoraida was in deadliest peril, and I alone remained her friend. Through those long, weary, never-ending weeks, while we had been pressing onward over the glaring, monotonous plains, my thoughts had been constantly of her, and vainly did I endeavour, hour after hour, day and night, to devise some means by which I could effect her liberty. Tortured by gloomy apprehensions of her impending doom, meditating upon the hopelessness of the situation, and utter futility of attempting her release in face of the howling demand of the French colonists for exemplary punishment, I had journeyed onward, not knowing how to act. I had returned to Algiers to be near her, to hear the evidence at her trial, to--ah! I could not bear to contemplate the horrible moment!--to witness sentence passed upon her. Across the Place du Gouvernement our driver took us swiftly, shouting, as he cleared a way through the crowd of cosmopolitan promenaders, who, while enjoying the refreshing breeze, listened to popular operatic airs performed by the splendid Zouave band. Against the clear, starlit sky, the white dome and square minaret of the Mosque de la Pecherie stood out in bold relief, familiar objects that recalled vivid recollections of the strange adventures that had occurred to me on the last occasion I had passed under those walls. Reflections were, however, cut short by our sudden stoppage under the clump of palms before the Hotel de la Regence, and very soon we had installed ourselves in the same rooms overlooking the Place that I had previously occupied. While Octave ordered dinner, I walked to a clothier's a few doors away, selected some European habiliments to replace my dirty, ragged Arab garments, and on returning, purchased a copy of the _Depeche_, which an Arab urchin was crying in a shrill treble. Ascending to the _salle-a-manger_, where my companion awaited me, I sank into a chair, and, opening my paper, glanced at its contents. A newspaper was of interest, after being so many months cut off from one's own world, as I had been; but almost the first heading which caught my eye was, "The Governor's Reception To-Night;" and, having ascertained that His Excellency was giving a grand ball, I commenced reading an article headed, "The Assassins from the Desert," which, after enumerating the long string of crimes with which Hadj Absalam, Labakan, and Zoraida were to be charged, continued its hysterical denunciation as follows:-- "Too long have the piratical Ennitra been the terror, alike of caravan, village, and advanced post. For many years, indeed, ever since the rebellion, this tribe of freebooters has held sway over the Sahara entirely unchecked, pillaging, massacring, reducing their weaker neighbours to slavery, and attacking our military posts with an audacity and daring that has caused equal surprise on both sides of the Mediterranean. The crowning incident in the startling career of this extraordinary woman--who, if report be true, possesses the _beaute du diable_, and has actually led the marauders on their bloody forays--was the treacherous attack upon the column of Spahis, under Deschanel, at the well of Dhaya, when only nine of the force survived the massacre, all of them being held prisoners. The subsequent desperate assault on Agadez, the fiendish slaughter there, the revolting scenes enacted within the Sultan's palace, all are events fresh in the minds of our readers. Such horrible deeds, openly committed in territory under the rule of France, disgrace the military organisation upon which we pride ourselves, disgrace our _Service des Affaires Indigenes_, disgrace the annals of our colony, and cause all Europe to cry shame upon us. At length, however, the Government has tardily stirred itself; at last it has sent sufficient force in pursuit of this mysterious Queen of the Desert and her bloodthirsty horde; at last they are here, in Algiers, safe in the custody of trusty gaolers. Let justice now be done. Let no false sentiment be aroused on their behalf, merely because Zoraida is a woman. Beauty and sex have too often influenced a jury; but they must not in this case. As leader of the band, she is as guilty as this fierce old Sheikh who is pleased to style himself Sultan of the Sahara, therefore her punishment must be equally severe with his. Her case is unique, and requires exemplary sentence. If, by our present Code, she cannot be sent to the guillotine, then the people of Algeria demand the passing of a special Act. Deportation is no punishment for her many flagitious crimes; she must die." The waiter brought me _L'Akhbar_ and the _Moniteur_, both of which contained strongly-worded articles expressing an almost identical opinion, and all showing how high the feeling ran. Indeed, ere I had been in Algiers an hour, I could plainly see what intense excitement the capture of the prisoners had created, and what eager interest was manifested in their forthcoming trial. All Europeans and colonists were loud in their denunciations of the Ennitra in general, and Zoraida in particular, but the Arabs, who formerly had experienced secret satisfaction at the discomforture of their conquerors, now exchanged glances full of meaning, smoking, stolid, silent, and unmoved. No doubt, the Senousya were holding secret meetings everywhere to discuss the situation, and perhaps, in the _kahouas_ at night, when the doors were closed and precautions taken that no unbeliever should overhear, there were whispers of a sinister and threatening character, and the dark-faced men of Al-Islam clutched at their knives. But, to the world, the followers of the Prophet betrayed no concern. They awaited patiently the signal of the great uprising. Our almost silent meal concluded, Octave went out to report himself at the military headquarters, and deliver General Seignouret's dispatch, while I ascended to my room and changed my travel-stained rags for the ready-made, ill-fitting suit I had bought. After making a hurried toilet, I stood at the window, hopeless and despondent, gazing out upon the splendid, cloudless night. From the great square below, where ghostly figures in spotless burnouses came and went, where lovers lingered under the deep shadows of the mosque, and Madame sold her journals at the little kiosque lit by a single glimmering candle, there came up a slow, dreamy waltz refrain, borne upon a breath of roses from the flower-stalls beneath the palms. The flashing light of the port swept the sea with its long shaft of white brilliance, a cool, refreshing breeze stirred the palm branches, and a fountain plashing into its marble basin, all combined to produce a tranquil scene, beautiful and entrancing. But upon me its effect was only discord. Quickly I closed the windows to shut out the music, and looked slowly around the cheerless room. In desperation, I asked myself how I could act, but no solution of the problem came to me. I could only think of my crushing sorrow. The iron had entered my soul. Slowly the clock in the mosque struck the hour. I counted the strokes. It was ten o'clock. The bell aroused me. With clenched hands and quick, fevered steps I paced the room in a frenzy of despair. My mind seemed becoming unbalanced again. How true was the prophecy of my dead fellow-traveller, when he warned me that the Omen of the Camel's Hoof was always fatal to love. I had laughed then at his fateful words, but what poignant bitterness their remembrance now brought me! In my desperation I was seized by a madness, violent and uncontrollable, for with all my hopes shattered and scattered to the winds, only an unbearable burden of grief and woe remained to me. Zoraida's face was ever-present with me; the calm, beautiful countenance of the pure, honest woman, now being hounded to the scaffold by an indignant populace. I loved her with a true, fervent love; if she died, I told myself that I should no longer care to live. She was the only woman I had ever looked upon with affection, the only woman who had stirred the chords of love within me. I was devoted to her; nay, I idolised her. Surely Fate would not dash from my lips the cup of happiness now, at the very moment when I had discovered riches that would give her every luxury she could desire! The Great White Diadem, the wonderful ornament concealed in the ragged saddle-bag that lay in the corner of the room, could avail her nothing. Its possession might in some mysterious way have secured her liberty had she been still held in bondage by Hadj Absalam. But alas! she was in a gloomy cell, guarded like a common murderess, night and day, by brutal warders, lest she should attempt to evade the executioner's knife by self-destruction; while I, who loved her so well, though there within sight of her prison, remained powerless to help her, powerless to lift a hand to release her from the clutches of her exultant captors! Powerless? I halted. In my despair a thought had flashed across my mind, a suggestion, the sheer madness of which at first stunned me, but which gradually impressed itself upon me as the only means by which I could save her. A bold audacity, a firm determination, and a cool head would be required to accomplish such a master-stroke. Qualms of conscience arose within me, but I calmed them by reflecting that desperate cases demanded violent remedies. Was I strong enough mentally and bodily? I hesitated. Again Zoraida's earnest appeal to me to save her rang in my ears; I could see her pale, tear-stained face, that had haunted me like a vision through so many weary weeks. Her life lay in my hands. I determined to make the attempt. Again I threw open the jalousies. The clock in the minaret showed it was half-past ten. Time was passing quickly, and I had not a second to linger. Breathlessly I gathered up the contents of my pockets that lay strewn upon the table, and, seizing my hat, descended the stairs, and quickly made my way across the square, through the crowd of idle promenaders. Mine was a desperate mission. What its result might be I dreaded to contemplate. Continuing up a narrow side street, where Arabs were squatting on rush mats calmly smoking and conversing in low, guttural tones, passing the facade of the cathedral, and speeding with hasty steps, I crossed another small square, and at length halted before a great Moorish doorway, guarded by sentries on either side. In answer to my summons, there appeared a French _concierge_ in gorgeous livery, who, noticing the cut of my clothes, regarded me with a decidedly supercilious air. "I desire to see M'sieur le Gouverneur," I said. "M'sieur de Largentiere does not receive," replied the man abruptly; then, as if suspecting me to be a traveller, he added, "If m'sieur wishes to view the palace, he must obtain a card from the aide-de-camp." "I have no desire to see the palace," I answered. "I wish to see His Excellency himself, privately." "Impossible, m'sieur. He receives only by appointment," the man said, raising his eyebrows, as with his hand still upon the handle of the great door, he prepared to close it. "But my business admits of no delay. It is not official, but purely private. I must see him at once. Take my name to him, and say I desire to speak with him upon a matter of the greatest importance;" and, drawing a piece of paper from my pocket, I wrote my name upon it. After examining the paper, the man reluctantly left me, gruffly telling me to take a seat. The great hall in which I stood was of magnificent proportions, with tesselated pavement and splendid palms. The palace of the representative of the Government--once the residence of Hassen Pacha--is one of the most luxurious in all Algeria, its Oriental magnificence rendering it a show-place where tourists wander, gape, and wonder. Half fearing that His Excellency would refuse me an audience, I remained impatient and excited, yet struggling desperately to preserve an outward calm. Presently the doorkeeper returned with slow, stately stride, and with apparent bad grace, said-- "M'sieur le Gouverneur, although extremely busy, has graciously consented to receive you for a few moments. Walk this way." Following him to the extreme end of the great hall, he led me down a long, spacious corridor, halting before a silken _portiere_, which he drew aside, and, opening a door, invited me to enter. The apartment was half an office, half a library, with a great writing-table littered with papers and official documents; bookcases were on every side, and hanging above the carved mantelshelf was a large portrait in oils of the President of the Republic. The room was thickly carpeted and furnished strictly in European style, while on a side table stood a great bowl of flowers, the tasteful arrangement of which betrayed a woman's superintendence. Striding up and down, I awaited anxiously the coming of the Governor-General. At last the handle of the door rattled, and there entered an elderly man, whose closely-cropped, iron-grey hair and pointed moustache gave him a military appearance, and whose thin, tall figure was slightly bent by age. In the lapel of his frock-coat was the button of the Legion of Honour, and as he glanced keenly at me from under his shaggy brows, his face bore a proud, haughty look. He seated himself at the table, and an ill-concealed expression of displeasure crossed his frowning features. "I must apologise for seeking an interview at this late hour, m'sieur," I began. "But my business is pressing." "My servant has already told me that," he snapped, toying with a pen and casting another quick glance at me. "And what, pray, is the nature of this--er--business?" "It is of a strictly private character," I answered, hesitating, exerting all my self-possession. "Then explain it quickly, m'sieur," he said, turning to look at the clock. "I have guests to-night." "First I must tell you that I have only this evening arrived from the Desert," I exclaimed, standing before him boldly, my hands behind my back. "You are English," he growled. "Tourist--eh?" "No, I'm not a tourist," I replied. "I know the Sahara, perhaps even better than yourself; in fact, I have just returned from Agadez." "From Agadez?" he exclaimed, suddenly interested. "Then, perhaps, you were with Seignouret when he captured the Sheikh of the Ennitra?" "No, I arrived later," I said. "But it was not to describe the situation there that I have intruded. I desire to speak to you with regard to Zoraida." "Zoraida? Zoraida?" he repeated, puzzled. "Ah! of course! the Arab woman taken prisoner with the other scoundrels. Well, what of her?" "When will she be tried?" "In two days' time. She has already been examined, and admits all the charges against her." "Charges! What are the charges?" I demanded. "Outlawry and murder," he answered, carelessly turning over some papers. "Then listen, M'sieur le Gouverneur," I said anxiously. "I love her-- I--" "Bah!" he cried in disgust, rising quickly with his hand upon a silver gong. "As I expected--an appeal!" "Hear me!" I cried. "Before you summon your servants, I warn you that silence will alone secure your own safety!" Standing astride upon the lion's skin spread before the fireplace, he stared at me in alarm. "What--what do you mean?" he gasped, pale and scared. "Seat yourself, I beg, and hear me," I said coolly. "Have no fear; I am not an assassin." "Then how dare you--how dare you threaten--" "I threaten nothing," I stammered, interrupting. Then firmly I added, "Be seated, and allow me to explain." Slowly he sank again into his chair in obedience to my command, and I told him briefly that Zoraida had saved my life, that she had become my _fiancee_, and that I intended to effect her liberty. "You're mad!" he ejaculated at last. "How can this declaration of your intentions to defeat the ends of justice interest me? I'm not governor of the gaol." "No. But you, M'sieur de Largentiere, are Governor-General of Algeria, and in your hands lies the supreme power--the power of life and death." "Supreme power for what?" "To effect her escape." "To connive at the liberty of a person who admits crimes that have from time to time startled the world! Bah! For months, nay, years, our troops have been hunting this band of freebooters, and now at last, when the leaders are in our hands, it is very likely, indeed, that I, of all men, should sign an order for her release!" and he laughed derisively as he twisted his moustache. "I do not desire you to commit yourself in the eyes of your Government and the public by appending your signature to such a document. Might she not escape--vanish from Algiers, suddenly--eh?" "Absurd!" he cried impetuously, with flashing eyes. "I must really request you to end this interview. If you have any complaint of your treatment while in Algeria, you had better lodge information with your consul. He will deal with it. I have neither desire nor intention of being bothered over your love-affairs. You request the release of the leader of a robber band. _Ma foi_! you will next try to bribe me with some of the stolen booty!" "I shall not bribe you, m'sieur," I answered defiantly, with suppressed anger, advancing to the table and bending towards him. "But you will, nevertheless, arrange that Zoraida will obtain her freedom--to-night." "You must be an imbecile!" he cried. Then, with a sarcastic laugh, he asked, "And how much, pray, do you offer me as a _douceur_?" "I offer you," I said plainly and distinctly. "I offer you, M'sieur de Largentiere, _your own liberty_!" "My own liberty!" he gasped, starting in alarm. "My own liberty? I do not understand." "Ah, no!" I exclaimed, with a short, harsh laugh. "You do not know me. We are strangers." "I--I was not aware that I was in your custody, m'sieur," he said, crimson with indignation. "No," I answered, with a coolness that surprised even myself. "But your life is!" "You--you come here--to--to demand this woman's liberty under threats of assassination!" he gasped. "I have a revolver here, it's true," I replied. "But I have no intention of committing murder, even though the life of my _fiancee_ is at stake." "You--you threaten me!--you come here, and--" "Henri, dear!" a voice called in English. "Why, here you are! I thought you had dressed long ago. Already some of the guests have arrived!" and, turning quickly, I saw a tall, beautiful woman in a marvellous ball toilette. Her face I recognised instantly by the photographs I had seen in London shop-windows. It was Madame de Largentiere! "I--I am coming, dear--coming," he answered hastily, in broken English. "Then I will wait for you." "Excuse me, madame," I said; "the business I am just concluding with your husband is of an official and strictly private nature." "Oh, of course in that case I will leave you alone," she said, with a slight, graceful bow, and, urging the Governor to hasten, she swept out, closing the door after her. "Well?" he asked when she had gone. "What do you mean by these strange threats? I do not know you, and I've nothing whatever to fear from you." "As time is of importance to both of us, I may as well speak plainly at once, m'sieur," I said, folding my arms resolutely. "I require Zoraida's release before the dawn." "Impossible!" I paused. The moment had arrived when I deemed it expedient to spring the mine upon him. "Then you will no longer be Governor-General of this colony!" I exclaimed. "Your words are absolute nonsense. _Diable_! You English are always more or less insane!" "Do you absolutely refuse to grant her liberty?" "Most decidedly I do." "Then listen!" I said determinedly. "Listen, while I bring back to your recollection certain curious facts that, although concealed, are nevertheless not forgotten. You jeer at my discomforture; you would send a pure, innocent woman to the guillotine, because you fear the consequence of her escape might be your removal from office. Very well. Believe me, you will soon enough be recalled, and sink to a fitting end of ignominy and shame." "_Dieu_! Your mouth is full of insults." "Be silent until I have finished; then give me your decision," I continued resolutely. "Not long ago there lived in London a nobleman who had a young and beautiful daughter. She had the misfortune to be an heiress. An aged ex-Minister, a Frenchman, met her, and coveted her gold. He proposed, and was accepted by the nobleman, but there were two barriers to their marriage: firstly, a lover to whom the heiress had already given her heart; and secondly, a cousin who had lived in Paris a long time, and, knowing its seamy side, knew also Mariette Lestrade, a whilom luminary of the Moulin Rouge, who resided in a pretty bijou villa on the edge of the Bois, under the protection of the ex-Minister. The latter, however, was not a man to be easily turned from his purpose, for, strangely enough, the heiress's cousin was found murdered in his chambers in St James's Street, and--and the alleged murderer--" "The murderer escaped!" he declared involuntarily, for he had grown pale, and was glaring at me with transfixed, wide-open eyes. "Yes, quite true, he did escape. He escaped to marry and secure the fortune of the heiress, and--_to become Governor-General of Algeria_!" "What--what do you allege?" he gasped, jumping to his feet, his face livid. "Do you impute that I--I committed the murder?" For a moment I regarded him steadily. Under my gaze he flinched, and his hands trembled as if palsied. "I impute nothing," I answered quietly. "I have already in my possession absolute proof of the identity of the murderer." "Proof?" he gasped. "What--what do you mean?" With his eyes fixed upon me, his thin lips quivered as the startling truth dawned suddenly upon him. "If you desire me to explain, I will," I said. "Violet Hanbury's lover, a compatriot of yours, is believed to have committed the crime." "It was proved," he declared quickly. "The knife with which the victim was struck was his, and upon the floor was found a gold pencil-case, with his name engraved upon it; besides, he was seen there by the valet. The police have searched for him everywhere, but he has disappeared." "I now appear in his stead to disprove the terrible charge against him-- to bring the assassin to justice." "If you can," he said, assuming an air of haughty insolence. "Believe me, m'sieur, I shall have but little difficulty." "And the proof! Of what, pray, does it consist?" "It is something, the existence of which you little dream." "Oh!" he cried. "This is infamous!" "You seek an explanation, therefore I will conceal nothing. When you are before a criminal court, which will be at a date not far distant, M'sieur de Largentiere, you will have to explain why the murdered man called on you at Long's Hotel in Bond Street, in the afternoon of the day of the murder." "He did not call." "The Court will decide that." "Bah!--do your worst. I--I am Governor-General of Algeria, and you--you are an unknown alien." "True, you are on French soil, but there is such a thing as extradition. In a week I shall be in London, and then--" "What then?" he asked, vainly endeavouring to remain calm. "I shall place the Criminal Investigation Department at Scotland Yard in possession of such facts that your extradition will be immediately demanded." "You talk nonsense," he cried impatiently. "Let us end this interview. I--I am really too busy to listen to such empty threats and idle boasts." "My only boast is that I shall be the means of bringing an assassin to justice," I exclaimed quickly. "I have not the slightest fear of the consequences of your ridiculous story," he answered, with a sneer. "You are at liberty to act as you think proper. As for this remarkable evidence which you assert is in your possession, well--I do not know its nature, neither do I care." "Perhaps it will be as well if you are acquainted with its nature," I said. "You declare that Fothergill did not call on you at Long's on that day?" "Most decidedly I do. I had not seen him for quite a week prior to the tragedy." "Then would it surprise you very much to know that, an hour after calling on you in Bond Street, he wrote to the man who is now suspected of the crime, telling him the details of that interview--" "The details?" he echoed, amazed. "Yes, the details," I repeated. "They were given very minutely regarding Mariette Lestrade and her relations with you, your efforts to preserve your secret, and your threats of violence should he divulge anything to prejudice you in the eyes of Lord Isleworth." "Absurd. No such letter was ever written." "It was," I replied, and drawing slowly from my pocket a piece of folded paper, I added, "Its original still exists, and I have a copy here." "The--the dead man--wrote it?" he gasped, turning ashen pale. "Yes. It will prove interesting reading at the trial. Glance at it for yourself." Taking the sheet of paper, he held it to the lamp with trembling fingers. As he eagerly devoured its contents, his eyes seemed starting from his head, so wildly did he glare at it. For several moments he stood, supporting himself by the back of his chair. "A denunciation from the grave," I said. "It makes your motive plain, and shows your crime was premeditated. When your rival left England, the circumstantial evidence was strongly against him, and though innocent, he was unable to prove an alibi, but that letter will render the discovery of the murderer an easy task." "You are not my judge!" "The man accused had no motives for murdering Jack Fothergill--you had." "Motives do not convict in France, even if they do in England." "But evidence of the crime does." "Evidence--I--I--" Looking steadily for a few moments into his thin face, drawn and haggard, I said at last-- "It is useless to deny your guilt, M'sieur de Largentiere. The proof you have in your hand, in combination with the alibi that the man suspected will be able to prove, is quite sufficient to secure your conviction. The punishment for murder is death in my country, as in yours." "I--I deny it," he said, with a strange, wild look of mingled fear and indignation. "Your so-called proof is mere waste paper. It would not be accepted in evidence." "I hold a different opinion. Remember the letter was posted and the envelope bears the post-mark. It was written by Fothergill himself, and bears his signature." "Let me see it." "No. It may be shown to you when you are before the judge, not until then." "The accusation is false and infamous!" "Very well. If you have a perfect answer, you have nothing to fear." "Nothing--no, nothing!" he repeated quickly, with a hollow laugh. "Mariette Lestrade also died mysteriously," I said, raising my hand towards him. "Fothergill knew your terrible secret--the secret that she did not succumb to natural causes. You committed the second crime in London _in order to hide the first in Paris_!" "I--I--" he stammered, but his lips refused to utter further sound. "I am well aware of the facts, I assure you," I exclaimed. "First, however, let me tell you that I hesitate to place the London police in possession of them on account of the terrible shame and degradation your exposure will cause your wife and children. You who hold the highest office in this colony, who are respected and considered just, upright, and above suspicion, would be convicted of two brutal crimes. What would those who shake your hand at your reception to-night say if they knew their amiable Governor was an assassin?" "Stop!" he cried hoarsely. "_Dieu_! stop! I--I cannot bear it!" "It is not for me to heap reproach upon you. You jeered at the suggestion that I could bribe you to allow Zoraida to escape. Do you now refuse the _douceur_?" "If she escaped mysteriously--what would my _douceur_ be?" "My silence." "Absolutely?" "Absolutely." "And you would give me the original letter written by Fothergill?" "No. Though I am prepared to take an oath of silence for the sake of your wife and her children, I make one stipulation, namely, that I shall keep that letter." "Then you will always retain that in order to blackmail me?" "I shall never blackmail you. Cannot you see that I am driven to this course by sheer desperation? Once Zoraida is safe, you will have nothing whatever to fear from me." "If--if I could only bury the past completely!" he moaned, gazing wildly around the room. "If only I--I could feel safe!" "Two courses are open. You must choose between them." "To-morrow." "No. To-night. I must have your answer now, immediately. If you refuse, I leave by to-morrow's steamer for England." There was a long silence, broken only by the low ticking of the marble clock and the distant strains of a waltz from the ball-room. Into his chair the haughty Governor-General of Algeria had sunk, and, resting his elbows upon the table, had buried his thin, pale face in his hands. I had spoken the truth! His terrible secret was in my keeping. Even at that moment I hated myself for promising to shield him from justice; yet I was determined to save Zoraida, cost what it might. Uzanne was in ignorance of my intention to seek the assassin. Would he regard this action as a breach of confidence? The man before me, whoso reputation as a statesman was world-wide, and whose virtues were extolled in the journals all over Europe, had utterly broken down. He saw that if he connived at Zoraida's escape, such indignation would be heaped upon him that he would be hounded from office; while on the other hand, if he refused, my threat of exposure undoubtedly meant the gallows. He recognised that I was determined, and was completely nonplussed. "Henri, dear!" cried a voice outside the door. "Have you concluded your business? Do go and dress." Starting up wildly, he rushed to the door, and, turning the key, stood panting with his back against it. "Yes, in five minutes--in five minutes I--I shall be at liberty," he answered, with difficulty. Then we both listened, and heard a woman's footsteps receding along the corridor. "Have you decided?" I asked. Again he tottered across the room to his chair. "I--I have," he gasped hoarsely, with bent head. "What is your decision?" "That she shall escape. She must leave the country immediately. If the secret that I conspired to set her free ever transpires, my career is doomed. Have you any suggestion to offer as to--as to the manner the flight shall be accomplished?" "She must be placed on board an English ship," I said. "In the hotel I noticed a placard announcing the calling of the steam pleasure-yacht _Victoria_, and that the vessel will depart for Gibraltar and London at two o'clock to-morrow morning. Would there be any chance of sailing in her?" "Ah! I had forgotten! That vessel is now lying outside the harbour," he cried suddenly, looking up into my face. "A friend of mine is returning to England in her. He told me yesterday that there were several vacant berths. Seek Stuart Bankhardt, the agent in the Rampe Chasseloup-Laubat, and secure two places. Then go on board and wait." "Nothing else?" "No. The captain will be given an explanation, and your _fiancee_, in European dress, will be placed on board before you sail." Rising quickly, he went over to the telephone and rang the bell. In a few moments the answering bell tinkled, and into the transmitter he shouted-- "Send Jacques to my private room immediately." Turning again to me, he asked-- "Are you satisfied?" "If you fulfil your promise." "I shall," he answered hoarsely. "And you, on your part, swear before Heaven that my--my secret shall never pass your lips?" "I do." Grasping my hand quickly with cold, trembling fingers, he gripped it as in a vice, then, bowing stiffly, he said in a low, strained voice-- "_Bon soir, m'sieur. Adieu_." I murmured some words, expressing a hope that we should never again meet, and a few seconds later strode out and along the marble corridor to the great entrance hall. CHAPTER FORTY SIX. SOME AMAZING FACTS. With eyes eagerly strained in the direction of the harbour, where hundreds of lights shimmered upon the dark, restless waters, I leaned over the taffrail of the steam yacht in anxious expectation. We were anchored some distance outside the harbour, with our bows seaward. The clock of the mosque had struck half-past one. There was dead silence everywhere, save for the lazy lapping of the waves upon the sides of the steamer, and an occasional distant shout among the shipping inside the breakwater. Moon and stars had become obscured, but ever and anon the revolving light shed its white beams over many miles of shining water, appearing and disappearing with monotonous regularity. From the glass-covered roof of the saloon came a mellow glow of electricity that showed the bearded, rugged face of the solitary British sailor who paced the deck. On the extreme left of the White City, half concealed by the huge breakwater, loomed the great dark walls of Fort Bab Azzoun, wherein Zoraida was incarcerated, and from the shadows of which I expected every moment to see a boat emerge. But though time dragged on, and the escaping steam, increasing in volume, showed that we should soon weigh anchor, I could distinguish nothing. Minutes dragged like days. What if, after all, my efforts failed? Sailors tramped the deck, orders were shouted from the bridge, ropes were coiled, and a steam-winch whirred with metallic ring. At last the ship's bell tolled. It was two o'clock! Still I strained my eyes towards the land, but could detect no moving object. Had the Governor-General deceived me? As each precious moment went by, I began to think he had. From above an order was given, four seamen rushed past me, and in a few moments the anchor was being slowly hauled up. Three long dismal shrieks from the steam siren echoed over the water and among the hills, and just as they died away I heard a distant shout. Dashing headlong to the opposite side of the ship, and peering away into the darkness, my heart gave a bound, for approaching gradually nearer was a boat containing three occupants. It was hailed by the officer on the bridge, the electric signal rang into the engine-room, and the propeller, that had already begun to revolve, was immediately silent. Quickly the oars dipped, and the two rowers strained every muscle, until at last they drew alongside. A rope was thrown, made fast, and without delay a female figure, enveloped in a long dark travelling-cloak, the hood of which, drawn over her head, concealed her features, was hauled unceremoniously on board. "Where am I?" I heard her cry in Arabic, alarmed at finding herself standing on deck between two rough sailors, whose language was strange to her. Advancing quickly, I placed my hand upon her arm, replying in her own tongue-- "Have no fear. I have at last secured thy release. Thou art free! See! already we are on our way to England!" "Ah!--Ce-cil!" she cried gladly, flinging her arms around my neck, and shedding tears of joy. "I--I thought thou wert lost to me for ever!" "I made a promise which I have fulfilled," I said, leading her back to the taffrail, where, alone and unobserved, I kissed her fondly, she returning my caresses with a passion that showed how well she loved me. The dress she wore, though fitting her badly, was of a thick, coarse material, well adapted for travelling, but the cloak covered it, and beyond her speech there was nothing about her to show she was a child of the Desert. Her skin was almost as fair as an Englishwoman's, and her bright, luminous eyes had not become dimmed by the weeks of imprisonment, harsh treatment, and mental agony. As the captain signalled "full steam ahead," and the boat that had brought my idol from the shore was cast off with a shout of farewell, I told her briefly that I was taking her away to my own people, where we should be married and live always in ease and comfort. Locked in each other's arms, I related how I, at the last moment, had learned the key to the Great Secret from Mohammed ben Ishak, and how subsequently I had discovered the wonderful Treasure of Askia. "Yes," she said, bowing her head. "I knew of its existence, but dared not break my oath. Forgive me--forgive me!--I am not worthy to be thy wife." "Why?" "Because--because I allowed thee to risk thy life when I might have obviated thy danger by confessing all to thee," she answered, her trembling hand grasping my wrist. "Wilt thou explain everything to me now?" I asked. "Yes, everything," she said. "I have left my people. The bond between the Senousya and myself is broken, for I go now with thee to the country of the Roumis, and nothing have I to conceal. Ah! thou knowest not the grim tragedy of my life." "But thou hast given me wealth, and with thee I shall obtain perfect happiness." "I trust in thee," she said. "I go to thine unknown world with thee, for I know thou lovest me. Now that thou hast given me freedom and a new life, I will relate unto thee the story of my bitter past." Together we leaned upon the rail, and with the cool sea-breeze fanning our temples, we watched the ever-lengthening line of foam left by the propeller, as the distant, twinkling lights of the city faded in the gloom. The other passengers were below in their berths, and as we stood together unobserved, she explained to me things that I had through so many months regarded as impenetrable mysteries. "My traducers and my persecutors have always spoken of me as a daughter of the Ennitra," she commenced. "They were mistaken. I was in no way related to any of that fiendish band. My father was Sheikh of the Beni M'zab, and at his death he entrusted to me, his only child, an ancient tablet of wood, together with the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, telling me that for generations these had been in the possession of our family, and that they would lead to an extraordinary discovery; at the same time, causing me to take solemn oath to divulge nothing that he told me. I was held to secrecy by a bond of blood. About one moon after my father's death, our caravan encamped at the palms of El Maessifer, on the border of the Touat Oasis, and at night we were attacked by the Ennitra. The massacre was awful. The majority of our men were slaughtered, our caravan looted, and the women and children, myself included, carried off to Hadj Absalam's palace in the mountains. Already I had learned many feats of magic of the sorcerer of our tribe, and my father had initiated me as a priestess of the Senousya; so with the Crescent and the strangely-carved wooden tablet in my possession, I resolved to try, if possible, to preserve mine honour by declaring myself possessed of miraculous powers. Already had I heard that our enemies the Ennitra were highly superstitious, therefore I strove to impress my captors by performing some simple but astonishing feats of legerdemain. This so impressed the men who held me in bondage, that when we arrived at the palace, they brought me before Hadj Absalam, who himself witnessed some of my feats. He acknowledged himself astounded, and ordered me to be sent to his harem as a portion of the spoils of war." "To his harem?" I cried, interrupting. "Yes. An hour later he came to me, and it was then I produced the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, declaring that it bestowed upon its rightful owner good fortune and victory in the field. At once he desired to possess it, but I pointed out that the strange talisman would only bring ill-fortune to one who possessed himself of it forcibly, and at length succeeded in making a compact with him, whereby I should exert its mystic powers on behalf of his tribe, in return for which, he would refrain from taking me to his harem, and treat me as a daughter, and not as a wife. The arrangement was a perfectly equitable one, and proved satisfactory, for a week later, bearing the Crescent, I led an expedition against the Tedjehe-n'ou-Sidi with such success that we secured nineteen camel-loads of booty, and took one hundred and ninety prisoners. From that moment, though I hated Hadj Absalam and his crafty councillor Labakan, I became their leader and their prophetess. Through the regions of the Tanezrouft, the Ahaggar, and the Tidjoudjelt we rushed with fire and sword, always proving victorious. We were feared on every hand. Against the Spahis, Turcos, and Chasseurs we advanced time after time with the Drum of Nar--which had been captured from my tribe--spreading terror, panic, and death, until the people, with one accord, acknowledged that I was possessed of power supernatural. I became revered as a prophetess, and earned the appellation of Daughter of the Sun. Meanwhile, from the lips of a soothsayer, Hadj Absalam had learned a romantic, and not altogether unfounded, legend regarding the Crescent, and having obtained a vague suspicion of its mysterious connection with the Treasure of Askia, offered me my liberty if I could discover the whereabouts of the hidden jewels. Mohammed ben Ishak, who held the key to the mystery, was, however, in Agadez, and though I was striving always to elude the vigilance of my captors, yet I was utterly helpless." Briefly I told her of the _imam's_ tragic death at the hands of the marabout. "The old tomb-dweller, whom both Mohammed and I could cause to assume cataleptic rigidity at will, and who assisted at the Ramadan seances of the Senousya, was a deaf mute and a fanatic," she observed. "Doubtless he struck the blow, because he considered that by thine introduction to that place--one of the principal sanctuaries of the sect--Mohammed ben Ishak was revealing unto thee, an unbeliever, the secrets he had sworn to preserve." Then, continuing her story, she said: "At last, after the attack on the caravan of the worthy Ali Ben Hafiz, which resulted in thy capture, I saw thee for the first time and released thee. I confess I loved thee, and was determined to escape and become thy wife. Knowing so little of the manners of the Roumis, I believed that the most secure way in which to cause thee to reciprocate my affection, was to impress thee with an idea of my magical powers. With that object I caused thee to be conducted to Hadj Absalam's house in Algiers, where I took thee below to the subterranean meeting-place of the supreme council of the Senousya, and there showed thee some marvels of magic to mystify thee. The snakes thou sawest were those used in the religious rites of the Aissawa, but quite harmless, being kept merely to create an impression of mystical power. I raised from his tomb a marabout,--who, though apparently dead, was only in a cataleptic state,--by an effort of the will, the secret of which was imparted to me by my dead father; and by a feat of magic I caused to be revealed to thee the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, sending thee away to distant Agadez, in order that thou shouldest learn the key of the mystery from the chief _imam_, the only person besides myself who knew of the inscription upon the wooden tablet. He was my father's half-brother, and had left our tribe to devote his life to the administration of the daily prayers in the City of the Sorcerers. At the moment thou hadst left me, Hadj Absalam returned. He had detected thy presence, and in a frenzy of passion struck me down, causing the wound in my side that thou hast already witnessed. While alone with me, thou hadst promised to seek no explanation of any of the mysteries until thou hadst returned to Agadez. In order, therefore, to test thy faith in me, I caused to be sent thee the hand of a dead servant, upon the finger of which I placed my rings with thine. I little dreamed, however, that I was so closely watched, or that Hadj Absalam had ordered Labakan to follow, regain possession of the Crescent, and assassinate thee. After thou hadst left for Agadez, I heard from time to time of thee, until suddenly there came the startling news of thy capture and thy detention within the Fada. At once I proposed to the Ennitra an attack upon Agadez, pointing out that, owing to the assassination of the Sultan, the country was in a disturbed state. A great council was held, and the prospect of the enormous amount of loot that might be secured caused them to decide upon carrying out my proposal. Little time was lost, although, alas! in the meantime Labakan had followed thee, and secured thy release in order to kill thee. Of the attack, the victory, and the horrible massacre thou art well aware." "I am. It was frightful." "Ah! believe me, it was not my fault. True, I suggested the attack, but it was in order to secure thy release, so that thou couldst gain the Great Secret, and discover the Treasure that would bring me liberty, and wealth unto thee. I had no idea but that thou wert still a slave within the palace, until thy sudden arrival with my waiting-maid Halima at our camp. Then I dared not withdraw, and was compelled to send forth the Drum of Nar, and lead our fierce band onward into battle. Then, alas! even before we had fully occupied the city, the French troops descended upon us, and after a desperate conflict we fell into their hands." "Hadj Absalam and Labakan will receive their due reward. They will be hurried to the guillotine," I said. "None will mourn for them. Both were equally crafty and brutal; incapable of fidelity, even to their firmest friends. They plotted to take thy life; and at the moment they had secured possession of Agadez, Hadj Absalam was prepared to break his compact with me, and compel me to become his wife." "But thou hast escaped it all," I said cheerily. "In London thou wilt become my wife, and we shall live together always." "Ah! Cecil, I--I love thee so dearly. I regret nothing, if only thou wilt grant me forgiveness." "I do forgive thee, dearest," I answered. "Thou hast broken the fetters that have bound thee to Al-Islam, and, on the threshold of a new life, I wish thee all the happiness that a devoted lover can wish his bride. Thou knowest well how strong is my affection; how utterly I am thine." She kissed me, holding her lips to mine in a lingering, passionate caress. "Thou hast not explained to me the Secret of the Crescent," I continued, presently. "How can I?" she answered, looking away to where the yellow streak of dawn was widening. "I know so little--so very little of it myself." "But the strange inscription upon it? Hast thou never deciphered it?" "Yes. It is in the Cufic character, and the words are, `In the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful.'" "And the mystic picture I witnessed on gazing into the mirror of the _imam_. What was it?" "It was a representation of the death of Askia, that was already prepared for thee, in order that thou mightest more readily recognise the spot where the Treasure lieth hidden." "Canst thou not explain the reason of the strange phenomenon induced by the application of the Crescent to my brow?" I inquired. "The only explanation is rendered here," she replied, drawing from the breast of her dress a small oblong tablet of some dark, hard wood, about six inches long by four wide, worn and polished by age. "See!" and, taking it across to where the light shone through the stained glass roof of the saloon, she added, "Dost thou behold a carved inscription?" "Yes," I answered, glancing at it eagerly. "Therein lieth the secret. Mohammed ben Ishak--on whom may the Merciful have mercy!--was well learned in occult things, and it was he who translated it to me, for, as thou seest, it is likewise carved in Cufic. According to his rendering, this writing is a record of the Sultan Askia, who states hereby that whomsoever believeth in the legend of his hidden treasure a thousand years after his decease, so shall he take the Crescent to the spot--which was indicated to thee by the dead _imam_-- and then shall the whereabouts of the concealed jewels be revealed." "But to what unseen force dost thou attribute its marvellous power of producing an exteriorised image?" "The inscription further states that so wealthy was the Sultan that he discarded his Great White Diadem, which was of purest gold and diamonds of the first water, and had caused to be constructed a strange semicircle of steel, tempered like a Damascus blade. This emblem of strength he wore upon his head instead of a crown, and it is this which we now know as the Crescent of Glorious Wonders." "His crown?" I exclaimed, in abject amazement. "Yes. The inscription telleth us that the steel was treated in such a manner that when placed upon the head of one possessed of a more powerful will than his fellows, it would, in manner most remarkable, retain the thoughts of its wearer, and transfer them to the person who next assumed it. The Crescent was worn by Askia at the time he concealed his treasure, and though a thousand years have elapsed since that day, yet, by placing it upon thy brow, unto thee there was transmitted the dead Sultan's secret thoughts, which, reproducing the scene in thy mind, have enabled thee to unearth the jewels." "Extraordinary!" I ejaculated. "But could not another person have learned the clue to the Great Mystery by the same method?" "No, not unless he knew the spot whereon to stand before he put the Crescent to the test. I myself have secretly tried it, but the cave wherein the Treasure lieth hidden hath never been revealed unto me. Only Mohammed ben Ishak knew in what direction or in what country to seek it. The Crescent was in my possession, and he alone could furnish the key to its secret." "Wonderful!" I said. "The story is astounding, and would be absolutely beyond belief were it not for the fact that I have already in my cabin below some of the jewels recovered from the dead Sultan's hoard. The transference of thought by means of this crescent of magnetised steel, the horns of which acted as positive and negative poles, must be one of the many marvels which, though known to the ancients, have been lost to us for ages." I had read much of Dr Luys' extraordinary discoveries regarding hypnotic suggestion, which seemed to deny the existence of free will, for the assertion that the will of one person could be implanted into that of another had been proved over and over again; yet the power to produce this mysterious _rapport_ was, I felt certain, a strange and startling development of what the European scientific world now terms magnetism; in fact, nothing less than a confirmation of Dr Burq's metalo-therapeutic theory that for so many years has puzzled the doctors of the Salpetriere, and to the investigation of which Dr Chareot devoted so much earnest labour. The love of the marvellous is one of the characteristics of the human race; and contemporary discoveries do not tend to diminish our inclination. Indeed, they extend the limits of the impossible, rendering us more credulous in regard to new ideas. Yet, were not many of the startling phenomena that have recently been discovered at the Charite known in the East ages ago; were not the facts that we believe new and miraculous, common knowledge at that time, and utilised in daily practice? The absorption of thought by a band of magnetised steel was a startling fact, nevertheless the theory was, as I afterwards found, not an altogether unknown one. In the scientific domain nothing can be declared absolute, and this disclosure, marvellous and incomprehensible as it appeared, was, nevertheless, but a re-discovery of a mystical force which the ancients had accepted without seeking the cause, and the knowledge of which had been lost and forgotten by later generations. "Is there nothing more thou hast to tell me, Zoraida?" I asked, my arm stealing around her waist, as I drew her towards me. "Nothing," she answered. "This carved tablet, a portion of the strange heirloom that hath been in my family through so many years, and hath brought thee wealth, I give unto thee. I have no further explanation to make regarding my past--only to tell thee that from the first hour we met, when I was enabled to sever the bonds that held thee to the asp, I have, loved thee;" and as her head pillowed itself upon my breast, I bent, kissing her white brow with fervent devotion. "Thou art snatched from an ignominious death,--or a fate worse even than the guillotine,--and thou art mine for ever, Zoraida. Thou goest with me to mine own world, a world that to thee will be strange and full of marvels; nevertheless, we shall be happy in each other's love always-- always." Her tiny hand clasped in mine tightened and trembled as she raised her beautiful face. "I have looked with thoughts of love upon no man but thee, Cecil," she said. "To thee I owe my liberty, my life! Thou art mine own--mine own;" and our lips met, sealing a lifelong compact. CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN. CONCLUSION. The events that followed, although startling, may be briefly related. On arrival in London, I saw by the newspapers that a most profound sensation had been caused throughout Algeria by Zoraida's escape. In explaining the flight of the beautiful leader of the Ennitra, the published dispatches hinted vaguely at the possibility of a "prominent colonial official" being seriously compromised. It was apparent that the secret was out! Breathlessly I opened the papers each morning, and read eagerly of the trial, condemnation, and eventually of the execution of Hadj Absalam and Labakan. But a telegram contained in the _Standard_ on the very morning that Zoraida and I were quietly married at St Paul's, Knightsbridge, was the most sensational of all. It reported that on the previous afternoon Monsieur de Largentiere, the Governor-General of Algeria, had been found in his private room shot through the temple by his own hand! A revolver was found beside him, and upon his writing-table there lay a letter begging forgiveness of his wife, and--in the words of the correspondent--"the communication contained a very extraordinary statement," the truth of which was being investigated. Its purport I easily guessed. The reason which prompted him to take his life was made plain by Octave Uzanne, who, two months later, called upon me and explained in confidence how, on the day previous to the terrible _denouement_, he sought an interview with the assassin of Jack Fothergill, asserting that he intended to return to France, and that if he were arrested upon the warrant still out against him, he should denounce him as the murderer. Octave likewise told him of the existence of the victim's letter, by which he meant to prove an _alibi_, and to which I had already referred. This, combined with the revelation made by one of the boatmen he had employed, that he was implicated in Zoraida's escape, apparently caused him to take his life rather than face the terrible charges against him. Six months afterwards, Octave and Madame de Largentiere were married in Paris, where they still live, in a pretty house in the Avenue des Champs-Elysees. Frequently they are our guests at our Kensington flat;--although Madame Uzanne has never recognised me as the Governor-General's visitor, and is still ignorant of the guilt of her late husband, for she regards his suicide as having been committed during a sudden fit of insanity, brought on by the heavy responsibilities of his office. As for the Treasure of Askia, the whole of it has been recovered and sold by a syndicate formed in the City for that purpose. The jewels, the major portion of which, of course, fell to my share, were found to be of enormous value, their size astonishing the dealers, who, in many cases, were at first inclined to reject them as spurious imitations. In Amsterdam and Paris they created a great sensation, and sold for fabulous sums, several of the gems having now been added to the regalia of Queen Victoria and the Sultan of Turkey. Zoraida, who is now beginning to chatter English fluently, no longer looks askance at our insular manners. Though she has exchanged her _serroual_ and zouave for a tailor-made gown, and her little pearl-embroidered skull-cap for a milliner's _confection_ of feathers and flowers, yet, happily, our civilisation does not civilise her to feminine foibles. Still an Oriental, she views many of our customs with a horror that oft-times causes me considerable amusement, but she is never so happy as when at evening, in the fitful light thrown by my study fire, she comes to gossip over the teacups in her native Arabic. Seldom, however, she recalls the horrors of those bygone days when she was Queen of the Sahara, and never without a shudder. She is supremely content in her new world, and has left for ever the parched glaring wilderness that once was her home. In Society she has become popular, and her "at homes" are always crowded. Sometimes, when visiting, she will sing an Arab song, and entertain a small circle of her closest friends by giving them selections of music upon Arab instruments. The intricacies of piano-strumming she has never mastered. On every hand, indeed, my graceful desert-bride receives boundless admiration. There are many beautiful women in London, but it is agreed, I believe, that the countenance of none is more perfect in its symmetry and more pleasing in its expression than that of the Daughter of the Sun. The Omen of the Camel's Hoof has not, after all, been finally fulfilled, for we live an almost idyllic life of peaceful bliss. My wife's diamonds, which are so often commented upon by the papers, are the same that for a thousand years constituted the magnificence of the Great White Diadem. The little wooden tablet, upon which is inscribed the key to the extraordinary enigma, is preserved in my study; the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, with its mystic geometrical device, is a conspicuous object upon the wall, and over it, suspended by its original thongs of camel's hide, there hangs the worn and battered Drum of Nar. They formed my wife's dowry, and, besides demonstrating a remarkable scientific fact, they have brought us sufficient of this world's riches to secure us ease and luxury. Truly, my lot has fallen in a fair place. At last, in the bright sunshine of Zoraida's affection, the most perfect happiness is mine. The End.