Chapter VII
Free! Free once more. With a glorious feeling of elation I bounded off across the desert. Glancing over my shoulder I saw that I had accomplished my get-away without attracting attention. Azad’s men were streaming steadily northward, a low cloud of dust marking their progress. I watched intently for any sign of pursuit but none came. From the unfortunate tribesman who had ridden my mount I feared no further trouble. The strength of my hands is a constant surprise to me and when I twisted the fellow’s head I had heard something crack with the ominous, final snap of a too-tightly wound toy. Unless I was very much mistaken the creature was permanently out of order.
My hours of unconsciousness and captivity must have been longer than I realized for I noted that the day was far spent. This was a source of comfort to me for hope sprang in my breast that thesun would disappear before the treacherous scoundrel I had evaded could come up with the Wimpole caravan. Unconsciously I encouraged the orb of day in his descent, urging him with prayers and curses to sink as rapidly as possible. Sheltered by night the cortege of my lady might yet pass a few hours in safety, hours fraught with fiendish anxiety for me.
My plans for the future hung on a gossamer thread of chance, that of locating the Wells of Tabala to which, according to Azad’s informant, my faithful Moplahs had repaired. My only indication was the vague one of direction. The wells lay to the eastward and eastward the star of Traprock took its way, blindly, desperately. Pray Heaven my men would go slowly and cautiously as they might well do considering my absence.
After an hour’s hard riding when all traces of the enemy had faded into nothingness I paused and from an inner pocket drew out my map of the Sahara. As I feared it was too small in scale to be of definite advantage. Imaginary lines such as the Tropic of Cancer, the 20th Parallel and numerous meridians were shown with perfect distinctness. These would have served admirably had I been going to an imaginary place but the Wells ofTabala were of poignantly definite import and of them there was no trace. With a sigh of resignation I thrust the document back in its case and took up the reins.
These first leagues of my journey were by no means as uneventful as they sound. The reader must remember that my horse and I were utter strangers to each other. This the mare resented with all the fire of the most pure-blooded Arabian steed than which no animal is more difficult when aroused. With true feminine deceptiveness she concealed her feeling for a considerable period during which we gathered tremendous speed. Then suddenly, after a great leap in air, she landed stiff-legged, stock-still in a cloud of sand. Fortunately I had taken care to twist the Bassikunu cloak firmly about the pommel of the saddle or all had been lost. As it was I flew straight on over the animal’s head, fetching up with a snap and swinging downward violently at her feet. She immediately reared, endeavoring to kill me with her sharp hoofs. I now hung like a human apron under her foaming muzzle, her eyes luckily being blinded by the heavy folds. In a trice I threw my arms about the thrashing knees, and, quickly slipping my grip down to the fetlocks, crossed her fore-legs,throwing my full strength against her shoulder as she fell. With a whimper of defeat the gallant beast rolled over on her side while I sat comfortably on her head and regained my breath, thanking my stars for the years of experience on our western plains which now stood me in such good stead.
Then, unwrapping the burnous, I looked long and steadily into the blood-shot eyes of the animal below me. Gradually the wild gaze softened until with a sigh of resignation the soft lids dropped and the tense neck relaxed. As plainly as a horse could the mare said “I surrender; you are my master.”
I instantly rose, taking the animal at her word and she stood peacefully still while I tightened the girths. From then on there was no more trouble from that quarter.
If we had travelled fast before we now fairly flew. The sorrel swung steadily on as if to make amends for her past captiousness. By this time the sun was below the horizon and purple shadows vast and threatening rose from the wastes about me, vague towers and impalpable wraiths of darkness that loomed and fled. The low voice of the night wind began its sobbing. Often there would come to my ear the sound of a broken, inarticulate sentence as if some inhuman tongue had babbled amysterious language: again the gray shape of a jackal glided swiftly along the edge of my vision or a desert rat scuttled across my path. As the darkness deepened it became peopled with all manner of visionary terrors and I could readily understand and accept the myriad djinns, evil spirits and ghosts of the misty East.
An hour later, as my heart sank lower, the sorrel suddenly checked her stride, faltered and came to a full stop. “Poor brute,” I thought, “you are spent. It is the beginning of the end.” But as if to contradict me she thrust out her nose and neighed shrilly, following this by a cautious advance. Plainly she had detected something of which I was not aware. Sure enough, a hundred yards farther on I caught the sound of low moaning, pitiful but inexpressibly human and comforting in that dark wilderness. We made our way quickly in the direction of the sound and were soon rewarded by seeing a vague black form against the desert grayness. Hastily dismounting I bent over the object.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Pity ... pity....” begged a weak voice.
ZALOOFA“She was a Circassian, lured from the convent-school of snake-charmers at Timbuctoo.”
Zaloofa
Bending lower I saw that the speaker was a woman, young and beautiful, her pale features haggard to the point of exhaustion. When I hadgiven her a reviving draught from my emergency flask and assured her of my friendly attitude she outlined her pitiful story. It was another sample of Azad’s dastardly work. She was a Circassian, lured from the Convent-school of snake-charmers at Timbuctoo. For a month she had been the sheik’s favorite, then cast aside, poisoned as he thought and left to bleach on the sands. But her constant inoculation with the venom of her pets had made her practically immune to the deadly toxin and for three days she had lain helpless ’neath the furious sun, struggling to reach Tabala.
“Tabala!” At the word I sprang up. “Whither?” I cried. “Tell me quickly. I go but to procure aid.”
“’Tis not far,” she murmured. “An hour’s ride, perhaps, under yon constellation of El Whizbang.” And with the words she lapsed into unconsciousness. Covering her gently with my cloak I leaped into the saddle. Bright above me glistened the starry diadem of El Whizbang and once more the sorrel and I thundered on through the night, our hearts alight with courage and hope.
The desert woman’s direction was straight and sure. With startling suddenness a group of tall palms sprang into being. The neighing of myexcited mare roused muffled cries, movement, bustle and confusion as vague tents disgorged their startled inmates. “Swank! Whinney, Ab-Do-men!” I shouted.
Answering shouts of “Traprock” pierced the night.
There was no time lost in parley. A brief pause for rest, a change of costume, a fresh mount and with twenty picked men armed to the teeth I turned back over a road I was not likely to forget.
“Westward-ho!” I shouted, heading the gallant troop, and we thundered off to the rescue of all that I held most dear.