CHAPTER IX.A CLOSE SHAVE.
A brief pause, then the gates swung on creaking hinges, and the caravan filed in between the dingy walls that had reared themselves for centuries from the summit of that hill.
For an instant a hush of curiosity fell on the multitude within, as the caravan appeared; but as the Arab leader suddenly trailed in the dust the English flag that had once floated from the fortifications of Zaila a great shout arose, so that the very air seemed to tremble, and the people pressed tumultuously on the caravan from all sides.
“Zaila has fallen! Zaila has fallen!” they cried, and with wild joy they beat their arms in the air, while those in the rear sought the house-tops, so as better to see the new arrivals.
In the first excitement Guy and Melton had escaped notice, but now they were suddenly espied, and the sight of the two hated Englishmen roused the passions to the highest pitch of ferocity. The foreigners’ presence in the town was a sacrilege, an insult, and with threats and angry cries the mob surged round the group. At last, so great was the crush, the camels were forced to halt.
“Kill the infidels! Kill the dogs of unbelievers!”howled the multitude, and waxing more furious with every shout, they drew daggers and knives and raised their spears.
The Arabs had quietly closed round Guy and Melton, forming with their camels a protective circle, and this alone saved the Englishmen from death. But every instant the situation was becoming more critical. The mob grew bolder, and even tried to force the group apart in spite of the protestations of the Arabs, who had begun to point their rifles threateningly. Hundreds of savage faces glared unutterable hatred at the two strangers, hundreds of wretches were thirsting for their blood, and, finally roused to uncontrollable fury, the crowd swept impetuously against the caravan from all sides.
The frightened camels pranced and reared, and the cordon of defense suddenly broken, a dozen savages rushed on Guy and Melton. A long spear pierced Forbes under the arm and down he went beneath the camels.
A burly wretch dashed at Guy with a dagger, but the Arab brought down the butt of his rifle on the fellow’s head just in time, as he dropped like a log.
A man behind hurled his spear, but his aim was poor, and, instead of striking Guy, it entered the poor camel’s neck; the beast, plunging madly forward, hurled Guy and the Arab to the ground.
This alone saved their lives. As Guy staggered tohis feet, cries of quite a different nature burst from the mob, and in fright and panic they began to scatter in all directions. The rattle of musketry broke out some distance ahead, and the Arabs, joining in eagerly, began to empty their rifles into the fleeing mass.
The Englishmen were saved. A compact body of men in linen tunics and leopard skin caps came sweeping forward. They were armed with rifles, and as they ran they kept shooting into the struggling crowd which was shrieking and groaning with agony.
In five minutes the place was deserted, and the stony ground was literally covered with bodies. It was a terrible example of Rao Khan’s despotic rule.
Melton was lifted up, and to Guy’s deep sorrow it was seen that he had received an ugly thrust along the side, not of a serious nature, but ragged and painful.
Two of the Emir’s troopers, for such they proved to be, carried him, for he was unable to walk or ride.
Guy and the Arab mounted a fresh camel, first putting the wounded animal out of his misery, and then, preceded by the Emir’s guard, the caravan resumed its march up the street.
The first sight of Harar was novel and interesting. Before them was a long avenue, fully a mile in length, at the extreme end of which could be dimlyseen the northern wall of the town. This avenue was like a barren mountain road, strewn with rubbish and heaps of rocks, and the dwellings, which rose on all sides to the height of two stories, were, many of them, constructed of sandstone and granite, cemented with a reddish clay. They were impressively gloomy and clingy.
The terrible scene just enacted had terrorized the people. Many Arabs came flocking across the streets and exchanged greetings with the newcomers, but very few Somalis or Gallas were to be seen. The sight of the Emir’s guard seemed to have stricken the town like a palsy. The shops and booths were closed and deserted. The curtains of the houses were closely drawn; here and there at the doors lay goods that had been dropped in the sudden panic, and at one place a man lay dead across the threshold, still clutching in his stiffened fingers a bunch of brightly colored rugs.
But now the scene became animated and lively; people flocked out from their houses, among them many women, whom Guy regarded curiously, for they seemed to be of quite a different type from the men, and passably good-looking. They made no demonstration, however, but very quietly followed the caravan.
The center of the town was now close at hand, and a short distance ahead, on the left-hand side,rose a more imposing abode than those around it. It was built of granite, and above the flat roof rose a square tower with circular windows. It boasted a spacious courtyard, inclosed by a low stone parapet, and within this space were a dozen armed guards, clad in leopard skin caps, and bearing brightly polished rifles.
It was the palace of the Emir. As the caravan drew up to the gates the escort sounded a blast of trumpets, and almost immediately the doors were opened and a grave and dignified Arab came slowly out.
He spoke a few words to the leader of the caravan, who dismounted at once, and bidding Guy follow him, entered the courtyard. Close behind him came Melton, borne by the soldiers.
Passing between the guard, they entered a narrow vestibule hung with rich curtains, and in a moment more were ushered into the dreaded presence of Rao Kahn.
The Emir was seated on a low dais at the further side of a spacious apartment. The first glance struck terror to Guy’s heart. Rao Khan was a short, thickset man, with a round, smooth face. His eyes were sunken deeply under the forehead, and the expression of his face was a strange blending of brutality, avarice, and treachery. He was simply clad in white linen, with a great sword at his side, and on hishead was a leopard skin cap, so constructed that the tail of the leopard hung down his back.
Before him squatted four solemn-faced Arabs. The floor was spread with rugs and the skins of various animals, and on the heavily curtained walls hung a dazzling array of every description, bronze and copper shields, and strips of oddly-woven tapestry. At sight of the English flag which the Arab now produced, the Emir’s eyes sparkled, his face lit up with fiendish joy, and he began to talk wildly in a strange tongue.
The Arab replied, giving him no doubt an account of the insurrection, for the names Berbera, Zaila, and Makar Makalo were frequently mentioned.
Guy, from his position at Melton’s side, who had been placed on a soft lion skin, watched the strange scene with wonder. He was more worried at present about Melton than anything else. The spear wound had not yet been dressed, and the poor fellow was in too much pain even to talk.
At last the Arab turned round, and, pointing to the Englishmen, spoke in a low tone to the Emir, who half rose from his seat and looked sharply at the captives.
Guy met his gaze calmly and steadily. In a moment the suspense would be over, and their fate would be decided one way or the other.
CHAPTER X.THE SLAVE PRISON.
The Emir’s reply was brief and apparently forcible. He clapped his hands, and half a dozen soldiers appeared instantly. He addressed them with a word or two, but before they could execute his orders, Guy hastened forward and said to the Arab, “I pray you have my friend’s wound dressed. He is suffering much pain.”
The Arab addressed the Emir, pointing to the wounded man, and then, turning to Guy, he said, “It is well. Rao Khan will see to the Inglis man.”
Guy would have sought more information, but the soldiers now came forward and picking Melton up motioned Guy to follow them. They passed out of the apartment by a rear door, and traversing a long hall, entered a big courtyard.
On the right and left were high stone walls, and directly opposite was a low, gloomy sandstone structure, with one narrow door opening on the court.
Here were standing more armed guards, who obsequiously opened the door for the approaching captives.
As they passed through the gloomy portal Guy’s heart sank. His eyes at first could see nothing butdarkness, and he blindly followed his conductors until they came to a stop. A heavy door was closed and bolted behind him, and then all was silent.
In a few seconds he was able to see his surroundings. He was in a square dungeon, lighted by a narrow aperture high up in the wall. The floor was of stone, strewn with straw. Melton sat up and leaned against the wall.
“Where are we, Chutney?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” answered Guy; “in some sort of prison, I suppose. Why—hello, Melton, here are iron rings sunk in the floor all along the side.”
“That settles it, then,” rejoined Melton. “This is Rao Khan’s slave prison. I don’t suppose there are many inmates now while the fair is going on.”
Approaching footsteps put an end to the conversation, and in a moment the door opened to admit a tall Arab, followed by a native with bandages and a basin of water.
The Arab quietly loosened Melton’s shirt and coat, and, washing the wound, wrapped bandages spread with some soft ointment round his body. He did the work speedily and dexterously, and then departed as silently as he had come. He had barely gone, however, when a soldier entered with a tray containing dates, figs, and a peculiar kind of cakes, which he placed before the prisoners. They ate with relish, and then, overcome by weariness, they lay down on the straw and fell asleep.
It was some hours later when Guy awoke. Night had come, for no light shone through the aperture. He lay for some time listening to Melton’s deep breathing and thinking of their terrible situation.
He was not without hope of deliverance, for he placed a great deal of faith in Makar’s promise; yet even then the chances were against them. Perhaps at this very moment Zaila had been retaken, and Makar was killed or a prisoner. If this should happen they were lost. Guy shuddered to think of Rao Khan’s vengeance under such circumstances.
Presently he became aware of vague noises somewhere in the distance. He fancied he heard shots fired and a loud tumult of voices.
He thought it might be imagination, but suddenly the sounds increased, and once or twice footsteps hurried past the dungeon. The noise now woke Melton, and together they listened, convinced that it was a presentiment of coming evil. The strange sounds rose and fell, at times nearly dying away and then bursting out with renewed violence.
“I can’t understand it at all,” said Guy. “It can’t be a rejoicing over the capture of Zaila, for they are plainly cries of anger.”
“We’ll know pretty soon what it means,” returned Melton; “it concerns us, you may be sure.”
In his excitement he arose and began to pace the floor. His wound was giving him no pain, he said,adding that he really felt pretty well again.
At last the shouts seemed to come a little nearer, and before long the fierce, angry cries were heard close at hand.
“They are surrounding the prison,” said Guy, huskily.
He was right. A howling mob was on all sides of them now, and it was quite clear that they were beginning to attack the walls of the courtyard, for suddenly half a dozen shots were fired as though the guards were resisting the invaders.
It was a period of terrible suspense. The shouts increased, the firing grew heavier, powder-smoke drifted into the prison; but just when they expected to see their dungeon door torn open by a mad swarm of fanatics the uproar suddenly ceased.
A full minute of silence followed, and then on the night air rose a howl of triumph, so savage, so vindictive, that Guy and Melton shivered from head to foot. For some reason the attack had been suddenly abandoned. What that reason was they could only surmise.
The silence continued. The invaders had dispersed. Sleep was impossible, and they passed the time in conversation until a streak of light, flickering through the opening, showed that morning had come.
Food and drink were brought in. The prisonersate sparingly. The shadow of a great calamity was overhanging.
“I am just as sure,” said Melton, “that something will shortly happen, as I am that you and I are in Rao Khan’s slave prison at Harar.”
“Listen,” answered Guy.
Footsteps approached. The door creaked and opened, and a man entered. With a cry of wonder Guy and Melton sprang to their feet. The newcomer was bronzed and burnt, he had light hair, a mustache and a soft blond beard, but he wore trousers and a tunic of white linen.
The surprise was mutual. The stranger scanned them closely from head to foot.
“Who are you?” cried Guy hoarsely. “Can it be possible that you are an Englishman—an Englishman in Harar?”
The man paused a moment, and then said quietly: “I am a Greek. My name is Canaris Mataplan. At present I am an interpreter to Rao Khan, the Emir.”
“But your English?” cried Melton. “It is perfect.”
“I was a cafe-keeper at Cairo for seven years,” replied the Greek. “I learned English there.”
An embarrassing pause now occurred. It was certain that the Greek was the bearer of tidings from the Emir. No one dared speak. At last the Greek said quietly: “You are truly unfortunate. Tell mehow you came here. I know that Zaila has fallen into the possession of Rao Khan’s emissaries. I know nothing else.”
Guy briefly told the tale, and Canaris listened quietly.
“Fools!” he said. “The English will be in Zaila again in a month.”
“And you?” rejoined Guy. “What brought you to Harar?”
“I left Cairo for Calcutta,” said Canaris. “The steamer was lost off Cape Guardafui; ten of us reached shore in a boat; the Somalis slaughtered all but myself. I was sold to the Arabs and came ultimately to Harar. I was useful to Rao Khan in many ways, and my life was spared. I have been here two years, two long years. I shall never see Greece again,” he added gloomily. “I am a slave to the Emir for life.”
“Is escape then impossible?” asked Guy.
“Absolutely. Between here and the coast is the desert. To the south are the bloodthirsty Gallas. No, no; one can never escape from Harar.”
The tramp of the guard was heard in the corridor, and a sudden change passed over the Greek’s face.
“I have come from Rao Khan,” he said in a low voice. “He sends me with a message.”
He paused.
“Go on,” said Guy; “we are listening.” He was breathing heavily.
“Two hours after you arrived here yesterday morning,” resumed Canaris, “Rao Khan despatched the Arabs to Zaila again, in company with two hundred of his best soldiers, who will assist in holding the town. They had scarcely gone when an insurrection broke out. The people were angered at the slaughter done by the Emir’s troops when they rescued you from the crowd. It is an ancient law in Harar that every Christian stranger who enters her gates must die. Englishmen are most detested of all. The populace became maddened and furious; from all quarters of the town they came, clamoring, demanding your lives. When Rao Khan called out his remaining troops they refused to fire. The people, they said, were right. A very few remained faithful to the Emir. The mob surrounded the palace and the prison; they tried to scale the walls; the guards in the court fired on them. Then Rao Khan appeared and spoke to the angry crowd. He begged them to wait. He told them that you belonged not to him, but that Makar Makalo had sent you here for safe-keeping, that you were the slaves of Makar Makalo. The people only howled in derision. They became more angry and infuriated, and refused to listen any longer. ‘The Englishmen must die!’ they cried. Rao Khan was fearful in his anger. Buthe was powerless. He feared the destruction of the palace, the loss of his own life.” Here Canaris paused and looked with infinite pity at the Englishmen.
Guy tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. Melton laid his hand on the Greek’s arm. “Go on, go on,” he whispered hoarsely. “We are men, not cowards. Let us know the worst.”
CHAPTER XI.CANARIS UNFOLDS A TALE.
“Well,” said Canaris, “I will tell you. Rao Khan has promised your lives to the people. It was his only hope, and now, his word once given, he will not dare to break it.”
Melton covered his face with his hands, and Guy staggered backward.
“When?” he cried huskily. “Today?”
“No,” said Canaris, “not today. The Emir bids me tell you that you will have four days yet to live. On the fifth day you will die by the executioner, in the square of the town.”
They shuddered as these dreadful words fell from the Greek’s lips.
“Is there no hope, then, at all?” said Melton. “Let us know the worst at once and be done with it.”
Canaris made no reply for a moment. His eyes were fixed on the floor, and he seemed to be thinking deeply. When he looked up the expression of his face was changed. A strange light shone in his eye, a mixture of triumph and fear.
“I can tell you nothing now,” he said hastily. “Tonight you shall have an answer. But tell me, how is your wound?”
“Better,” replied Melton. “I can scarcely feel it at all.”
“Good,” said Canaris. “Now do just as I tell you. Lie down on the straw; pretend that you are much worse; moan loudly from time to time, and when I come tonight I shall have something to impart to you.”
With this strange admonition, Canaris hastily left the dungeon and the guard rebolted the door.
“Is the fellow crazy?” said Melton. “What can he mean to do?”
“Crazy?” rejoined Guy. “No; I have a strange faith in that man, Melton. Do just as he tells you and see what turns up tonight.”
With much grumbling Melton assumed the part of a very sick man. He rather overdid the thing, in fact, for twice the guard opened the door and looked in. About noon food was brought, and from that time no one came near them.
The minutes dragged along like hours. They tried to forget the awful fate that stared them in the face, but in spite of the Greek’s encouraging words the future looked very black.
At last the feeble light in their dungeon began to fade away, and soon they were in darkness.
“The fellow will never come back,” said Melton bitterly. “It’s all up with us, Chutney, so don’t try to raise any more false hopes.”
But Guy refused to give up, and his faith was rewarded. Quick footsteps approached the dungeon, the bolts rattled, and Canaris entered with a rude lamp and a leather case, which he placed carefully on the floor.
Then he pulled a paper from his pocket and waved it gleefully.
“See,” he cried, “a permit from Rao Khan, admitting me to the prison at all times. I told him that your wound was very bad, that the Arab doctor had failed to help you, and that I knew enough of English surgery to cure you if he would allow it. Rao Khan reluctantly consented, and here I am.”
He listened intently for a moment, glanced round the dungeon, and then went on in a low, excited tone:
“Get close together. I have something important to tell you.”
They squatted down in a group on the straw, and with a strange, exultant sparkle in his eyes, Canaris began:
“When I came to Harar two years ago this very cell held a white slave, like yourselves an Englishman. He was an old man, with long white hair and beard, and had been so long in slavery that he had forgotten his own name and could scarcely speak the English tongue.
“My duties then were to carry food and drinkto the slaves, and before long I was on intimate terms with the old Englishman. He was very ill, and the Arab doctors made him no better. Perhaps it was old age that was the trouble, but at all events he died two months after I came. At different times he had told me the story of his life, and that is what I am going to tell you now.
“He had been thirty years in slavery. How and where he had been captured he could no longer remember. His mind was a blank on that point. But one thing he told me that is important. For twenty years he had lived among the Gallas in a village fifty miles to the south of Harar, and it was a few years after he had been brought there that he nearly succeeded in making his escape.
“He had often heard from the natives of an underground river that was said to exist, and which emptied either into the River Juba or into the sea. The tales concerning the river were many and strange, but the chief of the Gallas assured him that at one time a tribe of natives had lived in the mouth of a huge cavern which gave access to the river.”
“I have heard something of that myself,” interrupted Melton. “An Arab at Zanzibar told me, but I never had any faith in the story.”
“That river exists,” said Canaris solemnly. “The Englishman found it.”
“What!” cried Guy and Melton in one breath. “He found the underground river?”
“Yes, he discovered it,” resumed Canaris. “He found it one day while hunting in a concealed cavern. He ventured down and came to a great sandy beach, past which flowed swiftly a broad stream. On the beach lay half a dozen strong canoes with paddles. All this he saw by the light that streamed in from narrow crevices overhead. He went back to the village and began to lay aside provisions for the journey, for he intended making his escape by the river. In a week all was ready. He had concealed near the cavern supplies for a long voyage. The very day fixed for his escape he was sold to a Galla chief who lived twenty miles distant. In the years that followed he made many attempts to escape, but on every occasion was captured and brought back. At last he was given as tribute to the Emir by this Galla chief, and here in this dungeon, on the spot you are sitting on now, he breathed his last.”
Canaris paused and helped himself to a glass of water.
“A strange story, indeed,” said Guy; “but what has it got to do with us?”
“I will tell you,” responded Carnaris, with a slight tremor in his voice. “It may have nothing to do with any of us, and it may be of the greatest importance to us all.”
“Did the old man tell you where to find the cavern?” asked Guy.
“No,” answered Canaris, “but before he died he gave me this,” and, pulling a folded bit of linen from his pocket he handed it to Guy.
“Can you read that?” he asked in strange excitement. “I have never been able to make anything out of it.”
Guy pulled it carefully open and gazed with interest on the faded characters that had apparently been written in blood.
“Yes,” he said after a pause, “I can read it. It is French.”
“Go on,” said Canaris. “Tell me quickly what it is.”
“It translates as follows,” rejoined Guy:
“Half way between Elephant Peak and the Lion’s Head. The south side of the stone kraal. The rock with the cross.”
Canaris sprang to his feet and staggered back against the wall of the dungeon.
“It was Providence that brought you here,” he cried. “It is wonderful, wonderful!”
“What do you mean?” said Guy. “How can this aid us?”
“It is the secret of the cave,” replied Canaris. “The stone kraal is a curious formation of rocks that lie between the two mountains that bear thosenames. Close by is the village of the chief of all the Gallas.”
“But how under the sun can this discovery benefit us?” repeated Guy, half angrily. “Can you open our prison for us, Canaris?”
The Greek threw a cautious glance toward the door and then whispered in a voice that trembled with emotion: “Nothing is impossible; hope for the best. But stay,” he added in sudden fear; “I must have money, or all is lost. Alas! you have none, I am sure.”
For answer Guy hastily rose, and, loosening his clothes, unhooked a small buckskin belt. He tore open the end and dropped a stream of golden sovereigns into his hand.
“Here is money!” he cried. “The Arabs overlooked this when they searched me.”
The Greek’s eyes glittered.
“Give me twenty,” he said. “That will be plenty.”
He stowed the coins away in his clothes and picked up the lamp.
“I must leave you now,” he said. “I will return in the morning.”
He would have added more, but steps were heard in the corridor. The dungeon door clanged behind him, and Guy and Melton were left in darkness, half stupefied by the strange story they had just heard and by the hope of escape which the Greek so confidently held out to them.
CHAPTER XII.A DARING MOVE.
When daylight came the captives could scarcely believe that the events of the preceding night had not been all a dream. There was the document, however, to prove their reality, and Guy was deeply studying its faded characters when the Greek arrived.
His face was radiant with happiness, an expression which quickly gave way to deep sadness as a big Somali entered with a platter of food. The latter had barely closed the door when Canaris held up a warning finger and motioned the Englishmen to draw near.
“It is well,” he said softly. “I will tell you what I have done. Near the palace lives a Jewish merchant whom I know well. To him I went last night and by the aid of your gold made a good bargain. On the western side of the city, close by the wall, is a deserted guard-house that was once used before the watch-towers were built. Here the Jew promised to take for me the goods I purchased—namely, a supply of dates, figs, and crackers, three revolvers, three rifles with boxes of shells, three sabers, two ancient bronze lamps with flasks of palm oil, a box of English candles, and four long ropes with iron hooks on the end.”
“He will betray you to the Emir,” said Guy in alarm.
“Oh, no,” returned Canaris, “no danger of that. I know a little secret concerning my Jewish friend that would put his head above the town walls in an hour’s time. The things are even now hidden in the deserted house, you may rely on that.”
“But how are we going to get out of this infernal dungeon?” asked Guy. “And how can we pass through the streets to the edge of the town?”
For answer the Greek opened the leather case that he had brought with him and took out three revolvers, three boxes of shells, a coil of rope, and a sharp knife.
“These are my surgical instruments,” he said. “I will put them under the straw,” and he suited the action to the word.
“Affairs outside have changed somewhat,” he continued. “The people are sullen and restless. They mistrust the Emir, and fear they will be cheated of the pleasure they are looking forward to.”
Guy turned pale. “Then we are lost!” he cried.
“No, you are saved,” said Canaris. “That very fact works for your salvation. The Emir is alarmed; he fears for himself, not for you. His troops are few since he despatched the caravan to Zaila, and at night, for better security, he takes guards from the prison courtyard and stations them before thepalace. This leaves three guards to contend with; one watches in the corridor, one stands before the prison door, and the third guards the gateway that opens from the prison yard on to a dark avenue of the town. If all goes well you will be free men at midnight. I must hurry away now. Listen well to my instructions, and do just as I tell you.
“You,” and he turned to Melton, “must pretend that your wound is bad. Refuse to eat and lie on the straw all the time. It will be better if I do not return today. I fear that even now Rao Khan grows suspicious. The Arab doctor is angered because I have assumed his duties. At midnight, if you listen sharply, you will hear the guard relieved by a new man. Soon after that knock on the door, and when the guard looks in show him the wounded man, who will then feign to be very bad. I sleep in a rear apartment of the palace. The guard will send for me, and I will come. Otherwise my visiting you at that time of night would be looked upon with suspicion. The rest I will tell you then. Don’t despair. All will be well; till midnight, farewell.”
Canaris glided from the dungeon, and the prisoners were alone. They passed the long hours of that day in a strange mixture of hope and fear. The difficulties to be overcome seemed insurmountable. They must escape from the prison, pass through the very midst of their bloodthirsty enemies, scale thewall, and then—where were they? Hundreds of miles from the coast, surrounded by barbarous and savage people, and their only hope that mysterious underground river which in itself was a thing to be feared.
But, on the other hand, speedy death awaited them in the dungeon of Rao Khan. The chances were truly worth taking.
They followed instructions closely when the guard brought them food at noon, and in the evening Melton tossed on the floor as though in pain. The thrice-welcomed darkness came at last, and the light faded out of their dungeon. Once a horrible thought entered Guy’s mind. What was to prevent the Greek from making his escape alone, and abandoning the Englishmen to their fate? It was but momentary, however, and then he dismissed the suspicion with a feeling of shame. He had already learned to trust the Greek implicitly.
Crouched by their dungeon door, they listened by the hour, and at last their patience was rewarded. Voices were heard, steps approached and died away, and then all was silent.
The time for action had come.
Melton threw himself on the straw and moaned. Guy rapped sharply on the door and waited in suspense. Almost instantly it opened, and the guard, atall Nubian, pushed his lamp into the doorway and followed it up with head and shoulders.
“Canaris, Canaris!” said Guy earnestly, pointing to Melton, who uttered at that moment a most unearthly groan.
The guard drew back and shut the door. His soft tread echoed down the corridor, and all was still.
The suspense of the next five minutes Guy will never forget as long as he lives. It seemed to his excited imagination as though an hour had passed by, when suddenly sounds were heard in the corridor, and in an instant more Canaris stood before them, his leather case at his side, a lamp in his hand. He closed the door, opened, the case, and drew out two wide linen tunics and two long jackets such as the Emir’s troops wore.
“Put these on,” he whispered. “You can wear your helmets; there are many of them in Harar.”
As he spoke he drew an Arab burnous over his head, shading entirely his light hair and mustache. He next pulled the revolvers and shells from under the straw, distributed them around, and with the knife cut the rope in a dozen parts. By this time Guy and Melton had donned their disguises and were ready for action.
Up to this point Guy had supposed that Canaris had bribed the guards and paved the way out of prison.
“You are sure the guards will let us pass?” he said.
Canaris looked at him in wonder, and then a smile rippled over his face.
“You thought I had bribed the guards,” he said. “Ten thousand pounds could not tempt them. They would only lose their heads in the morning. It matters little,” he added. “They will lose them anyhow. But our time has come; be ready now to assist.”
He motioned Guy and Melton behind the door, and then, pulling it partly open, uttered a few words in a strange tongue.
Instantly the powerful frame of the big Nubian entered, and as he stood for one second on the dungeon floor, sudden mistrust in his ugly features, Canaris leaped at his throat and bore him heavily to the ground.
“Quick!” he cried, and in an instant Guy and Melton had seized the struggling man’s arms and feet.
Still pressing the fellow’s windpipe with one muscular hand, Canaris thrust a gag into the gaping mouth, and in two minutes their captive was lying bound and helpless on the straw.
“What did you tell him?” asked Guy.
“I said our lamp was going out,” Canaris replied. “And now for the man at the prison door. I mustget him inside, for the post is in plain view of the guard at the gate.”
A solution of this puzzling problem was closer at hand than anyone imagined. The creaking of a door was heard, followed by approaching footsteps.
“Here he comes now!” said Canaris in an excited whisper. “He has grown suspicious, and has determined to investigate. Quick!”
Canaris darted to the other side of the doorway, and then ensued another period of chilling suspense.
The tread came nearer, and at last another stalwart Nubian blocked the doorway with his massive bulk. His look of wonder was comical as he saw his comrade gagged and bound on the dungeon floor, but before the half articulated exclamation could escape his lips Canaris had him by the throat, and down they came. The fellow uttered one cry, and then, as his head struck the edge of the door in falling his struggles lessened, and with no trouble at all he was gagged and bound.
Canaris tore the ammunition from their belts, handed Guy and Melton their rifles, and then, blowing out the lamp, he pushed them into the corridor and bolted the door.
“Two heads will be off in the morning,” he remarked grimly. “One more victory and we are out of prison.”
He blew out the light that stood in the corridor and led the way through the darkness till he reached the door. He pulled it open, a crack revealing the moonlit courtyard, and took a long, careful survey.
“There is the man we want,” he whispered, pointing across the court, and putting his eyes to the crevice Guy saw against the massive prison wall a dark shadow leaning grimly on a rifle.
CHAPTER XIII.THE FLIGHT THROUGH THE TOWN.
It was a critical situation for the three fugitives, crouching behind the heavy prison door. That grim sentry over yonder by the gate must be noiselessly and effectually overpowered, and that at once. Any moment guards might come from the palace, and then—oh, it was horrible! The public square, the executioner’s gleaming knife, the roar of the populace!
Guy’s brain whirled at this appalling panorama, and he clutched the door for support.
“Can’t we rush on him?” asked Melton.
Canaris laughed grimly.
“Before we could take three steps from the door,” he said, “the fellow would see us and alarm the palace. If I go alone the chances are that before you can reach me he would succeed in making an outcry. Our only hope lies in getting away from the town before our escape is discovered.”
“But what are you going to do, Canaris?” asked Guy excitedly. “We are losing precious time.”
“Keep cool,” replied the Greek. “I will fix him in five minutes. Stay where you are and don’t make a sound. When I wave my hand, then come.”
He removed his burnous and stuffed it under histunic. Then he calmly opened the door and walked straight across the court toward the guard, who looked up carelessly at his approach. With their eyes glued against the cracks of the door Guy and Melton waited in terrible suspense.
A short conversation ensued. Canaris turned and pointed toward the prison. The guard replied with many gestures, and finally in his eagerness placed his rifle against the wall. What followed was so swift and dexterous that it seemed like a dream.
The Greek’s right hand shot out from his bosom clasping some glittering object. It struck the astonished guard on the forehead with a sharp click that echoed across the courtyard, and without a sound he dropped on his knees and then rolled over on the stone pavement.
Canaris waved his hand, and then the two captives dashed breathlessly across the courtyard.
“Is he dead?” asked Guy in a horrified whisper.
“Only stunned,” replied Canaris. “I struck him with the butt of my revolver. Quick now; bind and gag him while I find the key and open the gate.”
Guy hastily fastened the fellow’s feet and arms and stuffed a roll of linen in his mouth.
Melton stood looking on. His wound was beginning to give him some pain again.
With a low exclamation of triumph Canaris pulled from the Nubian’s waist a narrow belt onwhich hung a ponderous iron key. All rose to their feet. Guy dropped the unconscious guard under the shadow of the wall. The supreme moment had come. The great courtyard, white in the light of the moon, was empty. The heavy doors leading to the palace were shut. Behind the high prison walls all seemed quiet. The city was asleep.
The first stage of the journey was accomplished in safety. The terrible passage through the town was before them now. With a hand that trembled slightly Canaris inserted the key in the lock. It turned with a harsh rattle, and at a touch of the hand the brazen gate swung outward.
The Greek made a hasty survey and then stepped noiselessly outside. They were in a narrow side street which ran past the Emir’s palace. The side toward the prison was in deep shadow. On the other side was a long stone building, with two or three narrow grated windows.
“That is an Arab storehouse opposite,” said Canaris. “We are safe for the present. Now follow me closely. Walk boldly and fearlessly and keep a few feet apart.”
He started off at a rapid gait, his white burnous tossing on his shoulders, and with fast-beating hearts Guy and Melton came close behind. In five minutes they turned into another narrow passagerunning at right angles, and, continuing along this for forty or fifty yards, made still another turn.
The two streets they had just traversed had been lined for the most part with big warehouses and slave-markets. It was, in fact, the business part of the town, alive with people during the day, deserted at night. But now a crisis was at hand. Canaris halted his little party in the shadow of a building and pointed straight up the street.
“Yonder lies the main avenue,” he said. “We must cross it to reach our destination. Keep yourselves well under control, don’t show any fear, and if any people are about don’t look at them. If they address you make no reply.”
Guy marveled at the Greek’s coolness under such terrible circumstances. Every moment was a torture to him as long as they remained in the midst of these bloodthirsty fiends.
In five minutes they reached the main street. From the slight ridge on which they stood they could see stretching afar on either hand the moonlit roadway, spectered with the dark shadows of the houses. They had been traveling on three sides of a square. Fifty yards down the street the tower of the Emir’s palace was visible, outlined faintly against the pale-gray sky.
As they stepped from the shadows upon the open roadway, an Arab stalked from a doorway opposite,and without troubling himself to come nearer addressed Canaris in a strange tongue.
Guy’s heart seemed to leap into his throat as he nervously handled the revolver that stuck in his belt.
Canaris coolly replied in a low voice. The Arab evinced no intention of coming any nearer, and in an instant more the fugitives had plunged into the gloom of another cross street.
On all sides now were rude abodes, some of sandstone, others of clay, and at some places even tents were to be seen. Laughter and loud talking came from open windows. Two or three fierce looking Somali warriors stalked past in dignified silence, and an Arab sheik, wrapped closely in his garment, looked at them cautiously as he hurried by.
Melton now walked with difficulty. His wound had broken out afresh and was bleeding. The weight of the rifle was too much for him, and he was compelled to abandon it in the road.
“A little farther now,” said Canaris encouragingly, “and we shall be safe.”
Melton tried to walk faster, leaning on Guy’s arm, but at last, with a moan of pain, he sank to the ground.
“Go on, leave me; save yourselves,” he whispered feebly, as they bent over him and tried to lift him to his feet.
“One more effort, my dear Melton,” implored Guy in an agony, “only one more effort and we shall be safe. We can carry you if you can’t walk.”
“No,” he gasped. “Go at once. You can escape. I would only keep you back and cause your capture; better one than three.”
Guy threw an appealing glance at Canaris. The Greek’s features were immovable. He calmly waited the result of Guy’s pleading.
“My brave fellow,” said Chutney, in a husky voice, kneeling down and clasping Melton’s hand, “I refuse to accept your sacrifice. I shall remain here with you and we will meet our fate together. Canaris, save yourself while there is yet time. I will not desert my friend.”
The Greek paused irresolutely. The convulsive workings of his face showed the struggle going on in his mind. Suddenly Melton rose on one elbow and cried excitedly:
“Go, go, I tell you.”
Guy shook his head. “No,” he said decidedly. “I shall remain.”
“You are throwing your lives away,” said Melton bitterly. “Here, help me up. I will make another effort.”
In an instant Guy and Canaris had gladly pulled him to his feet, and off they went again as rapidly as possible. All was quiet around them. A deepsilence, broken only by the occasional low of a cow, had enwrapped the town. So far their escape had remained undiscovered.
“Ah, here we are,” said Canaris joyfully, turning down a dark, dirty passage, so narrow that the three could barely walk abreast. “In three minutes we shall reach the wall.”
Three minutes is not a long time, but it is long enough for many things to happen. They had traversed half the length of the street when Guy, moved by one of those sudden, unexplainable impulses, turned his head.
Ten yards behind, crawling with soft and stealthy tread, was a grim, half naked Somali. How long he had been following in their track it was impossible to tell. But there he was, a stern Nemesis, the moonlight shining on spear and shield, and glowing on the dark, villainous features.
Guy and Canaris wheeled round and stood with drawn revolvers. The Somali clutched his spear and drew up his shield. The silence remained unbroken.
One single cry and a mad horde would rush forth like bees from a hive. The Somali made one step backward, then another, and then, opening his mouth, he gave a yell that was caught up in horrible echoes till the street fairly rang.
“Malediction!” cried Canaris, in uncontrollablefury, “that’s your last shout,” and, taking quick aim, he pulled his revolver on the shouting Somali.
A stunning report, a hollow groan, and down came the savage all in a heap, while the heavy shield bounded with a clatter over the stones.