A Son of the Sahara Part 37

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 appet.i.te 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 hors.e.m.e.n 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 a.s.saults 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.