Miss Caprice Part 32

So he walks on, bending low in order that the lantern light may be utilized. Thus he follows the tracks some little distance, with the fighting Gaul at his elbow, endeavoring to penetrate the darkness beyond.

It is a peculiar situation, one that causes him to smile. This time he is not tracking the deer through the dense forests of Michigan.

Somewhere ahead are fierce Arab foes who have his friends in their hands.

At the same time he has a vague feeling of alarm in the region of his heart, alarm, not for himself, but concerning the fortunes of Lady Ruth.

A month, yes, hardly more than two weeks before, John Craig did not know there was such a being in existence.

Even when first made acquainted with her he had believed her rather haughty, according to his American notion of girls.

Gradually he has come to know her better, has come to understand the piquant character underlying what he was pleased to look upon as pride, and which her aunt must have had in mind when she gave her the significant name of Miss Caprice.

Thus events have rolled on until now, in this period of suspense, when the girl seems to be in desperate danger, he awakens to the fact that he loves her.

With Monsieur Constans at his side, John has gone perhaps a few hundred yards when the light of the lantern suddenly falls upon a human figure advancing; an Arab, too.

John is about to a.s.sume an offensive att.i.tude when he recognizes Mustapha Cadi, the guide.

CHAPTER XVII.

ON TO THE METIDJA MINE

A startled exclamation at his side causes the young doctor to remember that he has a companion. He whirls around and just in time to avert what might have turned out to be a catastrophe, for Monsieur Constans, seeing the figure of an Arab coming toward them, has no other idea than that it is an enemy.

Perhaps the fiery Gaul is somewhat anxious to try his fire-arms. At any rate, when John so suddenly wheels upon him, monsieur is in the act of covering the advancing figure.

John with a sharp cry knocks his leveled weapon up, and calls out:

"It is a friend; my guide, Mustapha Cadi."

"_Diable!_ I am one fool," exclaims the Gaul. "I recognize ze man now, and but for you he would be dead. I shall beg his pardon. It was one grand meestake."

Meanwhile Mustapha has come up.

Doctor John Craig is filled with a new excitement now. In his eyes the coming of this man means much. It is strange that no suspicion enters his head in connection with Mustapha. Even while he is so certain that the driver of the omnibus is in league with their enemies; that the break down is only a part of the grand scheme to obtain possession of the English girl who can pay a big ransom, he has never once connected the Arab guide with the matter.

This is all the more singular because Mustapha Cadi was on the top of the coach at the time of the wreck, and he disappeared with the driver.

It can only be accounted for by the fact that like most keen men John Craig is in the habit of relying upon his judgment in such matters, and there is something about the face of Mustapha that wins his confidence.

Then, again, there are the events of the preceding night. The courier stood by him like a Spartan hero; yes, he can be trusted.

Thus John meets the guide warmly, and a new hope immediately springs into existence, a hope born of confidence.

"What does all this mean, Mustapha Cadi? See, I have brought the agent of the stage line, but when we arrive at the scene of the wreck we find it deserted. What does it mean? Have my friends fallen into the hands of robbers?"

Mustapha immediately nods his head.

"It is so, monsieur."

"Who are they?"

"Arabs, Kabyles, Moors--all who hate the Franks, yet love money more.

They are under a desperate leader, the Tiger of the Desert."

At this Monsieur Constans utters a low cry.

"He means Bab Azoun, ze terrible gate-way of death."

Mustapha again nods, and John resumes his cross-questioning with a lawyer's tact.

"Were our friends injured?"

"Not seriously. They fight well. The soldier threatens to kill all, but they do not allow him to do it."

"Brave Blunt; he deserves a Victoria cross. But where were you, Mustapha?"

The Arab hangs his face; he looks sheepish.

"I come up just when all was over. They twenty against one. It would be foolish for me to try and fight. I believe I can do better; so I watch, I follow, I learn much."

John cannot restrain his feelings. He seizes the Arab's dusky hand and shakes it with real Chicago ardor.

"Mustapha, you're a jewel. Go on. Where did you go at the time of the accident?"

"Bismallah! I was after him, the cause of it all--him, who entered into this conspiracy--the driver. Monsieur, he ran like a deer through the dark. I thought to grasp him more than once, but each time he turned and let me hug the air. But success at last."

"You got him?"

"He picked up a stone with his foot and stretched his length on the ground. Here was my opportunity. I embraced it. Both were out of breath, but I held him there, pinned to the earth. Great is Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet."

"Did you make him confess?"

"I tried to persuade by silvery speech, but it did not meet with success. Then I turned to muscular force. Monsieur, when Abdul el Jabel saw I was in earnest, he cried out for fear, and swore by all the prophets that if I would let him live he would confess the truth."

"Good, good!" says John, pleased with the business qualities of his guide.

"_Begar!_ it ees better zan one play," mutters the French agent.

"So I made the miserable driver confess that he had entered into an arrangement with one of the robbers to upset us between Birkadeen and Al Jezira, so that they could make the capture."

"The villain! he deserved hanging. I hope you executed Arab justice on him then and there."

Mustapha shakes his head.