The Veiled Man Part 14

"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 n.i.g.g.e.r," 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 n.i.g.g.e.rs."

"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 pa.s.sion. "I've done some shabby tricks in my time, but, by Heaven! I'd rather have given myself up than have a.s.sented 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 quant.i.ties 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.