In the mystic haze of the slowly dying day, a solitary Arab, mounted on
a _meheri_, or swift camel, and carrying his long rifle high above his
head, rode speedily over the great silent wilderness of treacherous,
ever-shifting sand. Once he drew rein, listening attentively, and
turning his keen dark 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, he sped forward again
until at length he came to a small oasis, where, under a clump of palms,
he made his camel kneel, and then dismounted.
As he stalked towards the lonely shrine of Sidi Okbar--a small domed
building constructed of sun-dried mud, under which reposed the remains
of one of the most venerated of Arab marabouts--he looked a young and
muscular son of the Desert, whose merry bronzed face bore an expression
of genial good-nature that was unmistakable, notwithstanding the fact
that he belonged to the fiercest race of Bedouins. Tall and erect, he
strode with an almost regal gait, even though his burnouse was brown,
ragged, and travel-stained; the haick that surrounded his face was torn
and soiled, and upon his bare feet were rough, heavy slippers, that were
sadly the worse for wear. The latter, however, he kicked off on
approaching the shrine, then, kneeling close to the sun-blanched wall,
he cast sand upon himself, kissed the earth, and, drawing his palms down
his face, repeated the Testification. In fervent supplication he bowed
repeatedly, and, raising his voice until it sounded distinct on the
still air, invoked the blessing of Allah. "O Merciful! O Beneficent
Granter of Requests!" he cried; "O King of the Day of Faith, guide us,
ere to-morrows 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, he listened with bated breath.
The thought occurred to him that his words might have been overheard by
some spy, and instinctively his hand drew from his belt his _jambiyah_,
the long, crooked dagger, that he always carried. Again a noise like a
deep-drawn sigh broke the silence, and Hatita--for such was the young
Arab's name--sprang to his feet and rushed round to the opposite side of
the building, just in time to see a fluttering white robe disappearing
in the gloom. With the agility of a leopard, the man of the Kanouri--
the most daring of the slave-trading tribes in the Great Sahara--sprang
towards it, and in twenty paces had overtaken the eavesdropper, who,
with a slight scream, fell to earth beneath his heavy hand.
"Rise!" he cried, roughly dragging the figure to its feet, "thou son of
Eblis!"
Next second, however, he discovered that the fugitive was a woman,
veiled, enshrouded in her haick, and wearing those baggy white trousers
that render all Arab females hideous when out of doors.
"Thou hast overheard my orison!" he cried, raising his knife. "Speak!
speak! or of a verity will I strike!"
But the mysterious woman uttered no word, and Hatita, in a frenzy of
desperation, tore the veil from her face.
Aghast he stood, and the knife fell from his fingers. The countenance
revealed was amazingly beautiful, so charming, indeed, that instantly he
became entranced by its loveliness, and stood speechless and abashed.
She was not more than eighteen, and her features, fair as an
Englishwoman's, were regular, with a pair of brilliant dark eyes set
well apart under brows 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 his, and, with
her breast rising and falling quickly, trembled before him, fearing his
wrath.
"Loosen thy tongue's strings?" he cried at last, grasping her slim white
wrist with his 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?" he inquired, gazing at her in wonderment.
"I came hither for the same purpose as thyself," she answered seriously,
looking straight into his face--"to crave Allah's blessing."
"Art thou a dweller in the house of grief?" he 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?" he cried in amazement. "Then thou art Kheira!" he added,
for the extraordinary beauty of the only daughter of the Sultan of Abea
was proverbial throughout the Great Desert, from Lake Tsad to the Atlas.
"Yes," she replied. "And from thy speech and dress I know thou art of
the Kanouri, our deadliest enemies."
"True," answered the desert pirate. "To-morrow my tribe, to the number
of ten thousand, now lying concealed in the valley called Deforou, will
swarm upon thine impregnable city and--"
"Ten thousand?" she gasped, pale and agitated. "And thou wilt kill my
father and reduce our people to slavery. Ah, no!" she added
imploringly. "Save us, O stranger! Our fighting men went south one
moon ago to collect the taxes at Dchagada, therefore we are unprotected.
What can I do--how can I act to save my father?"
"Dost thou desire to save him, even though he would force upon thee this
odious marriage?"
"I do," she cried. "I--I will save the City in the Sky at cost of mine
own life."
"To whom art thou betrothed?" Hatita asked, tenderly taking her hand.
"To the Agha Hassan e Rawi, who dwelleth at Zougra, beyond the
Nanagamma. He is three score years and ten, and 'tis said he treateth
his wives with inhuman cruelty. One of his slaves told me so."
Hatita stood silent and thoughtful. Though he was a member of a tribe
who existed wholly upon loot obtained from caravans and towns they
attacked, yet so earnestly did the Sheikh's daughter appeal, that all
thought of preserving the secret of the intended attack by murdering her
disappeared, and he found himself deeply in love. His was a poor
chance, however, he told himself. The proud Sultan of Abea would never
consent to a brigand as a son-in-law, even if Kheira, known popularly as
"the light of the eyes of the discerning," looked upon him with favour.
"To-night, O Daughter of the Sun, we meet as friends, to-morrow as
enemies. Our spies have reported that thy city remaineth undefended,
and, alas! there is a blood feud between my people and thine; therefore,
when the hosts of the Kanouri enter with fire and sword, few, I fear,
will be spared. Wilt thou not remain here with my tribesmen and
escape?"
"No," she answered proudly. "I am a woman of Afo, and I will return
unto my people, even though I fall before to-morrow's sundown under thy
merciless swords."
As she spoke, one hand rested upon her supple hip, and with the other
she pointed to the high shadowy peak whereon stood the great white
stronghold known to the Arabs as the City in the Sky.
"But thou, who art like a sun among the stars, knowest our plans, and it
is my duty to kill thee," he said, hitching his burnouse about his broad
shoulders.
"I am in thine hands. If thou stainest them with my blood, thou wilt
ever have upon thy conscience the remembrance that thou hast taken the
life of one who was innocent of intrigue. If thou givest me freedom, I
shall have at least one brief hour of felicity with my people before--
before--"
And she sighed, without concluding the sentence.
"Thou, a fresh rose from the fountainhead of life, art in fear of a
double fate, the downfall of to-morrow and the marriage feast next moon.
Let not thy mind be troubled, for I stretch not forth the tongue to
blame," he said at last, endeavouring to smile. "In Hatita, son of
Ibrahim, thou hast a devoted friend, and one who may peradventure assist
thee in a manner thou hast not dreamed. Therefore mount thine horse and
return with all speed to Afo--not, however, before thou hast given me
some little souvenir of this strange meeting."
"Thou slakest my thirst with the beverage of kindness!" she cried in
joy. "I knew when first I saw thee that thou wert my friend."
"Friend?--nay, lover," he answered gallantly, as, taking her tiny hand
again, he pressed her henna-stained nails softly to his lips. She
blushed and tried to draw away, but he held her firmly until she
withdrew one of her gold bangles from her wrist, and with a smile,
placed it upon his.
"Behold!" she exclaimed, with a merry rippling laugh. "It is thy badge
of servitude to me!"
"I am slave of the most handsome mistress in the world," he said
happily. Then, urging her to warn the Sultan of the intentions of the
Kanouri, he kissed her once tenderly upon the lips, lifted her into the
saddle of her gaily caparisoned horse, and then she twisted her torn
veil about her face, and, giving him "Peace," sped away swift as an
arrow into the darkness, bearing intelligence that would cause the
utmost sensation in the mountain fastness.
"I love her," murmured Hatita, when the sound of her horse's hoofs had
died away. "But how can I save her? To-morrow, when we enter Afo and
loot the Palace, she will be secured to grace our Sheikh's harem. No!"
he cried, with a fierce, guttural imprecation. "She shall never fall
into Nikale's brutal hands--never while I have breath!"
The sound of whispering caused him to fix his gaze upon a dark shadow
thrown by some ethel-bushes, and next second, half a dozen men similarly
attired to himself advanced.
"So, dog of a spy! thou hast betrayed us!" cried a voice, which in a
moment he was startled to recognise as that of Mohammed El Sfaski, a
kaid of his tribe.
"Yes," the others shouted with one accord; "We watched the son of offal
speaking with the woman, and we overheard him telling her to warn the
Sultan!"
"Follow her on the wings of haste!" cried the kaid. "Kill her, for
death alone will place the seal of muteness upon the lips of such a
jade;" and in a few seconds two white-robed figures vaulted into their
saddles and tore past in the direction Kheira had disappeared.
"Speak!" thundered El Sfaski, who with the others had now surrounded
him. "Knowest thou the punishment of traitors?"
"Yes," answered Hatita hoarsely.
"Who is the woman whose blackness and deceit hath captivated thee?"
Three rapid shots sounded in the distance. The Arabs had evidently
overtaken and murdered the daughter of the Sultan! The young tribesman
held his breath.
"I--I refuse to give thee answer," he said resolutely.
"By Allah! thou art a traitor to our lord Nikale, and of a verity thou
hast also _A'inu-l Kamal_. Therefore shalt thou die!"
["The eye of perfection," or "evil eye," is considered by the Arabs to
be so maleficent that it can not only injure, but kill a person.]