A BOY OF NERVE.
Never in his life was Frank Merriwell more taken aback and chagrined
than at that moment. He could scarcely believe he had heard aright.
Ali Mustaf laughed harshly.
“See what a fool you have been, Christian dog!” he sneered.
Azza, the treacherous servant, joined in the laughter.
“I aided her in trapping you,” he declared.
“Which is certainly something to be very proud of,” came contemptuously
from the boy. “But you shall receive your just deserts, you dirty
wretch!”
Now Frank was thoroughly aroused, and he showed his anger in his
flashing eyes. He had walked into the snare against the warnings of his
better judgment, but he had not dreamed of treachery on the part of the
girl. Even now he could not understand why she should betray him.
“How have I wronged you that you should do such a thing?” he asked,
earnestly. “Tell me that, Igela!”
She turned away, something like a smothered laugh coming from beyond the
veil that concealed her face.
Such treachery appalled Frank, and filled him with wonder unutterable.
He could not understand it. Had he been lured to that place to be
plundered? Was it possible that this fair girl who was known as the
Pearl of Tangier was the decoy that secured victims for a set of robbers
and assassins?
Even if this were true, it did not explain how she happened to know his
name, when she saw him in the Square of Tangier for the first time.
All at once Frank started. His eyes had fallen on the girl’s hand, and
he was filled with astonishment.
One swift step the boy took, and then he made a spring, crying:
“I propose to see the face of the one who betrayed me!”
In a twinkling he had snatched away the veil which concealed the face of
the girl.
The face of a coal-black negress was revealed!
“Igela!” exclaimed the boy, scornfully. “You are not Igela!”
The girl fell back against the wall, with a cry of fear.
Ben Ahmet and Ali Mustaf uttered fierce oaths in their beards, starting
toward the boy.
In the twinkling of an eye Frank whipped out both his revolvers,
retreated till his back was against the wall, and cheerfully called:
“Walk right up, gentlemen—walk up and take your medicine! You shall
receive it in large and liberal doses. Walk up—walk up!”
It is needless to state that they were in no hurry about accepting his
pleasant invitation. The sight of those glittering revolvers brought
them to an abrupt halt.
“What think you, dog of a Christian?” snarled Ali Mustaf. “Do you fancy
you can fight us all?”
“Well, I can make it mighty warm for you.”
“And do you fancy there is a chance for you to escape from this place
alive?”
“You can never make an American give up till he is dead. As long as
there is a spark of life remaining in his body he will fight.”
“But the odds, miserable boy—think of that.”
“Three men and a treacherous black wench against one Yankee boy—why,
that is nothing at all. Don’t think you can frighten me in that way,
Ali, old boy.”
“Ha! Think you that is all? Fool! There is but one way that you can
leave this room, and it is by this passage. Look!”
The cadi flung open the door at his back, and the light showed Frank
that the passage was literally filled with dark-faced ruffians, all of
whom were armed to the teeth. They would have swarmed into the room, but
Ali Mustaf bade them remain where they were, and closed the door again.
The crafty Moor turned to the boy, expecting to see him overcome with
fear. He was much astonished to note that Frank stood up with a
dauntless look on his handsome face, showing not the least sign of
trepidation.
“Fool!” snarled the cadi once more. “Do you understand what you have
seen? Or are your wits too dull for that?”
“I understand that I have seen a lot of cutthroats who are awaiting the
call to do your dirty work,” was the calm reply.
“By the beard of the Prophet! you are a strange youth! You must know
they are longing to shed your blood. They hate and despise all
Christians, and to them it is a great delight to shed the blood of a
Christian dog. If I gave the signal, they would rush in here and cut you
down.”
“Very good. But you will not give the signal.”
“I will not?”
“No.”
“Why not, dog?”
“Because it would be the signal for your death.”
“What mean you?”
“I mean that I should take particular pains to send a bullet through
your wretched carcass the instant the signal was given.”
Ali Mustaf’s swarthy skin grew sallow, and he recoiled a bit.
“Allah save me!” he muttered, in Arabic. “The young dog means it! It is
a marvel that he has no fear.”
Then the two Moors exchanged some words, keeping their eyes upon Frank
all the while.
Frank well understood the peril of his situation, and he felt that all
the chances were against him. At the same time he had no thought of
giving up as long as he could struggle for his life.
While the men were consulting together Frank’s brain was busy trying to
devise some plan of escape. He felt that much depended on his wits.
In a few moments Ali Mustaf turned to the boy once more.
“Put down your weapons,” commanded the old tax-gatherer, with a severe
frown. “Put them down at once. You can never escape alive if you
threaten, but I may decide to spare you if you surrender quietly.”
Frank laughed scornfully.
“Because I walked into this trap so quietly it is plain that you believe
me a much greater fool than I am,” he said. “I do not propose to
surrender myself a helpless captive into your hands; but I do propose to
hold you a prisoner till I am once more safe in the streets of Tangier.”
“By my beard!” gasped the cadi. “Who ever heard of such impudence! Boy,
you must be insane!”
“Think you so? Well, madmen are dangerous, and I advise you to look out
for me. If you do not obey my orders there is no telling what I may see
fit to do to you.”
“Your orders!” frothed Ali Mustaf. “Dog! I am not your slave!”
“But you are my captive, and I shall shoot you full of holes if you try
to skip me. That is plain United States, and I trust you understand it
thoroughly.”
Once more the cadi turned to Ben Ahmet, speaking a few low, swift words.
Immediately the old sheriff would have left the room, but Frank’s voice
rang out sharply:
“Tell him to stop, Ali Mustaf—tell him to stop, or I will shoot him!”
It was not necessary for Ali Mustaf to repeat the boy’s words. Ben Ahmet
seemed to understand, and he stopped, grinding out an Arabic oath.
“Good enough!” nodded Frank. “Now we will get down to business. Ali
Mustaf, you must do as I direct, if you have any desire to prolong your
existence in this vale of tears. I am the ringmaster in this little
circus, and I am liable to use the whip.”
“What would you have me do?” sullenly growled the cadi.
“First, I would have you cast down that knife. Drop it, you old pirate,
or I’ll drop you!”
Frank’s eyes flashed, and Ali Mustaf made haste to cast aside the
dagger, as if it had suddenly grown red-hot.
“So far it is all right,” nodded the determined youth. “Now you are to
order your side-partner, Uncle Ben, of the profuse whiskers, to drop his
scimiter. That is a real ugly looking weapon, and I wouldn’t care to
have it frisking around my neck.”
The cadi spoke to Ben Ahmet, and the sheriff reluctantly dropped the
curved weapon.
“What next, dog?” sullenly demanded Ali Mustaf. “Do you think you have
one chance in a thousand of escaping? Then you deceive yourself
greatly.”
“That’s all right; don’t you worry about me. Just do as I tell you, if
you are anxious about your own health. Something further, Ali, old boy,
and that is you’ve altogether too familiar a manner of addressing me as
‘dog.’ I don’t like it. It is not my name, and I object to it.
Hereafter, you will not use it when you speak to me. Do you catch on?”
The cadi snarled again, showing his yellow teeth through his grizzly
beard.
“Now,” coolly continued Frank, “the next thing on the programme will be
something else. You are to step to the door and order the gang of
dusky-skinned followers of the True Prophet outside to retire. You are
to inform them that everything is settled in here, and you will not need
their assistance.”
Ali Mustaf seemed quite ready to do this, but Frank checked him
immediately, calling out sharply:
“Hold on a bit! I want to say this much: Although I do not speak Arabic,
I can understand it pretty well, and it will not be pleasant for you if
you tell the slaves outside anything but what I have directed. If you do
tell them anything different, so help me Jack Robinson, I’ll put two or
three bullets between your shoulder blades! Go ahead, old boy.”
Ali Mustaf hesitated, his face black as a stormcloud. And as he
hesitated he saw something that caused a wild, exultant light of triumph
to leap into his eyes.
Behind Frank a panel in the wall opened noiselessly. At the opening
appeared a black face, and then a pair of powerful black hands closed
around the throat of the unfortunate boy!
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