THE COUNT OF MONTE-CRISTO.
Maldar and his Khouan followers had reached the desert with their
captive. For a long time they heard Monte-Cristo and his men in hot
pursuit of them, but the sound, growing fainter and fainter, had finally
ceased. The Sultan concluded that the Count had been misled by some
fancied indication and had taken a wrong direction. He therefore gave
himself no further concern in regard to him. Once in the desert he
slackened the pace of his Arab steed and the Khouans imitated his
example. The party rode on for several miles when they arrived at a
small oasis, covered with tall palm trees, that resembled an island of
verdure amid the far-reaching waste of arid sand. There Maldar gave the
order to dismount. The Khouans sprang lightly from their weary horses,
both men and animals going directly to the wells, where they took long
draughts of the cool, refreshing water. The night was now far spent, and
as the abductors of Esperance threw themselves upon the grass
surrounding the wells, the first rosy streaks of dawn appeared in the
eastern heavens. The horses stood cropping the verdure for a brief
period, then they also lay down for rest and recuperation. Soon slumber
reigned supreme, for Maldar, fearing neither pursuit nor attack, had
not taken the precaution to post sentinels. The scarf had been removed
from Esperance's mouth, and the son of Monte-Cristo, still wrapped in
his lethargic sleep, lay on the sod beside Maldar near one of the wells.
It was a wild and picturesque group, such a group as would have filled
the soul of a painter with delight and inspiration.
As the light increased, but while it was yet vague and uncertain, giving
a demoniac and supernatural cast to the group and its tropical
surroundings, Esperance suddenly awoke and raised himself upon his
elbow. For an instant he gazed around him in bewilderment and terror.
Was he dead, and were those swarthy-visaged forms extended motionless on
the grass of the oasis the forms of fiends? This thought shot through
his mind and augmented his consternation. When he fell asleep he was
with his father, with the dauntless Monte-Cristo, and the last faces he
had seen were the faces of French people and friends. Now he was in the
midst of beings of another race, in the midst of strangers. Strangers?
No, for at that moment his eyes rested on Maldar, and he realized that
he was again in the clutches of his remorseless foe, and that the men
around him belonged to the dreaded Khouan tribe.
He was unbound; nothing restrained his movements and not a single guard
was watching over him. His fear vanished with his bewilderment and gave
place to heroic resolution. Why should he not escape and make his way
back to his beloved father and devoted countrymen? He arose cautiously
to his feet, and peered into the distance. His heart throbbed with
anguish, for beyond the narrow confines of the green oasis, as far as
his eye could reach, stretched the trackless sands of the arid and
inhospitable desert. Flight would be madness, nay, perhaps, death, but
would it not also be death to remain? The son of Monte-Cristo, full of
his father's unconquerable spirit, determined to take the chances of
flight. Doubtless Monte-Cristo and his friends were even now scouring
the desert in search of him. If he could mount one of the Khouans'
horses and escape from the hands of his fanatical foes, he might meet
them.
Esperance stole cautiously toward an Arab courser, but he had not taken
a dozen steps when Maldar awoke, leaped to his feet, ran to him and laid
an iron hand upon his shoulder.
"So you thought to escape me, did you, son of Monte-Cristo?" said the
Sultan, with a mocking laugh and a fiendish light in big eyes. "By the
beard of the Prophet, your presumption is unbounded! But you are mine,
and no power on earth can save you now!"
The heroic lad gazed full in Maldar's face and, without the quiver of a
muscle, answered defiantly:
"Wretch that you are to war on defenceless children, I do not fear you!
Harm but a single hair of my head, and Monte-Cristo will grind you into
dust!"
Maldar replied with a sneer: "Monte-Cristo, the infidel charlatan, is
miles away. With all his boasted power he can do nothing to aid you. I
have you now, and you shall die!"
With the quickness of lightning Esperance thrust out his hand, seizing
the Sultan's jeweled yataghan and drawing it from its scabbard. At the
same time he raised it above his head and brought it down, aiming it
straight at Maldar's heart. The Sultan parried the thrust with his arm,
receiving a gaping wound from which the blood gushed in a ruby stream.
Smarting with pain and foaming with rage, he threw himself upon the
daring boy, tore the yataghan from his grasp, and with its heavy handle
struck him a blow on the head that stretched him senseless at his feet.
The noise of the conflict awoke the Khouans, who sprang up and rushed to
their chief.
One of them drew a long-bladed knife and was about to stab the prostrate
and unconscious boy, but the Sultan restrained him with an impatient
gesture.
"Not here," said he. "The sacrifice can only be made in the mosque of
the Khouans, thrice dedicated to Mohammed and reserved for the holiest
rite of Islam, the rite of vengeance!" Motioning to the Khouan to take
the insensible boy from the ground, he added "Now to horse and for the
mosque. Bear our captive in your arms."
The Arabs mounted and were soon dashing across the desert, headed by the
Sultan, who had hastily stanched the blood flowing from his arm and
bound up the wound.
Half an hour later, Monte-Cristo and his men reached the oasis. The
Count and Captain Joliette rode to the wells and at once saw where the
grass had been beaten down by the Khouans and their horses.
"They have been here and recently, too," said Captain Joliette.
"Thank God!" said Monte-Cristo, fervently. "We are on their track! But
what is that?" he added. "Is it blood?"
Coucon and Fanfar, who had been attentively examining the stain,
simultaneously answered:
"It is blood."
"My God!" cried Monte-Cristo, with a convulsive start, "then they have
slain my son!"
"Not so, Count," said Captain Joliette. "Had they slain Esperance they
would have left his body here. But see," resumed he, pointing to the
spot where Esperance had made the attack on Maldar; "here are evidences
of a struggle; they have fought among themselves and one of them has
been wounded."
"Heaven grant it may be so!" said Monte-Cristo.
The party started off again, following the track of the Arabs' horses,
and after an hour's ride came in sight of a long, low building with a
gleaming minaret, standing alone in the midst of the desert.
"The mosque of the Khouans!" cried Captain Joliette, triumphantly.
"Maldar and his ruffians are there! Look! Yonder are their horses!"
Monte-Cristo and his men reached the building and leaped to the ground;
they left their panting animals in charge of Bobichel, and, drawing
their revolvers, made their way into the mosque.
There a sight met their eyes that almost froze the blood in their veins.
Esperance, with his hands tied behind him and stripped to the waist,
was kneeling upon a large, flat stone in the centre of the mosque. Over
him stood Maldar, his yataghan uplifted to strike. The four Khouans
stood at a short distance, chanting what was evidently a death-hymn.
Instantly Monte-Cristo aimed his weapon at the Sultan and fired. Maldar
fell dead beside his intended victim.
The other Arabs leaped through the open windows and, mounting their
horses, fled across the desert.
Monte-Cristo caught his son in his arms.
"Esperance, my beloved!" he cried.
"Father!" exclaimed the rescued lad, clasping his arms about
Monte-Cristo's neck.
Esperance's garments were quickly restored to him by Fanfar, and when he
was clad in them, the party again mounted and started on their return to
the colonist's farm.
There is no need to describe the toilsome journey, it was accomplished
in due time, and once more Esperance was safe in his father's care.
The ladies gave the heroes of the expedition a most enthusiastic
welcome, Miss Elphys shedding tears of joy as Esperance told her how his
heroic father had saved him from death at Maldar's hands.
The next evening, when the excitement had somewhat subsided and
Monte-Cristo and his men had fully recovered from their fatigue, Fanfar
began the story of his life, which will be related in the succeeding
chapters.