XLVIII

"That must be the bordj of Toudja, at last," Victoria said, looking out

between the curtains of her bassour. "Aren't you thankful, Saidee?

You'll feel happier and freer, when Cassim's men have gone back to the

Zaouïa, and our ransom has been paid by the return of the little boy.

That volume of your life will be closed for ever and ever, and you can

begin the next."

Saidee was silent. She did not want to think that the volume was closed

for ever, because in it there was one chapter which, unless it could be

added to the new volume, would leave the rest of the book without

interest for her. Half involuntarily she touched the basket which Honoré

Sabine had given her when they parted in the desert city of Oued Tolga

early that morning. In the basket were two carrier pigeons. She had

promised to send one from the Bordj of Toudja, and another at the end of

the next day's journey. After that she would be within reach of the

telegraph. Her reason told her it was well that Sabine was not with her

now, yet she wished for him, and could not be glad of his absence.

Perhaps she would never see him again. Who could tell? It would have

been unwise for Sabine, as an officer and as a man, to leave his duty to

travel with her: she could see that, yet she was secretly angry with

Victoria, because Victoria, happy herself, seemed to have little

sympathy with her sister's hopes. The girl did not like to talk about

Sabine, or discuss any connection he might possibly have with Saidee's

future; and because Victoria was silent on that subject, Saidee revenged

herself by being reticent on others. Victoria guessed the reason, and

her heart yearned over Saidee; but this was something of which they

could not talk. Some day, perhaps, Saidee would understand, and they

would be drawn together again more closely than before.

"There's Toudja," Stephen said, as the girl looked out again from the

bassour. Whenever he saw her face, framed thus by the dark red curtains,

his heart beat, as if her beauty were new to him, seen that instant for

the first time. This was the flood-tide of his life, now when they

travelled through the desert together, he and she, and she depended upon

his help and protection. For to-day, and the few more days until the

desert journey should come to an end at Biskra, the tide would be at

flood: then it would ebb, never to rise again, because at Algiers they

must part, she to go her way, he to go his; and his way would lead him

to Margot Lorenzi. After Algiers there would be no more happiness for

him, and he did not hope for it; but, right or wrong, he was living

passionately in every moment now.

Victoria smiled down from the high bassour at the dark, sunburnt face of

the rider. How different it was from the dark face of another rider who

had looked up at her, between her curtains, when she had passed that way

before! There was only one point of resemblance between the two: the

light of love in the eyes. Victoria could not help recognizing that

likeness. She could not help being sure that Stephen loved her, and the

thought made her feel safe, as well as happy. There had been a sense of

danger in the knowledge of Maïeddine's love.

"The tower in the bordj is ruined," she said, looking across the waving

sea of dunes to a tall black object like the crooked finger of a giant

pointing up out of the gold into the blue. "It wasn't so when I passed

before."

"No," Stephen answered, welcoming any excuse for talk with her. "But it

was when we came from Touggourt. Sabine told me there'd been a

tremendous storm in the south just before we left Algiers, and the

heliograph tower at Toudja was struck by lightning. They'll build it up

again soon, for all these heliograph stations are supposed to be kept

in order, in case of any revolt; for the first thing a rebellious tribe

does is to cut the telegraph wires. If that happened, the only way of

communication would be by heliograph; and Sabine says that from

Touggourt to Tombouctou this chain of towers has been arranged always on

elevations, so that signals can be seen across great stretches of

desert; and inside the walls of a bordj whenever possible, for defence.

But the South is so contented and peaceful now, I don't suppose the

Government will get out of breath in its hurry to restore the damage

here."

At the sound of Sabine's name Saidee had instantly roused to attention,

and as Stephen spoke calmly of the peace and content in the South, she

smiled. Then suddenly her face grew eager.

"Did the marabout appoint Toudja as the place to make the exchange, or

was it you?" she asked, over Victoria's shoulder.

"The marabout," said Stephen. "I fell in with the idea because I'd

already made objections to several, and I could see none to Toudja. It's

a day's journey farther north than the Zaouïa, and I remembered the

bordj being kept by two Frenchmen, who would be of use if----" He

checked himself, not wishing to hint that it might be necessary to guard

against treason. "If we had to stop for the night," he amended, "no

doubt the bordj would be better kept than some others. And we shall have

to stop, you know, because my friend, Caird, can't arrive from Touggourt

with the boy till late, at best."

"Did--the marabout seem bent on making this bordj the rendezvous?"

Saidee asked.

Stephen's eyes met hers in a quick, involuntary glance, then turned to

the ruined tower. He saw it against the northern sky as they came from

the south, and, blackened by the lightning, it accentuated the

desolation of the dunes. In itself, it looked sinister as a broken

gibbet. "If the marabout had a strong preference for the place, he

didn't betray it," was the only answer he could make. "Have you a

special reason for asking?"

"No," Saidee echoed. "No special reason."

But Stephen and Victoria both guessed what was in her mind. As they

looked at the tower all three thought of the Arabs who formed their

caravan. There were six, sent out from the Zaouïa to take back the

little Mohammed. They belonged body and soul to the marabout. At the

town of Oued Tolga, Stephen had added a third to his escort of two; but

though they were good guides, brave, upstanding fellows, he knew they

would turn from him if there were any question between Roumis and men of

their own religion. If an accident had happened to the child on the way

back from Touggourt, or if any other difficulty arose, in which their

interest clashed with his, he would have nine Arabs against him. He and

Caird, with the two Highlanders, if they came, would be alone, no matter

how large might be Nevill's Arab escort. Stephen hardly knew why these

thoughts pressed upon him suddenly, with new insistence, as he saw the

tower rise dark against the sky, jagged as if it had been hacked with a

huge, dull knife. He had known from the first what risks they ran.

Nevill and he and Sabine had talked them all over, and decided that, on

the whole, there was no great danger of treachery from the marabout, who

stood to lose too much, to gain too little, by breaking faith. As for

Maïeddine, he was ill with fever, so the sisters said, and Saidee and

Victoria believed that he had been kept in ignorance of the marabout's

bargain. Altogether, circumstances seemed to have combined in their

favour. Ben Halim's wife was naturally suspicious and fearful, after her

long martyrdom, but there was no new reason for uneasiness. Only,

Stephen reminded himself, he must not neglect the slightest wavering of

the weather-vane. And in every shadow he must look for a sign.

They had not made a hurried march from the desert city, for Stephen and

Sabine had calculated the hour at which Nevill might have received the

summons, and the time he would take on the return journey. It was

possible, Lady MacGregor being what she was, that she might have rewired

the telegram to a certain bordj, the only telegraph station between

Touggourt and Oued Tolga. If she had done this, and the message had

caught Nevill, many hours would be saved. Instead of getting to the

bordj about midnight, tired out with a long, quick march, he might be

expected before dark. Even so, Stephen would be well ahead, for, as the

caravan came to the gate of the bordj, it was only six o'clock, blazing

afternoon still, and hot as midday, with the fierce, golden heat of the

desert towards the end of May.

The big iron gates were wide open, and nothing stirred in the quadrangle

inside; but as Stephen rode in, one of the Frenchmen he remembered

slouched out of a room where the wooden shutters of the window were

closed for coolness. His face was red, and he yawned as he came forward,

rubbing his eyes as if he had been asleep. But he welcomed Stephen

politely, and seeing that a good profit might be expected from so large

a party, he roused himself to look pleased.

"I must have a room for two ladies," said Stephen, "and I am expecting a

friend with a small caravan, to arrive from the north. However, six of

my Arabs will go back when he comes. You must do the best you can for

us, but nothing is of any importance compared to the ladies' comfort."

"Certainly, I will do my best," the keeper of the bordj assured him.

"But as you see, our accommodation is humble. It is strained when we

have four or five officers for the night, and though I and my brother

have been in this God-forsaken place--worse luck!--for nine years, we

have never yet had to put up ladies. Unfortunately, too, my brother is

away, gone to Touggourt to buy stores, and I have only one Arab to help

me. Still, though I have forgotten many useful things in this

banishment, I have not forgotten how to cook, as more than one French

officer could tell you."

"One has told me," said Stephen. "Captain Sabine, of the Chasseurs

d'Afrique."

"Ah, ce beau sabreur! He stopped with me on his way to Oued Tolga, for

the well-making. If he has recommended me, I shall be on my mettle,

Monsieur."

The heavy face brightened; but there were bags under the bloodshot eyes,

and the man's breath reeked of alcohol. Stephen was sorry the brother

was away. He had been the more alert and prepossessing of the two.

As they talked, the quadrangle of the bordj--which was but an inferior

caravanserai--had waked to animation. The landlord's one Arab servant

had appeared, like a rat out of a hole, to help the new arrivals with

their horses and camels. The caravans had filed in, and the marabout's

men and Stephen's guides had dismounted.

None of these had seen the place since the visitation of the storm, and

one or two from the Zaouïa had perhaps never been so far north before,

yet they looked at the broken tower with grave interest rather than

curiosity. Stephen wondered whether they had been primed with knowledge

before starting, or if their lack of emotion were but Arab stoicism.

As usual in a caravanserai or large bordj, all round the square

courtyard were series of rooms: a few along one wall for the

accommodation of French officers and rich Arabs, furnished with

elementary European comforts; opposite, a dining-room and kitchen; to

the left, the quarters of the two landlords and their servants; along

the fourth wall, on either side of the great iron gate, sheds for

animals, untidily littered with straw and refuse, infested with flies.

Further disorder was added by the débris from the broken

heliograph-tower which had been only partially cleared away since the

storm. Other towers there were, also; three of them, all very low and

squat, jutting out from each corner of the high, flat-topped wall, and

loopholed as usual, so that men stationed inside could defend against an

escalade. These small towers were intact, though the roof of one was

covered with rubbish from the ruined shell rising above; and looking up

at this, Stephen saw that much had fallen away since he passed with

Nevill, going to Oued Tolga. One entire wall had been sliced off,

leaving the inside of the tower, with the upper chamber, visible from

below. It was like looking into a half-dissected body, and the effect

was depressing.

"If we should be raided by Arabs now," said the landlord, laughing, as

he saw Stephen glance at the tower, "we should have to pray for help:

there would be no other means of getting it."

"You don't seem to worry much," replied Stephen.

"No, for the Arabs in these parts are sheep nowadays," said the

Frenchman. "Like sheep, they might follow a leader; but where is the

leader? It is different among the Touaregs, where I spent some time

before I came here. They are warriors by nature, but even they are quiet

of late."

"Do you ever see any here?" Stephen asked.

"A few occasionally, going to Touggourt, but seldom. They are

formidable-looking fellows, in their indigo-coloured masks, which stain

their skin blue, but they are tractable enough if one does not offend

them."

There was only one room which could be made passably habitable for

Saidee and Victoria, and they went into it, out of the hot sun, as soon

as it could be prepared. The little luggage they had brought went with

them, and the basket containing the two carrier pigeons. Saidee fed the

birds, and scribbled a few words on a scrap of paper, to tell Sabine

that they had arrived safely at Toudja. On second thoughts, she added a

postscript, while Victoria unpacked what they needed for the night.

"_He_ chose the rendezvous," Saidee wrote. "I suppose I'm too

superstitious, but I can't help wondering if his choice had anything to

do with the ruined tower? Don't be anxious, though. You will probably

receive another line to-morrow night, to say that we've reached the next

stage, and all's well."

"I suppose you think I'm doing wrong to write to him?" she said to

Victoria, as she took one of the pigeons out of its basket.

"No," the girl answered. "Why shouldn't you write to say you're safe?

He's your friend, and you're going far away."

Saidee almost wished that Victoria had scolded her. Without speaking

again, she began to fasten her letter under the bird's wing, but gave a

little cry, for there was blood on her fingers. "Oh, he's hurt himself

somehow!" she exclaimed. "He won't be able to fly, I'm afraid. What

shall I do? I must send the other one. And yet--if I do, there'll be

nothing for to-morrow."

"Won't you wait until after Mr. Caird has come, and you can tell about

the little boy?" Victoria suggested.

"He mayn't arrive till very late, and--I promised Captain Sabine that he

should hear to-night."

"But think how quickly a pigeon flies! Surely it can go in less than

half the time we would take, riding up and down among the dunes."

"Oh, much less than half! Captain Sabine said that from the bordj of

Toudja the pigeon would come to him in an hour and a half, or two at

most."

"Then wait a little longer. Somehow I feel you'll be glad if you do."

Saidee looked quickly at the girl. "You make me superstitious," she

said.

"Why?"

"With your 'feelings' about things. They're almost always right. I'm

afraid of them. I shouldn't dare send the pigeon now, for fear----"

"For fear of what?"

"I hardly know. I told you that you made me superstitious."

Stephen stood between the open gates of the bordj, looking north, whence

Nevill should come. The desert was empty, a great, waving stretch of

gold, but a caravan might be engulfed among the dunes. Any moment

horses or camels might come in sight; and he was not anxious about

Nevill or the boy. It was impossible that they could have been cut off

by an attacking party from the Zaouïa. Captain Sabine and he, Stephen,

had kept too keen a watch for that to happen, for the Zaouïa lay south

of Oued Tolga the city.

Others besides himself were searching the sea of sand. One of his own

guides was standing outside the gates, talking with two of the

marabout's men, and looking into the distance. But rather oddly, it

seemed to him, their faces were turned southward, until the guide said

something to the others. Then, slowly, they faced towards the north.

Stephen remembered how he had told himself to neglect no sign. Had he

just seen a sign?

For some moments he did not look at the Arabs. Then, glancing quickly at

the group, he saw that the head man sent by the marabout was talking

emphatically to the guide from Oued Tolga, the city. Again, their eyes

flashed to the Roumi, before he had time to turn away, and without

hesitation the head man from the Zaouïa came a few steps towards him.

"Sidi, we see horses," he said, in broken French. "The caravan thou dost

expect is there," and he pointed.

Stephen had very good eyesight, but he saw nothing, and said so.

"We Arabs are used to looking across great distances," the man answered.

"Keep thy gaze steadily upon the spot where I point, and presently thou

wilt see."

It was as he prophesied. Out of a blot of shadow among the tawny dunes

crawled some dark specks, which might have been particles of the shadow

itself. They moved, and gradually increased in size. By and by Stephen

could count seven separate specks. It must be Nevill and the boy, and

Stephen wondered if he had added two more Arabs to the pair who had gone

back with him from Oued Tolga, towards Touggourt.

"Hurrah for Lady MacGregor!" the watcher said under his breath. "She

wired on my telegram, and caught him before he'd passed the last

station. I might have known she would, the glorious old darling!" He

hurried inside the bordj to knock at the ladies' door, and tell the

news. "They're in sight!" he cried. "Would you like to come outside the

gate and look?"

Instantly the door opened, and the sisters appeared. Victoria looked

flushed and happy, but Saidee was pale, almost haggard in comparison

with the younger girl. Both were in Arab dress still, having nothing

else, even if they had wished to change; and as she came out, Saidee

mechanically drew the long blue folds of her veil closely over her face.

Custom had made this a habit which it would be hard to break.

All three went out together, and the Arabs, standing in a group, turned

at the sound of their voices. Again they had been looking southward.

Stephen looked also, but the dazzle of the declining sun was in his

eyes.

"Don't seem to notice anything," said Saidee in a low voice.

"What is there to notice?" he asked in the same tone.

"A big caravan coming from the south. Can't you see it?"

"No. I see nothing."

"You haven't stared at the desert for eight years, as I have. There must

be eighteen or twenty men."

"Do you think they're from the Zaouïa?" asked Victoria.

"Who can tell? We can't know till they're very close, and then----"

"Nevill Caird will get here first," Stephen said, half to himself. "You

can see five horses and two camels plainly now. They're travelling

fast."

"Those Arabs have seen the others," Saidee murmured. "But they don't

want us to know they're thinking about them."

"Even if men are coming from the Zaouïa," said Stephen, "it may easily

be that they've only been sent as an extra escort for the boy, owing to

his father's anxiety."

"Yes, it may be only that," Saidee admitted. "Still, I'm glad----" She

did not finish her sentence. But she was thinking about the carrier

pigeon, and Victoria's advice.

All three looked northward, watching the seven figures on horseback, in

the far distance; but now and then, when they could hope to do so

without being noticed by the Arabs, they stole a hasty glance in the

other direction. "The caravan has stopped," Saidee declared at last. "In

the shadow of a big dune."

"I see, now," said Stephen.

"And I," added Victoria.

"Perhaps after all, it's just an ordinary caravan," Saidee said more

hopefully. "Many nomads come north at this time of year. They may be

making their camp now. Anyway, its certain they haven't moved for some

time."

And still they had not moved, when Nevill Caird was close enough to the

bordj for a shout of greeting to be heard.

"There are two of the strangest-looking creatures with him!" cried

Saidee. "What can they be--on camels!"

"Why," exclaimed Victoria, "it's those men in kilts, who waited on the

table at Mr. Caird's house!"

"Hurrah for Lady MacGregor again!" laughed Stephen. "It's the twins,

Angus and Hamish." He pulled off his panama hat and waved it, shouting to

his friend in joy. "We're a regiment!" he exclaimed gaily.