HOW THREE ROADS LED IN ONE DIRECTION
The news that her lover was safe restored the sparkle to Irene's eyes
and the color to her wan cheeks. Fenshawe, indeed, had not given her
the full measure of Abdur Kad'r's breathless recital. Recent events had
led the old curio-hunter to view life in less ultra-scientific spirit
than was his habit. Perhaps he had re-awakened to the knowledge that
the hearts of men and women are apt to be swayed by other impulses than
his dry-as-dust interest in dead cities and half-forgotten races. Most
certainly he was shocked by the agony in the girl's face when she heard
that the sheikh had returned alone, and, if he wondered at the low wail
of despair which broke from her lips, he said nothing of it at the
moment, but mercifully suppressed Abdur Kad'r's story of the Effendi's
resolve to make a stand against his pursuers, and thus enable his
companion to reach and warn the camp.
The version Irene heard was that Royson's camel had fallen lame, and it
was deemed safer he should hide until help came, than mount behind
Abdur Kad'r and risk the slower journey. Fenshawe reasoned that Royson
might be captured, not killed. His long experience of Arab life told
him that the tribesmen would be chary of murdering a European, for fear
of the vengeance to be exacted later. Nevertheless, this comforting
theory was more than balanced by the disquieting facts revealed by the
sheikh, who, as he rode wildly to the south, heard a sharp outburst of
firing in the valley behind him.
Yet it was well that Irene had not been told the whole truth, else that
anxious little heart of hers might have stormed itself into a fever of
despair. As it was, her pent emotions found relief in tears of joy when
the messengers brought the news of Royson's approach with the rescue
party, and her eyelids were still suspiciously red, her lips somewhat
tremulous, when, standing by her grandfather's side, she welcomed his
return.
Though a hundred eyes were fixed on the two--though some of those eyes
watched them with a keenness inspired by the belief that this reunion
had in it a romantic element quite apart from the drama of the
hour--their meeting apparently partook only of that friendly character
warranted by the unusual circumstances. And, in the general excitement,
none who looked at Royson paid heed to the hardships he had undergone.
He had hardly closed his eyes during two nights and three days, for the
rest obtained while he and Abdur Kad'r awaited the outcome of Hussain's
embassy was calculated rather to add to his physical exhaustion than
relieve it. He had covered eighty miles of desert on scanty fare, and
had fought a short but terrific fight against a dozen adversaries. Yet,
his cool demeanor and unwearied carriage conveyer! no hint of
fatigue--to all outward seeming he might have been entering the
encampment after an ordinary march, when a basin of water and a change
of clothing were the chief essentials of existence. It was not so, of
course. Were he made of steel he must have felt the strain of those
sixty hours, and he almost yielded to it when he dismounted, and
Fenshawe led him inside the mess tent.
The older man invited him to be seated, and tell his adventures while
eating the meal which had been prepared for him and Stump as soon as
their camels were seen in the distance. But Dick, half unconsciously,
still clutched the broken rifle. There were blood stains on his
clothing, which was ripped in the most obvious way by bullets that had
either wounded him or actually grazed his skin. Fenshawe's keen old
eyes made a rapid inventory of these signs of strife, and he forgot, in
his anxiety, that Irene was present.
"Good heavens, man," he cried, "you have been in the wars. Did those
scoundrels attack you, then? Are you hurt?"
"No," said Dick, sinking into a chair, and trying to speak with his
customary nonchalance, "I am not injured--just a wee bit tired--that is
all."
Irene flew to his side. She took the soiled gun-barrels, from his
relaxing grip, and began to unfasten the collar hooks of his uniform.
"Don't you see he is almost fainting?" she demanded, reproachfully.
"Bring some brandy and cold water, quick! Oh, Dick, dear, speak to me!
Are you sure you are not wounded? If it is only want of food and sleep,
we can soon put that right, but do tell me if you have a wound."
Dick smiled, though he knew his face was white beneath the dust and
tan, and he could not lift his arms for the life of him.
"I'm all right," he whispered. "I suppose I'm suffering from heart
trouble, Irene. Haven't seen you for two nights and a day, you know."
He must have been a trifle light-headed, or he would not have spoken to
her in that way before her grandfather. Mr. Fenshawe, remembering the
girl's shyness of the previous day, may have thought a good deal, but
said nothing, seeing that Irene was supremely indifferent to either his
thoughts or his words at that instant, while Royson seemed to be
heedless of any other fact than the exceedingly pleasant one that his
beloved was holding a glass to his lips and asking him to gratify her
by swallowing the contents.
As for Stump, who was not aware of his second mate's rise in the world,
the manner of their speech affected him so powerfully that he was in
imminent danger of an apoplectic seizure. His condition was rendered
all the more dangerous because he dared utter no word. But he silently
used the sailor-like formula which applies to such unexpected
situations, and added certain other variations of the rubric from the
extensive resources of his own private vocabulary. He recovered his
breath by the time Dick's attack, of weakness had passed, and the color
of his face slowly subsided from, a deep purple to its abiding tint of
brick red.
"Rather a sudden indisposition," said Fenshawe to Stump, smiling
quizzically as he watched Irene supporting Royson's head while she
urged him tenderly to drink a little more of the stimulant.
"Is that wot you call it?" asked the captain of the _Aphrodite_,
mopping his glowing cheeks with a handkerchief of brilliant hue. "I
thought it was a stroke of some kind, 'but I've fair lost my bearin's
since I gev' over plashin' at sea."
The amazement of the elders at the manner in which those young people
addressed each other was slight in comparison with the thrill Royson
caused when he had taken some soup, and was prepared to do justice to
more solid food.
"I had a rather lively set-to with a number of Hadendowas," he
explained in response to a question from Mr. Fenshawe. "It was brief
but strenuous, and I assure you it is a marvel that I came out of it
practically without a scratch. At any rate, it does not call for a
detailed description now, seeing that I have something of vastly
greater importance to tell you. May I ask, sir, if you have photographs
of the papyrus in your possession?"
"Yes. They are in my tent. Shall I bring them?"
"If you please. I think I have news that will interest you."
"One word before I go. Abdur Kad'r said that the Italians had abandoned
Suleiman's Well. Have they found the treasure, do you think?"
"No, sir. Just the reverse. I believe that I have found it myself, and,
if I am not mistaken, Mrs. Haxton and the Baron, from what Captain
Stump tells me, are now far on their way to the right place, if they
have not already reached it."
"Wot did I say, Miss Irene?" broke in Stump fiercely. "Oh, he's deep is
that there Baron. I sized him up when he med off yesterday. An' Mrs.
Haxton, too! A nice pair of beauties."
"Whatever wrong Mrs. Haxton may have done in the past, I refuse to
believe that she was swayed by some merely selfish consideration in
leaving us as she did," said Irene softly, and her grandfather thanked
her with a look as he quitted the tent.
Stump shook his head.
"She's as artful as a pet fox," he growled; but he had no listeners.
Dick and Irene were far too much occupied in gazing at each other.
Mr. Fenshawe returned speedily. He spread out ten photographs on the
table in front of Royson. With them was a typewritten document divided
into ten sections.
"That is the English translation," he explained. "Each numbered
division corresponds with a similar number on a photograph. It
simplifies reference."
Dick examined the translation eagerly. The first slip of papyrus read:
"In the seventh year of the reign of the renowned Emperor, C. Julius
Caesar Octavianus, I, Demetriades, son of Pelopidos, merchant of
Syracuse, being at that time a trader in ivory and skins at Alexandria,
did foolishly abandon my wares in that city, and join the legion sent
from Egypt to subdue the people of Shaba."
He saw that the letters in the word "seventh," though writ in archaic
Greek, bore the same space relation to the neighboring characters as
did all others in the script. Reading on carefully until he came to the
first leaf of the papyri in which the "Five Hills" were named, he
observed Instantly that the word "pente," five, had its letters crowded
together. Now the Greek for seven, _hepta_, has only four characters,
the aspirate being marked over the initial vowel. This same crowding of
"pente" was discernible each time it occurred in the text. It was a
coincidence that was too intrusive. The obvious explanation was that
"hepta" had been deleted and "pente" substituted in every instance, and
the fraud had not been detected because the rest of the Greek writing
was absolutely genuine. The hieroglyphs in cartouches, which von Kerber
had admittedly tampered with, were beyond Royson's ken.
He was so taken up with this confirmation of his views, and so eager to
make clear the queer chance that led Abdur Kad'r to explain the name of
the Well of Moses, that he was blind to the growing wrath in Mr.
Fenshawe's face until he happened to catch the indignant note in the
older man's voice as he bade a servant summon the sheikh. Then a single
glance told him what he had done. The wounded vanity of the famous
Egyptologist had risen in its might, and swept aside all other
considerations. The man of wealth could permit his charitable instincts
to govern the scorn evoked by the Austrian's petty tactics, but the
outraged enthusiasm of the collector was a torrent that engulfed
charity and expediency alike in its flood. Nothing short of the most
painstaking personal examination of the oasis at the Well of Moses
would now convince the millionaire that von Kerber had not tricked him
at the eleventh hour.
Though the expedition was in Italian territory, though he was aware
that a tribe of hostile Arabs was already hovering on the outskirts of
the camp, though the presence of Irene rendered it imperative that he
should not risk the attack which would probably be made that night,
these urgent conditions of the moment did not prevail in the least
degree against the maddening suspicion that the self-confessed forger
who had duped him had put the seal on a piece of clever rascality by
exploiting the real treasure-ground for his own benefit.
Royson was far from expecting this development. Yet, now that it had
occurred, he saw that it was inevitable. Before Abdur Kad'r appeared he
guessed why Mr. Fenshawe wanted him in such a hurry. Irene, who had
never known her grandfather to be so greatly disturbed, whispered
earnestly to her lover:
"If grandad wishes you to follow von Kerber, you must be too ill to do
anything of the sort."
"Then I shall remain here alone," said he, smiling at her dismay.
"Unless I am much mistaken we shall all be hot on his track before we
are many hours older."
He was right. When the sheikh came he received orders to prepare for an
instant march towards the coast by way of the caravan route. Then the
burning zeal of archeology received a check.
"It is impossible that the _kafila_ should move in that direction
before to-morrow's dawn, O worthy of honor," said Abdur Kad'r
emphatically. "We can march south to-day, if Allah wills it, knowing
that we shall find food and water within fifteen kilometers without
fail. To reach the Well of Moses is a different thing. I have not seen
the place during thirty years. We must travel early and late, and carry
with us a water supply that will not only suffice for the journey but
safeguard us against any failure of the well when we arrive there. What
proof have we, Effendi, that it is not choked with sand?"
Fenshawe was too skilled in the varying contingencies of desert life
not to admit the truth of the sheikh's reasoning, but he held to the
belief that von Kerber had secret information as to the practicability
of the route.
"Be it so," he said curtly. "Let every preparation be made. We have no
cause to fear these dogs of Hadendowas. I charge myself with the care
of the camp where they are concerned. See to it, Abdur Kad'r, that we
start ere sunrise."
The conversation was in Arabic, so Stump could not gather its drift.
When he learnt his employer's intentions he roared gleefully:
"By gad, sir, I'm pleased to 'ear you're makin' for blue water once
more. Just for a minute I fancied you was tellin' our brown pilot to
shove after von Kerber, an' string 'im up."
Mr. Fenshawe laughed grimly.
"The rogue deserves it, but I cannot take the law into my own hands,
captain," he said.
"Oh, that wasn't botherin' me," was the offhand answer. "I was on'y
wonderin' where you would find a suitable tree."
Fenshawe bent over the table, and asked Royson to go through the papyri
with him, comparing the Greek, word for word, with the translation. He
himself was able to decipher the hieroglyphs, but the details and
measurements they gave might be dismissed as unreliable. Depending,
however, on the context, and having ascertained from Abdur Kad'r that
the seven small lava hills at Moses's Well stood in an irregular circle
near the oasis, it was a reasonable deduction that the Romans had
selected a low-lying patch of sand or gravel somewhere in the center of
the group as a suitable hiding-place for their loot. It might be
assumed that Aelius Gallus meant to sail down the Red Sea again, within
a year at the utmost, and recover the spoil when his galleys were there
to receive it. Therefore, he would not dig too deeply, nor, in the
straits to which he was reduced, would he waste many hours on the task.
Fenshawe infected Dick with his own ardor. The two were puzzling over
each turn and twist of the Greek adventurer's awkward phrases when
Irene, who had gone out with Stump, interrupted them.
"Dick," she said, blushing poppy red because she used his familiar
name, "you must go and rest at once. I am sure, grandad, you don't want
Mr. Royson to break down a second time, do you? And I would like both
of you to know that Baron von Kerber took with him no pickaxes. Captain
Stump and I have just checked our stock. That seems to be in his favor,
I think?"
"If I have done von Kerber an injustice I shall be the first to ask his
pardon," said Fenshawe. "At present, I have every cause to doubt the
man's motives in leaving us, and I want more than negative proof to
acquit him of dishonesty. By the way, Irene, have you told Royson of
his good fortune?"
"I have hardly spoken two words to him since he arrived," said she
innocently.
"Dear me! That sounds like a strong hint," and Fenshawe very
considerately left the two alone. Tired as Dick was, the best part of
an hour elapsed before Irene could explain fully that he was now a
baronet, with a reasonably large income, or he could make her
understand exactly why he was a somewhat frayed out-of-work when they
met in London.
Perhaps there were interludes and interruptions. Perhaps he thought
that the limpid depths of her brown eyes offered more attractions than
the sordid records of a foolish man's spite and a boy's sufferings. At
any rate, it was Irene who finally insisted that this must positively
be the last, and who threatened that she would not speak to him again
that day if he stirred out of his tent before dinner.
And, indeed, Dick required no rocking when, after a refreshing wash, he
stretched his long limbs in his hammock. His sleep was dreamless. He
awoke at sundown strong in the conviction that he had hardly closed his
eyes.
He and Stump shared the tent, and Dick's uncertain gaze first dwelt on
his skipper, who was seated at the door, smoking. Stump removed his
pipe from between his teeth:
"Good evenin', Sir Richard," he said solemnly. Then the huge joke he
had been cogitating ever since Irene informed him at luncheon that
Royson was now a man of title mastered him completely.
"Sink me," he burst forth, "I've had some daisies of second mates under
me in me time, but I've never bossed a bloomin' barrow-knight afore. My
godfather! Won't Becky be pleased! An' wot'll Tagg say? Pore old Tagg!
He'll 'ave a fit!"
"Look here, captain--" began Dick, swinging his feet to the ground. But
Stump's slow-moving wits, given full time to get under weigh, were
working freely; punctuating each pause with a flourish of his pipe, he
continued:
"Lord love a duck, I can see Tagg blowin' in to a snug in the West
Injia Dock Road, an' startin' ev'ry yarn with, 'W'en I sailed down the
Red Sea with Sir Richard--' or, 'We was goin' through the Gut on a
dirty night, an' Sir Richard sez to me--' Well, there, I on'y hope 'e
survives the fust shock. W'en 'e gets 'is wind we'll 'ave a fair treat.
Mind ye, I 'ad a sort of funny feelin' when you tole me in the train
you was my second mate, an' you sat there a-wearin' knickers. It gev me
a turn, that did. An' then, you took another twist at me by sayin'
you'd never bin to sea. I knew things was goin' to happen after that.
It must ha' bin, wot d'ye call it--second sight--for I knew then an'
there I'd got a prize in the lottery--"
"Oh, shut up!" shouted Royson, diving frantically for his boots.
"That's no way for a barrow-knight to talk to 'is admirin' skipper,"
said Stump. "But I s'pose, now, it sounds queer to 'ave me a-callin'
you Sir Richard, w'en, as like as not, I might be dammin' your eyes as
second mate?"
Royson tried to escape, in his hurry he did not notice a bulky letter
which lay on the top of one of his leather trunks. Stump called him
back.
"You're missin' your mail, Sir Richard," he said, and Dick, perforce,
returned. Oddly enough, the letter covered the initials "R. K." painted
on the portmanteau. Turning a deaf ear to Stump's further pleasantries,
he opened the envelope. A scrawl on a sheet of thin continental
note-paper contained the brief statement that, "by inadvertence," von
Kerber had "detained the enclosed letters and cablegrams." The
enclosures, which were from Mr. Forbes, bore out the accuracy of Mrs.
Haxton's revelations. He was, in very truth, the twenty-seventh baronet
of his line, sole owner of Orme Castle and its dependencies, and
befitted, by rank, descent, and estate, to take a social position of no
mean order.
For an instant he forgot his surroundings. He recalled the stately old
house and its beautiful park as he had last seen it, with all its
glories rejuvenated by the money that was pouring in to the coffers of
his detested relative. And now that malign old man was at rest, after a
tardy admission of the grievous evil he had wrought to his brother's
wife and son. Well, peace be to his crooked bones! Dick could have
wished him safely in Paradise if the wish would restore to life his
beloved mother. And she, dear soul--though he had forgotten her last
night--perhaps her gentle spirit was shielding him as he stood with his
back to the rock and faced the vicious swarm of Arabs in the darkness.
Then Stump's gruff accents broke in on his dreaming.
"Is it O.K., Sir Richard?" he asked. "Them's the papers von Kerber held
up, I reckon? Have ye got a clean bill?"
Royson stooped and grasped Stump's shoulder.
"When we reach England, skipper," he said, "you and Tagg, and Mrs.
Stump, too, for that matter, must come and see my place in the North.
An' I'll tell ye wot," he went on, with fair mimicry of Stump's voice
and manner, "you'll all 'ave the time of your lives, sink me, if you
don't!"
Stump glared up at him. No man had ever before dared to reproduce that
hoarse growl for his edification, and the effect was electrical. It
might be likened to the influence exercised on a bull by the bellow of
a rival. He took breath for a mighty effort--and Royson fled.
Be sure that Irene, though vastly occupied with work which von Kerber
had performed hitherto--those small but troublesome items appertaining
to the daily life of a large encampment--had an eye to watch for Dick's
reappearance. She hailed him joyfully:
"Such news! The enemy proclaims a truce. Alfieri has sent in Hussain
and Abdullah, not to mention the purloined camel. And one of his own
men has brought a note for grandfather, asking an early conference."
At first, Royson was unfeignedly glad of this unlooked for turn in
events. He did not share Mr. Fenshawe's optimism in the matter of a
night attack by the Hadendowas, because Irene was there--and who could
hope to shield her beyond risk of accident when long-range rifles were
sniping the camp?
Alfieri's letter was civil and apologetic. He explained that he had no
quarrel with the English leader of the expedition--his feud lay with
the Austrian and the woman who had helped to despoil him (Alfieri) of
his rights. He felt assured, he said, that Signor Fenshawe--whose fame
as an Egyptologist was well known to him--would not be a consenting
party to fraud, and he wished, therefore, to arrange a meeting for the
following day, when he would state his case fully, face those who had
robbed him, and leave the final decision with confidence in the hands
of one whose repute made it certain that justice would be done.
The appeal was written in hardly intelligible English, but an Italian
version accompanied it, and Irene was able to translate every word of
the latter.
"Of course, grandad agreed," said Irene. "He has fixed on seven o'clock
to-morrow for the conference. I am looking forward with curiosity to
seeing Alfieri again. I remember him perfectly. Captain Stump and I had
a good look at him in Massowah, you know."
"Has the messenger gone back already?"
"Oh, yes. He left the camp two hours ago."
"Did he speak to any of our men?"
"He may have done so. I'm not sure. We were so taken up with Alfieri's
communication that we gave no heed to the Arab. But grandad said, by
the way, that it was just as well he should see our strength, and that
we had a dozen armed sailors here, in addition to so many natives. You
are worrying about me, I suppose? Allow me to observe that I, as staff
officer, have assisted the commander-in-chief to divide our forces into
two strong guards for the night. Grandfather commands one, Captain
Stump the other, while you, O King, have to sleep soundly until the
dawn."
"But I have just slept eight hours!"
"Oh, well, being on the staff, I also arranged that we should mount
guard together until eleven o'clock."
It went against the grain to dash her high spirits with the doubt that
had seized him as soon as he heard of the Hadendowa Arab's departure.
In all probability, the man had found out that von Kerber and Mrs.
Haxton were no longer in the camp. The negro syces and other attendants
were inveterate gossips, and it would be strange if they had not told
him that some of their number were marching towards the sea with the
Hakim-Effendi and one of the Giaour women. What would happen were this
knowledge to come to Alfieri's ears? The man who had not scrupled to
order the pursuit and capture--the death, if need be--of Royson himself
and Abdur Kad'r, was not a stickler at trifles. It was reasonable to
suppose that he was making overtures of peace solely because his scouts
had revealed the size of the expedition. How would he act under these
fresh circumstances? Judging by the pact, there could be only one
answer.
"Now what is it?" pouted Irene, trying to assume an injured air when
she saw the grave look in her lover's face. "Perhaps you don't care for
the eleven o'clock idea? I thought you would like to sit and smoke, and
tell me everything that happened since--since I said good-by to you the
other evening, but, of course--"
"If you gaze at me so reproachfully, Irene, I shall kiss you now, this
instant, under the eyes of every man, horse, and camel."
"Well, then, what is the matter? I know something is worrying you. I
can read your face like a book."
"I distrust Alfieri, dearest,--that is all."
"But he simply dare not fight us. Grandad knows these Arabs for many
years. He says that they depend wholly on a surprise. And how can we be
surprised, when Alfieri himself admits that he is near, and has
actually sent Abdullah, who can tell us the exact number of his men?"
"I think I shall call you Portia, not Irene, if you reason things out
in that fashion."
She stamped a foot in mock anger.
"That is your old trick," she said. "You try to hide your thoughts by
an adroit twist in the conversation. Out with it! What do you really
fear?"
"Let us find Abdullah. Then I shall tell you."
The Spear-thrower, though polite, was not disposed to be communicative.
The absence of the two people who were his allies had puzzled him, and
none of the Arabs could meet his inquiries as to the motives which led
to their sudden journey. In this man's attitude Royson found ample
corroboration of his own estimate of Alfieri's views under similar
conditions. Abdullah obviously did not believe that von Kerber had
abandoned the quest. He fancied he was betrayed. If the chance offered,
he might be expected to throw in his lot with Alfieri.
Though Irene was listening, and Dick was sure she had hit on the true
cause of his anxiety, he determined to win Abdullah's loyalty. So he
told him of Mr. Fenshawe's resolve to follow the seaward route.
"Your interests, whatever they may be, are absolutely safe if you trust
us," he said. "The Baron, is only two marches ahead of us. He does not
know we are going the same way. He thinks we are making for Pajura, so
we will most certainly overtake him at the coast, if not earlier. Thus,
you can convince yourself of his good faith, and you can see for
yourself that the ultimate decision of affairs must rest with us."
The Arab bowed, but he kept a still tongue. Yet he admitted afterwards
that Royson's words had diverted him from his fixed Intent to steal off
when night fell, and urge Alfieri to pursue the runaways.
The Italian needed no urging. Dick advised Mr. Fenshawe to send out two
men on horseback in order to locate the Hadendowas. Hussain, who was
acquainted with the country, volunteered for this duty, and he and his
companion came in at midnight with the depressing report that Alfieri
and his free-booters were not to be found on the main track to
Suleiman's Well.
By this time, not only Fenshawe and Irene, but Stump and Abdur Kad'r,
when called into counsel, shared Dick's foreboding. It was impossible
to do anything before dawn, and the sole difficulty that remained was
to decide whether they should march, when the first streaks of light
showed in the sky, or await the hour fixed for the interview with
Alfieri. They resolved to leave Hussain and a few trustworthy men at
the oasis, with instructions to remain there until eight o'clock. If
Alfieri kept his tryst, they were to give him a letter, written by
Irene, which asked him to follow and join the expedition. Otherwise,
they were to ride after the caravan at top speed, and report his
non-arrival.
So Dick and Irene missed that agreeable watch under the stars, and
their thoughts, instead of being given to each other, were centered on
the unlucky fortune-hunters whom accident or design had separated from
them.
Yet, when the sun rose over the desert, it was exhilarating enough to
find themselves riding side by side once more. The order of march was
simple but well designed. Abdur Kad'r, in command of several Arabs on
Bisharin camels, provided a mounted screen half a mile in front.
Fenshawe, Royson and Irene, with some of the sailors, formed the
advance guard. Then came the _kafila_ proper, with the remainder of the
_Aphrodite's_ crew, under Stump's charge, as a rearguard. They had
halted for breakfast, and were preparing for another long march before
the heat of the sun enforced a rest, when Hussain overtook them. At
eight o'clock Alfieri had not visited the _rendezvous_, nor was he to
be seen an hour later from the summit of the last hill which gave a
view of the oasis.
Ill news is little the better because it is expected, and every one was
wishful to push on as quickly as possible. But the desert was
inexorable in its limitations. Great speed means great exhaustion, and
consequently greater demand for water. Nevertheless, they risked the
chance of a dry spell at the journey's end, and, finally, despite
Irene's protests against being left behind, Royson and Abdullah, with
six of the _Aphrodite's_ men, and Abdur Kad'r, at the head of thirty
picked Arabs, went on at a spanking pace. They were now on the actual
caravan path, having reached it by a cross-country line. According to
the sheikh's calculations, they were ten miles from the Well of Moses
at four o'clock, and sunset would take place at half-past six. The road
was a bad one, and their camels were beginning to lag, but they counted
on reaching the ancient camping-ground about half past five. Abdullah
was the first to discover recent signs of a large _kafila_ having
passed that way. He it was, too, who raised a warning hand when they
emerged from a wide valley and crossed a plateau, which, roughly
speaking, was three miles from the well.
They halted, and strained eyes and ears. They could see nothing, owing
to a few scattered hummocks in front, but they caught distinctly the
irregular thuds of distant rifle-firing. That was enough. Careless of
the rough going, or the condition of their camels at the close, they
raced ahead madly. There was no question now of the odds they might
have to face. Though the Hadendowas were well armed, and outnumbered
them by two to one, Royson felt that the presence of the Englishmen,
all of whom were ex-sailors of the Royal Navy, would nerve his Arab
helpers to attack and defeat Alfieri's band of cutthroats. Moreover,
von Kerber and his small escort were evidently making a fight of it,
and, while daylight lasted, the Hadendowas, once discovered, would
endeavor to shoot down their quarry at a safe range rather than undergo
the certain loss of an open assault.
How long could the unequal contest be maintained--that was the question
that tortured Dick. Many times during that wild ride he asked it, and
the only answer he received was given by despair. It came to him
through a spume of dust and flying sand, and the rattle of
accouterments, and the plaints of frenzied camels, and the yells and
curses of the strangely-assorted company of deliverers as they plunged
across the desert towards the Well of the Seven Hills. And its
discordant shriek was, "Too late! Too late! The gods have frowned on
the pillagers of Saba, and the wrath of the gods is everlasting!"