A DARK DEED.
ROBIN was refreshed by his sleep, although it was not a long one. He
sat up and watched the Mahomedans at their customary devotions at
sunset. Those of Hassan were very ostentatiously performed, as he
prided himself on being a devout Mahomedan. Many were his prostrations,
and numerous were his repetitions of the various titles of Allah.
"Perhaps he is a better man than I thought him," said Robin to himself.
"He may honestly believe me to be an infidel, and honestly treat me as
such; his bigotry may have its root in true zeal."
The manner of Hassan that evening had greatly changed from the sulky
approach to insolence which he had displayed in the morning. He was
more than usually obsequious to Ali, and almost courteous even to the
Feringhee kafir. Hassan politely inquired after the state of Robin's
wound, as if feeling a kindly interest in his health. Hassan warned
the young Englishman to be on his guard against the evil effects of
travelling in the heat after so serious an injury as he had received,
as it would be most likely to bring on fever.
"Remain quiet in the tent," continued the self-constituted medical
adviser, "I myself will bring to you your repast."
"No, thanks," said Robin; "I will rather eat in the open air like the
rest."
Hassan seemed a little disappointed, but by no means offended.
Apparently wishing to make up for past rudeness, at the evening meal,
he himself helped Robin from a large platter heaped with cakes of
unleavened bread, baked upon iron plates over the fire.
Just after Robin had given thanks for the food thus provided for him
in the desert, a miserable, half-starved dog, attracted by the scent
of savoury curry and piles, made its way into the circle. The creature
looked timidly around as if seeking a protector, and then, as if by
instinct, went up to the pale-faced boy.
"How comes the brute here," exclaimed Ali; "we look not even for wild
dogs in a desert like this!"
"I should think that the poor creature must have been left here by
travellers, stopping like ourselves for water and rest," said Robin,
patting the animal as he spoke. "He does not look like a common wild
dog."
"Kick out the unclean brute!" exclaimed Hassan, in a tone of disgust.
"He is hungry, poor fellow," said the English lad, and he threw his own
unleavened cake to the dog.
"Kick him out! Beat him! Kill him!" vociferated Hassan, starting to his
feet.
"No; he has sought my protection," said Robin, understanding the man's
gestures though not his words; "I know what it is to be famished,"
and with pleasure, the kind-hearted lad watched the hungry creature
devouring the food.
"Let the brute alone, Hassan," said the Amir authoritatively, as he saw
his shadow approach with a club-like stick to dash out the brains of
the dog, over whom Robin held a protecting arm.
"I'll not sit down on ground defiled by the beast!" exclaimed Hassan,
and in an excited manner, he rushed to the tent.
"I noticed in India that you Englishmen often make companions of the
dog," observed the Amir to Robin, as the repast proceeded. "I even saw
fine specimens of the race which had been brought by their masters from
Europe across the sea."
Robin, who was fond of animals, and especially of dogs, recounted
several anecdotes of their sagacity and fidelity, pausing occasionally
to give a pat or kind word to the creature he had fed.
"We think much more of the horse," observed Ali, and he told several
stories of the Arab race, speaking usually in Persian for the benefit
of his attendants, then translating his words into English.
"For speed and endurance, I would match my Firdosi against any horse in
the world," said Ali, and he mentioned the extravagant sum which he had
given for the beautiful creature. "Firdosi knows my voice, obeys me as
if he were a child, and often feeds out of my hand. What you have told
of the intelligence of the dog is nothing to—but what ails that dog!"
exclaimed the Amir, interrupting himself in the midst of his sentence.
With a howl of agony, the creature whom Robin had fed had suddenly
sprung up from his crouching position; his mouth foamed, his eyes
were blood-shot, his tongue hung out, he ran wildly round and round
in circles, every one backing out of his way, though the dog made no
attempt to bite. He then rolled on the ground in convulsions.
"Poison!" exclaimed the Ali in English. "That chapatti which you threw
to the dog must have been poisoned. Oh, that villain, Hassan; he meant
it for you!" Then in a loud voice, the indignant Amir gave orders in
Persian that Hassan should instantly be brought into his presence.
Two of the attendants hurried off to obey the command, but soon
returned with surprise and alarm in their faces. Hassan was not to be
found, nor was Firdosi; the would-be murderer had fled with some of his
master's jewels, upon Ali's favourite horse.
"Which way has he fled?" asked the Amir, fiercely.
"By the hoof-tracks it appears in the backward track towards the sea,
by the way that we traversed to-day."
"Thirty miles to the nearest well, and but the stars to guide—a
perilous journey," observed the Amir, "even mounted as he is. But we
must give chase; saddle the horses at once; though no horse," Ali
bitterly added, "will ever overtake my fleet-footed steed. I would not
have lost him for ten thousand pieces of silver. But, let it cost what
it may, I will have revenge on that murderous villain!"
It was a bitter disappointment to Robin to have to turn back from the
direction of Djauf to retrace the way which, even when he had been
incited by hope, he had found so terribly tedious, the horses having
had to keep pace with the slow-footed camels. In vain Robin tried
to persuade Ali to forego the hope of revenge, to leave Hassan to
his perilous ride, and not attempt to pursue him. Ali was intensely
obstinate when once he had made up his mind.
When Robin looked on the carcase of the poor dog, now stretched out in
death, and thought of what, but for a merciful interposition, would
have been his own fate, he returned fervent thanks to his Heavenly
Preserver from the depths of a grateful heart.
The Amir mounted Hassan's black steed, and made Robin ride on a
smaller one by his side. Only the horsemen could possibly overtake
the fugitive—the camels must follow more slowly. All the animals were
tired, and their tedious pace annoyed the Amir, who freely used his
spur. All that was savage in Ali's nature was roused, every feature
expressed the anger within, his very voice seemed altered, the softness
of the Persian tongue lost in the imprecations with which these pages
shall not be sullied.
"You shall drink deep of the cup of revenge!" said the Amir to his
English companion.
"I do not wish to do so," was Robin's reply; "revenge is forbidden to
Christians; we are commanded to love our enemies."
"Another of the commandments of your religion which it is impossible to
obey!" cried Ali, with something like scorn.
"Not impossible," said Robin, "since He who gave the command Himself
fulfilled it."
Robin could say no more; he was not in a fit state for riding—his
bridle arm useless and in a sling, it was difficult for him in his
weakness to guide the animal which he bestrode, or even to keep his
seat. The chase in which they were engaged seemed to Robin a wild one,
and he did not even wish it to be successful, as success would but lead
to some deed of blood. The party were only guided by the stars, and the
fresh hoof-prints traced in the sand, seen by the light of a torch, for
Ali was too impatient to wait for the rising of the waning moon.
But the ride was to be a much shorter one than any of the party had
expected. Ali had to slacken his pace, as Robin could not keep up with
him; the Amir in an irritable mood drew in his rein, but as he did so,
a sound reached his ear from a little distance, which he recognised
with joy and surprise.
"A horse's neigh, I believe; I am certain that it is the neigh of
Firdosi!" Rising on his stirrups, Ali shouted out a call to his steed
in a tone that made the welkin ring.
The neigh was repeated, and from a lesser distance; then the
fleet-footed Firdosi came cantering up to his delighted master. By the
light of the torch it was seen that his saddle was empty.
Many were the exclamations uttered, many were the caresses given to the
beautiful and intelligent creature that had found his way back to his
lord. But where was his rider?
As Ali, who had dismounted from the black horse, was stroking the neck
of Firdosi, a little warm blood which came on his hand told its own
tale.
"The wretch Hassan must have urged on my tired steed with the point
of a dagger!" exclaimed Ali. "And Firdosi who is never touched even
with a wand, who never felt the prick of a spur, must have suddenly
plunged and thrown the coward. Hassan never knew how to ride. And now,
my brave, beautiful steed, thou shalt bear me back to the place of
encampment. Hassan, in the pathless desert, alone, without food, drink,
or means of escape, will get his deserts, and die the lingering death
of a starving dog in the burning heat."
"We cannot leave even a bad man to such a horrible fate!" exclaimed
Robin. "Whatever else Hassan be, he is at least our fellow-creature."
"You cannot plead for the villain who sought to poison you," said Ali,
who had just sprung into the saddle.
"I could not sleep in peace if I thought that even an enemy were dying
of thirst!" cried Robin. "Let us find him—he must be near—and take him
at least to some place where water can be found. Let us remember that
only the merciful can hope for mercy."
"It is not for Hassan that I care to search," said Ali, "but for my
dagger with the jewel-studded hilt which the robber has carried away.
Let me but recover my dagger, and you may do what you will with the
thief."
Again the party proceeded onwards, this time towards the place from
which the horse's neigh had sounded. Robin's temples ached, he was
almost exhausted, yet he went on. The moon was just showing her silver
horn over the waste, and Robin was feeling that he could hold out no
longer, when one of the attendants exclaimed, pointing with his spear:
"There—there! I see some one lying on the sand!"
The party rode in the direction indicated, and ere they reached the
spot, recognised the red fez and the silken cloak which had been worn
by Hassan. The Persian was lying where he had fallen when unseated by
Firdosi's sudden plunge—for the Amir's guess had been correct—Hassan
had been thrown from the horse. The miserable man, who was of full
habit and heavy, had been flung to the ground with such violence that
he had broken his spine. Hassan was utterly unable to rise, or even to
move; he could only groan in helpless agony on the ground where he lay.
That expression of intense pain made the young Knight of St. John
almost forget his own. Robin managed, he knew not how, to throw himself
from his saddle and reach the miserable Persian.
"Forgot were hatred, wrongs and fears;
The plaintive voice alone he hears,
But sees the dying man."
Whilst others were stripping the robber and traitor of the jewels which
he had carried away, Robin, kneeling on the sand, was attempting to
raise Hassan's head to enable him to breathe more freely, but even
the attempt increased the sufferer's pain. Robin's own face looked so
ghastly pale, that at a sign from Ali, one of the Persians brought to
the youth a flask of water, which the man had taken the precaution of
slinging from his saddle-bow.
Robin took the flask readily, but he did not raise it to his own
parched lips; the drops fell into the gasping mouth of the dying
Hassan, and then the would-be murderer expired, with the hand of one
whom he had sought to destroy, supporting his head.