Dick's next sensation was that of an acute pain that shot through every
limb and every part of his body. On his chest there seemed a terrible
weight that was smothering him, while his head was being crushed by an
iron band. He was choking; his neck gave him the most exquisite agony.
Far away he seemed to hear the babble of mocking voices. Some one was
laughing at him; there were many of them.
In spite of the terrible pains he felt, every limb seemed numb and
helpless. He had not strength nor power of will. A husky groan came from
his lips, which were purple and tinged with blood. That sound called
forth another burst of mocking laughter.
He opened his eyes. At first he could see nothing, for the bright sun of
the Orient was shining full upon him.
He knew not what had happened.
After a bit he began to realize that he was lying flat on his back in a
narrow street, while around him at a little distance were standing many
strange men. They were gazing at him in contempt and laughing at his
misery. To him in his agony their faces seemed the faces of fiends.
A feeling of resentment and anger lay hold upon him. It infuriated him
because they could stand about and mock him in his wretchedness.
"You dog!" he tried to cry; but the hissing gasp that came from his lips
was inarticulate.
One of the crowd stepped out and poked the boy with his foot. Then he
lifted his hand to his mouth and threw back his head, as if drinking,
after which he made a few staggering steps.
The crowd roared with laughter.
For all of his condition, Dick understood that pantomime. The crowd
thought him drunk.
But what had happened to him? Why was he lying there in that wretched
street, with the fierce sun beating on him?
He closed his eyes and tried to remember what had taken place. His
effort carried him back to Fardale. For the time being he fancied he had
been engaged in a desperate game of football, and in the fearful
line-bucking clash he had been injured. That was it. He was lying on the
football field. The narrow street, the queer, gray houses, and the
mocking fiends who laughed at his misery were the hallucinations of his
shocked brain.
What were the boys doing? Had they checked the charge of the enemy?
Perhaps they had the ball! Possibly some one of them had carried it over
the enemy's line for a touchdown, and so, in the excitement of victory,
their injured captain had been forgotten.
"Rah! rah! rah! Fardale!"
He tried to cheer. It was the duty of a true son of old Fardale to cheer
as long as the breath of life remained in his body.
Once more that sound of mocking laughter reached him. Again he opened
his eyes.
He saw no comrades in red and black. He saw no stand packed with
cheering cadets. Again he beheld the gray buildings of the dirty street.
Again he saw those leering faces and grinning mouths all around him.
"It's a nightmare!" he whispered. "I must break the spell! I must move!"
He made a mighty effort, and, in spite of the pain, rolled over on his
side.
The old man came up and kicked him back into his former position.
"Wait!" thought the boy--"wait till I get up, you dirty wretch! You'll
not wipe your feet on me after that!"
One of the crowd spat at him and called him a filthy infidel.
"I'll try to remember you, also!" said Dick to himself.
Weakly he lifted his hands to his neck. It was paining him frightfully,
and he seemed to feel marks upon it, as if something had left indelible
prints in the flesh.
"I'm not in Fardale," he thought. "I'm somewhere--somewhere--somewhere
far away. Where am I? and how did I get here?"
The pressure on his head prevented him from thinking. He felt to see if
an iron band were truly crushing his skull.
He could find nothing of the sort.
"I must get up! I must! I will!"
They laughed and called to him as he lifted himself little by little to
his elbow. At last, with his hands on the ground and his body lurched to
one side, like a man wounded unto death, he paused, breathing with a
horrible, whistling sound.
"Strength--I must have strength!" he thought. "If I give up the least
bit, I'll drop back here and never rise again."
So he waited until a little more strength came to him. He seemed to
summon it by his indomitable and unyielding will.
He heard the rabble chattering about him, but he no longer heeded them.
"The ocean liner--England--Italy--Constantinople!" He was beginning to
remember.
"Where is Brad? Where is the professor?"
He straightened up, in spite of all the pain it cost him. He shifted
until he was on his hands and knees.
The old man, grinning maliciously, again hastened forward and lifted his
foot, intending to kick the boy over.
"Stay!"
It was a single word of command, but it was spoken in a tone that caused
the man to pause.
Through the crowd strode a man with a dark face and a black beard that
was threaded with gray. He was dressed in garments that seemed to
proclaim him a person of more than common rank. He advanced and bent
over the lad, whom he lifted to a standing position, supporting him with
one arm.
"Boy," he demanded, "what does it mean? Tell me what has happened to
thee and to the beautiful maiden."
"The--the beautiful maiden?" muttered Dick. "You mean--you mean--Nadia?"
Then he remembered, and the shock caused him to straighten up stiffly.
He turned and looked into the face of Ras al Had.
"You--you treacherous snake!" he panted.
With all the strength he could summon, he struck the old sheik in the
face.
The mob gasped, and then it howled. It pressed forward, seeking to lay
hands on the tottering boy who had dared strike one of the true faith.
Again Ras al Had drew his sword. Some of them expected to see him run
the infidel through the body. Instead of that, he drove them back.
"Keep thy hands off him!" commanded the sheik. "Leave him to me!"
Once more he clutched the lad, who was swaying and apparently ready to
fall.
"Don't touch me, you traitor!" gasped Merriwell. "I wish I had left you
to die beside the railroad, instead of pumping the breath of life back
into your miserable, old carcass!"
"You are mad, boy."
"That's right, I am!"
"Tell me what happened?"
"You know!"
"By the beard of the Prophet, I swear I do not know."
"It is no sin to lie to an infidel!"
"Ras al Had never lied to any man."
"You do not know what happened? Well, we were betrayed by those black
dogs you sent to escort us. We were led here. I was choked into
unconsciousness. What has become of Nadia I cannot tell."
A strange and terrible look came to the face of the old Arab. His eyes
glittered with a deadly light.
"Do you swear that my men did this?"
"Yes."
"Then to you I swear that each and every one of them shall pay the
penalty of their treachery with his life! That is the oath of Ras al
Had! Do you hear me!"
"I hear, but----"
"You shall see that I keep it. Trust me again. With a word I might have
set these men upon you to beat the life from your weak body. Why did I
not speak that word?"
"I don't know," confessed Dick, "unless it was in order that you might
have the satisfaction of deceiving me and betraying me again."
"If I leave you now, they will fall on you. I will remain by you and
take you to a place of safety. I will prove to you that I am honest.
More than that, I will find the maiden and restore her to you."
"Can--can you do it?"
"I have given my pledge. Lean on my arm. No one will place the weight of
a finger on you while you are with me."
They walked away, the old sheik supporting the boy and questioning him.
Dick related everything that had taken place. As well as possible he
described the appearance of the old Turk who had joined the escort sent
by Ras al Had to conduct the boy and girl back to their friends.
"I think I know the man," nodded the sheik. "I am sure I know him."
"But your servants--you can force the truth from them."
"I doubt if I behold any one of them for many days to come. Without
doubt they were well paid for what they did, and they will endeavor to
keep beyond my reach, for they know the meaning of my wrath. Yet they
shall not escape me in the end."
"But it is the girl--it is poor Nadia I am thinking of!" groaned Dick.
"She may be dragged into a harem."
"Has she friends of influence in your country?"
"Yes. She----"
"You must appeal to the American consul. In the meantime I will be at
work. Hast forgotten that she fell beneath the covetous eye of Hafsa
Pasha?"
"No! I believe that wretch is behind this dirty piece of work! If so,
I'll have his life!"
"It is not likely she will be taken into a harem until the man who
caused her capture learns what is going to be done about it. She will be
kept somewhere for the time being. If you have influence enough to
create a great disturbance about it, some day she will be set free in
some remote part of the city. It will be claimed that she was captured
and held for ransom by brigands. You know such a thing has happened to
some of your American missionaries. If her disappearance causes no great
disturbance, then the man into whose power she has fallen may add her to
his harem. For a few days, however, I believe she is safe. For her
captors will not dare injure her."
To a slight degree these words relieved Dick. Of course he was still
greatly distressed over what had happened to Nadia; but if she was not
immediately dragged into a harem, there might be plenty of opportunity
to frustrate any designs upon her.
Dick's brain was growing clearer and his body stronger. He no longer
believed that Ras al Had was concerned in bringing about the misfortune
that had befallen Nadia.
"Forgive me, sheik, for striking you as I did," he entreated. "I ask
your pardon in all humbleness. I was infuriated with the conviction that
you had betrayed us."
"Say no more of that. I should have accompanied you, for then no harm
would have befallen you. I feel that I am responsible; and, feeling
thus, I shall leave no stone unturned to aid you. This way, we will find
a conveyance at the corner. When you have reached your friends, lose no
time in laying the case before your consul. He will know the best course
to pursue; but meanwhile Ras al Had will be working faithfully for you."