The Turk did not shrink before Budthorne. He remained unruffled as he
said:
"Very well; search the boat, gentlemen. As I know two of you to be
responsible, you have my permission to look the yacht over from stem to
stern."
"It's a bluff!" growled Buckhart.
But in his heart Dick was beginning to fear that neither Nadia nor Bunol
would be found on the yacht.
Budthorne was greatly wrought up, and he urged the others to come on.
The Turk spoke to his companion, who stepped aside and disappeared.
A moment later lights flashed up all over the yacht.
The Turk stood smiling in the light of an electric lantern, his manner
indicating his confidence in the result of the impending search.
The lights showed two men forward, where they had been standing in the
shadow of the pilot house.
They were the pilot and engineer. One was a Greek and the other an
Armenian.
"Are these all of your crew?" demanded John Coddington.
"Yes, sir."
Now that the lights were on, Professor Gunn came crawling cautiously
over the rail onto the deck of the yacht, to which the steamer had been
made fast.
"Hum! ha!" he coughed. "I must see that nothing is neglected. Proceed
with the search, gentlemen."
Medjid Bey, the owner of the yacht, lighted a Turkish cigarette and
puffed away with indifference as the boarders began searching the yacht.
It did not take long to search the small, but elegant craft from one end
to the other, and not a trace of Nadia or Bunol was found.
Budthorne was infuriated. He seemed almost deranged.
"What have they done with her?" he cried. "What have they done with my
sister?"
Brad and Dick held a consultation in low tones.
"We're tricked, pard," said the Texan. "The Spanish snake and the dirty
Turk have fooled us. What can we do? They've carried Nadia off. I'm for
taking that Mohammedan varmint by the throat and squeezing the truth out
of him."
"I'm afraid we can't get at the truth that way," said Dick. "It is a bad
piece of business."
"Bad! Pard, if that Spaniard harms a hair of Nadia's head I'll skin him
alive! You hear me warble! I'll kill him by inches!"
Dick walked toward the stern of the yacht, which had swung quite close
to the shore. Indeed, not more than twelve or fourteen feet of water lay
between that end of the yacht and the bank, showing that the water was
very deep there.
Merriwell stood looking into the shadows of the palm grove, feeling
desperate and baffled. Suddenly in the gloom of the grove there was a
red spout of fire.
The report of a pistol startled the peaceful night. Dick Merriwell
dropped on the deck of the yacht. A roar of fury burst from the lips of
Brad Buckhart. With two great leaps he reached the rail of the yacht and
perched on it. Then he uprose and flung himself forward in a spring for
the bank.
He cleared the space and landed on the shore. Recklessly he charged into
the palm grove, a pistol in his hand. The Texan believed his comrade had
been shot down in a dastardly manner, and his heart was filled with a
mad longing for vengeance.
He ran toward the spot where the flash of the weapon had been seen.
Through a dim bit of moonlight ahead of him a figure seemed to flit.
That glimpse was enough for the Texan. He flung up his hand and his
pistol barked twice.
"Give me a fair look at ye, and I'll certain get ye!" he panted.
He came to some ruined steps of stone and stumbled down them, losing his
footing and falling sprawling at the foot. But he was up in a moment,
and again he fancied he caught a glimpse of a flitting form.
Crack! Once more he fired.
"Bet I nipped him then!" he snarled.
He continued the mad pursuit, little reckoning what might happen,
thinking only that he might reach the person who had shot down his
friend and wreak vengeance for the dastardly act.
Suddenly right ahead of him the red fire spouted and a singing bullet
brushed his ear. At the same moment Brad struck his foot against a
broken column of marble which had been unearthed from the ruins and went
headlong to the earth.
It must have seemed that he had been dropped by the bullet. At any rate,
with a cry of satisfaction, a man leaped up and came at him.
Buckhart rose to his knees. He had dropped his revolver, else he could
have shot the other. As it was, the man flung himself on the Texan,
hurling him backward to the earth.
"I have you," snarled a voice, "and when I am done both my enemies will
be dead and out of the way!"
It was the voice of Bunol!
It was now a hand-to-hand struggle for life or death, amid the palms
which grew above the buried city of Memphis. What little moonlight
sifted through and fell upon the combatants simply served to make the
desperate struggle seem all the more terrible.
Although taken thus at a disadvantage, Buckhart was a fighter every inch
of him, and he was not immediately overcome by the murderous Spaniard.
Bunol had flung his whole weight on the Texan, and Brad's head struck
against a block of stone, causing him to see stars; yet the American lad
clutched the wrist of his antagonist and held fast.
It was well he did so, for the Spaniard had drawn a knife, and this he
was trying hard to use.
Bunol cursed in Spanish. He twisted and squirmed, seeking to free his
hand. He was astonished at the strength of Buckhart, for he believed the
Texan had been brought down by a bullet and was sorely wounded.
"You die hard, American dog!" he panted; "but die you shall!"
"Not by your hand, you varmint!" retorted Brad.
"Oh, I'll kill you yet!"
The Texan was gathering his strength, and suddenly there was an
upheaval, Bunol being unable to pin the husky chap to the ground.
Snarling like a mad dog, the Spaniard writhed in an eellike effort to
escape from the clutch that continued to render his knife hand helpless.
Powerful though he was, Buckhart felt his hold slipping. There was
perspiration on Bunol's wrist and on the Texan's fingers. The task of
maintaining that grip grew more and more difficult.
Still Buckhart realized that it was possible his life depended on his
success in clinging to the fellow's wrist.
Suddenly Bunol snapped his hand free.
"Now," he snarled; "now I kill you!"
But, even as he struck, Buckhart sent him backward with a surge, and the
keen blade merely slashed the sleeve of the American lad.
Brad fancied he knew just where he had dropped his pistol, and he
hastily felt round for the weapon.
"Let me get it," he growled, "and I'll make a sieve of that cur!"
He was given little time to search. Bunol recovered quickly. He saw the
other feeling about on the ground. Crouching, he half rose and launched
himself at Brad.
The boy from the Pan Handle country, however, was on the alert, and,
with equal swiftness, he sprang aside.
The Spaniard missed his intended victim, but the knife in his fingers
struck fire from a stone, on which it was broken near the hilt.
A snarl of dismay escaped the lips of the murderous wretch.
Then Buckhart grappled with him again.
Brad did not know the knife was broken, so he made a grab at Miguel's
wrist to prevent him from slashing.
"Whoop!" came from the lips of the Texan. "This sure is the real thing
in the way of a scrimmage. It's a right long time since I've been in one
like this."
Bunol cursed bitterly. At last he realized that his antagonist could not
be seriously wounded. Although he did his best to break away, the
American lad hurled him down and held him.
One of Brad's hands found Miguel's throat.
"Got ye now!" he grated triumphantly. "Tell me where you have taken
Nadia! Speak quick, or you'll never have the chance to speak at all!"
"Go ahead!" gasped the helpless scoundrel. "Kill me! Kill me, and you'll
never set eyes on her again!"
"Where is she?"
"You can't force me to tell."
The fingers on the throat of the Spaniard tightened. Bunol's breath
hissed in his throat and then stopped.
"I certain am not in a fooling mood," said Brad, "and it's up to you to
talk plenty fast."
Bunol could not talk then, and he could do nothing but gasp when the
crushing hold was relaxed.
"I'll give you about twenty seconds to begin unloading your mind," said
Brad. "Time is flying a heap. Ten seconds gone! Fifteen seconds! Time's
up!"
The cry that Bunol started to utter was cut short by the pressure once
more applied to his throat.
Then a figure came flitting through the shadows, dark as night and
silent as a phantom. It sped to the spot and was on Buckhart before the
Texan realized that another was present.
The boy was hurled aside. He had been attacked by a huge black man.
This fellow flung Buckhart from Bunol and pinned him to the ground, a
knee on his breast.
Gaspingly the Spaniard rose.
"Hold him, Kahireh!" he gasped. "Don't let him get away! Where is your
knife? Let me have it quick!"
His hands fumbled in the girdle of the black man. A moment later he
uttered a cry of satisfaction. A bit of moonlight that came through the
palms fell on the blade of a long knife that gleamed in the Spaniard's
hands.
"Hold him still, Kahireh!" grated Miguel. "Now I will cut his throat!"
Never had Brad Buckhart been nearer death than at that moment, for
Miguel Bunol really meant to make his words good. He intended to cut the
throat of the helpless boy, who was held for slaughter by the powerful
black man.
But Brad's time had not come.
Out of the near-by shadows leaped still another figure. Bunol was bowled
over with a kick. Then the heavy butt of a pistol fell on the head of
the black man, who pitched forward across the Texan.
"Brad! Brad!" called a voice that was filled with anxiety; "are you all
right?"
Then the strong hands of his dearest friend on earth pulled Buckhart
from beneath the stunned giant.
"Pard," gasped the Texan, in joyous bewilderment, "is it you? Why, I
certain reckoned you were dead a heap! I saw the flash and saw you fall
on the deck of the yacht."
"But I saw a moving shadow in the grove and dropped just in time to
escape being shot in my tracks," said Dick. "Are you hurt?"
"None at all. But where is that varmint Bunol? Only for this other
galoot I'd choked the truth out of him or finished him. Where is he?
There--there he goes!"
Bunol had taken flight, running as fast as possible through the grove.
Instantly both lads were off in pursuit, determined not to let the
scoundrel give them the slip.
"Shoot, pard!" urged Buckhart. "He may slip us if you don't!"
"And I may kill him if I do. I want to force him to tell where we may
find Nadia."
"Better kill him than to let him get away," panted Brad. "If I had my
gun----"
Crack! Dick fired.
There was a cry of pain ahead of them, and they saw the fleeing figure
fall.
"Nailed him, Dick!" exulted Brad. "That's the ticket! That was the way
to stop him!"
In truth, Merriwell had brought the fleeing Spaniard down with a single
shot. In a moment they reached the fellow, who was lying on the ground,
alternately cursing and groaning.
As they came up, Bunol lifted himself on his left elbow. His right hand
went back. A shaft of moonlight gleamed on something in his hand.
The Texan uttered a warning cry.
Dick Merriwell dropped as if shot, and for the second time that night he
did so barely in time to escape death at the hand of his bitter enemy.
The huge knife Bunol had taken from the black man whistled through the
air, barely missing Merriwell as he fell.
Then Buckhart pounced on the young scoundrel.
"You dog!" grated Brad. "I sure will cook you this trip!"
But Dick interfered a moment later, checking the fury of the boy from
the Pan Handle country, and preventing him from injuring the Spaniard
further.
"Go ahead!" whimpered Miguel, in a way that seemed quite unusual for
him. "You may as well finish the job! You have smashed my knee, and I'll
bleed to death, anyhow!"
"I must have hit him in the leg," said Dick. "I fired low."
Buckhart struck a match and Dick made a hasty examination, questioning
the wounded rascal. He found that Bunol had been wounded in the knee and
was bleeding profusely. With his pocketknife Merriwell quickly cut away
Miguel's trousers and exposed the wound.
The Spaniard lifted the upper part of his body and looked at his bloody
knee. A groan escaped him, and then he began to sob. All the nerve had
been taken out of him.
Dick quickly cut a strip from the lower part of Bunol's trousers leg,
twisted it like a rope, tied it round the fellow's leg above the knee,
inserted his pistol barrel through the loop and began to twist, thus
tightening the manufactured cord until it began to cut into the flesh
and checked the flow of blood.
In the meantime Brad had been questioning Bunol about Nadia, and the
cowered wretch confessed that she was hidden close at hand in a portion
of an excavated temple and still guarded by one of the two black men.
A distant call startled the boys. When the call was repeated they
recognized it as coming from some of their friends, and they answered
it.
Soon Colonel Stringer, Coddington, the professor, and Budthorne came
hastening through the palm grove. As they approached, they saw a man
dodging away. They ordered him to stop, but this resulted in his fleeing
still more swiftly, and he quickly disappeared.
Then the colonel declared he heard a low cry, not far away. The Texan
joined them, declaring Bunol had confessed that Nadia was near by. They
began searching, and soon they came upon the mouth of an excavation, one
of many such, made by scientists in uncovering the ruins of old Memphis.
From the depths of this opening Nadia answered his call. In a reckless,
headstrong manner, the Texan let himself down into the opening, released
all holds and slid to the bottom.
"Here she is!" he shouted, in delighted satisfaction. "She's all right!
Hooray! Whoop! Whoop-ee! Get a rope from the steamer and yank us out."
Medjid Bey gave an order to his engineer immediately after our friends
left the yacht for the shore. The engineer hastened to get up steam.
This was not such a difficult task, as the fires had been kept in a
condition that would enable them to move with very little delay.
The Turk leaned on the rail of his yacht and listened to every sound
that came from the palm forest. Finally he spoke to the Greek, who had
lingered near his master's side.
"Cast off from that steamer," he said. "Do so quietly. Don't attract
attention."
Thus it happened that the captain of the steamer was surprised some
moments later to discover that the yacht was floating clear of his boat.
He sang out to Medjid Bey, but the Turk made no answer.
A sound of moving machinery and puffing steam came from the yacht. The
anchor was hoisted, the yacht swung round.
"It's no fight of mine," muttered the captain of the steamer, in
Swedish. "Let him go. I've earned my money."
When our friends reappeared on the shore, accompanied by Nadia and
bearing the wounded Spaniard, they discovered that the yacht was rapidly
disappearing into the silver mist, far down the placid Nile.
On the return trip to Cairo Nadia told how Bunol and Medjid Bey had
discovered the approaching of the steamer long before it arrived in the
vicinity of the yacht. The Spaniard was confident pursuers were coming.
He wished to fight them from the yacht, but the Turk objected.
"Then put me ashore," said Bunol. "Give me the girl and those two
Nubians to take care of her. If they board your yacht, light up and keep
away from them. I'm going to kill one of my enemies to-night. I'll fire
from the shore."
And so it happened that Nadia was dragged ashore and thrust into the
excavation, the black men being left to guard her. One of them left the
other, seeking to render Bunol assistance in the encounter with
Buckhart; but Dick appeared in the nick of time. Finally the other took
flight, and Nadia was found, exhausted and hysterical after her fearful
experience, but otherwise unharmed.
When Cairo was finally reached Miguel Bunol was ghastly white and limp
from the loss of blood and pain he had endured. Dick lost no time in
getting the fellow into a hospital.
In the morning Merriwell visited his enemy. He wore a very sober face on
returning to the Shepherd's Hotel.
"Is he dead?" asked Brad.
"No; but he may not recover. His right leg has been amputated above the
knee."
"Well, I opine he's got what was his just due," said the Texan.
THE END.
BURT L. STANDISH
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