For three weeks now Victoria Custer had been a prisoner of Sheik Ibn
Aswad, but other than the ordinary hardships of African travel she had
experienced nothing of which she might complain. She had even been
permitted to ride upon one of the few donkeys that still survived, and
her food was as good as that of Ibn Aswad himself, for the canny old
sheik knew that the better the condition of his prisoner the better the
price she would bring at the court of the sultan of Fulad.
Abul Mukarram, Ibn Aswad's right hand man, a swaggering young Arab
from the rim of the Sahara, had cast covetous eyes upon the beautiful
prisoner, but the old sheik delivered himself of a peremptory no when
his lieutenant broached a proposal to him. Then Abul Mukarram, balked
in his passing desire found the thing growing upon him until the idea
of possessing the girl became a veritable obsession with him.
Victoria, forced to it by necessity, had picked up enough of the
language of the sons of the desert to be able to converse with them,
and Abul Mukarram often rode at her side feasting his eyes upon her
face and figure the while he attempted to ingratiate himself into her
esteem by accounts of his prowess; but when at last he spoke of love
the girl turned her flushed and angry face away from him, and reining
in her donkey refused to ride further beside him.
Ibn Aswad from afar witnessed the altercation, and when he rode to
Victoria's side and learned the truth of the matter he berated Abul
Mukarram roundly, ordered him to the rear of the column and placed
another Arab over the prisoner. Thereafter the venomous looks which the
discredited Abul cast upon Victoria oftentimes caused her to shudder
inwardly, for she knew that she had made a cruel and implacable enemy
of the man.
Ibn Aswad had given her but a hint of the fate which awaited her,
yet it had been sufficient to warn her that death were better than
the thing she was being dragged through the jungles to suffer. Every
waking minute her mind was occupied with plans for escape, yet not one
presented itself which did not offer insuperable obstacles.
Even had she been able to leave the camp undetected how long could she
hope to survive in the savage jungle? And should, by some miracle, her
life be spared even for months, of what avail would that be, for she
could no more have retraced her way to Lord Greystoke's ranch than she
could have laid a true course upon the trackless ocean.
The horrors of the march that passed daily in hideous review before
her left her sick and disgusted. The cruelly beaten slaves who carried
the great burdens of ivory, tents and provisions brought tears to her
eyes. The brutal massacres that followed the forcible entrance into
each succeeding village wrung her heart and aroused her shame for those
beasts in human form who urged on their savage and cowardly Manyuema
cannibals to commit nameless excesses against the cowering prisoners
that fell into their hands.
But at last they came to a village where victory failed to rush forward
and fall into their arms. Instead they were met with sullen resistance.
Ferocious, painted devils fought them stubbornly every inch of the way,
until Ibn Aswad decided to make a detour and pass around the village
rather than sacrifice more of his followers.
In the confusion of the fight, and the near-retreat which followed
it, Abul Mukarram found the opportunity he had been awaiting. The
prisoners, including the white girl, were being pushed ahead of the
retreating raiders, while the Arabs and Manyuema brought up the rear,
fighting off the pursuing savages.
Now Abul Mukarram knew a way to the northland that two might
traverse with ease, and over which one could fairly fly; but which
was impossible for a slave caravan because it passed through the
territory of the English. If the girl would accompany him willingly,
well and good--if not, then he would go alone but not before he had
committed upon her the revenge he had planned. He left the firing line,
therefore, and pushed his way through the terror stricken slaves to the
side of the Arab who guarded Victoria Custer.
"Go back to Ibn Aswad," he said to the Arab. "He desires your presence."
The other looked at him closely for a moment. "You lie, Abul Mukarram,"
he said at last. "Ibn Aswad commanded me particularly against
permitting you to be alone with the girl. Go to!"
"Fool!" muttered Abul Mukarram, and with the word he pulled the trigger
of the long gun that rested across the pummel of his saddle with its
muzzle scarce a foot from the stomach of the other Arab. With a single
shriek the man lunged from his donkey.
"Come!" cried Abul Mukarram, seizing the bridle of Victoria's beast and
turning into the jungle to the west.
The girl tried to slip from her saddle, but a strong arm went about
her waist and held her firm as the two donkeys forged, shoulder to
shoulder, through the tangled mass of creepers which all but blocked
their way. Once Victoria screamed for help, but the savage war cries of
the natives drowned her voice. Fifteen minutes later the two came out
upon the trail again that they had followed when they approached the
village and soon the sounds of the conflict behind them grew fainter
and fainter until they were lost entirely in the distance.
Victoria Custer's mind was working rapidly, casting about for some
means of escape from the silent figure at her side. A revolver or even
a knife would have solved her difficulty, but she had neither. Had
she, the life of Abul Mukarram would have been worth but little, for
the girl was beside herself with hopeless horror of the fate that now
loomed so close at hand. The thought that she had not even the means
to take her own life left her numb and cold. There was but one way;
to battle with tooth and nail until, in anger, the man himself should
kill her; yet until the last moment she might hope against hope for
the succor which she knew in her heart of hearts it was impossible to
receive.
For the better part of two hours Abul Mukarram kept on away from the
master he had robbed. He spoke but little, and when he did it was in
the tone of the master to his slave. Near noon they left the jungle
and came out into a higher country where the space between the trees
was greater, and there was little or no underbrush. Traveling was
much easier here and they made better time. They were still retracing
the trail along which the caravan had traveled. It would be some time
during the next morning that they would turn north again upon a new
trail.
Beside a stream Abul Mukarram halted. He tethered the donkeys, and then
turned toward the girl. "Come," he said, and laid his hand upon her.