MEETING THE REVOLUTIONISTS.
While the boys continued their operations, they talked continually in
lowered tones over the possibilities of the situation. No matter what
turn the adventure should take, they were firmly determined not to leave
the desert alive without Bob. Each felt in his heart that he would never
dare face life if he deserted their comrade in his hour of peril.
Despite his more buoyant spirits, Jack realized the difficulties of
effecting a rescue should Bob ever get inside Athensi as well as did
Frank.
Presently they became silent, to some extent by reason of absorption in
their work, but also because their thoughts had strayed elsewhere. Frank
in spirit was back at their peaceful home on the far end of Long Island.
He could see the great house of the Temples, homey and comfortable,
among the spreading elms and maples. He could see the tennis court where
so often he had performed, and flying over it was a familiar figure in
short white skirt, hair bound back with a bandeau, vigorously wielding
the racquet against an unseen opponent. Della.
It would be tough to pass out without seeing her again. But tougher
still to have to go home and acknowledge that he had let her brother be
captured and carried away to certain death without having done his
utmost, even to life itself, to rescue him.
“If I don’t come back, old scout,” he muttered, soundlessly, “maybe word
of it will get to you some way.”
“Here,” said Jack, “quit talking to yourself.”
Frank looked up guiltily. “Did—did—you hear what I said?” he asked.
“No,” said Jack. Then he regarded him fixedly. “Della’s the real stuff,
Frank,” he said. “She’s worth everything.”
Frank dropped his eyes, but reached out to squeeze Jack’s hand.
Mr. Hampton slid into position beside them. His approach had been
soundless. He appeared worried, and laid a finger on his lips to enjoin
silence and, as Jack half rose, pulled him down beside him. Then
motioning Frank to draw near, he whispered the startling information
that a troop of horsemen was approaching along the Great Road from the
direction of Korakum.
“The scout sent up the Great Road brought back the information several
minutes ago,” he whispered, “and as he said the horsemen still were some
distance off, I sent him down the pass to bring in the man stationed
there, who, otherwise, would have been cut off. Both have just returned.
I suppose you fellows were too busy to notice what was going on. Get
your rifles and come along.”
Without further words, he turned and walking bent over made his way back
toward the front of the plateau where Ali and his Arabs awaited. The
boys, with beating hearts, seized their rifles and followed.
What did this portend? Was the band of horsemen coming to attack them?
Had they been discovered? Or were the Athensians riding out to meet and
escort back the raiders? Either contingency spelled disaster to their
project for Bob’s rescue. Frank and Jack felt their hearts sink.
The front of the plateau, at the edge of a terrace sloping ten feet down
to the road, was narrow. Their force of ten was sufficient to defend it,
as Mr. Hampton had said, against an army. Lying down, a yard or two
apart, they were able to cover it completely. Moreover, the thick
underbrush afforded an effective screen against detection. Unless it
were known they were there, or unless their presence was betrayed by
some noise made by the camels, they could lie securely hidden.
Little time for speculation was afforded. Barely had the boys crept into
the holes left for them in the center of the line, between Mr. Hampton
and Ali, when the ringing sound of horses’ hoofs, echoing between high
walls, announced the near approach of a considerable body of horsemen.
Then around the next bend above them came the leaders of the troop,
riding four abreast, with loose rein, and followed by rank on rank,
until a full hundred men appeared. In the lead rode the captain on a
splendid black horse, not large, but beautifully built, a perfect
thoroughbred. This captain was a young man, still in his thirties,
beardless, bronzed, with the same hawklike nose of Amrath. The men in
rank were some young, some middle-aged, and their appearance was
startling. No two were dressed alike, although some form of the
knee-length toga was worn by all. Some wore leggings, others rode
bare-legged. Some wore remarkable helmets, not on their heads, but
dangling at saddle bow, helmets of curious and exquisite workmanship.
Some wore shirts of mail, of very fine links. One or two wore steel
corslets. For arms, all carried long bows, quivers of arrows slung
across their backs, short heavy swords by their sides like those carried
by the ancient Roman centurions, and heavy spears. Perhaps a third also
carried rifles.
Rank on rank this troop rode past the plateau without conversation in
the ranks, each man sitting easily in the saddle, grim faced or
thoughtful. On every face was a look of fine intelligence, and quite
evidently the force was composed of superior men.
Jack and Frank were in a daze, lying with eyes glued to the strange
sight, unable to puzzle out the meaning. Was this a troop of Athensian
cavalry? Then why the ragged dress of the riders? As for Mr. Hampton,
he, too, wondered, recalling that Amrath had said the common people of
Athensi were steeped in ignorance. So, too, would be the Janissaries of
the priest clan. Yet these men, stern and grim-faced all, looking like
fighters, yet also had an appearance of great intelligence which he
could not reconcile with his preconceived opinion of what the soldiers
would be like.
Bathed in the sunlight which fell into the canyon from almost directly
overhead, so that the windless air was close and languid, the troop
passed quickly, and the last rank came in sight. Only three men rode in
it, and as they came abreast of Mr. Hampton one of this number, a fine
looking young fellow of medium height, with crisp curling hair lying
damp on his bared forehead, turned in the saddle and called to the
fourth man some distance in the rear:
“Jepthah, close up.”
Mr. Hampton’s heart seemed to turn over in his breast. As for Jack and
Frank and Ali, to whom he had repeated his conversation with Amrath,
they, too, recognized the name of one of the exiles of Korakum described
as “true men.”
“Coming, Amonasis, coming,” called a voice merrily, and the man
addressed as Jepthah came in sight. “A stone in his hoof,” he said
patting the neck of his horse.
Again the repetition of a proper name caught the ears of his listeners.
Amonasis. Another of those true men of Amrath’s tale. Only to Mr.
Hampton, with his partial knowledge of Athensian, was the import of the
conversation between Jepthah and Amonasis understandable, however.
“Let us halt a moment and await him,” said Amonasis to his two comrades,
and they nodded.
All drew their horses toward the grassy terrace of the plateau, and the
animals, dropping their heads, begun to nibble the grass. Not six feet
from the screen of bushes behind which lay Mr. Hampton, to whom they
were nearest, were they. An illuminating idea which had been struggling
for birth in his mind from the first sight of the horsemen burst into
full being. These were not Athensian Janissaries. On the contrary, they
were revolutionaries exiled to Korakum. Simultaneously with the thought
came the decision to speak to them, and Mr. Hampton called cautiously in
the Athensian tongue:
“Don’t move, Amonasis. Our rifles cover you. See.”
He poked the barrel of his rifle through the screen of bushes almost
into the face of the stupefied man who he addressed.
“Call Jepthah,” Mr. Hampton continued. “I have word for you two and for
a third man, Shilluk, from your friend Amrath.”
“I am Shilluk,” spoke up another of the three, while Amonasis beckoned
Jepthah to approach and rapidly repeated what Mr. Hampton had said,
“Besides,” added Shilluk, “this is my brother, Shedrach”—pointing to the
fourth. “We be all true men. What sayeth Amrath?”
“Come forth that we may see you,” said Amonasis. “Be not afraid.”
“What of the others who have gone before?” asked Mr. Hampton, with
difficulty mastering all this Athensian.
“They be true men, too,” said Jepthah, in a tone of satisfaction.
“Amrath should have been with us these last two days. There was a great
hunting out of spies and informers in Korakum. Now all are hanged.”
At these words, Mr. Hampton arose and stepped forth, at the same time
beckoning his companions to do likewise. Deepest astonishment was
visible on the faces of the four Athensians at this unexpected sight.
“Who among you speaks French, Spanish or English?” Mr. Hampton asked.
“Or Arabic, either?” he added, thinking of Ali. If Amrath had spoken
truly in saying the revolutionaries all were young men of the priest
clan who had been sent abroad in the world to study among various
civilized peoples, it was possible that one of the four was capable of
conducting the necessary conversation in a language more familiar to Mr.
Hampton than Athensian.
Jepthah smiled.
“You are an Englishman?” he asked, in English with only a trace of
accent. “I have served in the Egyptian armies of England and know the
language, perhaps a trifle better than you, sir”—with a deprecatory
bow—“know our native tongue.”
“Not English,” said Mr. Hampton smiling, “but American. However, our
tongue is the same and I’m mighty glad to meet a man who can speak it.”
Jepthah bowed. Politeness among these men seemed unfailing.
“If you are a friend of Amrath,” he said, “we can speak plainly. We are
on an important mission and must not delay. What message does he send,
and where is he? We feared he had been done away with.”
“He was attacked by Athensian soldiers,” said Mr. Hampton, coming at
once to the point, “and left for dead at a desert oasis six days journey
distant to the north. We found him and nursed him back to life. He was
still weak and could not move, but was out of danger, when we left him a
week ago. His message to you was that you should help us. My son,” he
added simply, “has been captured by Athensian raiders, and from what
Amrath told us we fear he is destined to take part in the Sacrificial
Games. We are here to attempt his rescue.”
Jepthah looked along the line.
“Ten men to assail Athensi,” he said. “You are very brave.”
Mr. Hampton flushed.
“We love him,” he said. “He is a great athlete and undoubtedly has been
captured for the Games. At Amrath’s direction we came directly to this
point in order to arrive in advance of my son’s captors who, said
Amrath, would take a circuitous course in order to touch at three water
holes. My son’s captors were only eight or ten in number, we believe.
And we feel certain we have arrived ahead of them. Here we lay in ambush
since before dawn, when by chance as you passed I heard repeated the
names of those true men Amrath told me to seek in Korakum, and so
appealed to you.”
During the course of this recital, Jepthah’s face betrayed increasing
excitement, and barely had Mr. Hampton concluded than the young
Athensian turned to his companions and began translating in their own
language at a rate far too rapid for Mr. Hampton to follow.
Immediately Shedrach and Shilluk whirled their horses and started down
the Great Road at a breakneck pace.
“They go to tell our captain, Amanassar, what you have said,” explained
Jepthah, again falling into English and addressing Mr. Hampton. “If the
troop has not yet debouched into the desert, he will turn back and in
the pass will await your son’s captors.”
“What if the troop did get into the desert, and happened to be seen by
the raiders,” asked Jack, anxiously. “Would the fellows who hold Bob
prisoner realize your people are enemies and flee?”
“I do not know,” said Jepthah. “Revolution has been brewing for long,
but this is our first open move. Yesterday we hung all spies and
informers among us. Athensi is unapproachable by this direction except
through a subterranean river, which is heavily guarded. Today we are on
our way to approach the city through the mountains by another entrance
over the Mountain Wall. We plan to raise the standard of revolt against
the priests and their Janissaries, among the peasants and country
people.”