The conversation about the last of the Mamelukes filled Max with a
restless ambition.
He wanted to leave civilization behind him and go “far from the madding
crowd,” into the midst of the wild residents of the Dark Continent.
Like those who believe the American Indians to be a grand race,
persecuted without reason by the dominant power, so Max looked upon the
residents of the Dark Continent as being a superior people.
He said nothing to his father, knowing well that his boyish ideas would
be laughed at, but he spent all his waking moments dreaming dreams of
the savages of the jungles.
The wonders of Cairo fascinated him, but there was something too
civilized about the houses.
The lattices--which covered the windows instead of glass--pleased him,
and many a time would he catch a glimpse of some white brow of a lady
fair through the interstices of the lattice, and would feel like
“The lover, all as frantic
Who saw Helen’s beauty on a brow of Egypt.”
It was to be his father’s last day in Cairo. All the wonders of the
city--save the nearby pyramids and Heliopolis--had been seen, and these
had to be left to a future visit, for business called the merchant
back to Alexandria.
Max pleaded for one more day--or at least that their journey should be
deferred until the morrow.
He wanted to see that wonderful City of the Sun, where existed the
university at which Moses was educated, and the daughter of one of
whose professors Joseph married.
And so Mr. Gordon yielded.
Joyously the two passed by the venerable sycamore tree, hollow, gnarled
and almost leafless, beneath the branches of which tradition says that
Joseph and Mary rested with the infant Christ in their flight into
Egypt.
The obelisk of Osertasen I., which has stood five thousand years, was
gazed at by young Madcap with a certain amount of awe.
It was dark before Max was ready to return.
Instead of taking the nearest route to the city, Mr. Gordon, to please
Max, dispensed with the guides who had been good for nothing save the
receipt of backsheesh, and made a detour, leaving Heliopolis on their
right.
They had not gone far before they came upon a number of wild-looking
fellows, half Arab, half Nubian--a species of creature which is
interesting as a study at long range, but whose acquaintance is not
desirable.
“What shall we do, dad?” asked Max, anxiously.
“We must pass them.”
“Is it safe?”
“No, Max, far from it.”
“Then why not retrace our steps?”
“We have been seen and should be overtaken.”
“But could we not reach the men we feed so liberally?”
“We might, but they would help these fellows rather than us in order to
share the backsheesh.”
While the two had been talking the Arabs had formed a circle round
them, at a distance of fifty or sixty yards.
Gradually the circle diminished until the robbers closed in and stood
shoulder to shoulder in firm and solid phalanx.
“What do you want?” asked Mr. Gordon.
“Money,” was the reply.
“You shall have all I have got with me.”
“Hand it over.”
Mr. Gordon was about to comply with the demand, but no sooner had he
put his hand into his pocket than they suspected danger.
“No, no, by the beard of the prophet put up your hands!”
It would be just as feasible to try and sweep back ocean’s tidal waves
with a broom as to oppose the demands of those robbers of the desert.
Mr. Gordon raised his hands.
“Now yours, also,” said the spokesman, whose English was intelligible.
Max raised his hands as he was commanded.
Every article of value was taken from them, and the robbers seemed to
be satisfied.
“Sit down!” the chief commanded.
“What for?” asked Max.
But instead of receiving a reply he received a smart blow on the cheek
which caused him to reel.
That was more than the boy could stand, and he answered the blow with
another.
The chief interfered and stopped the fight.
“Sit down!”
Again Max pluckily asked:
“What for?”
“Because I order it, and I am the stronger.”
“Are you?”
“Yes; besides, I have men here who will do my bidding, even to the
death.”
“Coward!” hissed Max, through his teeth, while his eyes flashed with
defiance.
“Hush, Max!” whispered Mr. Gordon. “Do as we are bidden; it will be
better so.”
But all the defiance of the boy’s nature was aroused, and he turned to
his father almost angrily.
“You may, dad, you have lived here so long; but I am an American, and I
will not obey such a command without knowing the reason.”
“You are a fool!”
It was the chief who spoke. Max could not stand such a speech, and he
rushed at the strong Arab chief, aiming a blow which, had it struck the
man on the temple, might have knocked him low, for Max was an expert
boxer.
The blow only struck the empty air, and Max was caught round the legs
and thrown to the ground.
A cord was quickly fastened round his ankles, and he was rendered
powerless.
“What have you gained?” asked the chief, with a sneer.
“A knowledge of your cowardice,” answered Max, defiantly. “Frightened
of a boy less than half your age. Oh! you are a brave chief, are you
not?”
“Cease, you young fool, or I will gag you!”
“For my sake, hush!” whispered Mr. Gordon.
“Go on, tell us what you want,” Max said, bitterly.
“Monsieur Gordon, your wealth is well known. Send that young fool
there”--pointing to Max--“with one of my men for twenty thousand
piasters, and when he returns with it, both shall go free.”
Twenty thousand piasters is equal to about one thousand dollars.
“And if I refuse?” asked Mr. Gordon, nervously.
“He shall lose his tongue; it has already wagged too much,” answered
the chief, pointing with his dagger at Max.
“But he cannot get the money.”
“Can’t he? Well, I can; and if you don’t send for it you shall die.”
Merchant Gordon knew not what to do.
He knew well enough that Egypt was overrun with bandits such as these,
and that the authorities made but a poor pretense of suppressing the
lawless bands.
He tried to temporize, but the chief was cautious. He knew he had
wandered nearer to Cairo than was safe.
One of the men spoke in a low tone to the Arab, and instantly all was
in commotion.
The two Americans were bound quickly and raised to the back of donkeys.
The whole gang of robbers mounted and hurried away from the vicinity of
the city at a speed that Max could not believe a donkey was capable of
maintaining.
But the wild tribes of the Nile have long possessed the secret of
making the native donkey forget its natural laziness and go with the
speed of a well-trained mule.
“Where are we going?” asked Max.
He was answered by a slap across the face, which nearly capsized him.
“Another word and the body of the American shall be but carrion.”
“Don’t speak, Max,” entreated Mr. Gordon, who was trembling with fear.
The chief led the way across a sandy desert.
The moon shone brightly, and its rays made the drifting sand look like
so much dazzling silver.
It was a scene of weird grandeur.
In the distance rose the pyramids, those monuments of a past
civilization, which are alike the envy and the wonder of the world.
The procession seemed to be winding round the city at an increasing
distance, and nearing the pyramids.
Max forgot all fear and was oblivious to any danger.
The scene was to him one of rare beauty, and he enjoyed it.
If he could but have talked to the chief--if he could have been free,
his happiness would have been complete.
But he was a prisoner, mistrusted and abused.
He dare not speak, and could not act.
Before he was aware of it the scene changed.
He could not understand in what way at first.
The sand was there, the moon was shining, although not so brightly, but
he could not see the pyramids.
The shadows thrown across the desert convinced him that they had
entered a broad, inclined road, and were descending below the level of
the sandy desert.
Of this he was speedily assured, for now the moon’s rays were no longer
seen, and in the darkness the sure-footed donkeys walked forward.
Instead of a level plain of drifting sand, the road was over and
between great rocks.
Massive pieces of granite, several tons in weight, had to be passed,
and it was evident that the donkeys had frequently traversed the
uncertain road.
“Where are we going?” whispered Mr. Gordon.
His voice sounded like a shout, although he had spoken under his breath.
The stillness of the place was awful.
Max felt his heart beat fast and then faster.
He began to think that the road he traveled led to death.
But when his thoughts were the most gloomy, the atmosphere seemed to
change.
He could breathe freely.
There was still the same oppressive silence, but it did not seem so
much like that of the grave.
“Halt!”
The command was given in English, and all understood it.
Without a word of apology, and with an entire absence of ceremony,
Max and his father were dragged from their donkeys and thrown with
unnecessary violence on the ground.
Then again all was still.
Were they alone?
Max could not endure the silence any longer.
“Dad!” he called out.
A blow on the head reminded him that speech was forbidden.
What puzzled him was how these Arabs or Nubians--whatever nationality
they might be--could see in the dark.
He could not distinguish anything in the blackness of the night.
The minutes dragged along wearily, every sixty seconds seeming like an
hour, every hour as long as a day.
With an almost supernatural quickness a score of pitch torches were
lighted, and Max saw that he was in a great cave.
Rocks, or rather pieces of granite, were lying in every direction.
One thing which flashed across his mind was, that the blocks of granite
had been fashioned by man, and brought to that cave at some period of
Egypt’s greatness.
He looked round for his father, and screamed with horror when he saw
the bronzed face of the only relative he had all covered with blood.
When Mr. Gordon had been thrown from the donkey, his head struck a
sharp piece of granite, and was severely wounded.
The chief saw that Mr. Gordon was dying, and ordered him to be lifted
tenderly into the center of the cave.
Max tried to rise, but unknown to himself his feet had been again tied
together.
“My father! Oh, dad, speak to me!”
The dying man turned his eyes round and a smile was on his lips.
“Max--I--am--going--av----”
Was he going to say “Avenge me?”
Max never knew, for a cloth was stuffed into the dying man’s mouth, and
the bandits commenced a wild, weird dance round the body.
Mr. Gordon turned his eyes in the direction of Max and tried to speak,
but either the cloth still prevented him or his voice was hushed by the
great shadow of death which was over him.
A convulsive shudder, and the American merchant’s soul had gone into
the “Great Beyond” to join that of his loved wife.
Max knew he was now alone.
He could not weep.
His eyes were hot as burning coals.
If only the tear-drops would start, he felt that they would ease him;
but no, his eyes were dry and his brain seemed scorched.
His tongue began to swell, and when he tried to speak it appeared to
fill up his mouth.
The torches were extinguished, the place became quiet, and instinct
told him that he was alone--alone with the dead.
Not a sound disturbed the silence.
A horrible thought passed through his burning brain.
“What if he were left there to starve to death beside his father’s
body?”
Madcap Max was not a coward.
He had no real fear of death, but he would rather meet the great
destroyer on the open field, or in any way but that slow struggle in
the solitude of a big grave--a death from starvation.
The strongest soul would quake.
The hours passed along.
Time’s chariot wheels continue to revolve no matter who may wish to
stay them.
Max began to think of other things besides death.
He wondered how he could escape. And if he did, how could he avenge his
father’s death?
Weary and exhausted, Max at last fell asleep.
Youth had conquered.
Had he remained awake an hour longer he would have been a raving maniac.
Youth asserted itself, and “nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep,” came
to his relief and saved his reason.