The Black Dog folded his arms, threw back his head, and laughed.
The guide came wriggling like a snake, working himself forward upon his
elbows and his knees, almost flat upon his face, which was little raised
above the ground. His dark features were expressionless. Upon his
countenance was visible no sign of triumph, no elation at a victory that
was well within his grasp. As he came nearer and nearer his dark eyes
never moved from the stern face of the Arab sheikh.
Then slowly he rose to his feet, bringing the butt of his rifle into the
hollow of his shoulder.
"Bayram," said he in a deep voice, "make your peace with the Almighty
God, for you are about to die!"
The Arab extended his arms in the direction of the east. Beyond the
mountains, on the far horizon, the sun was setting in a glow of crimson
glory. The great hills stood forth before the sunset like the thrones
of giants, their irregular, rugged outline a deep leaden colour where
they were not wrapped in gathering clouds.
The Black Dog lifted his voice so that it carried far across the valley.
"Without repentance," said he, "I go into the shades. I have sometimes
acted unwisely, for human flesh is weak, and man cannot have the wisdom
of Allah, whose prophet is Mohammed. But for such false steps as I have
taken I am ready to pay the price. Come, fire, and have done with it!
I do not fear to die."
There was no question that Fernando was about to fire, when Harry cried
out in the nick of time.
"The Sunstone!" he exclaimed.
The sheikh turned to the boy and smiled, his white teeth showing in his
beard. Then he thrust a hand into a pocket and drew forth the Sunstone,
which he held to the light, so that the yellow jade caught the
reflection of the dying sun and looked like the most magnificent of
opals.
"Here it is," said he. And then to the guide: "Will you take this in
exchange for a human life? I am ready to strike a bargain."
Fernando shook his head.
"Do as he bids you," pleaded Harry, who was not only anxious to recover
the Sunstone at every cost, but who had no liking for this business,
which was in the nature of a common execution.
"I have sworn an oath," said the guide in measured tones. "The Black
Dog must die."
With these words he approached, until he was quite near to the Arab. It
was no doubt his intention to shoot the man and then grasp his robes to
prevent his lifeless body from falling over the cliff. Be that as it
may, he failed in his enterprise, for the sheikh was possessed of the
supple activity of a tiger as well as the cunning of a wolf.
Fernando raised his rifle. He was then not ten feet from the Arab. And
even as he pressed the trigger the Black Dog sprang upon him, striking
the barrel of the rifle upward, so that the shot flew high in the air.
A second later the two men were locked together in a death-grip, each
struggling desperately for life.
The sheikh was the stronger of the two, but he suffered from his wound.
Not only was he somewhat weakened by loss of blood, but his right leg,
the flesh of which had been torn by the leopard’s fangs, was stiff and
aching from the great fatigue of the journey across the mountains.
Harry put down his rifle and came forward in all haste, his revolver in
his hand. He desired to give what help he could to the guide, but this
was no easy matter.
The two men were like fighting cats. First one was on the top and then
the other. They rolled over and over so rapidly, and were so closely
interlocked, that it was almost impossible to tell which was the guide
and which the sheikh. Sometimes they struggled at the foot of the
cliff; at others they were on the very edge of the precipice, and both
seemed in imminent danger of falling into the depths.
"Help!" let out Fernando in the voice of one who choked. "He fights
like a demon possessed!"
Harry, in desperation, hurled his weight upon the two, and at once found
his strength of small avail. He was tossed hither and thither, and was
more than once in danger of being hurled over the edge.
At last, not without difficulty, he disengaged himself, recognizing that
he did no further good than risk his life. He saw also that his
revolver was quite useless. He dared not fire, even at the closest
range.
It was then that Fernando somehow managed to release the other’s hold,
and sprang sharply to his feet. The sheikh was on him again like a wild
cat, and had him by the throat. Putting forth the whole of his colossal
strength, the Black Dog forced the other backward.
Nearer and nearer to the edge of the precipice the four feet shuffled,
until the guide actually tottered on the brink.
Harry stood by—a helpless spectator, petrified with horror. The terror
of the situation had taken his breath away. It was as if he had lost
all power and all sensation of his limbs. Then, with a loud cry,
Fernando, hurled from the Black Dog’s powerful grasp, plunged feet
foremost over the cliff.
And as he fell he grasped the air with frantic, clutching hands, in an
agony of brief despair. His left fist closed upon nothing, but his
right laid hold upon the long, flowing robes of his opponent.
On the instant the Black Dog was jerked off his feet. He tried to save
himself by throwing his weight backward—a quick, spasmodic action that
proved that he retained his presence of mind to the end. He was too
late, however. His shoulder struck the tooth-like edge of the
precipice—and, in a flash, he was gone.
Harry Urquhart felt the strength suddenly go from his knees. Unable any
longer to stand, he sank down into a sitting position on the narrow,
perilous path. His heart was beating like a hammer; for a moment he
thought that he would faint.
He dared not look down into the abyss. It was all too horrible to think
of. He sat still and listened, while the sun sank beyond the mountains,
and darkness crept into the valley. A great silence reigned among the
hills that was like the silence of the tomb.