Mounted on a _meheri_, and alone, I toiled with all speed onward over
the glaring, sun-baked Desert, towards the spot indicated by the man
from whom I had, at the eleventh hour, wrung the key of the Great
Secret.
Had he fooled me? Were not his instructions remarkable; did they not
bear suspicion of some ulterior object? Even as I rode along, with face
set sternly towards the sunrise, the thought that the dead man had sent
me on a bootless errand caused me considerable anxiety. Reviewing his
words and actions, I saw how ineffectually he had striven to conceal the
bitter prejudice he entertained for unbelievers, how intensely he hated
all Christians, and with what eagerness he contemplated the eventual
triumph of the Senousya. Such being the case, I reflected, what more
natural than he should resolve to retain Zoraida in the ranks of the
conspirators, in order that she might lead them to the contemplated
victory; what more natural than he should refuse to impart to me the
knowledge whereby I might rescue the Daughter of the Sun from the
dangers that were fast closing in upon her? Again, by the Ennitra, and
in all possibility by the Senousya also, the Wonderful Crescent was
believed to be a talisman that gave triumph to its possessor. Was it
probable that he would, even though Zoraida had commanded, reveal to me,
a Christian, the elucidation of the problem that he had denied to all
True Believers?
No. In both word and action the old _imam_ had betrayed a firm
disinclination to assist me to elucidate the Great Secret, and as I
journeyed on day after day, lonely and friendless, in that barren,
unfamiliar country, the conviction within me grew stronger that the
revelation he had gasped with his last breath was merely a base device
to part me from the woman I worshipped.
Yet it was a relief to get away from that doomed city, with its flood of
fiendish exultation; to escape from the revolting ebullition of
barbarism, and the fiendish glee of my treacherous friends, who were no
doubt overwhelming their Daughter of the Sun with attentions that she
loathed, like caresses from the ghouls of hell. Even the dead silence
of the wilderness was preferable to the din of the hard-fought conflict,
with its sickening sequel.
The camel I rode I had found straying at some distance from Agadez, when
on the eventful dawn I fled from the city on foot. It was handsomely
caparisoned, and, to my delight, I had found that its provision-bags,
ornamented in a manner that showed its owner to be a cadi, were packed
with necessaries for a long march. In all probability its hapless owner
had prepared to fly at the approach of the bandits, but had been
murdered when on the point of starting. After a hurried inspection of
the bags, satisfying myself that there was a supply of comparatively
fresh water in the skin, I concealed the Crescent of Glorious Wonders
within a bag of fodder, and, mounting, had started off, without map or
plan, upon what, from various appearances, I judged was the caravan
route to the well of Tin-daouen. This surmise fortunately proved
correct, for in three days I reached it; then, after halting the night,
I discovered a valley full of luxuriant vegetation, with high doum and
talha trees and great patches of camomile flowers growing in rich
profusion. Continuing through this verdant glen, where antelopes and
giraffes disported themselves, I ascended over the rough, rocky ground
to a high, barren plateau, and, with my face always to the east,
plunged, with a reckless disregard for the consequences, into the great
unexplored desert which forms an effectual barrier between the country
of the Ahir and that of the Kanouri.
I pushed on with all haste, so that if it proved, as I feared, a fool's
errand, I might, by almost ceaseless travel, be enabled to return again
to Agadez before the moon had run her course. Armed with a rifle,
powder-horn, and crooked dagger that I had taken from the body of an
unfortunate janissary, I sped onward through the great lone country.
From sundown until dawn I journeyed, resting through the day in what
little shade I could devise, then setting forth again, always leaving
the setting sun behind, always remembering that each stride of the
faithful animal beneath me took me further and further from the woman
whose life lay in my hands.
Gradually and irresistibly had I been drawn into a vortex of mystery and
treachery, from which I was struggling to extricate myself. Zoraida's
piteous appeal rang in my ears; the very thought of her as the wife of
that villainous archrebel caused me to grind my teeth. Feeling
convinced that the errand I had undertaken must be futile, I was, in my
more gloomy moments, sorely tempted to disobey Mohammed ben Ishak's
injunctions, and try the effect produced by placing the Crescent of
Glorious Wonders upon my brow. Each time, however, the intensely
earnest, agonised face of the aged prayer-reciter, as he implored me not
to try to fathom the Great Mystery before arrival at the spot indicated,
came vividly before me, causing me to stay my impatient hand.
The fatigue of those long anxious nights and blazing days was so
terrible, that, on more than one occasion, faintness seized me, and I
had a recurrence of those strange hallucinations from which I suffered
after Labakan had dealt me the cowardly blow. I seemed at times
light-headed, eager and jubilant one hour, despondent and contemplative
of suicide the next. But the recollection of the deadly peril of
Zoraida, whom I loved with a true and fervent devotion, spurred me
onward over shifting sands and treacherous rocks, onward to the place
where the dead man had promised the Great Secret should be revealed.
On the seventh day after leaving Agadez, I slept under the palms of the
Agram Oasis, filled my water-skin at the well, and, representing myself
as a straggler from a trading caravan, begged some food from the camp of
the Bedouins of the peaceful Kanouri. It has always struck me as
curious how rapidly news travels in the Desert. Already these men had
heard rumours of desperate fighting in the city of the Ahir, although it
must have been conveyed by way of Tin-Telloust and Bir-ed-Doum, the
circuitous route by which caravans travel on account of the wells, and
fully one hundred miles further than the straight journey I had
accomplished. For several reasons I had deemed it best to feign
ignorance, therefore to all my anxious inquirers I represented I had
travelled direct from Akoukou without touching Agadez.
Spending one day only with these tent-dwellers, tall, bronzed, handsome,
good-natured fellows, I gave them peace, and, with the brilliant sunset
once more behind me, rode away through great patches of a poisonous
plant my friends called "karugu," and out again upon the plain towards
the remote little Arab town of Dibbela, where I arrived two days later,
after a somewhat perilous journey across some almost inaccessible rocks
which the Arabs call the Tefraska. At dawn on the second day after
leaving this place, having travelled due south under the direction of
the leader of a caravan conveying ivory and rose oil from the Tsad to
exchange for cotton goods, razors, sword-blades, and pieces of paper
with the sign of the three moons, I came upon the Oasis of Tjigrin, rich
in herbage, date palms, and clusters of tangled bushes, among which
ostriches and gazelles were moving. Here, wearied out, I tethered my
_meheri_ to a palm tree, and, reflecting that in two days I should know
the truth, flung myself down and slept soundly in a dream of quiet
ecstasy.
My awakening, however, was sudden, for, feeling myself grasped roughly
by the shoulder, my hand instinctively sought my knife, but a loud,
hearty laugh caused me to rub my eyes and look up into the sun-tanned,
bearded face which shadowed the glare from my eyes.
"_Que diabe_!" cried a voice in surprise. "Then I'm not mistaken. It
_is_ you!"
"_Eh bien! eh bien_! old fellow!" I cried, amazed, jumping to my feet
and grasping the rough brown hand that shot from between the folds of
the burnouse. "This is indeed a pleasant meeting!"
The man who stood holding the bridle of his milk-white horse was none
other than Octave Uzanne, the Spahi who, when we had met on the fatal
Meskam Oasis, had told me his life's romance!
"Really, I can scarce believe my eyes," I continued, speaking in French.
"I was at Tuggurt when a messenger arrived with the news that Paul
Deschanel's column had been cut up and massacred at the Well of Dhaya,
near Ain Souf, by the Ouled Ba' Hammou. I naturally concluded you had
also fallen."
"_Sapristi! Je suis un veinard_," he answered in the slang of the Army
of Africa, still holding my hand in his hearty grip. Then, with a sigh,
he added, with seriousness, "It is, alas! true that our column was
enticed into an ambush by the Ennitra, assisted by the Ouled Ba' Hammou,
and slaughtered, myself with eight others being the sole survivors. For
two months we were held prisoners by Hadj Absalam, until at length I
managed to escape and travel back alone to Tuggurt to relate the
terrible story. Poor Deschanel! his was indeed a sad end--very sad!"
For a moment he seemed overcome by thoughts of his dead comrades, but in
a few seconds he had reassumed his old buoyancy, and, offering me a
cigarette, took one himself, and, having lit up, we squatted side by
side in the shadow to talk.
"Well, what brings you here, so far from Biskra?" I asked presently,
after he had related to me his adventures at the mountain stronghold of
the Ennitra, which were almost as exciting as my own.
"Duty," he answered briefly, with a hard look upon his handsome face
quite unusual to him.
"You are not alone?" I queried.
"No--not exactly alone," he answered abruptly, without apparently
intending to tell me the object for which he had penetrated so far
south, for he suddenly exclaimed, "You have not yet told me what sort of
life you have been leading among the Bedouins--or why you are here
alone."
Briefly I related the story of my capture, my slavery, and my escape,
without, however, telling him the real object for which I was working,
or mentioning the assault on Agadez.
"You are a born adventurer; I am one by circumstance," he exclaimed,
with a good-humoured laugh, when I had concluded. Then he added,
"Although my life with the Ennitra was one of terrible drudgery, yet,
after all, I would rather have remained with them--had I but known;" and
he sighed regretfully.
"Why?" I asked, surprised.
"_She_ is here!" he answered meaningly.
"Do you mean Madame de Largentiere?" I asked, remembering in that
moment how dearly he loved the woman who had been so cruelly snatched
from him, and with what self-sacrifice he had buried himself beneath the
scarlet drapery of a _homard_ of the Desert. "Is _she_ in Algeria?" I
inquired.
For answer he blew a cloud of smoke slowly from his lips, then from
beneath the folds of his burnouse he drew forth a worn but carefully
folded copy of the Algiers newspaper, _L'Akhbar_, which he handed to me,
saying, "Read the first column."
Opening the limp paper, I noticed it was dated two months before, and on
glancing at the column indicated, my eyes fell upon the heading in large
type: "The New Governor-General of Algeria: Arrival of Monsieur de
Largentiere."
Eagerly I read on. The report described the landing and enthusiastic
reception of Monsieur de Largentiere, who had been appointed
Governor-General. The streets had been gaily decorated with Venetian
masts and strings of flags, salutes had been fired from the warships in
the harbour and from the Kasbah, as the vessel conveying his Excellency
from Marseilles had cast anchor, and as the party stepped on shore, the
little daughter of the General of Division had presented a bouquet of
choice flowers to Madame de Largentiere, who, the journal incidentally
mentioned, was "well known as one of the most beautiful women in Paris,
and a leader of fashion." Algerian society, continued _L'Akhbar_,
welcomed her as its queen. No doubt, during the coming season the
Governor's palace would be the scene of many a brilliant festivity, and
the colony owed a debt of gratitude to the Government for appointing as
its representative an official so upright, so experienced, and so
genuinely popular. All Algeria, it concluded, extended to the new
Governor and his beautiful wife a boundless and heartfelt welcome.
"Well?" I exclaimed, handing back the paper. "You will have an
opportunity of seeing her very soon, I suppose?"
"See her? Never!" he answered, with poignant bitterness. "Already I
have discovered that she is instituting inquiries about me; that is the
reason why I have not sought to return to Biskra. I do not desire the
past disinterred;" and he thoughtfully watched the ascending rings of
smoke.
"Fate plays us some sorry tricks sometimes. Most probably you will meet
her just when you least expect--"
"What?" he cried, interrupting. "Face her? To hold her hand as
before--to tell her that her husband, the man whose ring she wears, and
over whom the journalists gush and drivel, is--is a murderer! No! No!
I never will!"
"But, my dear fellow, is it not your duty to denounce him if you possess
absolute proof of his guilt?" I argued.
"My duty? _Bien_" he answered reflectively. "But the denunciation
would bring no satisfaction to me--on the contrary, it would kill her."
"You are right," I conceded reluctantly, after a pause. "Your silence
and self-denial is the greatest kindness you could show towards her.
Indeed, your affection must be very deep-rooted, or your patience would
long ago have been exhausted amid this hard life and social ostracism."
"Ah! Heaven knows how well I love her," he said, turning to me with a
deep, wistful look. "She loves me too, and the fact that she has sought
to find out where I am shows that she thinks sometimes of me. But I
mean to keep the resolve I made long ago, for under an assumed name and
in the Spahis she will never discover me."
"Now that De Largentiere is Governor, he is all-powerful," I observed.
"I wonder what he would do if he discovered you, and found out that you
held absolute proof of his guilt?"
"Cr-r-r!" he exclaimed, as with a sad smile he drew his finger across
his throat. "If he dared not commit the crime himself, he would hire
one of the many obliging Arab desperadoes who hang about the fringe of
the Desert."
"Yes," I said. "He would, no doubt, make some serious attempt to seal
your lips."
"I shall give him no opportunity. As far as I am concerned, he will,
for Violet's sake, enjoy his reputation for honesty and uprightness," he
declared. Then he added quickly, "But why should we drift to a subject
that is to me so painful? The romance of my life has ended. I am a
derelict, a piece of human wreckage drifting helplessly upon the sea of
despair."
"So am I," I said gloomily. "Only I am struggling to reach a landmark
that will direct me to a harbour of refuge."
"I scarcely follow you," he observed, suddenly interested. "That you
have some very strong motive for spending your days in these uncivilised
regions seems certain, but as you have never exchanged confidences with
me, I remain in ignorance. Is it in your case also a woman?"