THE FIRST TRICK IS LOST
The cavalcade of horsemen swept along a level plain of beach and from
there turned aside to gain the broom-covered slope which led towards the
cliff top. The white column of the lighthouse, which had been their
guide heretofore, disappeared behind the shoulder of the ascent. It was
no more than a couple of miles away. The riders spurred their horses up
the steep, Aylmer and Van Arlen leading. The edge of their anxieties
grew blunter as they neared their goal. They might be in time to meet
and safeguard those they sought before they left the shelter of Spartel.
As they topped the rise and looked across the undulating stretch of
green which lay before them, Daoud, riding behind Aylmer, gave a
triumphant shout.
"_La bas, alkumdullah!_" he cried fervently. "No harm, thanks to God.
The lady is even now coming towards us with her party unharmed."
Their eyes followed the direction of his finger. A great sigh of relief
broke from Mr. Van Arlen's lips.
A party came slowly towards them, a couple of furlongs distant. Seven or
eight were men mounted on barbs, and armed, in spite of prohibitions,
with Remington rifles swung across their laps. In front of them, a
couple of mules paced doggedly on, carrying two white-clad figures. At
their bridles were _djelab_-clothed youths, whose adjurations of their
charges were audible even at that distance, so still was the evening
air. Two or three dogs chased each other and supposititious partridges
from tuft to tuft.
Van Arlen and Aylmer saw that they were seen, but not recognized. The
muleteers halted and cried loudly to the guard. The horsemen looked up,
whirled up their rifles with their right hands, and spurred to the
front.
Daoud's bull voice stormed the cliff echoes.
"Absalaam--Absalaam ibn Said! Son of foolishness! It is I, Daoud, with
Sid' Aylmer and thine employer!"
The rifle muzzles were lowered; the horsemen drew aside, and the two
white-clad figures led again. A minute later Aylmer reined in his horse,
and raised his helmet at Miss Van Arlen's side. Daoud, with a
self-satisfied smile, was understood to explain that owing to his
unparalleled management the expedition had resulted in an unprecedented
success.
The girl's eyes were raised questioningly, first to her father's face,
and then doubtfully, almost, indeed, unwillingly, to Aylmer's. She bowed
to him coolly, not ungraciously, but with no effect of welcome. He sat
silent, watching as she listened to the explanation which the elder man
gave in a rapid undertone.
She made no comment till he finished, but at the first mention of
Landon's name she unconsciously, as it seemed, edged her horse in a
direction which took her away from Aylmer and closer to her small
nephew, who sat on his gray donkey, staring at the newcomers with the
frank astonishment of childhood. Aylmer noticed the movement. Was it
instinctive maternal impulse which drew her to her charge when she heard
that danger threatened him? Or was it antipathy for himself--the
antipathy which long prejudice had given her for all who bore her
brother-in-law's dishonored name? The shadow of doubt clouded his eyes,
but his lips grew hard and resolute. Despard, if he had been there,
would have recognized the symptoms. It was with that expression that
Aylmer had led his guns into action on Colenso's already forgotten day
of blood.
But as Mr. Van Arlen's narrative continued, the girl's features relaxed.
She turned and for the second time looked at Aylmer, doubtfully, indeed,
but with the doubt of one who reconsiders, whose verdict is shaken by
appeal.
"Captain Aylmer has been at considerable trouble to warn us," she said.
Aylmer shook his head.
"No," he said quietly. "The warning I brought you was only part of my
obvious duty. Surely you see that?"
There was a queer note of feeling below the restraint in his voice. She
recognized it and interest grew in her glance. She looked at him keenly.
"After all, you have put yourself out to assist us in what is solely our
own hazard," she protested. But there was something in her look which
seemed to put the emphasis of her words awry. Was she hinting that he
might have minded his own business, or was she pricking his sense of
honor purposely, to judge him out of his own mouth.
"I thought of your hazard, truly enough," he answered slowly. "I was
thinking, perhaps more earnestly, of my own and my family's reputation.
You forget that if you and your father have a heavy reckoning against my
cousin, his own kinsmen, whom I represent, consider that theirs is no
lighter."
She considered him gravely.
"No," she answered quietly. "No, I did not get that point of view. I did
not even believe it a possible one, amongst Aylmers. There I have to ask
your forgiveness."
There was the hint of a smile lurking in her eyes, something that hinted
that she exaggerated in saying this and knew it. But there was perfect
seriousness in his reply.
"That is taken for granted. And my position in this matter is taken for
granted, too?"
She looked at him questioningly again and then at her father. The latter
smiled.
"Captain Aylmer has his own grudge against this child's father. He
offers us his co-operation."
"And I ask for the friendly treatment of an ally," added Aylmer,
quietly.
Her look was still doubtful and, unconsciously, perhaps, she frowned.
"Considering what we already owe you--" she began. He interrupted with a
gesture.
"You owe me nothing," he said. "If you reckon profit and loss in your
dealings with Aylmers, you have a wide balance against you. All I want
is your friendly tolerance, while I pay in instalments."
She still seemed to ponder his proposal, to review it with the interest
of a curiosity which has been imperfectly fed.
"What is your ultimate goal, then?" she asked.
He hesitated. A queer glint of passion shone in his eyes to sink into
shadow again.
"My goal is the trapping of Landon into an English gaol, for espionage
and robbery. Or--" He shrugged his shoulders meaningly.
"Or?"
"Or his death," he said, in very distinct, level tones.
"Ah!" The exclamation came from her almost unconsciously. Her face shone
with a sudden alertness, her expression warmed, her eyes grew bright.
"You would not hesitate--at that?" she demanded.
Mr. Van Arlen made a little inarticulate murmur of protest; his hand was
stretched towards her with appeal.
She disregarded it. Her eyes were fixed piercingly on Aylmer's face.
He met her glance with matter-of-factness.
"I should not hesitate, if need arose," he said.
She drew a long breath. Her features relaxed.
"Thank you," she said gravely. "Now I know where we stand. And
then--that is all?"
This time it was his eyes which held hers with insistence, almost with
menacing, she told herself.
"No," he said quietly. "That is--not all. But that, for the present, is
enough."
For a moment her heart seemed to halt in its beat, the blood rushed to
her face, the pulse of anger which leaped through her gave her a queer
sense of choking. For she understood. Incredible, monstrous, as his
purpose appeared in the light of her loathing of those who bore his
name, she had not misread it. His words? They were possibly nebulous.
But his eyes? No. No woman could misunderstand that look. Steadfast,
patient, determined--the unswerving gaze of the pioneer who sees the
unseen goal with the eye of faith, and sees it won.
She wheeled her mule with a fierce drag of the rein; her spur found its
flank and forced it forward. She felt morally stunned by this--this
insolence; mere words could not meet it. For the moment she felt
herself deprived of weapons by the unexpectedness of the attack.
Her movement set the whole party in motion. Her father reined up to her
side. She stole a half glance at his face. There was a queer, partly
grim, partly puzzled expression on it, but she read, too, a glint of
humor? Her exasperation rose. Her father, even? Had he gone over to the
enemy; could she no longer reckon that his support would not crumble
from resentment into laughter? Oh, this imperturbable Englishman should
pay for this! If there was one shaft of gall left in her woman's armory,
he should pay! The insolence of the man--the unparalleled insolence!
Behind her she heard his voice, addressed to Absalaam in trivial
inquiry. She felt an overwhelming desire to forestall the answer with
indignant words of bitter loathing. His impassibility excited her--the
serenity with which he passed back, as it were, to little things after
launching such a bomb. She gave a shiver of passion, or, perhaps, fear
had its place in her emotion. There was something relentless in his
attitude, something uncompromising.
Absalaam's answer was forestalled, but not by her. Little John Aylmer's
voice rang out, shrill with the joy of discovery.
"The brown man!" he cried rapturously. "The brown man!"
The other John Aylmer looked up. A couple of men had come into sudden
view round a corner of the track. A clump of Spanish broom had hidden
their approach; they gave an exclamation of alarm as they met the
glances of the riders not thirty yards away.
One Aylmer recognized at once. He was the man of the pier, the would-be
kidnapper whose purpose he himself had frustrated at the moment of
success.
The other man made a movement to cover his face with the hood of his
_djelab_, but by some apparent unadroitness let it fall further back.
And so revealed his identity.
It was Landon--brought to a sudden halt by surprise.
Through a pregnant instant of silence they confronted one another. Then
Aylmer spurred forward with a shout.
"Don't let them escape!" he roared. "A hundred dollars to the man who
takes him!"
The two fugitives turned and ran desperately down the path, seeking
wildly for an opening in the surrounding jungle. Surprise and terror
appeared to have dazed them, for they passed several avenues of escape
heedlessly, made half-hearted attempts to turn, and still blundered on
between the caging walls of green. Aylmer thundered behind them, drawing
nearer with every stride. He leaned forward in the saddle; his arm
reached out within a yard of Landon's flying draperies; he spurred
fiercely into his horse's flanks.
The two men leaped right and left into the green thicket as divers leap
into the blue. And in the same instant something rose out of the
earth--something thin, snake-like, starting suddenly into being, as it
were, from the concealing smother of the dust into a rigid line knee
high. Aylmer's horse stumbled, shot forward, and went down heavily. His
rider was flung far beyond him, moved spasmodically once, and then lay
still. The squadron of charging horsemen were trapped in their turn. Not
one escaped. The goad of Aylmer's bribe had sent every man of them
charging in the wake of his leadership. The taut-held rope accounted for
them all, or for all save one. Absalaam, a consummate horseman, reined
in on the brink of disaster, rearing his stallion high into the air.
The road was an inferno of yelling men and blood-stained horses.
The few Moors who were not stunned and incapacitated by their fall had
to endure the perils of half a hundred wildly struggling hoofs. Scarcely
six out of the score who had thundered so carelessly after their easy
quarry fought a way for themselves out of the melee unharmed.
And of those six there was not one who did not come to a sudden halt
with uplifted fingers as they gained the open road. A revolver barrel
was pointed at each man's breast.
Ten or a dozen men had emerged from the thicket. They used no words;
their fingers, significantly pressed upon the triggers, were eloquent
enough. Only one spoke--Landon, who strolled slowly and panting a little
into the circle which the menace of his underlings had formed.
He halted opposite Claire Van Arlen.
"Eh, sister-in-law!" he chuckled smilingly.
Her face was white, but her hand, which gripped the reins, was steady.
And her gaze burnt upon his face in loathing and contempt.
"Rather neat?" said Landon, amiably. "I plume myself. My resources were
limited, you see. I may congratulate myself upon having used them to the
very best advantage."
Still she was silent and still her eyes flung him their message of
hate. He gave a pleasant little laugh. He made a significant jerk of the
head in the direction of the chaos behind him.
"And the virtuous cousin," he said. "What a fall is there, is there not?
A hundred dollars! He actually appraised my poor liberty so high!"
For a moment the expression in her glance changed as she turned it in
the direction of the still struggling horses and their riders. He saw it
and laughed again.
"You divide your anxieties," he said. "Let me relieve you of one!"
He stretched out his hand and laid it gently upon his son's shoulder.
"Are you coming with your father--to ride the black horse upon the
sands?" he asked.
The child looked at him debatingly. His face lit up at the question, and
then shadowed again as he turned his glance upon the motionless white
figure on the mule beside him.
"Auntie won't have it--and Selim," he deplored.
"Won't they?" said Landon, good-humoredly. "I think they will."
He stared up in the girl's face with insolent satisfaction.
"In fact," he went on, "they've got to. Vulgarly, my boy, they may not
like it, so they must lump it."
He made a gesture of command.
"Come, my son!" he said, motioning him to dismount.
A tension broke. She lifted up her riding-whip and struck hard at him,
struck with the concentrated strength of passion and despair. He leaped
aside, but the end of the lash reached him and left a staring weal of
red upon his cheek.
He cursed aloud; he made as if he would spring at her.
A warning cry came from behind him; half a dozen revolver shots rang out
upon the evening air.
Absalaam, sitting stark upon his stallion, covered by the revolvers
which encircled him, had struck his spurs against his horse's flank. The
fire in the animal's blood had responded in a great leap forward. Landon
wheeled round to see, towering above him, man and horse, looming
gigantic against the glare of the sunset. Instinctively, automatically,
he threw up the muzzle of his own revolver, and fired full at the Moor's
broad chest.
The other bullets flew wide, but that one, so near was the human target,
had no room to miss. Absalaam fell limply, heavily from the saddle, fell
at his mistress's feet. The horse tore past a dozen restraining hands
into liberty.
There was shouting, confusion, the rattle of other shots. And then the
voice of the brown _djelabed_ man thundered out high above the uproar.
"In God's name, Sidi, have haste. Four of them have fled into the
thicket! God alone knows what help they may bring their fellows and how
soon!"
And Landon, who had been flung to his knees in the dust, rose swiftly,
without another word snatched his son from the saddle, and led the way
into the jungle.
In five short minutes he had come, conquered, and gone. He had won every
trick, every trick! Claire passed her hand across her brow as she stared
at the huddle of wounded and--she shuddered in agony as the thought
thrilled--perchance the dead! What lay within that ring of broken
bodies--what? With white lips and fear-brimmed eyes she slipped from her
saddle to see.