free. But you have not compassed your debt to me. You gave to Kahled the
information by which he conquered Jababal. You gave him information
which prevented his making terms of peace with me. But for you I should
be on my way to Mecca and Medina, to sweep them from the earth. But I
like courage, and you have shown more of it than Kahled himself. It is a
pity to throw a heart like yours under a clod of earth, and I will give
you an opportunity to save both yourself and your father. Stand upon the
brow of the cliff yonder, as the sun comes up. There, according to the
custom of your people, wave this lance above your head. Shout your own
name and your father's, so that all of your people can hear, and tell
them that in one hour thirty thousand Arabs will draw the sword for the
cause of Heraclius. Then throw the lance, and if your aim be good, and
you do kill an Arab, that moment I will set thy father free, and thou
shalt be made a prince among my people. Do not refuse me, or, after I
have tortured thee, with red-hot irons I will burn out thy father's
eyes, lest he should still look savagely upon thy corpse!"
He had scarcely ceased speaking when the old sheik exclaimed:
"My son! My Kanana, I have wronged thee! Forgive me if thou canst, but
let him burn out my eyes! Oh! not for all the eyes that watch the stars
would I have a son of mine a traitor. Thou wouldst not lift a lance
before. I charge thee now, by Allah, lift it not for any price that can
be offered thee by this dog of an infidel!"
Kanana did not look at his father. His eyes were fixed on Manuel, and
when all was still, he asked:
"Will the prince allow his captive to sit alone till sunrise and
consider his offer?"
"Take him out upon the cliff and let him sit alone," said Manuel; "but
have the irons heated for his father's eyes."
Kanana chose a spot whence he could overlook the valley, and whatever
his first intentions may have been, he changed them instantly, with his
first glance. He started, strained his eyes, and looked as far as his
keen sight could pierce the gray light of early morning.
Then his head sank lower and lower over his hands, lying in his lap,
till the wings of his turban completely covered them. He did not move or
look again.
In that one glance he had recognized the result of Kahled's last
resolve. In the gray distance he saw that laden camels were moving to
the south. He saw the dark spots, most distant in the valley, suddenly
disappear. They were folding their tents! They were moving away! Kahled
the Invincible had ordered a retreat.
Kanana knew that to retreat at that moment meant death to Arabia, but he
did not move again till an officer touched him on the shoulder, and
warned him that in a moment more the sun would rise.
With a startled shudder he rose and entered Manuel's tent.
"Is the word of the prince unchanged?" he asked. "If I speak the words
and throw the lance and kill an Arab, that moment will he set my father
free?"
"I swear it by all the powers of earth and heaven!" replied the prince.
"Give me the lance," said Kanana.
His father crouched against the tent, muttering: "For such an act,
Kanana, when I am set free I will find first a fire with which to heat
an iron, and burn my own eyes out."
Kanana did not heed him. He took the lance, tested it, and threw it
scornfully upon the ground.
"Give me a heavier one!" he exclaimed. "Do you think me like your Greek
boys, made of wax? Give me a lance that, when it strikes, will kill."
They gave him a heavier lance.
"The hand-rest is too small for a Bedouin," he muttered, grasping it;
"but wait! I can remedy that myself. Come. Let us have it over with."
As he spoke he tore a strip from beneath his coat, and, turning sharply
about, walked before them to the brink of the cliff, winding the strip
firmly about the hand-rest of the lance.
Upon the very edge he stood erect and waited.
The sun rose out of the plain, and flashed with blinding force upon the
Bedouin boy, clad in his sheepskin coat and desert turban, precisely as
it had found him in the porch of Aaron's tomb, upon the summit of Mount
Hor.
His hand no longer held a shepherd's staff, but firmly grasped a Grecian
lance, that gleamed and flashed as fiercely as the sun.
Upon Mount Hor he was bending forward, eagerly shading his eyes,
anxiously looking away into the dim distance, searching the path of his
destiny.
Now there was no eagerness. Calmly he stood there. Vainly the sun
flashed in his clear, wide-open eyes. He did not even know that it was
shining.
Not a muscle moved. Why was he waiting?
"Are you afraid?" muttered the prince, who had come as near as possible
without being too plainly seen from below. "Remember your old father's
eyes."
Kanana did not turn his head, but calmly answered:
"Do you see yonder a man upon a gray horse, moving slowly among the
soldiers? He is coming nearer, nearer. That man is Kahled the
Invincible. If he should come within range of the lance of Kanana, I
suppose that Manuel would be well pleased to wait?"
"Good boy! Brave boy!" replied the prince. "When thou hast made thy mind
to do a thing, thou doest it admirably. Kill him, and thou shalt be
loaded down with gold till the day when thou diest of old age."
Kanana made no reply, but standing in bold relief upon the cliff,
watched calmly and waited, till at last Kahled the Invincible left the
line of soldiers, and alone rode nearer to the cliff.
"Now is your chance! Now! now!" exclaimed the prince.
Slowly Kanana raised the lance. Three times he waved it above his head.
Three times he shouted:
"I am Kanana, son of the Terror of the Desert!" in the manner of the
Bedouin who challenges an enemy to fight, or meets a foe upon the plain.
For a moment, then, he hesitated. The next sentence was hard to speak.
He knew too well what the result would be. It needed now no straining of
the eyes to see his destiny.
All the vast army down below was looking up at him. Thousands would hear
his words. Tens of thousands would see what followed them.
"Go on! go on!" the prince ejaculated fiercely.
Kanana drew a deep breath and shouted:
"In one hour thirty thousand Arabs will draw the sword in the army of
Heraclius!"
Then gathering all his strength, he hurled the lance directly at the
great Mohammedan general, who had not moved since he began to speak.
Throughout those two great armies one might have heard a sparrow chirp,
as the gleaming, flashing blade fell like a meteor from the cliff.
The aim was accurate. The Bedouin boy cringed, and one might have
imagined that it was even more accurate than he meant. It pierced the
gray charger. The war-horse of Kahled plunged forward and fell dead upon
the plain.
A fierce howl rose from the ranks of the Ishmaelites. Men and women
shrieked and yelled.
"Kanana the traitor! A curse upon the traitor Kanana!" rent the very
air.
Such was the confusion which followed that, had the Greeks been ready to
advance, a thousand might have put a hundred thousand Bedouins to
flight. But they were not ready.
Kanana stood motionless upon the cliff. He heard the yells of "Traitor!"
hut he knew that they would come, and did not heed them.
Calmly he watched till Kahled gained his feet, dragged the lance from
his dying horse, and with it in his hand, hurried toward the soldiers.
Only once he turned, and for an instant looked up at the solitary figure
upon the cliff. He lifted his empty hand, as though it were a blessing
and not a malediction, he bestowed upon the Bedouin boy; then he
disappeared.
With a deep, shivering sigh, Kanana pressed one hand beneath his
sheepskin coat. A sharp contortion passed over him, but he turned about
and stood calmly, face to face with Manuel.
"You did well," said the prince, "but you did not kill an Arab. It was
for that I made my promise."
"'And if you kill an Arab,'" gasped Kanana, "'that moment I will set
your father free'! Those were the prince's words! That was his promise,
bound by all the powers of earth and heaven! He will keep it! He will
not dare defy those powers, for I have killed an Arab!"
Clutching the sheepskin coat, Kanana tore it open, and, above a
brilliant girdle, they saw a dagger buried in his bleeding breast. He
tottered, reeled, stepped backward, and fell over the brink of the
cliff.
"You may as well go free," said Manuel, turning to the sheik. "A
monstrous sacrifice has just been made to purchase your liberty."
Turning abruptly he entered his tent to consider, with his officers, the
next result.
"I think they are flying," an officer reported, coming from the cliff.
"The horsemen and camels are hurrying into the hills. Only foot soldiers
seem remaining in the front."
"Let every soldier face them who has strength to stand!" commanded the
prince. "Put everything to the front, and if they fly give them every
possible encouragement."
The order was obeyed, and the fourth day of battle began; but it was
spiritless and slow.
The Bedouins, with their constantly thinning ranks, stood with grim
determination where their feet rested, but they made no effort to
advance.
The wearied out and starving Grecian phalanx simply held its ground.
The prince was not there to urge his soldiers on. The voice of Kahled
did not sound among the Mussulmans.
An hour went by.
Suddenly there was an uproar in the rear of the army of Heraclius. There
was a wild shout, a clash of arms, and the watch-word of Islam rang
above the tumult, in every direction.
Ten thousand horse and twenty thousand war-camels poured in upon that
defenceless rear, and, even as Kanana had declared, in just one hour
there were thirty thousand Arabs wielding their savage swords in the
army of Heraclius.
Another hour went by. The battle cry of Kahled ceased. The shout of
victory rang from the throats of the Mussulmans. Manuel and all his
officers were slain. The magnificent army of Heraclius was literally
obliterated.
Treasure without limit glutted the conquered camp. Arabia was saved.
Quickly the soldiers erected a gorgeous throne and summoned Kahled to
sit upon it, while they feasted about him and did him honor as their
victorious and invincible leader.
The veteran warrior responded to their call, but he came from his tent
with his head bowed down, bearing in his arms a heavy burden. Slowly he
mounted the platform, and upon the sumptuous throne he laid his burden
down.
It was the bruised and lifeless body of Kanana.
With trembling hand the grim chief drew back the sheepskin coat, and all
men then beheld, bound about the Bedouin boy, the sacred girdle!
"I gave it to him," said Kahled solemnly; "and upon the fragments you
have returned to me, he wrote the information by which we conquered
Jababal and Manuel. You saw him throw this lance at me; you called him
'traitor!' but about the hand-rest there was wound this strip. See! In
blood--in his blood--these words are written here: 'Do not retreat.
The infidels are starving and dying. Strike them in the rear.' It was
his only means of reaching me. It was not the act of a traitor. No! It
was the Lance of Kanana that rescued _Arabia_."
[Illustration: "I GAVE IT TO HIM," SAID KAHLED, SOLEMNLY.]
THE END
* * * * *
American Heroes and Heroines
By PAULINE CARRINGTON BOUVE
Illustrated
This book, which will tend directly toward the making of patriotism in
young Americans, contains some twenty brief, clever and attractive
sketches of famous men and women in American history, among them Father
Marquette, Anne Hutchinson, Israel Putnam, Molly Pitcher, Paul Jones,
Dolly Madison, Daniel Boone, etc. Mrs. Bouve is well known as a writer
both of fiction and history, and her work in this case is admirable.
"The style of the book for simplicity and clearness of expression
could hardly be excelled."--_Boston Budget._
* * * * *
The Scarlet Patch
The Story of a Patriot Boy in the Mohawk Valley
By MARY E. Q. BRUSH
Illustrated by GEORGE W. PICKNELL
"The Scarlet Patch" was the badge of a Tory organization, and a loyal
patriot boy, Donald Bastien, is dismayed at learning that his uncle,
with whom he is a "bound boy," is secretly connected with this
treacherous band. Thrilling scenes follow in which a faithful Indian
figures prominently, and there is a vivid presentation of the school and
home life as well as the public affairs of those times.
"A book that will be most valuable to the library of the young
boy."--_Providence News._
* * * * *
Stories of Brave Old Times
Some Pen Pictures of Scenes Which Took Place Previous to, or Connected
With, the American Revolution
By HELEN M. CLEVELAND
Profusely illustrated
It is a book for every library, a book for adults, and a book for the
young. Perhaps no other book yet written sets the great cost of freedom
so clearly before the young, consequently is such a spur to patriotism.
"It can unqualifiedly be commended as a book for youthful readers;
its great wealth of illustrations adding to its value."--_Chicago
News._