The beast gave a quick, purring sound of satisfaction. His tail
began to sweep to and fro. His hungry eyes were eager.
Timokles stood quiet. The leopard walked slowly forward. Timokles
retreated, still facing the leopard. They passed down one wall. They
turned, and proceeded along another. They turned again, and passed
the third. Now they turned, and this wall was the one that Timokles
had not before had opportunity to examine closely, because of the
leopard's proximity to it. But now he dared not look from the
leopard.
"Oh!" whispered Timokles' pale lips, "what shall I do!"
Suddenly life seemed sweeter to him than ever before. He must not
fall into the jaws of this fearful beast! To be caught in this
death-trap, and be torn to pieces! It must not be! He did not regret
that he had avowed his belief in Christ. He would do such a thing
again, if necessary. No less, there grew within him a determination
to ward off this beast as long as possible.
"Oh, Lord, help me! Deliver me!" whispered Timokles.
They turned another corner, and once more the two enemies proceeded
down the treacherous wall through which Timokles had entered the
room. Even as he retreated, Timokles with a last hope kept one hand
pushing against this wall. But they reached the other corner, and
turned, without any revelation of an opening. The leopard walked
leisurely, but steadily. Softly the footsteps of Timokles and the
beast sounded in the room, one footfall answering another. Backward,
backward, went Timokles--now a turn of a corner--backward, backward.
Another corner. This was the wall by which the leopard had slept.
Backward, backward! The lad could not pause, but now, as he neared
the end of the wall and looked up once beyond the leopard, Timokles
saw, in the dark corner that he had passed, what he had not before
noticed when near enough to see it, as he had not before lifted his
eyes from the leopard. In that farther, dark corner there was a
darker line that marked the wall for some distance from the roof.
Timokles dimly perceived that the line was part of one of the old
palm branches, that, years ago, had been laid across the split date
tree that formed the roof's beam. At the time of the making of the
roof, the palm branches had no doubt been securely fastened, and now
this portion of a branch which hung down was still attached to the
top of the outer wall of the building, but had ceased to be
connected with the central split date tree beam, and had fallen
inward, hanging near the wall. Did the palm branch hang low enough
so that, if he jumped, he could grasp it?
The portion of the old palm branch was a slender thing. It would not
have borne the leopard's weight. Probably the animal had tried to
clutch the branch before now. The lower end might be frayed by his
claws.
"Will the branch bear my weight?" questioned Timokles.
He dared not rush across the room, and leap toward the hanging palm
branch. He felt certain that if he should turn his back, the leopard
would spring immediately. How quickly the beast was coming!
Timokles' head whirled. He was dizzy.
Suddenly the leopard growled. He crouched as if to spring, and
Timokles, with a wild cry, fled across the room toward the palm
branch. After him rushed the leopard.
Timokles jumped. He grasped the palm branch with one hand. The other
brought a handful of frayed bark down. He caught hold of the branch
with both hands just as the leopard sprang into the air.
Timokles swung aside as far as possible. A great mass of mud,
dislodged from the roof, fell, smiting alike boy and beast,
enveloping them in a cloud of blinding dust. The lad clung to the
branch with desperate strength, though his support was swaying to
and fro. The claws of one of the leopard's paws raked Timokles' arm,
and then the beast dropped to the floor.
The leopard's angry cries stunned Timokles' ears. He clutched the
palm branch tightly. From the swaying motion and the sound of a
slight, though ominous, cracking, Timokles doubted if his support
were reliable.
The rage of the leopard was frightful. He seemed beside himself. He
leaped and rushed hither and thither, as he saw Timokles climbing
higher.
The boy shook with exhaustion. His right arm bled from the wounds of
the leopard's claws. He was alarmed lest the old palm branch should
break or should loosen from the wall. If he once fell back into the
leopard's jaws, there would be a swift end to this skirmishing.
Timokles looked down at the eager eyes. Then he scanned the palm
branch narrowly. It did not hang parallel with the wall, but stood
out a little from it, and Timokles thought that the branch was
partly broken, up next the roof. He hardly dared climb much higher
for fear of breaking it entirely off. So he lay along the branch,
clasping it with his arms, and shut his eyes. He heard the leopard
walk impatiently around, stop, utter an angry cry, walk restlessly
again, spring unavailingly into the air, drop heavily to the floor.
At last Timokles opened his eyes. A yellow light, turning into
darkness, seemed to fill the space before him. Alarmed, he strove to
overcome this faintness. He knew his arm had been bleeding a little,
but he had not before this feared unconsciousness. Now he began to
feel that he must reach the roof. His faintness might prevent him
from clinging to the palm branch much longer.
With Timokles' first motion the leopard was alert again. Timokles
climbed cautiously. He was nearing the roof. There was a cracking
sound, such as he had heard, before. The leopard moved vehemently.
Suddenly the branch cracked so that it swung Timokles against the
wall. The leopard's movement sounded like a leap.
Timokles was sure that the branch was giving way. He was nearly to
the roof. He clutched at it. The mud-covered, rotten mat that he
grasped broke through his fingers, and the dust descended into his
face. He grasped again, with the same result. The branch was
momentarily growing looser. The leopard was ready.
Timokles grasped again--again--again! The rotten mats and the mud
with which they had been plastered came away in great handfuls. He
could hardly see, for the descending dust. He grasped blindly,
desperately. He felt something firm! It was another palm branch that
his fingers reached as he dug through the mud. He held on with the
clutch of despair.
His head just reached a hole in the roof. He missed his grasp, and
fell back on the swinging, broken palm branch. With one final,
cracking sound it parted! Timokles' one hand grasped the top of the
wall; his other hand reached the outer part of the roof. He heard
the old palm branch fall, and the leopard spring to meet it.
Dragging himself upward, panting with exhaustion, Timokles succeeded
in mounting through the hole to the outside of the roof. His foot
plunged through a mat. He recovered himself, and crawling to a
little distance from the hole, he lay down on the roof. The sun was
high in the heavens, but all the world became black to Timokles.
He lay there, faint, for hours. When he could look up at last, the
sun was descending toward the west. Far overhead sailed the sacred
hawk of Egypt, and the bird's piercing cry, full of melancholy,
reached Timokles' ears. The shadow of a palm tree stretched outward
and touched him.
"Oh, God!" whispered Timokles reverently, "Thou west Daniel's God.
Thou art mine!"
Night had fallen. Timokles, lying in the dark, heard a sound beside
the building. Some one was coming!
Timokles crept to the roof's edge farthest from the sound, and lay
down.
The head of a man appeared above the roof's level. Evidently he was
not accustomed to the roof, for he was very cautious in his
movements, and tested every step he took. He carefully approached
one of the holes of the roof, and, kneeling, put his face down to
the aperture.
The man spoke, and, by his tones, Timokles recognized Pentaur the
merchant.
"Oh, Christian!" cried Pentaur into the depth of the building,
"livest thou? Ill shall I fare at the judgment of Osiris for this
day's deed!"
There was silence.
Perhaps, from the darkness of the room below, Pentaur could see the
shining of the brute's eyes, or hear his uneasy stepping to and fro.
Something sent a shudder of horror through the man.
"I have taken pleasure in righteousness," he protested. "I have
heretofore done no injury to men who honored their gods. Oh, Osiris,
I have been righteous!"
There was an awful horror in the man's voice. Timokles was moved
with compassion for his former owner, and yet the lad kept silent.
"Shall I speak to him?" Timokles questioned himself. "If he shall be
beset in some other place by those who hate Christians, will he not
abandon me again to my enemies?"
The merchant waited a moment longer.
"Oh, Osiris!" then he wailed again, "I have been righteous! He was
only a Christian!"
The merchant sprang up, and sped toward the edge of the roof where
he had first appeared. His foot plunged to its ankle through a weak
place in the mats. He shrieked aloud at the fear of falling through
into the room below. Hurrying forward, he disappeared down the side
of the building. Timokles heard the man running among the fallen
stones. The footsteps grew faint, and ceased to be audible.
Timokles drew a breath of thankfulness. He crept and felt in the
dark for a few, scattered dates that he had before noticed lying
near the roof's edge, the fruit having fallen from a date palm and
having lain there till nearly as dry as shards. But there was still
nutriment left in the dates, and, having eaten nothing since
morning, he gnawed the fruit.
He could not descend by the date palm's trunk, for that was too far
from the roof to be reached by him. The palm's straight trunk shot
up twenty cubits above the roof's level, and, after the manner of
the date palm's growth, bore no branches, such as the doum palm has.
"How did Pentaur climb?" thought Timokles.
The lad passed to the other edge, where the merchant had
disappeared. Here, a little lower as yet than the roof, he found a
group of young doum palms, the branching stems of which variety of
trees he had noticed here and there in forest-like clumps throughout
the oasis. Timokles found no difficulty in descending with the doum
palms' help, and he reflected that perhaps food for the leopard was
often brought up this way, and thrown to the creature through the
roof's holes. No one had come to-day with food, because the
Christian had been sent to keep the leopard company!
The village, some distance away, was quiet. Scarcely had he gone a
score of steps before he saw a star reflected in a spring at his
feet. Timokles dropped upon his knees, and with thankfulness drank
of the refreshing water. How he had longed for some, as he had lain
on the roof under the parching sun this day! He bathed his scratched
arm, which had ceased to bleed but still felt very sore.
Carefully Timokles crept over the fallen remnants of the old
building. Then he turned from the direction in which the village
lay, and set his face toward the northern limestone hills.
He was concealed among them when the sun rose. It would be folly for
him to venture out alone upon the desert without food, even if he
had water in his small skin bottle. As the morning went by, Timokles
saw a few desert hares, but otherwise he was alone. Toward evening,
being compelled to find some food, he searched the district, and
found, under the stones, the nest of some wild bees. With much
difficulty Timokles obtained a little of the honey.
A falling stone attracted Timokles' attention. Turning with quick
affright, he saw a woman. There was a startled suspicion in her
eyes, as she gazed at him. She held a young gazelle that had strayed
away and had been the object of her search near these hills.
Suddenly the woman disappeared without a word.