BOHANNAN BECOMES A MILLIONAIRE
Like men in a dream, after the first wild emotions had died, the
Legionaries peered down into this sea of light. Smoke from the lamps
rose toward the dim, low-arched roof. Blood from the Maghrabi's wounds
slowly spread and clotted on the golden floor.
Without, a confused murmur told of resuming preparations to smash in
the door. And through it all, the dry clicking of the gems made itself
audible, as the major sifted them with shaking fingers.
"Well, men," the Master laughed dryly, "here they are! Here are the
jewels of Jannati Shahr. Old Bara Miyan would probably have given us a
peck or two of them, for Myzab and the Great Pearl Star and the Black
Stone, if those hadn't been destroyed--"
"How do you know they've been destroyed?" the major cried. "How do you
know but what we'll be rescued, here?"
"If the bombardment had been going to begin, I think we'd have heard
something of it, by now. My judgment tells me there'll be no explosive
dropped on Jannati Shahr.
"We've got to fight this thing through, unaided. And at any rate, we
don't have to limit ourselves to a peck or two of jewels. We've got
them all, now--or they've got us!"
The irony of his tone made no impression on Bohannan. His mercurial
temperament seemed to have gone quite to pieces, in view of the hoard.
He cried:
"Come on, then, boys! Fill up!"
And with a wild laugh he began scooping the gems, hap-hazard, into the
pockets of his torn, battle-stained uniform. Jewels of fabulous price
escaped his fingers, like so many pebbles in a sand-pit, and fell
clicking to the golden floor. With shaking hands the major dredged
into the pit before him, mad with a very frenzy of greed.
"Stop!" cried the Master, sternly. "No nonsense, now!"
"What?" retorted Bohannan, angrily. His bruised, cut face reddened
ominously.
"Drop those jewels, sir!"
"Why?"
"Principally because I order you to!" The Master's voice was cold,
incisive. "They're worthless, now. No make-weights! We can't have
make-weights at a time like this. To think of jewels at such an hour!
Throw them back!"
A flash of rage distorted the major's face. His blue eyes burned with
strange fire.
"Never!" he shouted, crouching there at the brink of the jewel-pit.
"Call it insubordination, mutiny, anything you like, but I'm going to
have my fill of these! Faith, but I _will_, now!"
"Sir--"
"I don't give a damn! Jewels for mine!" His voice rose gusty, raw,
wild. "I've been a soldier of fortune all my life, and that's how I'm
going to die. Poor, most of the time. Well, I'm going to die rich!"
His philippic against poverty and discipline tumbled out in a torrent
of wild words, strongly tinged with the Irish accent that marked his
passionate excitement. He sprang to his feet, and--raging--faced his
superior officer. He shouted:
"Sure, and I've knocked up and down this rotten old world all my life,
a rolling stone with never enough to bless myself with. And I've gone,
at the end, on this wild-goose chase of yours, that's led you and
me and all of us to a black death here in the bottom of a damned,
fantastic, Arabian city of gold!
"That's all right, dying. That was in the bargain, if it had to be
done. Two-thirds of us are dead, already, a damn sight better men
than I am! We've been dying right along, from the beginning of this
crack-brained Don Quixote crusade. That's all right. But, faith! now
that it's my turn to die, by the holy saints I'm going to be well paid
for it!"
Bohannan, eyes wild, struck his heaving breast with a huge fist and
laughed like a maniac.
"That's all right, you reaching for your gun!" he defied the Master.
"Go ahead, shoot! I'm rich already. My pockets are half full. Shoot,
damn you, shoot!"
The Master laughed oddly, and let his hand fall from the pistol-butt.
"This," said he quite calmly, "is insanity."
"Ha! Insanity, it is? Well then, let me be insane, can't you? It's a
good way to die. And I've _lived_, anyhow. We've all lived. We've all
had a Hell of a run for our money, and it's time to quit.
"Shoot, if you want to--a few minutes more or less don't matter. But,
faith, I'll die a millionaire, and that's something I never
expected to be. Fine, fine! Give me a minute more, and I'll die
a multi-millionaire! Sure, imagine that, will you? Major Aloysius
Bohannan, gentleman-adventurer, a multi-millionaire! That's what I'll
be, and the man don't live that can stop me now!"
With the laugh of a madman, the major fell to his knees again beside
the pit, plunged his hands once more into the gleaming, sliding mass
of wealth, and recommenced cramming his pockets.
The Master laughed again.
"It's quite immaterial, after all," said he. "I led you into this.
And now it's very nearly a case of _sauve qui peut_. The sooner your
pockets are full, to the extreme limit, the sooner something like
reason will return to you. Jewels being of interest to a man at
death's door--it's quite characteristic of you, Bohannan. Help
yourself!"
"Thanks, I will!" Bohannan flung up at him, blood-drabbled face pale
and drawn by the flaring lamplight. "A _multi_-millionaire! Death? I
should worry! Help myself? Faith, I just will, that!"
"Anyone else, here, feel so disposed?" the Master inquired. "If so,
get it over and done with. We've got fighting ahead, and we'd better
quench whatever thirst there is for wealth, first."
No one made any move. Only Bohannan's mind had been unsettled by the
hoard, to the extent of wanting to possess it. Now that death loomed,
empty pockets were as good, to all the rest, as any other sort.
"You're all a pack of damned fools!" Bohannan sneered. "You could die
richer than Rockefeller, every man-jack of you, and you--you don't
want to! Sure, it's _you_ that's mad, not me!"
No one answered. They all stood peering down at him, their faces
tense, wounded, dirty; their eyes gleaming strangely; the shadow of
Azraël's wing already enfolding them. Then, a few detached themselves
from the little group and wandered off into the gloom, away from the
pits. Leclair muttered:
"I prefer loading my automatic, to loading my pockets! Odd, the major
is, eh? Ah well, _à chacun sa chimère!_"
"Everybody's weapons fully loaded?" the Master demanded. "Be sure they
are! And don't forget the mercy-bullets, men. These Arabs are rather
ingenious in their tortures. They make a specialty of crucifying
unbelievers--upside down. That sort of thing won't do, for us not for
fighting-men of the Legion!"
Bohannan, laughing, stood up. Every pocket was a-bulge with
incalculable wealth.
"Now I'm satisfied," he remarked in more rational tones. "I reckon I
must be worth more money, as I stand here, than any human being that
ever lived. You're looking at the richest man in the world, gentlemen!
And I'm going to die, the richest. If that's not some distinction,
what is? For a man that was bone-poor, fifteen minutes ago! Now, sir--"
A sudden cry interrupted him. That cry came from "Captain Alden."
"Here! Look here!"
"What is it?" demanded the Master. He started toward her, while
outside the door sounded dull commands, as if the Arabs-now organized
to effective work-were already preparing to blow open the last barrier
between them and their victims.
"What now?" the Master repeated, striding toward her.
"_See! See here!_"