A FRENCH WARRIOR.
John digs his heels into the sides of the animal he bestrides, and urges
him on with every artifice known to a jockey, and considering the
darkness, the rough nature of the road, and the weariness of the beast,
he succeeds in getting over the ground at quite a respectable rate.
Thus, meeting no one on the way, he finally bursts upon the village of
Birkadeen much after the manner of a thunderbolt from a clear sky, and
dashes up to the office of the stage line, which, as may be supposed, is
managed by Franks.
A Frenchman has charge, and upon his vision there suddenly bursts a
dusty figure, with hair destitute of covering, and clothing awry, a
figure that has leaped from a horse bathed in sweat; a figure he
imagines has broken loose from some mad-house, yet which upon addressing
him shows a wonderful amount of coolness.
"Are you the agent of the stage line?" is the first question fired at
him.
"I am Monsieur Constans. I have ze charge of ze elegant equipage line
zat you speak of as one stage," returns the Frenchman.
"You remember my passing through here a little while ago, bound for
Algiers?"
"_Parbleu!_ zat is so. I am astonish. What for are you back on ze
horseback, too. _Mon Dieu!_ have ze robbers been at it again? Ten souzan
fury, and ze _cadi_ promise zat we have no more trouble wif zem."
At the mention of the word John experiences a sudden chill, remembering
that he has left Lady Ruth and Aunt Gwen upon the loneliest part of the
road to Algiers; but becomes somewhat reassured when it also crosses his
memory that the gallant professor and the soldier hero of Zulu battles
are there to defend them.
"You are mistaken. The miserable vehicle has broken down," he says.
"_Ciel!_ is zat all?"
"All! Confound your impudence, and isn't it enough when two ladies are
almost killed outright by the accident? All! when we've been rattled
about like dry peas in a pod, until there's hardly a square inch of me
that doesn't ache. I'll tell you, monsieur, what you are to do, and in
a dused hurry, too. Order out another stage and fly to the scene of the
wreck without delay."
"Begar! if I only had a vehicle," he groans.
"You shall find one of some sort inside of five minutes and go with me
to the scene to rescue my friends, and take them to safety, or you must
take the consequences," and in his excitement John glowers upon the
dapper Gaul until the latter actually trembles with trepidation.
"Stop! I have zink of something. Zere is one old vehicle in ze shed,
laid by for repairs. By careful handling it would do."
"Good! Get horses hitched to it; we must lose no time. To the rescue,
Monsieur Constans. Ladies have been hurt; they must be taken to the city
as speedily as possible."
The Gaul is excitable by nature, and he catches some of John's surplus
enthusiasm, springs to his feet, and is out of the office door like a
shot, shouting almost unintelligible orders to the gang of dirty Arabs
who have rushed to the scene upon the advent of a Frank entering the
village like a young cyclone and riding a horse that from its harness
they recognize as belonging to the stage line.
John, finding they make such poor headway, proceeds to lend his
assistance, and under his directions the job is finally completed.
An old stage, even worse than the wrecked one, is brought out, and the
horse John rode harnessed to it. Then a second animal is secured, and
after some difficulty about the harness has been adjusted, they are off.
There is, of course, danger that the same catastrophe will happen to
them, but the emergency is great, and John handles the reins himself.
Thus through the darkness they proceed, gradually nearing the scene of
the disaster.
The nearer they come the more John's fears arise, though he would find
it hard to give good reasons for them, since they rest only upon the
words that have been let fall by the dapper little French agent who sits
beside him on the box, and holds on for dear life, uttering numerous
exclamations, in his explosive way, as they pitch and toss.
A tree looms up. John recognizes it as a mark which just preceded their
overthrow. Hence, the wrecked stage must lie just beyond, so he pulls in
his horse and tries to pierce the darkness that lies like a pall around.
They have at his suggestion brought a lantern along, but of course this
is of little use to them as yet.
"What is that cry up on the hill-side?" asks John, as he hears a
peculiar sound.
"Monsieur es worry; he need be. Zat is some rascally jackal or hyena;
zey hover around ze villages and do much mischief. I have seen zem
myself carry off one sheep."
This is not very pleasant intelligence, but John is now engaged in
trying to pierce the gloom, and believes he sees some object that may
prove to be the wrecked stage.
He sings out with a hail:
"Ah, there, professor!"
Not a reply; only what seems to be an echo is flung back from the
hill-side.
Then John's heart stands still with a sudden fear, as he imagines that
some terrible thing has occurred. He raises his voice and calls upon
Philander. When there comes no reply to this, he makes use of Sir
Lionel's name and bellows it forth until the valley seems to ring with
the sound. Still hopeless, for no answer bids him drop his fears.
Now the fact is assured that something serious has happened.
John jumps to the ground, desirous of seeing whether they have actually
reached the spot where the wrecked omnibus lies.
He finds it to be true, and in another moment is standing upon the very
place where Aunt Gwen reclined at the time of his departure.
There is much room for speculation. Any one of half a dozen things might
have happened, for to one who is utterly in the dark, there is no end of
possibilities.
What can he do?
One chance there is, that while he, Doctor Chicago, was absent,
bent upon his errand of mercy and rescue, Mustapha may have once more
appeared upon the scene, and influenced the little party to move
on in the direction of the distant city.
He still places implicit confidence in the guide, and has strong hopes,
though the absence of the Arab at the time of the accident is utterly
unexplainable.
By this time monsieur has descended from his perch, and joins him. In
his hand he carries the lantern, ready for use.
"What have you found, _mon ami_?" asks this worthy, as he arrives on the
scene.
"Here is the wrecked stage, but my friends have vanished. It puzzles me
to know what has become of them."
"No doubt they have gone ahead, fearing that you could not ze new
vehicle obtain. We may soon discover ze truth."
"By going forward, yes; but before we do that, perhaps I can learn
something about the direction they took."
"Ah! you will apply ze wonderful science of ze prairie. I have heard of
it, begar, and I shall be one very glad to see ze experiment."
He poses in an attitude of expectation, and keeps his eyes fastened upon
the other, who has already picked up the lantern and bends over, with
the intention of following the trail.
This soon brings him from the ruined stage to the olive tree under which
they had laid Aunt Gwen.
Arrived here he utters an exclamation.
"This tells the story. Confusion, indeed."
"What now, monsieur?" echoes the Frenchman.
"See; the tracks are numerous."
"But they would have been had these people moved about a good deal."
"Look again. You will note that they are made by other feet. Many men
have been here. What you once suggested--"
"_Mon Dieu!_ robbers?" as if appalled.
"That explanation is nearer the mark that anything else."
The prospect is appalling, for these wild robbers of the desert fear
neither man nor devil, and when once they retreat to their hiding-places
in the mountains, it is next to folly to dream of following them.
John Craig finds himself in a dilemma. To whom can he appeal in this,
his hour of trial? Will the authorities do anything for him in case the
American or British consul make a demand? Can they accomplish aught?
These wild Bedouins of the desert do not come under the jurisdiction of
the Dey. His orders would be laughed to scorn, and mounted on their
swift Arabian steeds they would mock any effort to chase them.
So John is deeply puzzled, and knows not how to turn. If the Frenchman,
usually so bright and witty, cannot suggest something to help him out of
this dilemma, he will have to depend upon himself alone; but Monsieur
Constans shrugs his shoulders and professes to be all at sea.
Dimly John begins to suspect that this may not have been such an
accident after all.
He begins to suspect a plot.
The driver? what of him?
His actions had been strange and almost crazy from the start, and yet
John feels sure that if the case were thoroughly investigated it would
be found that he was not in the habit of thus running with his loads
over the rough part of his trip.
There is something unusual in this, and something that demands
investigation. The man's actions were suspicious, to say the least,
for just as soon as the break-down occurred he had vanished from view.
Evidently he was in league with some one.
John is furious to think that he left the scene of the disaster.
Why did he not let Sir Lionel go? The baronet seemed to be in earnest in
his offer, and under such circumstances--but what nonsense after all, to
think that he could do more, when the veteran of three wars was
evidently unable to prevail against his foes.
Thus, after summing up, John is compelled to admit with a groan that he
knows absolutely nothing about the case, and is in a position to learn
little more.
He is a man of action, however, and can not bear to see minutes pass
without at least an effort to utilize them.
Can they follow the track?
It is a possible solution of the problem, although it promises to be
hard work.
Then, again, he thinks of his companion. How far may the Gaul be
trusted? He has known Frenchmen who were brave; he has a good opinion of
them as a fighting nation, and yet this individual specimen may not turn
out to be a warrior.
With the hope of getting an ally, then, he turns to the subject of his
anxiety.
"Monsieur Constans."
"I am here."
"Your words have come true. Arab robbers have, I fear, carried off my
friends."
"_Mon Dieu!_ it ees sad."
"I am determined to rescue them."
"Bravo! bravo!" clapping his hands with the excitement of the moment.
"One thing worries me."
"Ah! monsieur must be plain."
"It concerns you."
"_Le Diable!_ in what way?"
"How far can I depend on you?"
At this the French agent draws his figure up with much pomposity. He
slaps one hand upon his inflated chest.
"To ze death, monsieur!"
"Good! Tell me, are you armed?"
"It has been my habit, among zese Arabs, zese negroes, zese ragged
Kabyles from ze mountains. I would not trust my life wizout zis."
Then he suddenly flourishes before John's eyes, delighted with the
spectacle, a genuine American bull-dog revolver, which, judging from its
appearance, is capable of doing considerable execution when held by a
determined hand, and guided with a quick eye.
John instantly matches it.
"Hurrah!" he exclaims, with enthusiasm, "we are well matched, Monsieur
Constans. Let it be the old story of Lafayette and Washington."
"It ees glorious! Zey won ze fight. Why should not we, monsieur--"
"My name is Doctor John Craig from Chicago."
"I greet you zen, Monsieur Doctaire. Zis is all new business to me. Tell
me what to do, and I am zere."
"Then we'll follow these tracks a little and try to learn something
about those who were here, their number, whether mounted or afoot, and
the probable direction they took."
"Superb! I am one delighted to serve wiz a man of zat caliber. You
meesed ze vocation I zink, Monsieur John, instead of ze doctaire you
should be ze general."
John knows it will not pay to stop and talk with Monsieur Constans.
A Frenchman is inclined to be voluble, and valuable time may be lost.
So he walks on, bending low in order that the lantern light may be
utilized. Thus he follows the tracks some little distance, with the
fighting Gaul at his elbow, endeavoring to penetrate the darkness
beyond.
It is a peculiar situation, one that causes him to smile. This time
he is not tracking the deer through the dense forests of Michigan.
Somewhere ahead are fierce Arab foes who have his friends in their
hands.
At the same time he has a vague feeling of alarm in the region of his
heart, alarm, not for himself, but concerning the fortunes of Lady Ruth.
A month, yes, hardly more than two weeks before, John Craig did not know
there was such a being in existence.
Even when first made acquainted with her he had believed her rather
haughty, according to his American notion of girls.
Gradually he has come to know her better, has come to understand the
piquant character underlying what he was pleased to look upon as pride,
and which her aunt must have had in mind when she gave her the
significant name of Miss Caprice.
Thus events have rolled on until now, in this period of suspense, when
the girl seems to be in desperate danger, he awakens to the fact that
he loves her.
With Monsieur Constans at his side, John has gone perhaps a few hundred
yards when the light of the lantern suddenly falls upon a human figure
advancing; an Arab, too.
John is about to assume an offensive attitude when he recognizes
Mustapha Cadi, the guide.