THE MODERN LEONIDAS.
Mustapha Cadi, like most Arabs, possesses many of the properties that in
times gone by distinguished our American Indians.
The signs of the desert and mountains are like an open book to him, and
he is quite at home in an undertaking of this sort, a mission requiring
energy and daring, as well as caution.
So, without much apparent trouble, he leads the young Chicagoan along.
Sometimes the way is difficult, indeed, impossible in John's eyes, but
the Arab knows the secret, and finds a passage where none appears to
exist.
Thus they advance for nearly an hour. John imagines they have gone
farther than is the case. This is on account of the rough ground.
"Now, caution. We draw near the place. They will be on the watch.
Monsieur knows what discovery means."
"Yes--death. That is understood, but it does not prevent me from
desiring to advance. Still we will redouble our caution."
They see lights. These appear to come from openings in the hill,
doubtless mouths of the deserted mines, which the robber band of Bab
Azoun occupy temporarily, with their accustomed boldness.
Drawing still nearer, under Mustapha's clever guidance, they discover
that the main body of the robbers are encamped in the largest cavern,
and as it seems natural that they would bring their prisoners here, the
two men devote their time toward looking up that quarter.
The Arab courier has played as a boy in these old mines, and knows all
about them. This knowledge may serve him well now, and John is pleased
to think he is in the hands of one so well informed.
In half an hour they have managed to learn an important fact. The
prisoners are in the main cavern. All escape is cut off by the presence
of numerous guards at the mouth of the mine, and they are watched
besides.
Mustapha, putting his knowledge of the place into good use, has led his
companion into a cleft where there is hardly room to crawl; but, as they
reach the end, they have a chance to gaze upon the interior where the
Arabs and Kabyles, the Moors and negroes, who battle under the free
banner of Bab Azoun, are assembled.
Eagerly John looks upon the face of Lady Ruth. His heart seems in his
throat, and he no longer can deceive himself regarding his true feelings
toward this young lady.
"What can we do?" he whispers to the Arab.
"Nothing but wait," is the reply.
John has a great fear tugging at his heart. On their way they have
discussed the situation, and Mustapha has related the habits of the Arab
desert outlaws. Should it appear that a rescue was imminent, it was
their habit to murder any prisoners.
Surely this is enough to arouse John's keenest fears. What if the French
forces do come and annihilate the robber host--if the prisoners share
their doom, what has been gained?
That is why he asks so anxiously if there is nothing to be done.
The Arab by this time realizes why he is so anxious, and hesitates a
little before making reply.
"We must watch and wait. Monsieur will see something soon. Watch the
soldier."
This gives John a new idea, and he speedily discovers that Sir Lionel is
not idle. The soldier has been in too many desperate situations to be
dismayed over such a trifling thing as this.
He is not bound, and hence can move about. Now he seems to be talking to
the professor, and anon with Aunt Gwen. Last of all he speaks to Lady
Ruth, who nods eagerly.
And a strange feeling comes up in John's mind as he surveys this scene.
What causes him to remember the harbor of Malta, the words of the
boatman before leaving the steamer, the tragic scene in the blue waters?
It comes over him like a flash. Perhaps he did Sir Lionel an injustice
when he suspected him of criminal plotting in such a case, but the
circumstances were decidedly against the man.
If he could be guilty of such a scheme, what would he not do in order to
win favor at the hands of the young English beauty?
Again it flashes through John's mind; did not the driver in speaking of
the facts tell Mustapha that in his opinion it was a man who had entered
into a conspiracy with Bab Azoun?
John's first thought was of Pauline Potter--that she had hoped to get
hold of him; but now he changes his mind, and locates the trouble
elsewhere, fixing it upon the veteran.
Under these circumstances it may be interesting to see how the Briton
intends working his plan. John's only desire is a sincere wish that Lady
Ruth may be rescued from her predicament. He has no wish to put her to
any unnecessary trouble in order that he may play the hero. As well Sir
Lionel as any one else, so long as she is benefited.
With this spirit, he can watch the development of affairs composedly,
though the suspicion that has crept into his mind causes him a little
worry.
Sir Lionel is evidently getting ready to make a move for liberty. His
very actions betray it in more ways than one. John cannot but think that
he goes about it with something like a flourish of trumpets that is
hardly in keeping with the situation, for it is supposed that a dozen
pairs of eyes are upon them.
First of all, he secures a weapon that is hanging upon the wall near-by.
It must be his own revolver, John believes. How lucky that the Arabs
hung it so close to his hand. No one appears to notice the action.
Really, Sir Lionel is attended by the goddess of luck.
Then the professor makes a move in the same direction, crawls forward,
and lays hands on a gun that rests against the wall. This he smuggles
back with him, and again the guards are all interested in other
business, laughing, and joking.
So far, good. Perhaps they can, if this marvelous good fortune follows
them, steal all the arms in the camp, and even capture the brigade. So
John concludes with a smile, as he sees what the professor has done.
Anxiously, he waits to see what there will be next on the programme.
Some of the guards have left the place, others lie down to sleep.
"The grand climax is coming," he thinks, as he takes note of these
things. "Blunt is getting ready to sweep the board. Well, good luck to
him."
Even Mustapha has discovered that something strange is on the _tapis_.
He has a singular way of expressing it.
"Poor Monsieur Constans," he whispers.
"What is the matter with him?" ejaculates John, in about the same tone.
"It is too bad."
"Mustapha, speak out."
"He will come after a while."
"Yes, yes."
"And he will find no Bab Azoun, no band of illustrious robbers to do
battle with."
John's mind instantly hits upon flight as the cause for all this.
"Why do you speak so?"
"This wonderful soldier, he do it all; by the mighty power of his arm he
will overcome the hosts of Bab Azoun. Great is Allah, and Mohammed is
his prophet; but I have never seen such a thing before in all my life."
Then the exquisite, dry humor of the thing strikes John, and with such
force that he comes very near bursting with laughter.
He has not the slightest desire to do anything that will bring about a
change in the plan. So long as Lady Ruth is rescued from her unpleasant
position, it matters little what the means are.
Hence, he watches the development of matters with a keen interest. It is
not long before he is in a position to see that there is solid truth in
his suspicions. The actions of Sir Lionel confirm the fact that he has
been induced to compromise his honor in order to succeed with John as a
rival.
When the divine spark touches the heart, it causes men to do strange
things.
Here is one who in times past has been very jealous of his honor, and
would as soon cut off his hand as compromise himself. Yet, reduced to
sore straits by the success of a rival, he now descends the scale, and
schemes as cleverly as any rascally adventurer.
The critical period draws near, and our military hero can scarce
restrain his valor. Indeed, he shows symptoms of wanting to rush out and
annihilate the whole band of Arabs and Moors, but Lady Ruth restrains
him, as though she is clever enough to see the folly of a move too
premature.
It is a picturesque scene, and one that John will never forget. The
grotto alone has charming features, since the walls are white and
incrusted with some metallic substance that shines like silver.
On either side can be seen giant stalactites dependant from the roof,
looking like mighty columns to support the dome.
The fire and the torches illumine the scene, until it looks like one of
enchantment. The strange costumes of the nomads, with the various colors
they boast, add to the romantic nature of the exposition, and his must
be a poor soul, indeed, that fails to catch something of artistic fervor
when such a picture appears in view.
There were twenty of Bab Azoun's men present an hour before, but now
only half of that number can be seen.
The remainder have mysteriously disappeared. Things seem to be working
to suit the desperate plans of the veteran Zulu fighter, and he will
soon be in a condition to open the engagement.
There will doubtless be a battle. John is lost in admiration of the
genius that could prepare such a scene, such a triumph. He does not
anticipate that even if the Briton is successful in his plans, he will
carry the heart of Lady Ruth by storm.
"We must move," whispers Mustapha.
"Why?" asks John, desiring enlightenment.
"So as to be ready to take a hand in the grand affair," is the reply.
Up to this moment it has not occurred to the young man from Chicago that
he may be in a position to profit by this peculiar situation.
He smiles with the idea.
"Mustapha, I leave all in your hands. Do with me as you please."
"Then come."
They quit the cleft, using great caution to prevent discovery. The
plans of the Arabian guide are soon made manifest, for he signifies his
intention of securing a sentry who paces up and down outside the old
mine.
If he were a baby he could not have made less resistance. John would
have been amazed only that he has been forewarned. It is not the guard's
policy to attempt an outcry--undoubtedly he has had his orders.
"Well?" says Mustapha, after the fellow has been tied up, and prevented
from making an outcry.
"I believe we can capture the whole outfit at that rate. I feel equal to
twenty myself. They must have taken some drug; they have no more life
than a mummy from the pyramids."
The Arab grins as though he enjoys the joke.
"It is coming, prepare to see the mighty Frank's wonderful work."
Even as he speaks, they hear loud shouts within the old mine--shouts
that would indicate an upheaval--shouts from Arab lips, that echo from
the Kabyle throats.
They seem to indicate astonishment--fear.
Above them rises the bellow of a Briton, rushing to the fray with the
eagerness of an infuriated bull.
Oh, it is grand!--it is beautiful to see that one man hurl himself on
half a dozen! Fear--he knows not the meaning of the word it seems--his
opponents monopolize that.
John, looking in, is delighted with the spectacle, and laughs to himself
as he sees how remarkably deadly are all Sir Lionel's shots. A man falls
every time he pulls trigger; if he rushes at a fellow, so great is the
fear his awful presence inspires that the wretched Arab sinks down and
actually expires through fright.
The doctor has seen some wonderful stage fights, but the equal of this,
never. He laughs, yet finds himself almost stupefied with amazement.
Truly, the Victoria cross would well become this remarkable hero.
One or two of the dead men do not seem to have had enough, or else are
dissatisfied with the manner of their taking off. At any rate, they
stagger to their feet, and have to be put to sleep again by energetic
means.
Philander comes near making a mess of it all by his enthusiasm. It is a
regular picnic to the small professor.
In the beginning he aimed his gun at one of the brigands. The weapon is
strange to him, being a long Arabian affair, with a peculiar stock, but
Philander has some knowledge of weapons, shuts his eyes, and pulls the
trigger.
The report staggers him. When he opens his eyes, and sees the big,
ragged Kabyle at whom he aimed lying flat on his back, with arms
extended, the professor is horrified at first.
Then some of the warlike spirit that distinguished his ancestors at
Lexington begins to flame up within him.
He gives a shrill war-cry that would doubtless please many a Greek
scholar, and plunges headlong for the foe.
The way in which he swings that Arab gun is a sight to behold; in itself
the apparition of Professor Sharpe thus advancing to the fray is enough
to strike terror to the human heart.
One poor devil is in a position to receive a tremendous whack on the
back with the gun, now used as a cudgel, and there is positively no
fraud about the manner of his sprawling around.
After that the professor sweeps the air in vain with his weapon. Men who
have met the terrors of the Algerian desert for years, fall down and
expire before he can hasten their exit from this vale of tears.
Really, it is wonderful--he never before knew the tenets of the
Mohammedan religion made its devotees so accommodating; they seem to
court dissolution in the longing for paradise, where the prophet
promises eternal happiness for all who die in battle.
It ends; even such obliging fellows as these do not need to be killed
more than a couple of times. Lady Ruth had covered her eyes with her
hands when the action began.
She is the daughter of a soldier race, and as brave as the majority of
her sex; still she shudders to gaze upon the taking of human life.
Perhaps, too, she anticipates the death of the valorous Briton, who has
hurled himself so impetuously into the breach, for under all ordinary
conditions his chances would seem to be small.
When the dreadful racket is over, when the shouts, shrieks, and report
of fire-arms die away, Lady Ruth uncovers her eyes.
She fully expects to see a slaughter-pen, with the valorous Sir Lionel
and Philander among the slain. As to the latter, there are no lack of
them, for they lie in every direction, and in every position the human
mind can conceive.
And here is the hero warrior rushing up to her, a smoking revolver in
one hand. His usual coolness and _sang froid_ are gone--Sir Lionel is
actually excited. It is not every day that even a veteran of the Cape
wars is given a chance to thus immortalize himself after the manner of
Samson.
"My dear Lady Ruth, the way is clear. We must fly before the rest of
the rascals appear. Perhaps we may be fortunate enough to find horses
outside, then a hot dash and the city will be gained. Permit me to
assist you."
The girl springs up, ready to accept the chance a kind fate has thrown
in her way, and with a startled, curious glance at the piles of slain
that incumber the cavern, follows her friends.