LITMIR.BIZ

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way to the courtyard, summoned two of the Spahis, and ordered them to do as Spence commanded. The American issued curt orders, which the Moor affirmed with a nod.

      If the Spahis were surprised, they made no comment, their obedience to Mulai Ali was implicit. Spence fancied that they, too, looked forward to high commands in El Magrib when Mulai Ali won his venture.

      “If you’ll instruct that black eunuch what to do,” said Spence to the Moor, “you may then leave all to me and dismiss the affair as settled. I know no Arabic, and I fancy the eunuch has no Spanish.”

      Mulai Ali nodded his assent, and departed.

      Spence returned to his quarters and waited until Dr. Shaw returned. Then he informed the divine as to their divided journey. He said nothing about Mistress Betty; not that he doubted the hearty cooperation of his friend, but Shaw rather fancied his character of envoy, and would be spared by ignorance a good deal of worry.

      “You can leave early in the morning, doctor?” he concluded.

      “Certainly. I have carefully copied the inscription on the hypogeum, and there is little else to tempt me. Why are you thus going ahead, Patrick? I like it not.”

      Spence chuckled. “Private affairs,” he said cheerfully. “Hassan is giving a feast tonight; kindly make no remark upon my disappearance, but get off early in the morning with Mulai Ali. Ride swiftly to Tlemcen. We’ll meet there. Believe me, it is better that you know nothing of my errand just yet.”

      “Very well, very well,” assented Shaw, not without a sigh. “But, Patrick, if there is anything forward that smacks of fighting, I pray you not to let my cloth prevent me from having some share! I am an excellent hand with the rapier, as you know—”

      Spence clapped him on the shoulder.

      “Cheer up, Shaw! I promise that you’ll have fighting in plenty before you ever see Algiers again! And now give me a spare flint or two for my pistols, and I’ll ask no more.”

      CHAPTER IV

      “Methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is perfect gallows.”

      That night Hassan Bey, in honor of his guests, held high revel. There was no lack of wine, since the Turks paid small heed to Islamic prohibition. Further, there were entertainments by companies of dancing women, both of the town and desert, and by magicians of the Aissoua tribe. An hour before midnight the scene waxed riotous, for Hassan Bey and his captains were roaring drunk.

      It was then that Patrick Spence quietly departed.

      At his quarters he secured his few belongings, cloaked himself in a dark burnoose, and left the kasbah. He entered the gardens, found the guards in drunken slumber, and encountered no one until he came near the square tower of the astrologer. Then a dark shape arose before him, the starlight glittered on a naked blade, and he recognized the distorted shape of Yimnah, the eunuch.

      Spence threw back the cowl of his burnoose, and the eunuch gestured toward the tower. A voice reached him.

      “Captain Spence? Thank Heaven! I was afraid you could not get away—”

      “Let us go at once, Mistress Betty! May I have your hand?”

      He bowed over her hand, guided her to the waiting eunuch, and led the way from the gardens. Near the entrance he spoke again to the girl, quietly.

      “We must ride to Tlemcen at once, and there meet Mulai Ali and our party. Do you speak any Arabic?”

      “Enough to get along with,” said the girl quietly.

      Outside the kasbah, in the shadow of its high turreted walls, the starlight shone on the waiting Spahis and horses. From the girl came a deep sigh of relaxation.

      “It seems a dream,” she murmured. “To leave thus, unhindered, unquestioned.”

      “Let us assign the honor to Providence, and make the most of it,” said Spence. “Now, mount quickly! We must be far from here when the muezzin mounts again to the minaret!”

      The Spahis brought up the horses. Spence aided the girl into the high saddle, lashed behind her the small bundle she had fetched, adjusted her burnoose, and sprang to his own beast. Yimnah was already mounted.

      All five walked their horses from the shadow of the citadel, put the beasts at a canter, and swept away from the unwalled city to the southwest. No common steeds were these, but blooded barbs, the finest in Hassan’s stables, calmly appropriated by the Spahis.

      Hour after hour through the night they rode, past the long sandy salt pits and. the lake of Sibka, through silent and dark villages, along lonely wastes. Spence talked with the girl as they rode, telling his own story and touching upon their errand.

      “It is a mad errand,” he concluded, “yet Mulai Ali is a kingly man and may succeed.”

      “His horoscope truly reads him into a throne,” said Mistress Betty. “Do not laugh at me! This business is not all charlatanry, although I have shamed the astronomer’s art with my wiles. I knew of your presence in Algiers, through gossip, and set out to effect my rescue. Was that selfish? Perhaps. And yet—”

      “No, not selfish; it was wholly admirable!” exclaimed Spence. “We ride south; you are free; Mulai Ali goes to friends and a throne; Shaw goes to pull down Ripperda—and all by a woman’s wit! I am humble before you.”

      So they rode until the stars were paling into the false dawn. Then one of the Spahis called softly in his own tongue. Mistress Betty heard the words, and translated.

      “He says that some one is riding hard on the road behind us!”

      Spence drew rein.

      “Forward! No protest, dear lady—forward, all of you!”

      The party swept on, disappeared along the dim road. Spence waited. Presently he caught the hard beat of hoofs and sighted a vague figure. With a hail he sent his beast out into the center of the road. The onsweeping rider uttered a sharp, harsh cry, then a musket roared out and Spence heard the bullet as it whined past his head.

      His ready pistol made instant reply. The other horse plunged; the rider fell headlong and lay motionless. Spence dismounted and fell to searching the man.

      He was rewarded by a folded paper in the knotted pouch-end of the worsted girdle. Finding nothing more. Spence bound the Moor and left him.

      He struck into a gallop after his own party, and within twenty minutes had come up with them. Then, not pausing, he pushed them on at all speed, for time was precious in the extreme.

      When the true dawn glimmered into daylight, they halted beside a rivulet to water and refresh the horses. Here Spence inspected the paper he had captured. It was a note written in Arabic, and neither the girl nor Yimnah could read it, so he called in the Spahis. From their reading, Mistress Betty translated the note. It was unsigned, and was addressed simply to Gholam Mahmoud. It read:

      The hawk is at Arzew and rides south. Catch him this side Udjde or his talons will be plunged into El Magrib. Slay him. Lay the snare at the Cisterns, with Allah’s help!

      “Ah!” exclaimed Mistress Betty eagerly. “By ‘the hawk’ is meant Mulai Ali—this must be from a spy! They know he is coming! The Cisterns is a place west of Tlemcen on the highway.”

      “And Gholam Mahmoud, he of the twisted face, is ahead,” said Spence. “Well, forewarned is forearmed! How far have we come?”

      “Nearly halfway.” She pointed ahead. “There is the Maila River; beyond, the Sharf el Graab, or Raven Crag—that high pinnacle of rock. At the river I shall show you a famous place.”

      Thankful that she seemed cheerful, even gay, Spence called to horse. They rode on.

      Within ten minutes they halted at the river ford. Here the high banks were gullied to a depth of fifteen feet; a dense growth of trees concealed the river and opposite bank. The girl turned to Spence with a glow in her eyes, pointing

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