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Title: The vengeance of Sa'ik
Author: Otis Adelbert Kline
Illustrator: Donald Von Gelb
Release date: November 2, 2026 [eBook #79910]
Language: English
Original publication: Indianapolis, IN: Popular Fiction Publishing Company, 1930
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79910
Credits: Greg Weeks and Mary Meehan
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VENGEANCE OF SA'IK ***
The Vengeance of Sa'ik
By OTIS ADELBERT KLINE
_A stirring tale of the Arab revolt against Turkey
during the World War--a story of the desert and
the unleashed blood-lust of a fierce race of warriors._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Oriental Stories, December-January 1930-31.]
"No need to waste your perfectly good Arabic on me, Mr. Frank Bidwell,"
said the single remaining patron of the tiny coffee shop in which I
had temporarily become Abdullah, hewer of Latakia, drawer of coffee,
and pipe-bearer for the individuals of assorted color and nationality
who infested the port of Jidda. "Your accent and your make-up are both
top-hole, but I have the means of learning things."
I glanced sharply at the tall, broad-shouldered man, whose cloak,
head-cloth, swarthy features and grizzled beard seemed to proclaim him
a Bedouin of middle age, out who spoke English with a British accent.
"What then?" I asked, raking the embers of the fire more closely
beneath the bubbling copper pot, and tying to look unconcerned.
"Simply this. I can offer you employment which you will find both
interesting and lucrative. You love adventure, and you work for your
living. What do you say?"
Studying the man covertly, I plodded about in leisurely native fashion,
replacing _shishas_ and cleansing cups left by departed patrons.
The business would have something to do with the war, of course.
The attempt of the Arabs to wrest Medina from the Turks had failed
miserably--due to lack of modern rifles and artillery, according to
popular report. And after the troops of the revolting Feisal had been
driven back with heavy losses, a characteristic Turkish revenge had
been taken on the helpless inhabitants of the Awali suburb--butchery,
rapine and the torch. It was my business as a war correspondent to
learn and report these things, and one can learn much in a coffee shop
if he keeps his eyes and ears open, although the pay is small and the
work drudgery.
"Perhaps," continued the pseudo-sheik, after puffing reflectively at
his _shisha_ for some time, "you fear that I am on the wrong side."
"Hardly," I replied, "since you have a decided insular accent, and
the United States fights shoulder to shoulder with Great Britain in a
common cause. I was merely wondering who you are and just how much you
know about me."
"Know Reginald Graves?" he asked suddenly.
The name called up a vision of a table at Shepheard's in Cairo some
few weeks before, and of confidences exchanged with a brother war
correspondent from London during an evening which had been pleasantly
punctuated by the disappearance of tall empty bottles instantly
replaced by tall full ones, well chilled.
"So Graves told you about me. Is he here?"
"He--er--was here. In fact he visited this very shop yesterday and
recognized you, but did not dare make himself known because of the
presence of several men he suspected of being Turkish spies. He left
here this morning--I may not say for where--but the mission was a
dangerous one; such a mission as he led me to believe you might enjoy."
"Perhaps he misinformed you," I replied, "and perhaps not. My calling
leads me to mingle with many people, yet I have always made it a
rule to inquire into the antecedents of men I call comrades. In this
particular you have a decided advantage over me."
"Quite right," he said, thoughtfully fingering his coffee cup. "I hope
that I may be able to satisfy you. I have purposely let you know that
I am an Englishman. Only a few men in high places know my real name.
Would it suffice if I were to tell you that I am a British patriot, and
am he whom the Arabs call 'Sa'ik'?"
Sa'ik, the Striker--the Thunderbole of Al Yaman. The name loomed big
in my mind. Many were the tales I had heard of the daring and valor of
this man, presumably a desert Arab of the Banu Asadin, fighting on the
side of the revolutionists--a thorn in the side of the Turks whom he
worried and raided constantly, fearlessly and relentlessly. Sometimes
he worked alone--sometimes with a few companions, and sometimes as
commander of a small army, usually composed of hand-picked cutthroats
and desperadoes. As soon as he spoke the name Sa'ik I recognized him
from numerous descriptions.
"Your past performances are sufficient recommendation," I said.
"Now as to your pay," he went on, "I can promise you----"
"Forget the pay," I interrupted. "All I ask is food, shelter, means of
transportation, and one chance in ten to get back with my copy."
"Which will not be detrimental to our cause?"
"Of course not."
"I trust you. To tell the truth, I have only come to you because you
are the one properly qualified man in this city in whom I can place any
trust, and I need a good lieutenant."
"Are we to go it alone?"
"No. I only wish we might. The band of scurvy ruffians I have been
forced to employ because time presses and there are no others
available, will need much watching, and unfortunately I find it
necessary to sleep now and then, despite native tradition to the
contrary."
"Interesting," I commented. "When do we start?"
"Tonight at eleven. Meet me at the Khan of Ibrahim before seven if
possible."
* * * * *
Promptly at seven--having quitted Hassan ben Mohammed, my employer,
after a lengthy argument over my wages--I casually strolled into the
courtyard of the Khan of Ibrahim. Wending my way among calm, kneeling
dromedaries, and stamping, fly-tormented donkeys, I presently found
Sa'ik, unconcernedly smoking a cigarette near the entrance.
"On time, I see," he said in Arabic after we had exchanged the
customary Moslem greeting of peace. "Follow me."
He led me to the curtained alcove which was his private sleeping-room,
and there decked me in the full regalia of a Bedouin, including a
_jambiyah_, or curved knife, a long, heavy simitar, and a pair of
beautiful, pearl-handled forty-five caliber Colt revolvers. I was
delighted when I saw the latter weapons, with which I had become fairly
proficient in the West.
"Graves told me you had a preference for Colt six-shooters," he said.
"Personally I have always favored Luger automatics, but every man to
his taste."
"Thoughtful of you," I replied. "Thanks, a lot."
"Don't mention it. I've an eye to efficiency, that's all. If you're
ready, we'll go down and inspect the troops."
Having quitted the inn we made our way through crowded bazars and
narrow streets to the docks. In addition to the usual quota of
_dhbows_, fishing-boats, and coastwise vessels, I noticed that two
British gunboats rode at anchor in the harbor. Only a short distance
from us a British merchantman was unloading a number of bales into
_sambuks_, which were bringing them ashore to where a file of Egyptian
soldiers stood guard.
As we strolled along the waterfront, Sa'ik nodded toward the bales.
"Merchandise for our caravan," he said. "My men are late, which is to
be expected. They will be along presently."
We came up to where the bales were being piled, and the Egyptian guards
eyed us suspiciously until Sa'ik presented a paper to the commanding
officer. Then, while I waited on shore, he went out to the ship in one
of the _sambuks_ to exchange certain papers with the master. I noticed
that the bales were of two sizes, one small and nearly square, the
other over five feet long and coffin-shaped. I observed, also, that the
perspiring porters struggled under the weight of the smaller bales as
if they had been filled with lead.
Scarcely had my companion got back from the ship ere a small caravan
approached, consisting of some thirty armed men, mounted on dromedaries
and leading about fifty pack camels. Five of these were loaded, but the
others bore empty pack-saddles. Behind them came two boys, each of whom
led a magnificent saddle animal.
"What do you think of my troops?" my companion asked, nodding toward
the approaching caravan.
I scrutinized the mounted men, and for a moment felt rather sorry I had
quit my comparatively healthful job with Hassan. They were, without
question, the toughest-looking bunch of unhung gallows-birds I had ever
seen--and they were to be my traveling companions!
"They look hard," I said in answer to the question of Sa'ik.
"Rather," he replied. "There are perhaps three men in the lot who
wouldn't slit our throat for an ounce of _tambak_, or even for the
pleasure of it."
"Three out of thirty," I mused. "There's the ten-to-one chance I asked
for."
"Right. I'll point out the three Later, but don't put too much trust
even in them."
He took command of the party instantly, brought order out of confusion
in five minutes, and the loading of the kneeling, protesting pack
camels went forward with speed and precision.
When all was in order we mounted and rode forth from the city into the
gathering dusk, Sa'ik leading the procession, I bringing up the rear.
2
As we rode beneath the sky, now beginning to glitter with stars, I
considered the situation in which I found myself. There was no doubt
that it was desperate. Here we were, with arms and ammunition--for such
I had guessed our bales to contain--destined for the Arab revolutionary
army which had just been defeated. We would have to pass through
enemy-controlled country, and were in constant danger from the Turks,
but worst of all, we were by no means sure that we were not in worse
danger from the men of our own party. To a man, Sa'ik had told me,
their chief consideration had been gold rather than patriotism. Even
the three less-to-be-suspected ones he had presented to me before
he left--although he said they had made themselves known to him as
full-fledged revolutionists by certain signs--were more concerned about
wages than national freedom.
Personally, I had not been more favorably impressed with these three
than any of the other ruffians in the group. There was Hamed ibn Yusuf,
the one-eyed, whose black patch only added to the ferocity of his
hawk-like face covered with a short growth of grizzled beard.
Then there was Silat, the giant negro, with hideous pock-marked
features that gave him a ferocious expression--Silat the Demon, whose
favorite weapon was the _yatagan_, the terrible double-curved sword,
and who displayed two of them, pommel to pommel, in his sash, in
addition to his _jambiyah_ and pistol.
The third man of the partly-to-be-trusted group was Abu Makarish, whose
bushy beard flamed from copious applications of henna, whose garments
were resplendent as the rainbow, and whose breath, at starting, had
smelt strongly of _fazikh_ despite the prohibitory teachings of the
Koran with regard to intoxicating liquors.
I was surprized and amused when we stopped for rest, smokes and
prayers, and this old red-bearded hypocrite acted as _Imam_ and led
our evening devotions. But, I reasoned, as we remounted and rode on,
he was perhaps more pious at heart than a certain deacon I had known
at home--a man who could pray loud and long on Sunday, but spent the
rest of the week defrauding honest men and women under the cover of his
sanctimoniousness.
As the first gray light of dawn began to blot out the stars we came to
a small grove of date-palms and sycamores in the midst of which was a
brick-walled well. Here we halted, pitched our tents, spread our rugs,
baked bread and made coffee.
Having breakfasted, I was strolling about the place smoking my _chibuk_
when I noticed Abu Makarish in earnest conversation with two of the
men. They stood apart from the others in the thickest part of the
grove, and I noticed that our red-bearded _Imam_ did most of the
talking while the other two listened and nodded as if in approbation.
Perhaps, I thought, the old reprobate was exhorting them to greater
piety--or mayhap, what was more probable--they were the custodians of a
bottle or two of _fazikh_.
Returning to the tent which I shared with Sa'ik a few minutes later, I
noticed that he appeared agitated. His usually steady hand shook as he
raised a cigarette co his lips.
"I will stand first watch," he said in Arabic. "Get some sleep until I
call you."
I bowed, entered the tent, and was soon fast asleep, having been awake
for some twenty-six hours.
* * * * *
I do not know how long I slept, nor just what it was that awakened me.
I have no memory of having heard a sound, yet something had caused
me to become wide awake in an instant. The first thing I saw was a
muscular brown fist gripping a _jambiyah_ and poised just above my
breast. I was lying on my right side, facing the fence wall, my head
pillowed on my right arm. There was no time to seize a weapon, nor
indeed to do anything but that which I did. Grasping the descending
wrist with my left hand, I flung myself backward. The keen blade
slashed my left forearm and cutting through the rug on which I had been
lying, buried itself in the hard earth. The pain of the wound caused me
to release my hold on the wrist of my unseen assailant, whereupon the
arm and _jambiyah_ disappeared beneath the tent wall, and I heard the
sound of running feet.
I sprang erect, seeing red both literally and figuratively, as my cut
arm was bleeding profusely. Whipping out both pistols, I dashed out of
the tent, only to run plump into Sa'ik.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"An assassin!" I flung at him, as I hurried around the tent with
six-shooters ready for action.
The thin growth of trees at that point could scarcely have concealed a
man, yet there was no one in sight. Sa'ik came up, and we looked behind
every tree and scanned the broad plain beyond. The result was negative.
I holstered my six-shooters and we returned to the tent, where Sa'ik
examined the hole cut in his rug. After copiously dressing my wounded
arm with iodine taken from his medicine chest, he bound it up.
"You had a close call," he said, "and the sneaking, would-be murderer
was undoubtedly one of our men. Do you think you could recognize that
hand and arm again?"
"I'm afraid not," I replied. "The hand was brown, as are the hands of
all of our men except Silat. As for the _jambiyah_, I had no time to
notice its outstanding features, if indeed it had any."
"What about clothing?"
"There was a brown sleeve----"
"Of course. Most of the men have brown _jellabas_. It is patent that
there is no evidence on which we can act, as yet. But take heart. Time
may reveal the culprit."
"Small comfort," I muttered, "when he is sure to stab me in the back at
the first opportunity."
"Did I not warn you that we were on a dangerous mission--that my men
were not trustworthy?" he asked.
"You did," I replied, "and I spoke hastily. Guess my nerves are rather
jumpy.
"Don't blame you a bit. Most any one----"
He was interrupted by the sudden appearance of one of the camel-men.
"Two camels are missing, _Sidi_," he said, "the mounts of Humayd and
Kasim."
"Have they been notified?" inquired Sa'ik, springing to his feet.
"They are not in their tents or anywhere in the camp," was the reply.
Sa'ik's brow contracted, and he strode outside the tent without a word.
Then I heard him thundering orders in his perfect Arabic:
"Rouse all the men. Break camp at once."
I followed him out of the tent, and saw that his orders were being
carried out, but with surly looks and considerable grumbling.
He turned to me with a grim smile.
"You will guard our rear as before, Abdullah," he said. "We must do
half of tonight's marching today, else those two traitors who have
escaped will have the Turkish jackals picking our bones in short order."
There came a sudden uproar from the men who were striking the tents.
A knot of these suddenly gathered before one of them, and through the
group came two figures, carrying the limp form of a third.
Sa'ik and I hurried to the spot where Hamed the One-Eyed and the black
Silat were bending over the prostrate figure of Abu Makarish. The eyes
of the _Imam_ were closed, and the end of his bushy red beard was bound
against his throat by the thick folds of an _aakal_ or head-rope which
was tightly knotted around his neck.
Hamed whipped out his _jambiyah_ and cut the knotted rope. Then he held
his ear to the breast of the strangled man. Looking up in a moment, he
sheathed his _jambiyah_ and said:
"He is received into the mercy of Allah."
"And we have an added reason to make keen our weapons against the
traitors, Humayd and Kasim," said Sa'ik. "But we have no time for
mourning now. If we remain here overlong we may be even as our departed
comrade, Abu Makarish--may Allah grant him clemency. Make haste, men.
And do you, Hamed and Silat, strip the body and pile stones over it.
The dead can make no use of weapons or clothing, but they are useful to
the living."
Hamed and Silat remained behind to complete the work of burial, after
which they were to rejoin us, for their saddle animals could easily
overtake our slower and more heavily laden pack camels.
As we moved away, I glanced at the prostrate form of Abu Makarish, and
could have sworn that I saw his breast rising and falling as if he were
breathing. But Hamed, at this moment, stepped into my line of vision,
and I did not look again, putting it down as a hallucination, due to
overwrought nerves.
After we had covered several miles, Sa'ik temporarily placed a man at
the head of the caravan, and halting his beast at one side, reviewed
our line. When I had come opposite him, he rode up beside me so closely
that the equipage of our two mounts rubbed together.
"There is a plot--I am not sure but that there are two," he said, "to
get possession of the bales. Hamed and Silat are probably in the pay
of the Turks, as was Abu Makarish. The latter would have sent for a
Turkish force to come and surround us, and bribed Humayd and Kasim
for the purpose. These two, being loyal neither to the Ottoman throne
nor the Sharif of Mecca, but _harami_, common thieves and robbers who
fatten themselves on the misfortunes of both sides, strangled him, and
have gone to organize a group of their fellow cutthroats to attack us.
It is probable that Hamed and Silat will not return, but will hasten
to the nearest Turkish garrison, believing that I suspect them. If
they do return, watch them like a hawk, and shoot to kill at the first
suspicion of treason. We are two against many, but with resource and
valor we can win through to the lines of Feisal."
3
As we rode on through the afternoon the heat waxed and waned, but the
dust and biting flies were constant and persistent tormenters. About
six we halted in a dry wady for coffee, food and rest. We were lolling
on the side of a hummock which overlooked the caravan, smoking our
_chibuks_ and discussing our plans, when Zantut, a lean, hawk-nosed
camel-driver of chocolate-brown complexion, sidled up to us, casting
fearful glances behind him from time to time, as if afraid of being
seen in our company. He addressed himself to Sa'ik.
"I have made a discovery, _Sidi_, of tremendous importance to our
cause," he said. "If thou wilt grant me a word in private----"
"Speak on," admonished Sa'ik. "My lieutenant is loyal."
"Six weeks ago," he said, "I was in the village of Umm al Arif, when
the Turkish army marched through it. As the village had been hostile,
the Ottoman dogs were given their way with the people. You, _Sidi_,
would know the result. Men tortured and butchered. Women and children
violated and murdered. Everywhere looting and wanton destruction.
"I was armed, but my arms were useless against so many, so I hid in the
ruins of a house which had burned some weeks before. No one paid any
attention to the old ruins, so I was reasonably safe.
"As I watched the many outrages against my people my blood boiled, and
more than once I was on the point of rushing out and fighting these
fiends until killed--but a voice whispered to me: 'Not yet. The time
for vengeance has not arrived.' So I held my hand and remained hidden.
"From my place of concealment I saw the Turkish commander with his
staff, laughing and chatting as their horses stepped over the bodies
of the slain. With the commander was a tall young fellow in the spiked
helmet and uniform of a German officer.
"While they were talking, a young woman was dragged before them. She
was the youngest wife of the headman of the village. When her _yashmak_
was stripped from her face, I saw that she was beautiful. So did the
German officer, who asked the Turkish commander to give her to him. He
consented.
"The German, who appeared to be far gone in drunkenness, got down from
his horse and tossed his reins to a soldier. The Turkish commander rode
on with his staff, seeking new amusements, but the German remained,
talking to the girl. Presently he tried to embrace her, but she slapped
his face. He cursed her and seized her by the left arm, but with her
right she drew a dagger from her bosom to stab him. The dog of a
_Ferringhi_ was too quick and too strong for her. Seizing her wrist
with his left hand, he twisted it until she cried out in pain and the
dagger clattered to the pavement. Then he called three Turkish soldiers
to follow him, and dragged her into the house across the way from where
I was hidden.
"The army passed on, company after company, but still no one emerged
from that house across the way. At times I fancied I heard shrieks from
the young woman, but of this I could not be certain, as people were
being killed and tortured all around me, and their cries, together with
the shouts of soldiers and officers and the tramping of men and horses,
made hearing difficult. Presently, when the vanguard of the army had
passed, the German came out, mounted his horse, and galloped forward.
Behind him came the three Turkish soldiers, laughing uproariously.
"Leaving my hiding-place, I followed these three and the man who had
held the German's horse. Coming up behind them, I killed three with my
pistols before they realized a living enemy was behind them. The fourth
dropped his rifle and surrendered. At first I was minded to shoot him
on the spot, but decided to take him back and kill him in the presence
of the wife of the head man if she were yet alive. Accordingly I made
him march back with me to the house he had just quitted.
"As soon as we entered the place I saw the girl, but not alive. With
only a few bloody shreds of clothing remaining on her shapely body she
was crucified against the thick wooden panels of the _Bab al Harim_. A
bayonet had been driven through each of her hands and another through
her feet. The handle of a fourth projected from the alabaster skin of
her abdomen, and I saw that, had she lived, she had ere long born her
lord a child.
"Having witnessed this sight, I was so filled with rage that I would
instantly have killed the Turk who cowered before me, but I remembered
that there was a fifth party to this horrible crime whose name I did
not know. Accordingly, I wrung from him the name of the German who was
chiefly responsible for the crime, before I killed him."
"What was the name?" asked Sa'ik, who had paled with anger as the story
went on.
"He was the man who had caused more deaths and suffering in Arabia
than the most bloodthirsty of the Ottoman commanders. Speaking Arabic
perfectly, and a past master in disguising himself, he breaks bread and
eats salt with us, and the Turk acts on the information we innocently
impart to him. He is the spy, Hans Ubers."
"You have told a long and harrowing tale, Zantut, but I fear I do not
catch the moral. Or was the tale merely told as a means of diversion
during our hour of rest?"
"There is, perhaps, no moral to the tale, _Sidi_," replied Zantut,
"but in it lies a sequel and a warning. The voice of this spy took on
a peculiar quavering sound when he became agitated. I noted this sound
when he dragged the young woman into the house, calling the Turkish
soldiers to follow him."
"Yes?"
"Today, when Abu Makarish was found strangled in his tent, I was
standing at some distance loading my camel, yet I swear that I heard,
for a moment, those same quavering tones, that identical voice, which I
shall never forget. _Sidi_, I am positive that the terrible Hans Ubers
is among us in disguise."
"And whom do you suspect?"
"No one and every one--that is with the exception of my lord and his
trusted lieutenant, Abdullah. None of the men with whom we ride have I
met before. At least a dozen of them could be Hans Ubers in disguise. I
have watched these, and when the opportunity permitted, engaged them in
conversation, but so far Allah has not seen fit to reveal my enemy to
me."
"And when he does?"
Zantut tapped the hilt of his _jambiyah_ significantly.
"You have my permission, and welcome," said Sa'ik, rising. "We must to
the march now, but keep a sharp lookout, and report to me any man of
whom you have the slightest suspicion."
4
At midnight we made camp in a grove of stunted trees which surrounded a
pond of brackish water.
While we were eating, Hamed the One-Eyed and Silat the Pock-Marked rode
in on a single camel. They dismounted stiffly, and came at once to
Sa'ik to report.
"What means this tardiness, and where is the other beast?" thundered
our leader.
"The she-camel is dead," replied Hamed, "or will be ere the night has
passed unless the jackals grow soft-hearted and spare her. The clumsy
mother of calamities stepped into a crevice and snapped her leg, so
that the splintered bone came through the skin. As the mount of Silat
was thus forced to bear a double burden, our speed was cut in half;
hence we are tardy."
"What have you done with the trappings and saddle bags, and with the
weapons and clothing of Abu Makarish?"
"Fearing that we might not be able to overtake you if our beast were
too heavily laden, we cached these under a pile of stones in a place
where it will not be noticed from the road, planning to get them on our
return."
"Who told you we would return this way?"
"We only surmised it, but----"
"Enough! We may or may not return this way--or any other. However, I
will overlook your disobedience this once. Go get your ill-earned food
and rest, bunglers."
Having finished our meal, we lit our _chibuks_ and smoked for some time
in silence. Then Sa'ik rose, shook the ashes from his _chibuk_ and
said, _sotto voce_:
"I will now shatter native tradition by sleeping during the first
watch. Be alert for danger from within the camp as well as from
without. Our own sentries may usher an enemy in on us at any minute.
Call me at dawn so that you can get your six hours before we leave.
You'll need them. Good-night."
"Pleasant dreams," I replied, speaking as softly as he, lest our
English should be overheard.
Before I had half finished my second pipe all of our men but the four
doing sentry duty had retired, and the midnight stillness of the desert
had settled over the camp.
This silence seemed to grow more intense during the early morning
hours, so that each trifling sound, the pop of an ember in the dying
fire, the occasional grunt or sigh of a camel, the buzz of some
night-flying insect, seemed magnified to enormous proportions.
At the first hint of dawn, I rekindled the fire before our tent in
order that I might prepare my breakfast of dates cooked in clarified
butter. The mimosa branches we had gathered for fuel were none too dry,
so I bent over and blew on them to make them blaze up. My patience was
presently rewarded by a tongue of flame, then several others, and the
fire crackled merrily, lighting up my surroundings for several feet.
I was about to straighten up when suddenly, from the darkness at my
left, I saw the flash and heard the crack of a rifle. A bullet cut
through the back of my head-cloth, barely grazing my neck. Acting more
through instinct than reason, I toppled forward and slightly to one
side, to avoid the fire that had made me an easy mark for my unseen
enemy, and lay perfectly still. Another shot sang out, then two more in
quick succession, but no bullet struck near me. Evidently my assailant
had drawn the fire of one of our sentries and had replied.
This was my cue to get out of the circle of firelight, which I
accomplished by rolling over and over on the ground.
When I arose the camp was in an uproar. Sa'ik came rushing out of the
tent, rifle in hand, and close behind me pressed Silat and several
others, similarly armed, followed a moment later by Hamed the One-Eyed.
I drew my pistols, and we deployed in the direction from which the
bullet had come.
The enemy, we soon learned, had disappeared, much to the mystification
of the two sentries, who had rushed at him from opposite directions.
The one who had been nearest him, and with whom he had exchanged shots,
averred that he must be a _jinni_, and swore that he had melted into
the ground before his eyes.
"The dawn is not far off," said Sa'ik. "We shall then see what manner
of tracks a _jinni_ leaves in the sand."
By the time I had my breakfast cooked and eaten it was light enough
to see quite distinctly. Sa'ik and I accordingly went to look for the
spoor of my assailant.
The record written in the sand was plain enough. He had come from among
the tents, circled our end of the camp, and squatted on the ground
until I had made my fire sufficiently bright for him to sight his rifle
without much fear of missing. After firing his second shot to check the
attack of the sentry, he had evidently swung his rifle across his back,
dropped on all fours, scuttled around behind our tent, and joined the
men who came up behind me with their rifles. We were most mystified,
however, by the size of his tracks. They were at least two inches
longer than those of the giant Silat, and an inch wider.
This mystery was partly solved by Sa'ik a short time after, as he was
preparing his breakfast. I was about to enter the tent, preparatory to
retiring, when he signed to me to come over by the fire which I had
kindled some time before. He pointed to a crescent-shaped object which
he had raked from the embers with a stick. It was the charred tip of an
enormous shoe.
"Your would-be assassin is a clever fellow," he said. "First he uses
huge boots to disguise his tracks. Then he burns them in your own fire,
that no evidence may be found upon him."
"And persistent," I replied. "Having failed with the dagger, he tries a
bullet. What next?"
Sa'ik shrugged his shoulders.
"Who knows? The _aakal_, perhaps. But get your needed rest. There is no
fear of his attacking you in daylight while I watch the tent."
I did--about half of it, I should judge. Then my slumbers were rudely
interrupted by several loud shouts and much excited talking outside.
Hastily arising, I hurried to the scene of excitement, which was near
the center of the camp, only to find a scene quite similar to the one
which I had witnessed some twenty-odd hours before. But this time it
was Zantut, the sworn enemy of Hans Ubers, who had met death at the
hands of the strangler. At sight of his protruding, blue-white tongue,
and staring, glassy eyes, I turned away sickened with horror, smitten
with the realization that a similar fate might overtake me before
another twenty-four hours had passed.
5
Scarcely had we resumed our march when a cry rang out from the front of
the line:
"Back to the water-hole! We are surrounded by Turks!"
For the next few moments all was panic. Loads were dashed against
trees, several girths were bursted and riders unseated.
Once more Hamed the One-Eyed proved himself a most able lieutenant.
Having made his own camel kneel in the shallow basin which skirted the
brackish pond, he dismounted and darted here and there among the men,
tugging at lead-ropes, dragging in fallen pack-saddles, and calling
words of help and encouragement to his companions.
It was due to his efforts that we had every camel out of sight and our
men posted at intervals around the rim of the basin with their rifles
ready, before the first enemy bullets began singing among the trees.
The Turks charged, and from my position on the basin's rim I could
see that they numbered about a hundred horse, and fifty mounted on
dromedaries.
For a few moments we had the advantage, shooting them down as they
charged across the open desert. The advantage swung to their side,
however, as soon as they dismounted and charged us among the trees, for
they had outnumbered us more than five to one at the outset, and we had
not been able to pot more than two dozen of them during the charge.
The hand-to-hand fighting that followed was furious and bloody.
Discarding my rifle, I fired my two Colts until they were empty, then
resorted to my simitar. Although I can use a saber fairly well, the
extreme curve of the blade of the weapon with which Sa'ik had armed me
was confusing, and my first close antagonist succeeded in getting past
my guard with a deflected head-cut which sheared through my _aakal_
and head-cloth, and parted my hair and scalp. Momentarily dazed by the
blow, and confused by the blood which ran down in my eyes, I firmly
believed that moment would have been my last had it not been for
Silat. The giant negro, swinging his two double-curved _yatagans_ with
terrible effect, happened to be at my side and noticed my plight. With
a quick side-sweep of the weapon in his left hand he dealt my adversary
a neck-cut that draped him over the edge of the basin, lifeless.
Weakened by my wound and the loss of blood, I tottered drunkenly for a
moment, wiping the blood from my eyes with the sleeve of my _jellaba_.
For the first time I noticed that Sa'ik had gone from my side, nor
could I see him anywhere in the basin, either among the living or among
the dead.
A Turk struck at me with his clubbed rifle. I evaded him, and cut him
down.
We were reduced to five men now, completely surrounded by enemies who
dared not shoot for fear of killing each other, but who were sure to
slaughter us in the end if only by sheer force of numbers.
Suddenly I saw Sa'ik. He was standing beside a gorgeously uniformed
Turkish officer, and watching the affray.
He said something to the officer, who smiled. Then he shouted to us:
"Surrender, you fools, as I have done. You can not hope to win, and the
bales and camels are already taken."
"May the sun pour no blessing upon you, O traitor," responded Hamed the
One-Eyed, stabbing a Turk in the throat. "We prefer to die fighting
like true Banu Asadin--sons of the lion in valor as well as in name."
"On your head and eyes be it," replied Sa'ik, shrugging his shoulders
and turning again to the Turkish officer.
Another man went down, then another, and we were reduced to
three--Hamed, Silat and myself. While we fought off a dozen Turks the
rest were engaged in looting our caravan and complacently cutting the
throats and stripping the corpses of our fallen comrades.
[Illustration: "_Another man went down, then another._"]
Having given up all hope of life, I had succeeded in banishing fear. My
sole sensation was one of terrific, overpowering anger at the menacing,
cutting, thrusting forms that confronted me, and I remember that I
cursed them--ripping out Arabic abuse and American oaths alternately.
Hamed the One-Eyed laughed as he fought, but Silat the Demon, twisting
his thick blubber lips into horrible sneers, bragged of his own prowess
and taunted his adversaries, calling them women and weaklings.
The swing of a clubbed rifle caught me on the thigh and I went down,
still conscious, but unable to rise. Expecting my quietus at any
moment, I lay there with the huge, sneering Silat standing over me,
still taunting his foes, still cutting them down; while Hamed, standing
back to back with him, continued to laugh and to wield simitar and
_jambiyah_.
As all gunfire had ceased I was amazed to suddenly hear a terrific
volley--then a shout: "The Arabs are upon us! A thousand Arabs are
charging! To cover! To cover!"
"_Allaho akbar!_" cried Silat. "Allah is almighty!"
"_Alhamdolillah!_" responded Hamed. "Praise be to Allah, Lord of the
Three Worlds!"
* * * * *
The thunder of thousands of hoofs mingled with the crackling of rifles,
the whining of bullets, the shouts of the living and shrieks of the
dying.
The Turks who had menaced my two remaining companions suddenly turned
and fled, followed by the terrible and insatiable Silat. Hamed the
One-Eyed stood and laughed at him for a moment; then he wiped his
bloody simitar on the clothing of a fallen Turk, sheathed it with a
flourish, and dragged me down to the water's edge. I bathed my face and
drank from my cupped hands, and he bound my head. The leg, he assured
me after examination, was not broken but only temporarily paralyzed by
the blow, and he advised me to attempt to stand on it.
Despite the fact that it was painful, the result was gratifying.
The Turks, although not as hopelessly outnumbered as we had been,
surrendered after less than five minutes of fighting. While they were
being disarmed and herded together outside the oasis, a huge fellow
with a fiery red beard came shouldering through the crowd toward us.
With a gasp of astonishment I recognized Abu Makarish, whom I had
thought dead and buried. He embraced each of us in turn, calling down
the peace and blessing of Allah, and I noticed that his breath smelt,
if possible, more strongly of _fazikh_ than on the day I had first met
him.
"_Bismillab!_" he exclaimed to Hamed. "I could recite the Fatihah
forward and backward for joy of finding you alive, _Sidi_."
I was astounded. "_Sidi_," the equivalent of "My Lord," or "Master,"
was a new designation for the ragged old monocular.
Before I could recover from my astonishment, Silat came up, accompanied
by a small, wizened man with piercing black eyes, a thin mustache, and
a scanty black beard. Behind them came two Badawin whom I recognized as
Humayd and Kasim, our two deserters, dragging Sa'ik, whose hands were
bound behind his back.
"We have captured the pestilent malefactor alive, _Sidi_," said Silat,
bowing before Hamed. "Will you slay this ignoble strangler of true
believers, or may I have the honor and pleasure?"
Ignoring the question of Silat, Hamed turned to the little man who had
come up with him.
"You are the Sharif Ali ben Suwayd, headman of the village of Umm al
Arif, are you not?" he asked.
The little man answered in the affirmative.
"When I sent Humayd and Kasim to you for aid, and later Abu Makarish,
it was with the promise that I would wreak vengeance on a certain dog
who violated your _harim_ and tortured and slew your wife and unborn
child."
"Yes, by Allah! Where is the spawn of a disease, the _kafir_ who
masquerades as a true believer and slays women and children? By the
life of my head and the tombs of my forefathers, I will strike off his
head and hang his skull over the gate of our village, as a warning to
whoso will be warned."
"There he stands," said Hamed, pointing to Sa'ik, whose features
instantly paled beneath their coat of tan. "Don't you know me yet, Hans
Ubers, the German, alias Reginald Graves, the Englishman, alias Sa'ik,
the Arab? Don't you recognize me--the real Sa'ik, whose name and papers
you stole that you might seize the weapons consigned to Feisal?"
He tipped the patch from his eye, and it was plain that it had merely
served as a disguise. Then he stood erect, shoulders no longer
drooping, tall and straight as a young pine.
"You thought you had me permanently cornered in the cave in the Wady
al Ward, when you left two men to guard me and made off with my camel
and saddle bags. But the old fox outwitted them--the thunderbolt struck
them, and their bodies went to feed the jackals. My disguise fooled you
when I went to you for employment, even as your disguise deceived the
others, all save Humayd, Kasim, Silat, Abu Makarish, whom you thought
you had strangled to death, and me. It amused me to let you perform the
work which I had intended doing myself--to watch you, and to thwart
you."
He towered above the prisoner, looking down at him with a disdainful
smile. Then he suddenly reached out and swept off the pseudo Sa'ik's
head-cloth. With it there went a black wig which revealed a shock of
bristling, closely cropped blond hair. The heavy beard did not come off
so easily, but it came, disclosing skin of a much lighter shade than
that which was artificially tanned above it.
"_Gott in Himmel!_ Don't give me to this murderer! Take me back to
Jidda, a prisoner of war!" The tones were high-pitched--quavering.
"How cooling is this to my heart and liver," said the Sharif, drawing
his simitar. "O, mad dog and mangy wolf, know that your end is at hand."
"A moment, _Sidi_." The hand of the real Sa'ik fell on the upraised arm
of the Sharif. "How goodly is the saying: 'Haste is often the father of
regret.'"
"What foolery is this?" demanded the Sharif, his eyes flashing. "Is
this filth out of _Ferringhistan_ then to be spared?"
"_I_ promised to wreak vengeance, _Sidi_," replied Sa'ik, calmly. "The
word of Sa'ik is his bond."
"Allah grant me the power of patience," muttered the bereaved man,
sheathing his simitar.
"Take the prisoner into my tent, and guard him well," ordered Sa'ik.
Then he waved his hand to Silat and Abu Makarish, who immediately
caused two heavily loaded pack camels to rise, and led them away.
"Come to my tent for pipes and coffee, _Sidi_," invited Sa'ik, "and you
too, Abdullah _Effendi_."
We sat in silence on a magnificent camel's hair Hamadan before the tent
of our host, while he kindled a fire and prepared coffee. Presently he
passed us live coals for our _chibuks_, and later served the beverage,
thick, black and very hot.
As out of a clear sky, Sa'ik suddenly addressed me.
"I praise Allah, to whom belong might and majesty, who caused me to
miss you with both knife and bullet--for I seldom miss. I took you for
a Turk in disguise, and the confidant of Hans Ubers, until I saw you
fight and heard you curse in American today. Then I knew you must be
loyal to our cause."
"Allah is all-seeing and all-knowing," I replied.
We sat in silence for some time. Presently Abu Makarish came up,
combing his red beard with his fingers and looking highly pleased about
something.
"All is in readiness, _Sidi_," he said, addressing Sa'ik.
The latter arose and said: "I ask your indulgence for but a few
moments. I have a trifling duty to perform. I will return shortly."
He went out, but Abu Makarish remained.
The stillness was suddenly rent by a single, piercing shriek of
agony--quavering--blood-curdling--unearthly.
Then, above the gasps of wonder and exclamations of horror from the
assembled men, there rose the clear, sing-song tones of the red-bearded
_imam_:
"_Alhamdolillah!_ Praise be to Allah, Lord of the Three Worlds! The
Thunderer has thundered! The Striker has struck! Bear witness to that
which you have heard this day, for it marks the vengeance of Sa'ik!"
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