The Veiled Man

But Dubois and Snape had run the gauntlet many times, and were absolutely fearless. On the present raid through the country of Emin and Junker, they had made their captures in the Moubouttou, within the Belgian sphere of influence, with the complicity of the Belgian agent at Sanga, whom they, of course, bribed with a goodly present of ivory; then, marching through the great Forest of Eternal Night, due northward to Zayadin, they had passed through the Dinka country to Fatik, which, being only two days’ march from the Bahr-el-Guebel upon which the British have posts, is a dangerous point. Nevertheless, they had pushed forward night and day, and were now in the centre of that great, sunburnt desert, the Wilderness of Nouer, which stretches northward for three hundred miles to El Obeïd.

Dubois grumbled loudly at the Englishman for interrupting his meditations, saying —

“Go and sleep, mon cher. You’ll be getting fever if you worry too much.”

“Worry!” echoed Snape. “There’s danger, I tell you. Surely you’re not a confounded fool, man?”

“Ah,” answered his partner, quite calmly, “is there not always danger here, in Africa? You have a wonderful imagination, my dear Henri, I quite admit; but do allow me to finish my sleep. Then let us talk of this extraordinary hole, whatever it may be.”

“Idiot!” ejaculated the Englishman, hitching up his flowing white burnouse. He was a tall, good-looking fellow of forty, whose career, however, had been a singularly eventful one. Since he left Balliol he had met with a good many adventures in various lands, most of them being to his discredit. He had been a born gambler, and had drifted from the London clubs to the tables at Monte Carlo, and thence, by a very crooked channel, to that sink of the world, Africa, where chance had brought him in contact with the scoundrel and arch-slaver Dubois. They were a well-matched pair. At college Snape had taken honours for Arabic, therefore his knowledge of that language now served him in good stead. He was one of those men who could never run straight, even though he had often tried. He was a born outsider.

“Why idiot?” inquired his partner lazily. The old negress waved the fan backwards and forwards, understanding not a word of the conversation between the headman and the great white Sheikh, who, on account of his raiding, the Touaregs had named The Father of the Hundred Slaves.

“Well, I’m not the sort of fellow to let the grass grow under my feet when there’s any danger,” snapped Snape. “You remember what Zafar said yesterday.”

“He’s like yourself, mon cher, – always apprehensive of some horrible calamity,” muttered the Belgian, blowing a cloud of smoke from his lips.

“This time, I tell you, it’s no mere imagination,” the Englishman went on. “Last night, after the dua, I left secretly, so as not to arouse any misgivings, and rode due east until the dawn, when I discovered, encamped among the aghrad, a whole troop of Soudanese soldiers. I got near enough to ascertain that the officers were Englishmen.”

“Well?”

“They’ve got word somehow that we are passing through,” he said. “And now, if you don’t stir yourself, you’ll never see Brussels again – you understand?”

“I have no wish to see Bruxelles, mon cher,” the elder man replied, quite undisturbed. “If I did, it would only be to see the inside of a prison. No; I prefer Africa to the pleasures of the miniature Paris. Here, if one has a little ivory, one is a king. Life is very pleasant.”

“I admit that,” his companion said. “But do, for Heaven’s sake, get up and let us decide what to do. There’s danger, and we can’t afford to be trapped, especially with all those niggers tied in a string. The evidence is a bit too strong against us, and the officers are English. There’s no bribing them, you know.”

The Belgian stirred himself lazily at last, and asked —

“Are they at a well?”

“No. They are without water.”

“Then as this is the only well for about a hundred miles, they’ll arrive here to-day – eh?”

“Of course. That’s why I came straight to warn you. There’s no time to be lost. Let’s strike camp and get away. It’s skip or fight.”

“If we skeep – I suppose you mean march – ah! your English language! – then they will skeep in pretty quick time after us. They’ve got wind of our presence in the vicinity, therefore why not remain and fight?”

“Fight my own people?” cried Snape. “No, I’m damned if I do!”

“Why not?” asked the Belgian, with gesticulation. “Our Touaregs will slice them into mincemeat. Besides, at long range they’re as good shots, and better, than those Soudanese, all fez and swagger.”

“No,” the Englishman argued. “Let’s fly now, while there’s time. In two days we shall be in the Nioukour, and they’ll never find us in the mountains. We hid there quite snugly once before, you recollect.”

“Muhala,” said the Belgian, turning to the old negress, “go. Call Yakub, and remain outside.”

The hideous old woman went forth into the sun glare, and in a few moments an old thin-faced Touareg entered, making a low salaam.

“Now, Yakub,” exclaimed the Belgian in Arabic, “answer me. Of what did our caravan consist when we left the Aruwimi?”

“Three hundred and thirty-three slaves, and twenty-nine tusks,” answered the villainous-looking old fellow.

“And now?”

“Seventy-three blacks and twenty-nine tusks.”

“Then two hundred and sixty have died?”

“Yea, O master,” he responded. “The new lash of elephant hide has killed many, and the black death has been responsible for the remainder. Five are suffering from it now, and never a day passes ere one or more is not attacked. I have feared that none will live to sight the mosques of El Obeïd.”

“In short, Yakub, they are a diseased lot – eh? You think they’re worthless?”

“Only two women are left, O master, and both were seized by the black death yesterday.”

“In that case,” observed the Belgian, turning to his partner, “the whole batch are not worth transporting. The game is not, as you English say, worth the lamp.”

“Then what’s your suggestion?” asked Snape.

“Well, as you are so much in fear of these confounded English, we must, I suppose, act.”

“How?”

“It is quite simple. We just abandon the whole lot, and save ourselves and the ivory.”

“Very well,” his companion agreed. “I’m open to any move except fighting against the English.”

“Bah! You are full of scruples, mon cher Henri,” he laughed. “I have none – none. And I am happy – perfectly happy.” He was silent a moment, as though reflecting deeply.

“But,” he added, “I do wish we could teach these interfering English a lesson. It would do them good. They try to rule Africa nowadays. Ah! if we could – if we could!” And there was a strange glint of evil in his eyes.

An hour later Dubois and Snape, at the head of their formidable troop of brigandish horsemen, were riding at full speed across the desert due west, towards the far distant forest of Dyonkor, it having been decided to skirt this, and then travel south for a fresh raid in Congo territory.

As for the poor wretches bound together, and dying of thirst and disease, they were still secured to the palm trunks and abandoned to their fate, tortured by being within sight of the well, yet unable to slake the frightful thirst consuming them. Dwellers in the damp, gloomy forest, where the sunlight never penetrates, the intense heat of the desert struck them down one after another, sending them insane or killing them outright.

Time after time Snape turned in his high Arab saddle, glancing back apprehensively to see if they were followed. But his partner only laughed sarcastically, saying – “You still fear your friends the English? Ah! you have the heart of the chicken. All is quite unnecessary. We have made them a present of the whole lot, and I hope they will appreciate our kindness. Now we shall take it easy, and hope for better fortune with the next batch. I fancy that the new lash must be too hard. The women can’t stand it, so it seems.”

“A little less whipping and a little more water would keep ’em in better condition,” Snape observed. “Yakub is eternally lashing them for some imaginary laziness or offence.”

“Yes, it’s all due to that new lash,” the Belgian admitted. “It must be used with less frequency on the next lot.”

“It’s a revolting punishment. Twenty blows kill a strong nigger,” his companion declared. “The thing ought to be thrown away.”

“Ah, yes,” sneered his companion. “You would, if you had your own way, keep women to brash the flies off them, and carry feather-beds for them to sleep on. You always forget that you are not dealing with civilised beings. They’re mere niggers.”

“Well, we’re not of the most civilised type, you and I, if the unwelcome truth be told,” the Englishman responded. “If we are trapped there’ll be a howl in Europe.”

“But I, for one, don’t mean to be caught,” laughed the Belgian gaily, with perfect confidence of his security. And they both rode side by side, the troop of white-burnoused Pirates of the Desert thundering on behind, raising a cloud of dust which, in that clear atmosphere, could be seen many miles away.

On, on they sped over the burning sand, riding easily at a hand gallop, without a halt, the black-veiled raiders laughing and chaffing, chattering, pushing forward, even in the blood-red track of the dying day.

Night fell quickly, as it does in that region. The slavers encamped in a sandy hollow beneath the rocks, and Dubois, ordering the tent to be pitched, sat smoking with his partner after the dish of dakkwa (pounded Guinea-corn with dates) which old Muhala had prepared. They were alone.

“To camp like this before we reach the forest is, to my mind, simply inviting capture,” Snape grumbled. “The military detachment is evidently out in search of us, and the little lot we’ve abandoned will point out to them the direction we’ve taken. Then they’ll follow and overtake us.”

“Oh no, they won’t,” answered the Belgian, with a serene smile.

“What makes you so sure?”

“Remember that, coming up from the river, they must have been at least six days without water; therefore they’ll halt at Akdul to drink and fill their water-skins before pushing forward.”

“Well?” inquired Snape.

The crafty Belgian looked curiously into the face of his companion, and smiled grimly.

“Well, if they halt there,” he said, “they won’t trouble us any more.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I doctored the water before we left. That’s why I didn’t leave the blacks loose to drink it.”

“What!” gasped the Englishman wildly, starting to his feet. “You’ve actually poisoned the well?”

The Belgian nodded and laughed, without removing his shisha from his lips.

“You scoundrel! You fiend!” the Englishman shouted, his face white with passion. “I’ve done some shabby tricks in my time, but, by Heaven! I’d rather have given myself up than have assented to the wholesale murder of my own people like that!”

A sarcastic smile crossed the Belgian’s sinister features.

“Excitement is entirely unnecessary, mon cher Henri,” he said, calmly. “It may, you know, bring on a touch of fever. Besides, by this time there isn’t many of them, white or black, left to tell the tale. Yakub, whom I left behind to watch, has just come in to report that they arrived an hour after we had left, released the slaves, and watered freely, enjoying themselves immensely. Before he started to return, fully fifty were dead or dying, including all the white officers. But why trouble further? We’ve saved ourselves.”

“Trouble!” roared Snape, his eyes flashing with a fierce fire of indignation, “Get up, you infernal scoundrel, or I’ll shoot you as you lie! You’re an outlaw; so am I. Trouble! Why, one of those white officers was Jack Myddleton, my brother, and,” he added in a harsh tone – “and I’m going to avenge his death!” Instantly Dubois saw his partner’s intention, and sprang to his feet, revolver in hand.

Two reports sounded almost simultaneously, but only one man fell. It was the Belgian, who, with an imprecation on his lips, dropped back with a bullet through his temple, and in a few seconds expired.

At dawn Muhala discovered her master dead, and his companion missing. Search was at once made for the Englishman, who was found lying dead upon the sand half a mile from the camp.

He had committed suicide.

Around the well of Akdul the caravans that water there in crossing the arid wilderness still see quantities of bones of horses and of men. Long ago the vultures have stripped them, and they now lie bleaching in the sun, a mute record of a coward’s treachery, of the revolting vengeance of The Father of the Hundred Slaves.

Chapter Ten

The Mystery of Afo

In the mystic haze of the slowly dying day, mounted on a méheri, or swift camel, I carried my long rifle high above my head, and rode speedily over the great silent wilderness of treacherous, ever-shifting sand. Once I drew rein to listen, turning my eyes to the left, where the distant serrated crests of the mountains of Nanagamma loomed forth like giant shadows; but as nothing broke the appalling stillness, I, a mere tribesman then, sped forward again, reaching a small oasis, where I made my camel kneel, and then dismounted.

As I strode towards the lonely shrine of Sidi Okbar – a small doomed building constructed of sun-dried mud, under which reposed the remains of one of our most venerated marabouts – I fear my burnouse was brown, ragged, and travel-stained; the haick that surrounded my face was torn and soiled, and upon my feet were rough, heavy slippers, sadly the worse for wear. The latter, however, I kicked off on approaching the shrine; then, kneeling close to the sun-blanched wall, cast sand upon myself, kissed the earth, and, drawing my palms down my face, repeated the Testification. In fervent supplication I bowed repeatedly, and, raising my voice until it sounded distinct on the still air, invoked the blessing of Allah.

“O Merciful! O beneficent Grantor of Requests!” I cried; “O King of the day of Faith, guide us, ere to-morrow’s sun hath run its course, into the path that is straight, and leadeth unto the kasbah of our enemies of Abea. Strengthen our arms, lead us in times of darkness and in the hours of day, destroy our enemies, and let them writhe in Al-Hâwiyat, the place prepared for infidels, where their meat shall be venomous serpents, and they shall slake their thirst with boiling pitch.”

Startled suddenly by a strange sound, I listened with bated breath. The thought occurred to me that my words might have been overheard by some spy, and instinctively my hand drew from my belt my jambiyah, the long, crooked dagger that I always carried. Again a noise like a deep-drawn sigh broke the silence, and I sprang to my feet and rushed round to the opposite side of the building, just in time to see a fluttering white robe disappearing in the gloom. Quick as lightning I sprang towards it, and in twenty paces had overtaken the eavesdropper, who, with a slight scream, fell to earth beneath my heavy hand.

“Rise!” I cried, roughly dragging the figure to its feet. “Thou son of Eblis!” Next second, however, I discovered that the fugitive was a woman, veiled, enshrouded in her haick, and wearing those baggy white trousers that render the Arab females hideous when out of doors.

“Thou hast overheard my orison,” I cried, raising my knife. “Speak! speak! or of a verity will I strike!”

But the mysterious woman uttered no word, and in a frenzy of desperation I tore the veil from her face.

Aghast I stood; the knife fell from my lingers. The countenance revealed was amazingly beautiful, so charming, indeed, that instantly I became entranced by its loveliness, and stood speechless and abashed.

She was not more than eighteen, and her features were regular, with a fair complexion, a pair of brilliant dark eyes set well apart under browns blackened by kohl, and a forehead half-hidden by strings of golden sequins that tinkled musically each time she moved. Upon her head was set jauntily a little scarlet chachia, trimmed heavily with seed-pearls, while her neck was encircled by strings of roughly-cut jacinths and turquoises, and in the folds of her silken haick there clung the subtle perfumes of the harem.

Slowly she lifted her fine eyes, still wet with tears, to mine, and, with her breast rising and falling quickly, trembled before me, fearing my wrath.

“Loosen thy tongue’s strings!” I cried at last, grasping her slim white wrist with my rough, hard hand. “Thou art from Afo, the City in the Sky, and thou hast gained knowledge of our intended attack?”

“Thy lips, O stranger, speak the truth,” she faltered.

“Why art thou here, and alone, so far from thine home on the crest of yonder peak?” I inquired, gazing at her in wonderment.

“I came hither for the same purpose as thyself,” she answered seriously, looking straight into my face, – “to crave Allah’s blessing.”

“Art thou a dweller in the house of grief?” I asked. “Tell me why thou didst venture here alone.”

She hesitated, toying nervously with the jewelled perfume-bottle suspended at her breast; then she answered, “I – I am betrothed to a man I hate. The Merciful Giver of Blessings alone can rescue me from a fate that is worse than death – a marriage without love.”

“And who is forcing thee into this hateful union? If it is thy father, tell me his name?”

“Yes, it is my father. His name is Abd el Jelíl ben Séf e’ Nasr, Sultan of Abea.”

“The Sultan!” I cried in amazement. “Then thou art Kheira!” I added, for the extraordinary beauty of the only daughter of the Sultan of Abea was proverbial throughout the Great Desert, from Lake Tsâd, even to the Atlas.

“Yes,” she replied. “And from thy speech and dress I know thou art of the Azjar, our deadliest enemies.”

“True,” I answered. “To-morrow my tribe, to the number of ten thousand, now lying concealed in the valley called Deforou, will swarm upon thine impregnable city and – ”

“Ten thousand?” she gasped, pale and agitated. “And thou wilt kill my father, and reduce our people to slavery. Ah, no!” she added imploringly. “Save us, O stranger! Our fighting men went south one moon ago to collect the taxes at Dehagada, therefore we are unprotected. What can I do – how can I act to save my father?”

“Dost thou desire to save him, even though he would force upon thee this odious marriage?”

“I do,” she cried. “I – I will save the City in the Sky at the cost of mine own life.”

“To whom art thou betrothed,” I asked, tenderly taking her hand.

“To the Agha Hassan è Rawi, who dwelleth at Zongra, beyond the Nanagamma. He is threescore years and ten, and ’tis said he treateth his wives with inhuman cruelty. One of his slaves told me so.”

I stood silent and thoughtful. Though I was a member of a tribe who existed wholly upon loot obtained from the caravans and towns we attacked, yet so earnestly did the Sultan’s daughter appeal, that all thought of preserving the secret of our intended attack by murdering her disappeared, and I found myself deeply in love. Mine was a poor chance, however, I told myself. The proud Sultan of Abea would never consent to a brigand as a son-in-law, even if she looked upon me with favour.

“To-night, O Daughter of the Sun, we meet as friends; to-morrow as enemies,” I said. “Our spies have reported that thy city remaineth undefended, and, alas! there is a blood-feud between my people and thine; therefore, when the hosts of the Azjar enter with fire and sword, few, I fear, will be spared. Wilt thou not remain here with my tribesmen, and escape?”

“No,” she answered proudly. “I am a woman of Afo, and I will return unto my people, even though I fall before to-morrow’s sundown under thy merciless swords.”

As she spoke, one hand rested upon her supple hip, and with the other she pointed to the high, shadowy peak whereon stood the great white stronghold known to the Kanouri people as The City in the Sky.

“But thou, who art like a sun among the stars, knowest our plans, and it is my duty to kill thee,” I said, hitching my burnouse about my shoulders.

“I am in thine hands. If thou stainest them with my blood, thou wilt ever have upon thy conscience the remembrance that thou hast taken the life of one who was innocent of intrigue. If thou givest me freedom, I shall have at least one brief hour of felicity with my people before – before – ”

And she sighed, without concluding the sentence.

“Thou, a fresh rose from the fountain-head of life, art in fear of a double fate, – the downfall of to-morrow, and the marriage feast next moon. Let not thy mind be troubled, for I stretch not forth the tongue to blame,” I said at last, endeavouring to smile. “In Ahamadou, of the tribe Azjar, thou hast a devoted friend, and one who may peradventure assist thee in a manner thou hast not dreamed. Therefore mount thine horse and return with all speed to Afo – not, however, before thou hast given me some little souvenir of this strange meeting.”

“Thou slakest my thirst with the beverage of kindness!” she cried in joy. “I knew when first I saw thee that thou wert my friend.”

“Friend? – nay, lover,” I answered gallantly, as, taking her tiny hand again, I pressed her henna-stained nails softly to my lips. She blushed and tried to draw away, but I held her firmly until she withdrew one of her gold bangles from her wrist, and, with a smile, placed it upon mine.

“Behold!” she exclaimed with a merry, rippling laugh, “it is thy badge of servitude to me!”

“I am a slave of the most handsome mistress in the world,” I said happily. Then, urging her to warn the Sultan of the intentions of the Azjar, I kissed her once tenderly upon the lips, lifted her into the saddle of her gaily caparisoned horse, and then she twisted her torn veil about her face, and, giving me “Peace,” sped away swift as an arrow into the darkness, bearing intelligence that would cause the utmost sensation in the mountain fastness.

“I love her,” I murmured, when the sound of her horse’s hoofs had died away. “But how can I save her? To-morrow, when we enter Afo and loot the Palace, she will be secured as slave. No!” I cried, “she shall never fall into Nikále’s brutal hands – never while I have breath!”

The sound of whispering caused me to fix my gaze upon a dark shadow thrown by some ethel-bushes, and next second, half a dozen of my fellow tribesmen advanced.

“So, dog of a spy! thou hast betrayed us!” cried a voice, which in a moment I was startled to recognise as that of my enemy Mohammed El Sfaski.

“Yes,” the others shouted with one accord; “we watched the son of offal speaking with the woman, and we overheard him telling her to warn the Sultan!”

“Follow her on the wings of haste!” cried El Sfaski. “Kill her, for death alone will place the seal of muteness upon the lips of such a jade.” And in a few seconds two black-veiled figures vaulted into their saddles and tore past in the direction Kheira had disappeared.

“Speak!” thundered El Sfaski, who, with the others, had now surrounded me. “Knowest thou the punishment of traitors?”

“Yes,” I answered, hoarsely.

“Who is the woman whose blackness and deceit hath captivated thee?”

Three rapid shots sounded in the distance. The men had evidently overtaken and murdered the daughter of the Sultan!

I held my breath.

“I – I refuse to give thee answer,” I said, resolutely.

“By Allah! thou art a traitor to our lord and to our tribe, and of a verity thou hast also the eye of perfection. Therefore shalt thou die!” Then, turning to the others, he added —

“We have no time to bandy words with this accursed son of the Evil One. Tie him to yon tree, and let the vultures feast upon their carrion.”

With loud imprecations the men seized me, tore off my haick and burnouse, and bound me securely to a palm trunk in such a position that I could only see the great expanse of barren sand. Then, with that refinement of cruelty of which the nomadic Azjar are past-masters, they smeared my face, hands, and feet with date-juice, to attract the ants and other insects; and, after jeering at me and condemning me to everlasting perdition and sempiternal culpability, they remounted their horses, and, laughing heartily, left me alone to wait the end.

Through the long, silent night, with arms and legs bound so tightly that I could not move them, I remained, wondering what terrible fate had befallen the beautiful girl who had overheard my orison. My two clansmen had not returned. I knew the men were splendid riders, therefore it was more than probable that they had very quickly overtaken her. Utterly hopeless, well knowing that to the blazing sun and the agonies of being half-devoured by insects I must very soon succumb, I waited, my ears on the alert to catch every sound.