Dick Merriwell's Pranks: or, Lively Times in the Orient

“Those are grapevines,” exclaimed the professor. “In the fall they cut them down to that height and lay them flat on the ground, as you see them. They are now beginning to prop them up. They will be irrigated and dressed, and then new branches will shoot out in all directions and cover the soil and bear fruit.”

As the train wound in and out of the gorges, clinging to the mountainsides, they beheld many strange and interesting things. Laborers were setting out mulberry trees in long trenches. Other laborers were digging the trenches, three men working a single shovel. One of the men manipulated the shovel, holding the handle and driving it down into the soil. Two others lifted it out with its load, doing so by pulling at ropes attached to the shovel just above the blade. They all worked together with astonishing ease and skill. Great hedges of cactus stretched along the railroad in many places. They gazed with interest at the old-fashioned irrigating canals. They beheld men plowing with the same sort of crooked stick that was used for that purpose in Bible times. But there were no farmhouses scattered over the country, for the people still lived in villages, as they did in former days, when it was necessary for neighbors to band together for protection.

For a great portion of the way the railroad followed the old caravan trail, and all along this trail were scattered trains of camels and donkeys, loaded with all kinds of goods, such as silk, cotton, grain, machinery, poplar trees, fuel, and other things. Petroleum, however, seemed to form the greater portion of many a cargo.

The sun shone from a cloudless sky.

Brad Buckhart was strangely silent. He gazed out of the window in an abstracted manner, paying very little attention to what the professor and Dick were saying.

Finally Dick began to joke him about his unusual manner.

“Don’t worry, Brad,” he laughed. “We’ll overtake her soon. We may find her in Damascus.”

“Her?” grunted the Texan.

“Yes.”

“Why, who – ”

“Nadia Budthorne, of course. Her last letter told you she would visit Damascus and then proceed to Jerusalem, in company with her brother. You can’t fool me, old man. You have been counting on overtaking her somewhere in the Holy Land. Don’t deny it.”

“All right,” said Buckhart, his face flushed, but his manner a bit defiant; “I won’t deny it, Mr. Smarty. You sure have hit it all right. I – ”

At this moment the whistle of the locomotive shrieked a wild alarm and the brakes were applied violently. Something was wrong. The train came to a stop.

And just outside the window of the compartment occupied by the old professor and two boys a dead camel lay stretched on the ground, blood flowing from several horrible wounds. The animal’s pack was broken open and the goods scattered in all directions.

Not ten feet from the camel lay a gorgeously dressed, black-bearded Arab, likewise apparently dead.

“Whoop!” cried Buckhart. “There certain have been some doings here! I opine the camel tried to butt the train off the track, somewhat to the grief of Mr. Camel.”

Men now came running toward the spot, all greatly excited. They were principally camel drivers and like men from a caravan. They gathered about the prostrate Arab and made a great demonstration. Their gestures toward the train were very threatening.

One of the guards flung open the door of the compartment occupied by our friends.

“Is there a doctor here?” he asked anxiously. “A serious accident has happened.”

In a moment Dick Merriwell sprang out, followed by Brad. They did not wait to enter into conversation with the guard, but started toward the dead camel and the motionless Arab.

Others from the train were doing the same thing, and the boys learned from fragments of conversation that the Arab had been struck by the engine while endeavoring to drive from the track the camel that had strayed onto the railroad and obstinately refused to budge.

At that point the train came round a sharp curve, and the engineer was unable to see either camel or man until right upon them.

Later the boys learned that the camel was loaded with certain articles of great importance, which had led the Arab to imperil his life in the effort to drive the beast from the track.

“He seems to be some sort of high mogul in his tribe,” observed Buckhart, as he and Dick paused and surveyed the injured man.

“He is a sheik of great power and influence,” explained a man standing near. “That is why the railroad people are so concerned. If he were an ordinary camel driver or donkey man, they wouldn’t stop a minute to bother over him.”

“I wonder if he is really dead?” muttered Dick, stepping forward.

In a moment he was kneeling beside the unconscious man. Deftly he began to make an examination, seeking for broken bones.

A number of Arabs were about, their heads tied up and their feet and legs bare, as is their custom in all sorts of weather. One of these objected when Dick began the examination, but a husky fellow prevented the chap from attacking the American boy.

“I don’t believe he is dead,” declared Dick. “Doesn’t seem to have any broken bones. He’s stunned – just has the breath knocked out of him. Give me a hand, Brad; let’s see if we can’t revive him.”

The Texan responded promptly.

“What do you want me to do, pard?” he inquired.

“We’ll try artificial respiration,” said Merriwell. “You work his lungs while I work his arms.”

What followed caused the wildest excitement among the watching Arabs, for Buckhart knelt astride the body of the old sheik and began a regular and steady pumplike movement on the lower part of his breast, while Dick seized the man’s arms, pulled them at full length above the Arab’s head, then bent them back suddenly and pressed them to his sides. The two boys worked together in perfect unison.

Some of the Arabs cried out that the infidels were defiling the dead. Two or three of them drew weapons and would have rushed on the boys; but the same husky fellow, who had checked them before now, produced a pistol and averred that he would “blow daylight” through the whole of them if they did not keep still.

In this manner they were temporarily checked, and that brief check gave Merriwell time enough to accomplish his purpose.

A low moan and a convulsive gasp came from the lips of the man over which the boys were working. Signs of returning consciousness were pronounced. His breast heaved. The boys ceased their work. For he breathed.

An Englishman held out a flask of whisky.

“Give him a swallow of this,” he advised.

Dick pushed it away.

“Water,” he called. “That will be better for him.”

“Allah! Allah!” cried the astounded Arabs. “The infidels are magicians! They have restored the dead to life! Ras al Had lives again!”

Some of them prostrated themselves in the dust. Others hastened to bring water.

Dick took a canteen and turned a little of the liquid between the lips of the injured man. He swallowed it greedily, coughed a little, and then lay gazing in a puzzled manner at the face of the American boy.

Finally, in very good English, he asked what had happened. His voice was weak and husky, yet his words were plain.

“You were struck by the train,” explained Merriwell. “Your camel was killed, and you seemed to be dead; but I think you are all right now.”

“For which you may thank this boy and his friend here,” said the husky chap, who had protected the boys. “To all appearances, you were as dead as old Mohammed; but they pumped the breath back into you in a hurry.”

Several of the Arabs now brought cushions, which were placed beneath the head and shoulders of the sheik. One of them spoke to him hurriedly in a low tone, and seemed telling him all about what had taken place. When this man had finished speaking the sheik made a gesture with his hand and bade him retire.

He then called for Dick.

“Be careful, Richard,” cautioned Professor Gunn. “These men are treacherous. There’s no telling what he means to do.”

Dick laughed and stepped nearer to the sheik.

“Boy,” said the old Arab, “they tell me that I was dead, and by your infidel magic you brought life back into my body.”

“You were unconscious, that was all. The shock had driven the breath from your body, and we simply revived the action of your lungs.”

“Had you not done so – ”

“You sure would have croaked for fair,” put in Buckhart.

“What you ask of me, if it is in my power, I will give,” declared the sheik. “That is the word of Ras al Had, and, though no pledge to an infidel is binding, may the wrath of Allah fall on me if I break this one. Speak.”

“If you think I did it for pay of any sort, you are mistaken,” said the young American, with a touch of resentment. “You can’t reward me for a thing like that.”

“Then if ever you are in need or in danger, and I can be of service, the sword and the life of Ras al Had shall be at your command. I swear this by the beard of the Prophet!”

“All aboard!” shouted a voice. “Train’s going to start.”

There was a general rush for the cars.

CHAPTER IX – THE STRUGGLE AT THE STATION

“Well, that certain was an adventure, all right,” laughed Brad, when they were again seated in their compartment and the train was moving.

“I don’t know what I’ll do with you boys!” exclaimed Professor Gunn, with an air of exasperation. “You keep me on pins and needles all the time. I surely thought those Arabs would slice you up when they saw you go after the old sheik. They thought you were defiling the dead.”

“But the old boy was grateful when he learned that we had pumped the breath back into him,” said Dick.

“He pretended to be,” nodded the professor; “but that is no sign.”

“Why not?”

“He’s a Mohammedan, and they think it no harm to do anything to an infidel. They may deceive him, lie to him, steal from him, even kill him, without committing a sin. Richard, do not take any stock in the words of that old rascal.”

“I don’t have to,” said young Merriwell; “for it is not likely I’ll ever see him again. All the same, I seemed to feel that he was sincere when he expressed his gratitude.”

“It’s evident he’s a gent of some authority in his tribe,” put in Brad. “All the rest of his particular bunch seemed to stand in awe of him a plenty.”

Their interest in the strange country, together with their recent adventure, gave them food enough for conversation, and the journey was not nearly as long as they had expected it would seem.

At last, as the train approached Damascus, they found themselves in a narrow valley that was almost a gorge. Through this valley a clear stream rushed and roared over an exceedingly rocky bed. This stream drove a number of mills, the entrances to which were always surrounded by donkeys and camels, these animals having brought little loads of grain to the mills to be ground.

On the outskirts of the city they passed a group of Turkish villas, which looked very picturesque and attractive. These, they were told, were occupied by exiled officers of the Turkish government, who had committed offenses of some sort or had excited the distrust of the sultan. Instead of ordering them beheaded, their imperial master had sent them to Damascus, where they could be closely guarded.

Finally the train drew into the station at Damascus.

“Say, just have a look!” cried Brad. “I opine the whole town has turned out to meet us.”

There was a great crowd at the station – Arabs, Assyrians, Armenians, Turks, Jews, Greeks, Egyptians, and people from many desert tribes. They were all in a great tumult and uproar. A fence prevented them from crowding close to the track, but behind this fence they were packed thick as sardines in a box, staring, talking, pushing, gesticulating, and making a great hubbub.

“I wonder if this is the usual thing,” said Dick. “Perhaps some noted person is on this train.”

“Not likely that has brought them here,” declared the professor. “The arrival of a train is an event, and probably all the idle men in town rush to the station to see it come in.”

Their compartment door was flung open.

With alacrity the two boys descended to the platform.

“There they are!” cried a familiar voice that gave Buckhart a thrill.

“Oh, Dick! Hey, Brad!” called another voice.

Dick located the person who called to him. He grasped Buckhart’s arm and pointed.

“There they are – Budthorne and his sister!” he exclaimed.

In the midst of the crowd beyond the fence, being jostled about by the swaying mob, were Dunbar Budthorne and Nadia, whom they had last seen in Italy.

Professor Gunn was calling to the boys.

“Hold on, you kittenish young rascals!” he croaked. “Don’t be in such a hurry. Help look after this baggage.”

But the professor was forgotten in the excitement of what followed. Dick saw the wild crowd separate Dunbar Budthorne and his sister. He saw the two forced apart. Nadia was whirled aside. Then two men grasped her, one placing a dusky hand over her mouth to prevent her from shouting, while she was swept off her feet and literally borne away.

Dick shouted to Brad. He made a rush for the fence. Up into the air he sailed in a great leap that carried him over the obstruction and into the midst of the crowd.

The American boy seemed like an infuriated animal, for he hurled people to the right and left like one possessing the strength of a giant. He ripped a pathway through that crowd in a most amazing manner.

Nadia Budthorne was struggling vainly with her captors, who were on the point of lifting her into a carriage, when the American boy reached them.

Dick struck one man a blow that caused him to release the girl instantly.

But another swarthy fellow appeared and sought to seize the boy, while still one held fast to the girl.

Nadia, however, managed to get her mouth clear of the smothering hand that had been pressed over it.

She uttered a scream.

That cry was answered by a roar in the voice of Brad Buckhart, who was fighting his way through the crowd.

As the second ruffian reached for him, Dick managed by an agile twist and dodge to escape the fellow’s hand. Then he tripped the man and went at the one who was seeking to force Nadia into the carriage.

“Drop her, you cur!” he palpitated.

This fellow, who was the biggest one of the trio, flung the girl into the arms of yet another, then whirled on Dick, whipping out a knife.

The giant made a quick, forward, ripping stroke with the knife.

Again Merriwell’s quickness on his feet saved him, for he squirmed aside so that the blade of the knife simply pierced the loose part of his coat that swung from him when he made that rapid movement.

The next instant Dick seized the dark man’s hand with his left hand, held it firm, struck sharply with the lower edge of his right hand, which landed on the other’s wrist.

That man’s wrist was broken as if it had been a pipestem, and the knife fell to the ground.

Dick had broken it by a trick, knowing just exactly how to accomplish the feat.

A howl rose from the wretch, but the boy gave him no further attention.

He turned to look for Nadia.

Fortunately Brad Buckhart had reached the girl and in an encounter of this sort the Texan was second only to Dick Merriwell. In fact, Brad fought with more slashing fury than did Dick, but not with the same quick wit and instant decision on the right course to pursue.

The Texan had proved assistance enough, however, for he had rescued Nadia and knocked down the man who was seeking to force her into the carriage. The latter fell under the feet of the horses. The animals reared and trampled on him. He screamed, and the horses plunged away, the black driver apparently letting them go, instead of seeking to stop them.

The moment the carriage was gone the men who had attacked Nadia seemed to be swallowed by the crowd that surged round. The one with the broken wrist vanished, and even the fellow who had been trampled by the horse could not be found. It was easy for the other two to disappear in the crowd, for any one of a hundred men there might have been taken for either of them.

Dunbar Budthorne, pale and shaking with excitement, finally reached his sister, finding her clinging to Brad, who was supporting her with one arm.

Dick was on the other side of Nadia.

“Sister!” exclaimed Dunbar huskily; “have those brutes – ”

“I’m all right, brother,” she hastened to declare. “They did handle me roughly, but – ”

“The brutes!” he grated. “Is there no protection for respectable travelers in this wretched city? This is the third offense, and this was more outrageous than the others. I couldn’t do a thing. Before I realized it the crowd had forced us apart.”

“It’s fortunate Dick and Brad were able to reach me,” she declared. “I was helpless in the hands of those black ruffians. I believe they would have forced me into that carriage and carried me off before all this crowd only for the boys.”

Budthorne now shook hands with the boys, expressing his thanks and gratitude.

Buckhart was highly indignant over what had occurred, and he wanted to know why Dunbar had not appealed to the authorities for protection. Budthorne explained that he had appealed, but that foreigners were liable to insult anywhere in Damascus, and that often they were roughly treated.

This was true. The Moslems of that city are proud, but illiterate. They have come to know of the advancement of other peoples whom they regard as inferior, and they resent it. For four thousand years Damascus occupied an important position in the world, but now it is a place of very little importance, much to the indignation of its citizens.

But Budthorne knew the treatment accorded himself and his sister did not arise wholly from the fact that they were foreigners. There was another reason, which he explained later.

Professor Gunn came fluttering through the crowd, in a great state of agitation.

“Bless my soul! bless my soul!” he stammered. “This is dreadful! Is this thing going to continue wherever we go? If so, I’ll just have to take these boys back home. It’s scandalous! My nerves are completely upset!”

“Where is our baggage?” asked Dick.

“I had to leave it.”

“Unguarded?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we’ll be lucky if we ever see it again. Brad, stay with Nadia and Dunbar, while I go with the professor to look after that baggage.”

Fortunately not a piece of the baggage had been stolen. Dick was clear-headed, and he soon learned what to do with it, although Zenas rendered absolutely no assistance. There was a German hotel in the city, and a representative of the house took charge of all the luggage after it was pointed out, assuring them that it would be taken to the hotel without delay. Another man escorted our friends through the crowd to a carriage that ran to the hotel.

Once in the carriage they breathed easier. Away they were whirled through the narrow streets of the strange, old city, leaving the station and the motley crowd behind.

The houses of Damascus are mainly of sun-dried clay with flat roofs, surrounded by low copings. This roof serves for many purposes. Often it is used as a dining room, while during the hot summer months it serves as a bedroom at night. On warm evenings people sit on the housetops to enjoy the air. When the muezzin appears on the balcony of a minaret hundreds upon hundreds of faithful Moslems mount to their housetops and go through the gymnastic contortions of Mohammedan worship.

But not all the buildings of Damascus are low and flat-roofed. There are some towers, and temples, and minarets, besides a few modern buildings, with roofs of bright corrugated iron, which glisten in the sunshine.

Compared with most American cities, Damascus lacks trees and foliage. Compared with the desert surrounding it, however, it is a perfect bower of shade and rest.

A look of disappointment crept over the face of Brad Buckhart as he gazed around him on the way from the station to the hotel.

“I opine this is the worst part of Damascus?” he observed.

“On the contrary,” said Dunbar Budthorne, “it is far from being the worst part. This is quite respectable – almost swell, to use a vulgar word.”

“Well, I certain am a plenty disappointed,” muttered the Texan. “She isn’t just as I expected her to be.”

Dick questioned Dunbar about the annoyance to which he and Nadia had been subjected since arriving in the city.

“I may as well tell the cause of it,” said Budthorne, although Nadia showed confusion and shook her head warningly. “It’s all right, sister. You were not to blame.”

Brad wondered at her confusion and detected her in the act of casting a glance of apprehension toward him.

“On the steamer coming from Smyrna to Beirut,” said Dunbar, “we chanced to meet a very handsome and distinguished-appearing Turkish gentleman, who was called Hafsa Pasha. Although scarcely more than thirty years of age, he had traveled a great deal and had spent two years in the United States. He was educated, cultured, refined in manner, and a splendid traveling companion. Both Nadia and myself enjoyed his company very much. He told us he was bound for Damascus on business that concerned the Turkish government. He had been here before, and, therefore, he was able to give us much information of value and save us many petty annoyances.

“I confess that we both became exceedingly interested in this man. He was a scholar and could quote Shakespeare and Burns – even Longfellow! I think he had read Byron, but he confessed a natural prejudice for the great English poet who became the idol of Greece.

“At first neither Nadia nor I saw anything offensive in his manners. True, he was inclined to quote Burns to Nadia whenever he could find the opportunity, but she thought nothing of that until he made love to her pointblank.”

Buckhart gurgled a little deep down in his throat.

“Then,” continued Budthorne, “Nadia began to grow alarmed. She tried to avoid him, but every way she turned he seemed to bob up before her. She tried to keep him at a distance without offending him. Before we reached Beirut he proposed outright.”

Again Buckhart gurgled.

“He would not take no for an answer. In every way possible he sought to induce her to consider his proposal. At last he seemed to lose control of himself. In an hour we would be in Beirut. He found her alone on the after deck. I came up just in time to see him catch her in his arms and try to kiss her. We had an encounter, and I confess that he got rather the best of it, although I hit him in the face. That blow seemed to arouse a sleeping savage in him, for he cursed me and called me a dog of an infidel, swearing he would make me weep drops of blood for that insult.

“Well, we hastened out of Beirut and away to Damascus; but the day after we reached this city Hafsa Pasha appeared. His manner seemed again altered, and he was very polite and humble. He entreated pardon and begged to have an interview with Nadia. She declined to see him. Before he left, he laughingly told me that she would have to see him before she could get out of this city.

“That was our first annoyance in Damascus. The following day we were shopping in the bazaars when suddenly Hafsa Pasha and a number of men surrounded us. I was jostled aside. Hafsa Pasha talked to Nadia like a man deranged. He tried to plead with her, he offered her wealth and position, and then he threatened. I don’t know what might have happened, but a party of English tourists came along and I appealed to them. There came near being a free fight in that bazaar, but the Turk and his followers finally retired and the Englishmen escorted us back to the hotel.

“Then came the letter that stated you would arrive in a day or two. We have been watching the trains since then, and that is how we happened to be at the station to-day. You know what happened. I am satisfied that Hafsa Pasha was the instigator of this assault upon us. It seems now that he actually contemplates carrying Nadia off by force. We must get out of Damascus right away, or I fear he will find a way to accomplish his evil purpose.”

CHAPTER X – THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER

Brad Buckhart was striding savagely up and down the room, taken by himself and Dick, at the hotel. There was a black look on his strong face and his square jaw was set.

“I suppose you’ll have to walk it off old man,” said Dick; “but it seems to me you are permitting yourself to become altogether too wrought up.”