The Duke in the Suburbs

Over a sandy ridge two miles away, pranced two horsemen. "Pranced" is the word, for that is the impression they conveyed. Hal, who was no fool despite all contrary views that might be held, knew that they were galloping pretty hard.

"They are making straight for us," said Sir Harry, and his face was a little pale.

Hal jumped up and gave an order to the guide. "Pack these things up as quick as you can," he ordered; "we can't be too careful."

He raised his glasses and fixed them on the riders. Then he swore.

"That damned Duke," he said and heard a long-drawn sigh behind him, where Alicia stood.

"Duke!" muttered Sir Harry, "confound the fellow! I thought it was – er – well, never mind. Who's the other man?"

"Who?" snorted Hal. "Who could it be, governor, but the Yankee person."

"Hum," said Sir Harry.

He was surprised to find that he did not resent the coming of his enemy as much as he thought he should. He bowed stiffly as the two drew rein, and was ready to be conventionally distant and polite. But he was unprepared for the Duke's greeting.

"What the dickens do you mean by coming out so far," demanded the Duke angrily. "How dare you expose Alicia to this danger!"

"Sir!" said the outraged knight.

"Get up, get up on your horses," commanded the Duke unceremoniously and like children they obeyed. Alicia stole a look at her lover. She experienced a shock.

His face was set and white, just as she had seen it twice before. There were rigid lines about his mouth and face, and his underjaw was thrust forward so that his whole face was transformed.

"Trot!" he said shortly, and they began their journey homeward.

Now and again Hank would turn in his saddle and look earnestly backward.

"Have you any arms?" asked the Duke suddenly.

"I have always made it a practice – " began Sir Harry.

"Have you got arms?" the Duke cut him short.

"No, I haven't!"

The Duke's lips curled.

"You wouldn't," he said and Sir Harry very rightly resented all that the words implied.

"Have you, Tanneur?" the Duke asked.

"I've got a revolver," said Hal meekly.

"Good; you, at least, have a glimmering of intelligence – do you see 'em, Hank."

The American shook his head.

"There's a ridge running parallel with us," he said, pointing away to the left. "I guess they are keeping up level, we'll see 'em soon."

The girl looked at the deserted ridge and her heart beat faster.

The Duke turned in his saddle and beckoned the guide.

"Did you know where you were taking these people?" he asked.

"By God and the prophet – !" the man protested.

"You didn't know Valentini was holding these hills, eh?"

The Duke's eyes glittered.

"Keep close to us," he ordered, "if you try to bolt when the shooting starts you're a dead man – sabè?"

"Si, señor," stammered the guide.

"Shooting! shooting!" spluttered Sir Harry, "is there any danger?"

"Yes."

"Danger to us?"

He received no answer.

For the next ten minutes they rode without speaking a word. Sir Harry thought a great deal.

"As you have taken so much trouble," he said at last, "I feel it is only my duty as a Christian and a gentleman to tell you that I have every reason to believe that an enemy of yours – "

"Bill Slewer," interrupted the Duke brusquely. "Yes, I know all about him. In fact I happen to know that he has prepared a little ambuscade for my especial benefit. He is waiting for my return to-night."

He said this in a matter-of-fact tone, as though referring to a dinner engagement. Alicia looked at him in some concern, and he smiled.

"I'm not worrying about Bill," he said; "it's – " He pointed to the ridge.

VI

"Crack!"

The Duke's horse reared, but he pulled it down.

"Half right – gallop!"

He caught the bridle of the girl's horse, and cantered to where a little hillock afforded a rough entrenchment.

"Don't dismount, the hill covers you," he said, and plucked a carbine from his saddle bucket. He handed the reins of his horse to Sir Harry and swung to the ground. Hank followed him up the little hill, and Alicia heard them talking.

"Four hundred?" said Hank.

"A little farther I should say," said the Duke; "this air is wonderfully clear and deceptive."

"We'll give 'em five hundred," concluded Hank.

"That will be nearer the mark," agreed the Duke.

Very deliberately they adjusted the sights of their carbines. "I think," she heard the Duke say, "that the gentleman in the white night-shirt is some sort of leader."

Hank raised his weapon. For a moment his cheek cuddled the stock and the slim barrel pointed at the invisible enemy.

"Bang!"

Her horse moved restlessly, and Sir Harry was all but unseated.

"Bang!"

The Duke fired.

"Got him!" said Hank and waited.

In a minute the two came running to their horses. "Gone to ground," said the Duke briefly, and sprang into the saddle.

There was no sign of the brigand's forces as they emerged from the sheltering hill. On the sandy slope of the ridge there was a little patch of white lying very still. The girl averted her eyes.

The party now struck off to the right.

"I had hoped," said the Duke, "to have entered Tangier by some other route than that." He pointed ahead to where a little clump of trees suggested a human habitation.

"But isn't this the nearest way," asked Alicia wonderingly. They could see the stretch of the Fez Road as it dipped and wound across the plain.

"It is," said the Duke grimly.

He did not tell her all – it seemed unnecessary. He had learnt something of Mr. Slewer's movements, and Bill had discovered something of his.

For example, Bill learnt of the Duke's pig-sticking expedition and had carefully gone over the route the Duke would take. Neither the Duke nor Hank had made any secret of their intention, and it was a simple matter to convey their plans to Bill.

"We might as well get it over," said the Duke, "let Bill know we are going out, and see what he does."

What Bill did was to ride out of Tangier and select a likely spot for a "meeting." In an excess of diffidence he chose a place where he could see without himself being seen; where he might shoot without running the risk of being shot – a not unnatural selection.

Unfortunately for Bill there was a rabbit-faced gamin mounted on a sorry donkey, who ambled in his rear. When the man from Texas halted at the little wood three miles outside the town and made a careful reconnaissance, the rabbit-faced young man was an interested observer. He duly reported to the Duke.

Now, as the fugitives moved toward the Fez Road, the Duke felt that he was between the devil and the deep sea. Had he and Hank been alone, there would have been little or no cause for anxiety. Indeed the adventure was one of his own seeking, and had been anticipated with some satisfaction. He remembered this and reproached himself.

Without Alicia there would be no cause for anxiety – it would have been amusing to have seen Sir Harry under fire. Particularly Bill's fire!

"Look out!" said Hank.

They were nearing the wood, but that was not the cause of Hank's warning.

Their pursuers had thrown off all pretence of concealment and had come into the open. The Duke calculated that they numbered thirty in all.

There were three men on their right flank and four on their left, and the remainder galloped behind.

"They are trying to head us off," said Hank.

"Crack! crack!"

"Firin' from their horses —that won't do much harm."

Sir Harry ducked violently as the bullets began to whine overhead, and Hal fingered his revolver irresolutely.

The party on the right was now reinforced and were gaining ground. They swerved still farther away from the little party.

"What is the idea?"

This new manoeuvre was disconcerting.

"Makin' for the wood," said Hank calmly, "it's a hold up, sure."

This evidently was the plan, for as the fugitives struck the uneven surface of the Fez Road the right and left horns of the pursuing crescent, converged as by signal upon the wood ahead.

Hank unslung his Winchester.

"There'll be somethin' doin'," he said with conviction. His prophecy was fulfilled, for scarcely had the last fluttering white jellab disappeared into the plantation than there came a perfect fusilade of firing.

The Duke looked back.

The Moors in the rear numbered a dozen. He chose his ground.

There was a dry water-course to the right of the road and into this he led his party.

"Dismount!"

They were off their horses in a trice.

He found a shelter for Alicia.

"Stay there and don't move," he ordered peremptorily. The Moors were galloping in a circle about the little position.

Firing was going on on all sides, but it was in the wood that it was heaviest.

Flat on the ground lay Sir Harry Tanneur, dazed, bewildered, horribly afraid. After a while, "No bullets seem to be coming from the wood?" he ventured.

The Duke smiled.

"The gentlemen in the wood, have, I should imagine, sufficient to keep them engaged – Bill Slewer is a mighty handy man with a revolver."

"Good Lord!" said Sir Harry, and the situation began to dawn on him.

"If we can keep our gyrating friends at a distance – " the Duke continued.

"Dukey!"

It was Hank's urgent summons that sent him to the American's side.

"What are these?"

Hank pointed to the road beyond the copse.

A disordered mob of galloping men were coming toward them.

The Duke looked long and carefully.

"That or those," he said with a sigh, "is the army of His Shereefian Majesty the Sultan of Morocco."

He looked down into the white face of the girl. "In the words of the transpontine heroine," he said flippantly, "we are saved!"

VII

Somewhere in New York, in the Cherry Hill district, lives a lady who at some remote period embarked upon a matrimonial undertaking, and became officially and legally Mrs. Bill Slewer. Happily for her, a paternal government deprived her, at stated intervals, of communion with her lord. Bill in Sing-Sing was an infinitely better husband than Bill at home. When Mr. Slewer finally disappeared, this poor woman hoped most sincerely that she had heard the last of him. But this was not to be, for that same paternal government of the United States of America sought her out.

"DEAR MADAM" (ran the letter), "I regret to inform you, that your husband, William Slewer, was killed by Moorish brigands in the vicinity of Tangier, on December 24 last. It would appear that the Moors came upon him unexpectedly, whilst he was awaiting the return of a friend in a little wood near the city, and in spite of a most desperate resistance, in which six of the brigands lost their lives, he was shot down. As a result of the representations of this department, and on the evidence of the Duc de Montvillier, the Moorish Government has offered compensation, which, although inadequate in view of your terrible loss, may replace the means of sustenance, of which you have been deprived. I enclose a draft on the First National Bank for $20,000 (say twenty thousand dollars).

"Yours faithfully,

– "

VIIIFrom the Lewisham and Brockley Directory:KYMOTT CRESCENT* * * * *

62. The Lord and Lady Tupping.

64. The Duc and Duchesse de Montvillier.

66. Mr. S. Hankey.