A Soldier of the Legion

by C. N. Williamson and A. M. Williamson

  CHAPTER XXVII

  THE ONLY FRIEND

  When Stanton returned to his tent and found it empty he went out quicklyagain and called for St. George.

  This was one of the few possibilities of which Max had not thought. Hehad imagined Stanton remaining sullenly in his tent as if nothing hadhappened, or searching for Sanda and ordering, perhaps even forcing, herto go back with him. In that eventuality, and that only, Max intended tointerfere. One side of his nature, the violent and uncontrolled side,which every real man has in him, wanted to "smash" Stanton; yearned foran excuse perhaps even to kill him and rid Sanda forever of a brute, nomatter what the consequences to himself. But the side of him wherecommon sense had taken refuge wished to keep neutral for Sanda's sake,in order to watch over her and protect her through everything. When heheard Stanton's call he was not far from the tent he had lent Sanda.She, and everything of hers which she could need for the night, wasalready there, but she had not lighted the candle he had given her. Thelittle khaki-coloured tent was an inconspicuous object in sand of thesame colour. Making an excuse of settling a dispute between two camelswhich disturbed the peace, Max had kept near the tent, and intended,unobtrusively, to play sentinel all night.

  He answered the "Chief's" call on the instant, braced for any emergency.

  "St. George, do you know where my wife is?" Stanton asked.

  "She told me she felt ill, and that you wouldn't object to my lendingher my tent," answered Max promptly.

  "I felt sure she'd go to _you_," said Stanton, without the signs ofanger Max expected. Then still greater was the younger man's surprisewhen the elder laughed. It was a slightly embarrassed laugh, but notill-natured. "What else did she tell you?" Stanton wanted to know.

  "She _told_ me--nothing else." To save his life, Max could not resistthat telltale emphasis which flung a challenge.

  Stanton laughed again and thrust his hands deep into his pockets.

  "I see you've drawn your own conclusions. Fact is, St. George, I'm in adeuce of a damned scrape, and the only bit of luck is having a sensiblechap of my own colour, a friend of both sides, a gentleman and a soldierlike you, to talk it out with. You'd like to help, wouldn't you, for thefather's sake if not the daughter's?"

  "Yes," said Max, after a hair's breadth of hesitation. He was so takenaback by Stanton's attitude that he feared the other man might bedrawing him out in some subtle way detrimental to Sanda.

  "I was sure you would. Well! I'm going to tell you the facts.

  "You're a man of the world, I expect, or you wouldn't have found yourway into the Legion. Before I had any idea of marriage I thought ofcarrying along a--companion, only an Arab dancing-girl, but I'd take myoath there hasn't been a more fascinating creature since Cleopatra. Agorgeous woman! No man on earth--not if he were an emperor or king--butwould lose his head over her, if she tried to make him. No treachery toSanda in the plan. The child didn't enter into my calculations then. Itstruck me, after I'd asked you to see to my tent, you might spotsomething--from that mirror."

  "I did," Max admitted.

  "Oh, well, anyhow, to make a long story short, the girl flew into one ofthose black rages of the petted dancer men have made a damned fuss over,and she disappeared. Lucky for Sanda! If Ahmara'd been with me I'd havehad to see Mademoiselle wend her way to Touggourt with you. But as itwas, in all good faith, I let myself go--one of my impulses that carryme along. I attribute most of my success in life to impulses;inspirations I call them. I honestly thought this was one, and that itwould make for my happiness. But by jove, St. George, when I took Sandainto my tent an hour ago if there wasn't Ahmara waiting for me!"

  He stopped an instant, as if expecting Max to speak, but when only dullsilence answered he hurried on.

  "She hadn't got the news of my marriage. She wanted to give me apleasant surprise by forgiving me, and coming out here secretly, aheadof the caravan, to hide in my tent. Her arms were round my neck before Iknew what was up--and the smell of '_ambre_' that's always in that longhair of hers--God, what hair!--was in my nose. Unfortunately Sanda hadbeen picking up Arabic; so she understood some things Ahmara blurted outbefore I could stop her. She got on to the fact that there'd been arow--a sort of lover's quarrel--and if it hadn't been for amisunderstanding, Ahmara would have started out with me in herplace--_practically_ in her place. No need to tell you more except thatSanda and I had a few words, after she'd refused to see the situation inthe right light. I was sure she'd appeal to you. I am glad you thoughtof offering her your tent. I shall leave her to stew in her own juiceto-night, and come slowly to her senses. She's too fond of me not to dothat before long."

  "When you've sent that woman away to-morrow----" Max began. But Stantoncut him short.

  "I shan't send her away to-morrow."

  "What? You----"

  "Sanda had the childish impudence to tell me to-night that nothing couldever make any difference between us after what had passed. Perhaps itwas partly my fault, for I lost my head for a minute when she accused meof tricking her into marrying me, or words to that effect. I'm afraid Isaid she had forced _me_ into it--thrown herself at me--taken meunawares--something of that sort. In a way it's true. Heart caught inthe rebound! But I wouldn't have been cad enough to throw it up to herif she hadn't said things so silly that a saint would have been wild.The girl vows she won't live with me as my wife. Well, I shall holdAhmara as a threat over her head till she sees the error of her ways.It's the one thing to do, as I look at it. Besides, if I try to packAhmara back to Touggourt she'll screech like a hen with her head cutoff. I won't be made a laughing stock before my men, at the start,before I've shown them what sort of a leader they've got. Ahmara comesfrom the south. If Sanda decides to behave herself I'll drop the dancerat her own place, _en route_. Meanwhile, I'll have time for bargainingover her with my wife, and Ahmara can travel with the other women.Several men with their wives have agreed to go only part of the way andget new fellows to join when they leave. That's the only way to shedAhmara without trouble, as she's landed herself on me. And that's theway I'll take--as I said, if Sanda behaves herself."

  "And if--not? I suppose you'll send--Mrs. Stanton back?"

  "Damnation, I can't do that, St. George, and you know it. It would meana duel with her father, and all the world would be down on me just atthe time I'm bidding highest for its applause. If Sanda travels with me,whether she lives with me or not, she'll keep her mouth shut. She's thatkind of girl. Don't you, as her friend--or anyhow, her father'sfriend--know her well enough to understand that?"

  "I may think I'd know what _she'd_ do," Max flung back at the other."But God knows what _I'd_ do if you insulted Mademoiselle DeLisle--Mrs.Stanton, I mean--by keeping that woman in the caravan. I believe I'dkill you!"

  Stanton stared. "Good Lord!" he exclaimed, in a change of mood, lookingsuddenly like a great helpless schoolboy arraigned, "I thought I wastalking to a friend. I was asking your advice, and you turn on me like atiger. See here, St. George, if you're going to bite the hand I offer,_you'd_ better be the one to go."

  Max was staggered. He had made a false move. He could not go. Now, morethan ever, a thousand times more, Sanda needed a friend, and he was theonly one within reach. Perhaps he could not always help, but he could atleast keep near. Only these unexpected confidences from Stanton couldhave made him so lose grip upon himself; and it must not happen again.

  "I've just given you my advice," Max reminded the other more quietly.

  "I can't take it."

  "Then don't. We'll leave it at that."

  "I ask no better. Do you want to go or stay?"

  "I want to stay."

  "Very well, then. I need a man like you, and I want you to stay, ifyou'll mind your own business."

  "I will," Max promised fervently.

  But as to what his business was, there might be different opinions.

  * * * * *

  As the long days passed and the caravan toiled on through dunes andalkali deserts
and strange, hidden mountainlands, it was hard to keepbefore his eyes the best way of "minding his own business"--the best wayfor Sanda. That which was highest in him prayed for peace between herand Stanton. That which was lowest wished for war. And it was war. Notloud, open warfare, but a silent battle never ceasing; and the one hopeleft in Sanda's heart for her own future was death in the desert. Shehad determined to go on, and she would go on; but blinding, blessed sunsof noon might strike her dead; she might take some malarial fever in theswampy, saltpetre deserts through which the caravan must travel. Therewere also scorpions and vipers. These things she had heard of as amongthe minor perils of Stanton's expedition, and there were many moreformidable, of course, such as Touaregs and Tibbu brigands. She made Maxswear that, if they were attacked, and there were danger for the women,he would shoot her with his own hand. That would not be a bad solution.And there were others. Her father had said that nearly all expertsprophesied annihilation for Stanton and his men.

  Sanda did not "behave herself." Nothing less than force could havedragged her to Stanton's tent, and the man openly found consolation withAhmara; at first, perhaps, partly in defiance, but, as time went on,because such love as he had to give was for the "most fascinatingcreature since Cleopatra." For the men of the caravan there was nothingvery startling in this arrangement. The law of their religion andcountry gave each of them four wives, if he could afford to keep them.Ahmara, darkly beautiful and bejewelled, condescended to travel with theother women of her race, but when the camp was made she moved aboutproudly, like an eastern queen, and went wherever it was her will to go.Sometimes she passed nearer than was necessary to Sanda's tent, andturning her crowned head on its full round throat let her long eyesdwell on the rival who ignored her existence.

  The life she had undertaken would have been impossible for Sanda withoutMax. If he had not been there, a self-appointed watchdog, Ahmara wouldcertainly have insulted Stanton's white bride, or might even haveattempted to kill her. But Ahmara was afraid of Max St. George. She hadcaught a murderous glint in his eye more than once, and knew that if shecrossed a certain dead line which that look defined he would nothesitate to deal with her as with a wildcat.

  As for Sanda, if she ever thought that Ahmara might stab her some nightwhen Max was off guard, she told herself that she did not care. Shelonged for death as the one way out of the cage into which she hadfoolishly flown, and would have prayed for it, if such a prayer were notto her mind sacrilegious. She was too young to realize that to wish isto pray. Sanda was always hoping that something might happen to put anend to everything for her. She disregarded precautions which others tookagainst sunstroke. If there came up a sandstorm she stole away and facedit while the rest sheltered, longing to be overwhelmed and blotted outof existence. But it seemed extraordinarily difficult to die. And then,there was always Max. Unfailingly he was on the spot to ward off danger,or to save her from the effects of what he called her "carelessness,"though he must have guessed the meaning underneath alleged imprudences.

  Sanda never confided in Max, yet she was aware that he could not helpknowing why she refused to live with Stanton. She could not bear tospeak of her humiliation, and Max would have cut his tongue out ratherthan let slip a word concerning it after his first vain appeal.

  As time went on and the caravan advanced on its march across the desert,Stanton ignored the presence of Sanda as she ignored Ahmara's. She ateand slept in her own tent, which had been Max's. He it was who saw thatshe had good food and filtered water. Wherever fruit could be got, byfair means or foul, there was some for her, whether others had it ornot. Max made coffee and tea for Sanda. He tended the camel she rode inorder that it might be strong and in good health. When the caravan cameinto the country of the Touaregs he rode near her day by day, and atnight lay as close to her tent as he dared. Sometimes he noticed thatStanton eyed him cynically when he performed unostentatious services forSanda, but outwardly the only two white men were on civil terms. Stantoneven seemed glad of Max's companionship, and discussed routes andprospects with him, asking his advice sometimes; and once, when theexplorer was attacked by a Soudanese maddened by the sun and Stanton'sbrutality, Max struck up the black man's weapon; almost before he knewwhat he was doing he had saved the life of Sanda's husband.

  "Why did I do it?" he asked himself afterward. Yet he knew some strange"kink" in his nature would compel him to do the same thing again underlike circumstances.

  Stanton, at his best, was an ideal leader of men. Many a forlorn hope hehad led and brought to success through sheer self-confidence and beliefin his star. But whether the failure of his mad marriage had disturbedhis faith in his own persistent luck, or whether Ahmara's influence madefor degeneration, in any case, a blight seemed to have fallen on theonce great man's mentality. It had been a boast of his that, though hedrank freely when "resting on his laurels" in Europe, he was strongenough to "swear off" at any moment. He had accustomed himself to takingtea and water only in blazing African heat; and since the seriousillness that followed his sunstroke he had been forbidden to touchalcohol anywhere, in any circumstances. For a time he had beenfrightened into obedience to doctors' orders; but gradually he haddrifted back into old habits; and after his quarrel with Ahmara atTouggourt he found oblivion in much Scotch whisky, his favourite drink.

  Perhaps if all had gone well with Stanton, if Ahmara had not come againinto his life and lost him Sanda's childlike worship, he might havepulled himself together after the starting of the caravan. But, as itwas, there were black thoughts to be chased away, and the simplestreceipt for replacing them with bright ones was to fill his head withfumes of whisky.

  When Sanda, riding behind her curtains, or shrinking in her tent, heardStanton cursing the negro porters, and roaring profane abuse at thecamels and camel-drivers, she did not know that he was drunk; but themen knew, and, being sober by religion, ceased to respect him. Amongthemselves, they began to question the wisdom of his orders, and suspecthim of treachery toward themselves. Losing faith in the leader, theylost faith in the wonderful hidden oasis he sought, the oasis peopled byrich Egyptians who had vanished into the desert to escape persecutionafter the Sixth Dynasty. Arabs and negroes said it must be true afterall that the "Chief" was mad, and they had been mad to trust themselvesto him, or to believe in the mysterious city lost beyond unexploredmountains and shifting dunes which were but shrouds for dead men. He waseither deliberately leading them all to death, for the insane pleasureof it, or else he had some plan for making his own fortune by sellinghis escort as slaves. Men began to desert whenever they came to anattractive stopping-place where there was food and water. They feignedillness, or fled in the night with their camels into the vastness of thedesert, their faces turned once more to the west. For soon, if theystayed, they would pass beyond the zone of known oases, into theterrible land of mystery, charted by no man, a land where it was saidthe sun had dried up all the springs of water. So the caravan dwindledas slowly, painfully it moved toward the east; and even while he hatedhim, Max was sometimes moved to pity for the harassed leader. Stantongrew haggard as the desert closed in round him and his disaffectedfollowers; but there were days when, instead of sympathizingreluctantly, Max cursed the explorer for a brute, and cursed himself forsaving the brute's life. There were days when Stanton shot or whipped aSoudanese for an impudent word, or ordered a forced march because Sandahad sent to beg respite for some wretch struck down with fever whom shewas nursing.

  As the men lost faith in Stanton and his vision of the Lost Oasis theyattached themselves fanatically to the wife of their Chief, the "LittleWhite Moon," who seldom spoke to her husband save to defend one of theirnumber from his fits of anger, and who, with her golden hair and herskin of snow that the fierce sun could not darken, was like the shiningangel who walks at the right hand of a good Mohammedan. They saw nowrong in Ahmara's presence; but she was haughty and high-tempered, andtook part against them with Stanton. The whisper ran that thedancing-woman had brought bad luck to the expedition for so long a
s shewas with the caravan; whereas, if fortune were to come, it would comethrough the white girl who nursed the sick and had a smile or a kindword for the humblest porter. This whisper reached Ahmara's ears throughthe wives of the camel-drivers, and at first she was anxious to keep itfrom Stanton lest it should prejudice him and put into his head the ideaof leaving her at one of the far apart oasis towns where the caravantook supplies. But the more she turned over the thought in herunenlightened mind, the more impossible it seemed to her that Stantonwould give her up. Besides, he was very brave, even braver than thegreat chiefs of her own race, for they feared unseen things and omens,whereas he laughed at their superstition. She used every art of theprofessional charmer upon Stanton for the next few days, while she askedherself whether to tell what she had learnt, or not to tell, were wiser.

  When she was convinced that she had made herself more indispensable thanever, Ahmara put the story into the form that seemed to her very good.She said that nothing which passed in the caravan could escape her,because the life of the leader was her life. She wished to be for himlike a lighted candle set at the door of his tent, the flame her spirit,which felt each breath of evil threatening his safety. The men who hatedthe Chief for his power or because he had punished them hated her alsobecause she was true to him as the blood that beat in his heart.

  "Those who are cowards and find the greatness of thy adventures toogreat for them, now they have tasted hardship, mutter in secret againstthee," Ahmara said. "There are some who mean to band together and refuseto follow thee past the last-known oasis which is marked on thy maps.They say, that from what they have heard, thou art indeed mad to thinkthat a caravan can live in unknown deserts where there is no water. Oncethey believed in thee so firmly if thou hadst told them thou couldstcause water to spout from dry sand they would have taken thy word fortruth. But now the white girl, who is too proud to be thy wife becausethy faithful one followed thee into the desert, has bewitched the men.They think she is a _marabouta_, a saint endowed with magic power, andthat her spirit is stronger than thine. They will offer themselves to_her_ man, when we come to the place where the known way ends, if hewill promise to lead them straight to Egypt, without wandering acrossthe open desert to seek thy Lost Oasis."

  "Her man!" echoed Stanton, the blood suffusing his already bloodshoteyes as in an instant it reddens those of an angry St. Bernard. "What doyou mean?"

  "Thou knowest without my telling, my Chief. The man whose idol she is.There is but one man--the man who watches over her by day and night, andmakes himself her slave."

  "You're a fool, Ahmara," Stanton said roughly. "Don't you suppose I'vegot sense enough to see why you want to put such ideas into my head?You're jealous of my wife. St. George and she are nothing to each other.As for the men, like as not they growl in your hearing because they hopeyou'll repeat their nonsense to me and give me a fright. That's allthere is in it."

  "I know thou art a lion and fearest nothing," Ahmara meekly answered.But next day she saw that Stanton watched Max.

  On the following night they came to the oasis of which she had spoken.It was called Dardai, and lay between two danger-zones. The first ofthese--danger from man--was practically passed at Dardai, Stantoncalculated, and knew that he had been lucky to bring his caravan throughthe land of the Touaregs (which he had risked rather than face almostcertain death along the shorter, more northern way of Tripolitania) withonly a few thefts from marauders and no loss of life by violence.Perhaps the formidable size of the caravan and the arms it carried hadbeen its protection, rather than the repute of its leader; but Stantontook the credit to himself. He told himself that, after all, he hadtriumphed over difficulties as no other man in his place could havedone. It was monstrous and incredible that the spirit of the caravanshould have turned against him. He said this over and over, but in hisheart he knew that he had lost prestige through faults in his ownnature, and because of mistakes he had made ever since the badbeginning. He knew that, although he had brought his followers throughthe first danger-zone without too many accidents, the second zone, theuncharted zone of Libyan desert which stretched before them now, had tentimes more of danger in it than the zone of danger from men. Whiskycould not chase away his gloom that night when he had come to camp fromthe house of the sheikh who had entertained him at dinner in thevillage, and to whom he had given valuable presents in exchange for helpexpected. But if the liquor could not cheer him, it made him consciousof his own bulldog tenacity.

  "I'll show the ungrateful devils who is master," he thought as helooked out from his tent door to the glow of the fire round which hismen had been watching some naked male dancers of Dardai. The dancers hadgone, but the watchers had not yet moved. They were talking togethermore quietly than usual, in groups. Stanton wondered what they weresaying; and he stared, frowning, over their heads toward the east, wherelay the Libyan desert. They were practically out of the Sahara now.

  As he gazed, Ahmara came flitting across a moonlit space of sand thatlay like a silver lake between the tent and the rest of the camp.

  "Thou art back, O master of my heart, from thy visit to the sheikh," shesaid. "Did it pass off well?"

  "Well enough," Stanton answered mechanically. For the moment he wasindifferent to Ahmara, though her strange face was tragically beautiful.In the pale light the figure of Max St. George became suddenly visibleto him. It moved out from behind the tents and walked over to the fire.Stanton, on a quick impulse, called out to Max harshly:

  "Come here, St. George! I want you; hurry up!"

  Ahmara slipped behind Stanton, who took a step forward, and, as heforgot her, she darted into his tent.