Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  Presently a dark object appeared for an instant at the top of the bank and quickly vanished against the black surface below. Another succeeded it, and another.

  Tadros scratched his head in perplexity. These dark objects seemed to have form, yet they were silent as the dead. He counted a dozen of them altogether, and while still pondering upon their appearance, being undecided as to whether they were ghosts or jackals, his quick ears caught a splash in the water beside the bank.

  They were not jackals — that was certain; for those ravenous beasts never take to the water. Neither are ghosts supposed to bathe. From where he lay, the surface of the river was scarcely a foot distant, and, leaning well over the stem, Tadros managed to discover in the dim light several heads bobbing upon the water.

  He ought to have given an immediate alarm, but terror rendered him irresolute, and before he had time to act, it was too late to arouse his fellow-passengers.

  Clambering up the bow were half a score of naked Arabs, their knives held between their glistening teeth, their dark eyes roaming fiercely around.

  Tadros’ first impulse was to fight; but just as he was about to rise to his feet a man whom he knew bounded aft and sprang into the little cabin where the women lay asleep.

  It was Kāra.

  There was no indecision on the part of the dragoman after that. He slipped off the deck into the water with the dexterity of a seal sliding from a rock, and while a succession of terrified screams and angry shouts bombarded his ears, Tadros swam silently across the Nile toward the opposite shore.

  The water was cold, and he shivered as he swam; yet the chill was from within rather than from without. There are no crocodiles in the Nile now; but in places there are serpents and sharklike fish that will bite a mouthful of flesh from a swimmer’s leg. Tadros knew of this, but did not think of it just then. Reflected in his mind was Kāra’s dark visage, grim and malignant, and with certain death facing him aboard the dahabeah, the dragoman’s only impulse was to get as far away from the danger as possible.

  The turmoil on the boat prevented his escape from being immediately noticed, and after a long swim, that nearly exhausted his strength, he reached the west shore and fell panting upon the hard earth.

  Slowly regaining his breath, he strained his ears to catch any sound that might proceed from the dahabeah; but now an oppressive silence reigned on the opposite side of the river. The lights of the steamer gleamed faintly through the night, but the fate of those he had left on board was wrapped in mystery. Perhaps Kāra and his band of assassins would murder all except the girl; it was possible he would murder her as well. Anyway, the dragoman’s connection with the enterprise had come to an abrupt ending.

  A mile or so away was the little town of Roda, with its railway station. Tadros started to walk toward it, keeping well back from the edge of the bank so that he might not be discovered in case anyone pursued him.

  His dejection and dismay at this sudden reversal of fortune were extreme. He had lost the last vestige of the jaunty bearing that usually distinguished him. With three thousand pounds already earned but irretrievably lost, and the knowledge that Kāra’s merciless enmity would pursue him through life, the dragoman’s condition was indeed deplorable.

  He wondered what he should do now. Returning to Cairo was out of the question. He would go back to Fedah, his old home. Nephthys and her mother were there, and would hide him if Kāra appeared unexpectedly. Yes, Fedah was his only haven — at least until he had time to consider his future plans.

  By and by he reached the station at Roda — the village named after the ancient island in the Nile opposite Cairo. A sleepy Arab porter was in charge of the place and eyed the dragoman’s wet clothing with evident suspicion. When questioned, he announced that a train would go south at six o’clock in the morning.

  Tadros slipped outside the station and found a convenient hiding-place against a neighboring house, where the shadows were so deep that he could not be observed. Here he laid down to rest and await the arrival of the train.

  By daybreak his clothing had dried, but he observed with regret that his blue satin vest had been ruined by the river water and that his Syrian sash was disgracefully wrinkled. Next to life itself, he loved his splendid costumes, so that this dreary discovery did not tend to raise his dampened spirits.

  When the train drew in he boarded it and found himself seated in a compartment opposite to Lord Consinor. They stared at each other for a moment, and then the viscount emitted a sound that seemed a queer combination of a growl and a laugh.

  “It is Kāra’s alter ego,” he sneered, in English.

  “Pardon me, my lord,” said the dragoman, hastily, “the alliance is dissolved. I have even more reason than you to hate the prince.”

  “Indeed?” returned Consinor.

  “He is a fiend emanating directly from your English hell,” declared Tadros, earnestly. “I know of no other diabolical place where Kāra could have been bred. One thing is certain, however,” he continued, with bitter emphasis, “I will have vengeance upon him before I — die!”

  There was no mistaking the venom of the man’s rancorous assertion. Consinor smiled, and said:

  “It would give me pleasure to share your revenge.” A sudden thought struck Tadros — a thought so tremendous in its scope and significance that he was himself astonished and stared blankly into the other’s face. For a time he rode in silence, revolving the idea in his mind and examining its phases with extreme care. Then he inquired, cautiously:

  “Where are you going, my lord?”

  “To Assyut.”

  “I thought you had left Cairo long ago.”

  “So I did. I have been to Alexandria, but found nothing there to amuse me. I am now bound for Assyut, and from there I intend traveling to Aswan, and up to Wady Haifa.”

  “Are you in any hurry to reach there?”

  “Not the slightest.”

  “Then leave the train with me at Kusiyeh. I have something to propose that will interest you.”

  Consinor studied him a moment.

  “Does this program include our revenge?” he asked. “Yes.”

  “Very well; I will do as you suggest.”

  “Good!” exclaimed Tadros. Then he leaned over and whispered: “Revenge and a fortune, my lord! Is it not worth while?”

  CHAPTER XXII.

  THE DRAGOMAN’S INSPIRATION.

  They left the train at the station opposite Fedah, and the dragoman secured a native to row them in his skiff across the river. Consinor asked no questions and appeared wholly indifferent as to their destination. Indeed, his life had been so aimless since his disgraceful flight from Cairo that he welcomed any diversion that might relieve its dull monotony.

  When they arrived at Fedah, Tadros took him secretly to the hut of old Nefert, the bread-baker, which was directly across the street from the dwelling of Hatatcha, now owned by Kāra. The viscount was inclined to resent the filthiness of the hovel wherein he must hide, until the dragoman led him to the shade of the opposite archway and explained to him something of the project he had in mind.

  Tadros began by relating the “royal one’s” early history, emphasizing the fact that old Hatatcha had been able to support herself and Kāra without any labor whatever. Then he told of Hatatcha’s death, and how he, Tadros, had discovered the valuable rolls of papyrus in Kāra’s possession. From thence to the brilliant advent of the “prince” in Cairo was but a step, and the entire history permitted but one explanation — the fact that Kāra had knowledge of an ancient tomb containing great riches.

  “Once,” said the dragoman, “Kāra and I made a visit to Fedah; but I did not suspect his errand and so neglected to watch him, being at the time greatly occupied with a certain maiden. In the morning I found he had loaded his traveling cases with treasures — wonderful gems that have enabled him to live in princely fashion ever since.”

  “Where did he get them?” asked Consinor, eagerly. “As I said, from some hidden
tomb, the secret of which is known only to himself.”

  “Do you think he has carried all of the treasure away?”

  “I have reason to believe that more remains than has ever been taken. Once, in an unguarded moment, Kāra told me that he could not spend it all in a thousand years.”

  “Do you suppose we can discover this tomb?”

  “Yes, if we are clever. It is no use to hunt without a clew, but Kāra will furnish us the clew we need.”

  “In what way?” the viscount inquired.

  “He is coming here presently.”

  Consinor frowned.

  “I do not care to meet him,” he said, hastily.

  “Nor do I,” rejoined Tadros, with a shudder; “but it will not be necessary for us to meet Kāra, who will not suspect we are in the village.”

  “What then?”

  “He is coining to secure more treasure, his former supply being exhausted, as I have reason to know. He has promised his tradesmen money, and will not dare delay his visit to Fedah. Besides, he is not far from here at this very moment. By to-morrow, if he comes in Winston Bey’s dahabeah, he will reach this place. If he decides to take a railway train, he may be here this evening.”

  “In that case, what do you propose to do?” demanded Consinor.

  “Spy upon him; discover where the treasure is hidden, and when he is gone, help ourselves,” was the confident reply.

  The idea seemed quite feasible when further elaborated. They entered the room of Kāra’s dwelling and examined the place carefully.

  “This,” explained the dragoman, “is doubtless his starting-point. From here he has either a secret passage into the mountain, or he steals away to the desert, where the entrance to the tomb is hidden underneath the shifting sands. We must be prepared to watch him in either event, and that is why I have proposed to you to assist me, rather than try to secure all the fortune myself. I am assured there is plenty for two, and to spare.”

  “Doubtless,” replied the viscount, laconically. Already he saw visions of great wealth, which would enable him to return to London and rise superior to all the sneers and scandals that had been thrust upon him.

  They discussed the matter long and earnestly, the few inhabitants of the village, stupid and inert, being entirely ignorant of their presence. It was finally decided that on Kāra’s approach Consinor should conceal himself beneath the dried rushes of the old bed, Tadros so arranging his position that the viscount could observe every action of one moving within the room. Then the dragoman would himself lurk at the edge of the village to follow Kāra if he stole away into the desert.

  As a matter of fact, Tadros was firm in his belief that the treasure was hidden within the mountain; but he had no intention of risking his own life when he could induce Consinor to become his catspaw. Discovery meant death — he knew that well enough. It was better not to take chances, and if the viscount succeeded in learning Kāra’s secret it would mean the same to Tadros as learning it himself. He knew how to handle this outcast Englishman, and if the treasure proved as large as he suspected, he could afford to be generous, and would play fair with his accomplice. Otherwise — but that could be considered later.

  Tadros did not desire to expose the stranger to the curious gaze of the villagers, but there was no harm in their knowing that the dragoman had come among his old friends once more; so he insisted that Consinor should stay concealed in Nefert’s hovel, flying to a dark comer at the sound of every footstep, while he himself visited Sĕra and her daughter in furtherance of his sagacious plans.

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.

  As the dragoman approached Sĕra’s hut he paused upon the threshold to observe the scene within, hesitating, as he remembered that it was because of his own reckless conduct that the Nile girl had been stripped of her beautiful gowns and jewels and sent home from Cairo scorned and repudiated.

  Her humiliation and despair had haunted him ever since.

  But now he found her seated meekly at the well-worn loom, casting the shuttle back and forth with the same mechanical lassitude she had exhibited of old. The discolored black dress, open at the breast and much patched and tom, was her sole garment. Even the blue beads were again about her neck.

  But the eyes she turned toward Tadros were different, somehow. Their former velvety depths were veiled with a dull film, while the smoothness of her brow was marred by the wrinkles of a sullen frown.

  After a moment, however, she seemed to recognize the dragoman, and rose from her place with a sudden eager look and flushed cheeks.

  “You have come for me again?” she asked.

  “No,” answered Tadros, casting himself upon a settle. He felt abashed without knowing why he should entertain. such a feeling — abashed and sorrowful, in spite of his habitual egotism and selfish disregard of others.

  Nephthys leaned back and resumed her weaving. The film covered her eyes again. She paid no further attention to her mother’s guest.

  Sëra, however, was voluble and indignant.

  “That Kāra,” she hissed, “is a viper — a crocodile — a low, infamous deceiver! He is worse than an Arab. Henf! If I had him here I would stamp him into the dust. Why did he spum my beautiful daughter from his harem? Tell me, then!”

  “Merely because Nephthys and I, being old friends, wished to converse at times of you and our acquaintances at Fedah. Why should we not gossip and smoke a cigarette together? Once I owned her myself.”

  “True. You were a fool to sell her.”

  “Still, you must not forget that Nephthys has had an experience,” he resumed, more lightly. “For a time she was a queen, splendid and magnificent beyond compare in her robes of satin and her sparkling jewels. Ah, it is not every girl who enjoys such luxury, even for a brief season! Let her be content.”

  “Content!” screamed old Sĕra, shrilly; “it has ruined her. She is no longer happy in the old home, and when she speaks, which is but seldom, it is only to curse Kāra. Look at her! Is she now fat and beautiful as before? No. If the poor child lives long enough, she will die a skeleton!”

  “Allah forbid!” exclaimed Tadros, hastily. “But if she expects to be taken back again, her case is hopeless. I am sure Kāra will never relent or restore her to favor. He is a poor judge of a woman. But I,” slapping his chest proudly, “I will take Nephthys to myself; and while I do not promise to robe her as gorgeously as did Kāra, she shall become fat again, and have her silks and ornaments the same as before.”

  “And the cigarettes?”

  “Of course.”

  He drew a box of the coveted cigarettes from his pocket and tossed it toward her. Sĕra lighted one eagerly and gave the box to Nephthys. After staring at it blankly for a moment the girl seemed to understand. She took a cigarette and lighted it from the one her mother was smoking. A smile of childish enjoyment slowly spread over her face, and she left her loom and came and sat upon Tadros’ knee.

  “I expect Kāra in Fedah presently,” remarked the dragoman. “But he must not know that I am here. We have had a falling-out. I quarreled with him, and he threatens me.”

  “Never fear,” said Sĕra, calmly. “I can hide you in the cavity in the rear wall, which the royal one knows nothing of. There you will be safe until he goes away.”

  “Very good!” he replied.

  “When will Kāra come?” asked the woman, “and why does he visit Fedah again?”

  “I expect him to-night or to-morrow. Why he comes I do not know.”

  “Perhaps to pray beside Hatatcha’s mummy.”

  “Where is that?” he asked, quickly.

  “I cannot discover,” she returned. “Often I have examined their dwelling, but no secret door can I find anywhere. The tomb must be in the hills — or perhaps in the desert. There is an oasis where the dwarf Sebbet lives. He was known to be one of Hatatcha’s most devoted followers.”

  “True,” said the dragoman, thoughtfully.

  “The tomb must be in Sebbet�
�s oasis. Once Kāra stole old Nikko’s donkey and rode there.”

  “Was that the last time we came here?” questioned Tadros.

  “No; it was when Hatatcha died.”

  “Then the tomb is not in the oasis. I am sure it is quite near Fedah. But listen, my Sĕra; if I agree to take Nephthys and provide for her, you must help me when Kāra comes.”

  “I have promised to hide you in the old wall,” she replied. “Can I do more than that?”

  “Yes. You must go at once to the hill and watch for the royal one’s coming. Your eyes are sharp, even though you are old. He will come from the Nile — either across the river or from the north, on a boat that smokes and has no sails. As soon as you discover him you will hurry here to me, and that will give us time to prepare for Kāra. Will you do this for me?”

  “May I have the box of cigarettes to take with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I will do your bidding.”

  She went away to the hill at once, leaving Tadros with Nephthys; but the girl had already forgotten his presence and was staring straight before her with lusterless eyes.

  The dragoman sighed.

  “It is very unfortunate,” he murmured, examining her critically, “but it is doubtless true, nevertheless — she is getting thin.”

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  THE SHEIK DEUUBS.

  No one on board the dahabeah had entertained even a suspicion of danger. Winston Bey knew well the unreliable character of the natives of certain villages, but even he did not dream that the steamer would be molested or its passengers annoyed; therefore, the surprise was complete.

  Mrs. Everingham, awakening with a start, heard the patter of many feet upon the deck and saw a man advancing into the cabin where she and Aneth had been sleeping.