No shade of uneasiness did he betray. He smiled his gayest and cut dialectical circles around the snarling Abdullah. Time, time, time! That was what he must have. Time to think, time to plan—and then a sudden, pouncing action, a lightning flash of deadly activity. Nor was there to be a plentitude of time. Abdullah and the sheik were driven; they came in businesslike mood; Hana Effendi was abroad, and what they intended that they must do with speed. The mountains must receive and conceal them before the inspector and his men could arrive upon the scene. . . . And then—then if all went well they would escape to Trans-Jordania with the Friends, with Rhoda Fair, who would not be offered for ransom. If all did not go well the evidence must be destroyed. Even these incomprehensible English could do nothing without a corpus delicti.
So Jaunty stretched out every second, hoping for some slight thing which would turn the game toward his side of the board and that slight thing happened with the passing of the dragoman Saffoury across the front of the tent. Jaunty saw him out of the corner of his eyes and resolved into action with the swiftness and efficiency of a snake striking. . . . An American automatic flicked by some necromancy from his armpit to stare menacingly at the pair before him.
"Tell the sheik to control his nerves," Jaunty said, gayly. "Just one little wiggle, one little twitch, and his sheiking is fineesh!" Now he raised his voice no more than was necessary to reach Saffoury's ears.
"Hey, Saffoury. The fat's spilled over. Bring Mr. Friend and his wife here. Get Miss Fair—and tell that professor, if he's got a kick left in him, to mog along and take a hand. Pronto! On the jump!" He whipped out the last words so that their urgency could not be mistaken.
Saffoury turned, stared, comprehended.
"That's it—on the jump, old Arabian knight!" Saffoury disappeared and Jaunty again addressed himself to Abdullah. "Now you see what you boys have gone and done—when we were all so friendly and nice and the picnic lunch was ready to serve. You've gone and plastered us all over with trouble just because you haven't brains enough to watch the wheels go round. . . . Stand still! . . . If there's what the diplomats call an overt act of war, Abdullah, old bean, your exit comes first. It's a promise. . . . As a matter of fact, it'll be a pleasure, because I don't like you. No, sir, I don't like your looks and I don't like your manners, and I don't like the way you wear your teeth. I don't even like the way you smell. My mature judgment of you is that you're a half-caste scut. . . . So-o-o, bossy, stand easy now and don't switch at the flies. . . "
It was upon this tableau that Paul Dare limped with Rhoda at his side; almost coincident with their arrival came Mr. Friend and his wife. Jaunty nodded to them casually.
"Dare," he said, and one might have thought he was asking from idle curiosity, "can you shoot anything off? Please borrow the sheik's rifle. That's it. . . . See the dingus underneath? That is a trigger and if you pull it the gun goes off bang! . . . Rhoda, keep out of line! . . . Mr. Friend, see if Abdullah's got a lethal weapon and gaffle on to it. Atta boy! . . . We've all got to be playmates together for a while. . . . How's the defective leg, Professor?"
"What's the matter, Bailey?" Dare's voice was hostile.
"Not so crusty. I tell you we're playmates now. . . . The matter is that the boys have rigged up a sort of mutiny, and the chances are in favor of our being scragged. . . . Politics makes strange bedfellows. . . . Where are all the seven sons of this seventh son, Saffoury? . . . Scattered around, eh. Well, we got papa for a hostage, and now for the high hills and the pure air. Women and children first. . . ."
Chapter Twenty-three
IN that little group, driven by sudden dire necessity, was but one man of action, Jaunty Bailey. He, of them all, was accustomed to emergencies, to think and to plan in moments of danger. The rest, scarcely realizing what had occurred, turned instinctively to him, obeyed him implicitly—even Paul Dare.
Jaunty thought aloud. "There aren't more than seven or eight men around the camp," he said. "We're four men—if we count Saffoury."
"I am also a man," Saffoury said, simply.
"Good. I've my gat, the professor's got the sheik's gun, and, thank Heaven, it's a magazine rifle. And Abdullah's automatic. . . . Um. . . . Your car's by the roadside." He darted a glance at Rhoda. "Wish there was some way to put my little old hired car out of commission. . . . The sheik and I will lock arms and stroll friendly-like toward the car. The women and Mr. Friend come next. Prof, you and Saffoury bring up the rear. . . . We ought to get a start before the seven sons wake up to it. Saffoury, keep a knife against Abdullah's ribs. . . . Now." He shrugged his shoulders and faced the Sheik El-Ssimairi toward the road, the hand containing his automatic concealed in the Bedouin's robe. "March," he said.
Thus, processionally, they passed from under the tent roof and moved slowly toward the highway. Abdullah, from his place in the rear, moved his blanched lips in constant, muttered cautioning of the enraged sheik.
"It'll be better for you," said Jaunty, forgetful of his prisoner's lack of English, "if the children keep to their games in the nursery. . . . Take a look, somebody, and see what they're doing. I can't shift my eyes off this old bird."
"They're just staring," said Rhoda.
"Keep going. . . . Saffoury, when we get to the car you get busy with the crank. Rhoda, you drive. Mrs. Friend in the front seat. All clear?"
Reuben Friend, calm and unafraid, supported his wife, whose terror was all for him. "Now, mamma," he said, "we'll be there in a minute. It's all right. These young men will manage it."
"I'll tell the President about this," said Mrs. Friend. "I'll write a letter to Allenby in Cairo. . . . These people will find out if they can treat my husband this way!"
Reuben smiled tolerantly. "There . . . there, mamma," he said. "You and I are a little old for adventures."
Another fifty yards and they would reach the car; behind them, gathered in a knot now, were half a dozen Bedouins, scowling, in a state of indecision. As the little group of fugitives moved they edged along in its rear. . . . The sheik, his face black with passion at the affront to his honor, breathed heavily and muttered fiercely. Abdullah, his face an unpleasant, yellowish white, chattered warning. . . . But they did not avail to the old fatalist. Suddenly he shot out his foot, kicked Jaunty in the ankle so that the man stumbled, staggered, and fell to his knees. . . . Instantly the sheik uttered a bellow in Arabic and lunged away in a zigzag run, shouting commands. Jaunty snapped a futile shot after him and leaped to his feet.
"Scamper!" he shouted.
The Bedouins sprang forward, but their guns were silent. "Take them alive," was the sheik's command. His fear was lest a bullet find Rhoda Fair. . . .
Bailey, facing the rear, ordered Rhoda and the Friends toward the car. "Let 'em have it," he called to Paul Dare. "Saffoury start that car!"
Backward, step by step, shoulder to shoulder, went Bailey and Dare, firing now and then as a figure darted forward menacingly. "When you hear the engine start—beat it!" said Jaunty. "Don't let them spread! . . . Behind that rock! We can hold 'em off a bit."
In this cover they crouched, wasting no bullets, for ammunition was lacking. "They're at the car," Paul said, darting a glance over his shoulder. "We've fifty feet to run."
"How's the leg?"
"It will do," Paul said, setting his teeth.
Suddenly the engine roared. "Make a break for it," Jaunty said, and with the Bedouins at their heels they sprang toward the car, Bailey in the lead; Dare, by reason of his injured leg, some distance in the rear. The women were in the car as directed, so was Mr. Friend. Saffoury crouched on the running board. . . . Bailey paused to fire twice at the oncoming Arabs, but they did not halt. "Ready!" he shouted to Rhoda, and sprang upon the footboard. Now he reached down, seized Dare by the collar, and literally dragged him upon his face through the door. . . . And the tribesmen were upon them.
It was a brief scrimmage before the car was in motion. Bailey crashed the butt of his automatic into a face; Dare, from his knees, swung his cl
ubbed rifle at the head of another who leaped upon the running-board. Saffoury, gripping with his hands, kicked to good effect—and the car started with a tremendous, sudden jerk. Three of the enemy clung to the rear, but rifle and gun butts upon the fingers disposed of them, and the free road lay before.
"Step on it," Jaunty said, tersely. "Abdullah can drive. . . . Give her all she's got. . . "
Now rifles spat after them and bees hummed about their ears. For half a mile the road was straight, and Dare, staring behind, gave warning that the other car was upon the road.
The road swerved and mounted, until, from an eminence, they could see its tortuous windings almost to the village of Meshah. "Horsemen a couple of miles back," said Dare.
"Hana Effendi, for a plugged cent," said Bailey. "What's ahead, Saffoury?"
"Soon the valley of the Jordan," answered the dragoman. "The village of Beisan and the railroad."
"How far?"
"Twenty-five, thirty mile."
"That," said Jaunty to Mr. Friend, "will be your port of call." He grinned wryly. "Sorry we can't stop with you. . . . Where do we go from that place, Saffoury?"
"South is Jericho and the Dead Sea. East is Trans-Jordania."
"Rough country?"
"Wild and many mountains. . . . But I stay weeth you so you will not losing your way. He say to stay by you always."
"He? What he?" Jaunty asked.
"El Ghafir."
"Don't know who he is, but much obliged to him. This the best she'll do, Rhoda?"
The car was lurching and swaying, for the road was not one of great travel. Jaunty's car, packed with Bedouins, was a scant half mile behind, not gaining, but holding its own. The intervening distance was too slender to admit of stratagem, and there seemed nothing for it but to keep on at speed, hoping to outdistance the pursuers. There were no villages, no habitations along that lonely road—only distant flocks of goats browsing upon the hillsides testified to the existence of life. Once in a wady three grazing camels lifted frightened heads and made away with awkward, swinging gait. The road dipped, became softer, deeply rutted—and just ahead it seemed wholly to disappear, or to continue only in a rough path trampled by the feet of many goats and sheep, winding upward again toward the heights. Rhoda brought the car to a jolting halt; their pursuers were not in sight by reason of the shoulder of the hill. Perhaps Rhoda's reckless driving had given a greater advantage; perhaps the Bedouins had suffered mishap or been compelled to slacken speed by the ungraciousness of the road. Jaunty did not pause to speculate.
"Out," he said. "Up the path. Keep out of sight."
The path lifted, turned inward through a narrow gorge with walls almost perpendicular, which drew together with a curving sweep, so that, at the end, a man could touch either side by stretching out his arms. For a hundred feet it was the merest crack, the path tilting so abruptly that it became a scrambling climb.
"So far, so good," said Jaunty.
"Young man," said Mrs. Friend, sharply, "if you hadn't got my husband into this fix, you wouldn't have had to get him out again."
"Now, mamma," said Mr. Friend, gravely, "the young man is doing his best to set right a wrong. God asks no more than that."
"God," said Mrs. Friend, with asperity, "has never been kidnapped."
"What do you propose?" demanded Paul Dare.
"We can't run—with the women and your game leg—not till we manage a breathing space and a head start. We've got to do it here. Can't but one man come up the path at a time. No need to waste the couple of shots we have left. Plunk rocks down on 'em."
"And then?" asked Dare.
"Then—" Bailey lifted his shoulders. "Then you folks can find your way back to where somebody'll keep an eye on you. You and the old gentleman and his wife."
"And Miss Fair?"
"Rhoda comes with me. Our roads lie together—always after today."
Dare turned to Rhoda. "Is this true?" he asked.
"I gave my word," she answered.
"Bailey," Dare faced Jaunty with set jaw and determined eye, "I fancy it will need two men to see Miss Fair through what is just before us. If we escape the natives, there are the police to think of. . . . Where she goes I go, until such time as she is free and safe. After that we shall see."
"What shall we see?"
"We shall see," said Paul, "what road she chooses to follow from there. . . . Until then, Bailey, we are allies. We fight together for her."
"So that we may fight each other for her afterward, is that it?"
"Something of the sort," said Dare, "was in my mind."
"It's a bargain," Jaunty said. "A couple of days back I wouldn't have cluttered myself up with you. But I've watched you in action, Professor, and I'm for you. You've the makings of a first-chop crook—nerve and grit. Though it pains me to say it, truth compels."
Dare regarded Bailey for a moment without replying, and, strangely, a glow of pride warmed him—pride that this man whom he hated, who had won the woman he loved, who was a hunted criminal, should have found qualities of manhood in him to admire. . . . A time was not far distant when he should return this admiration in kind and with interest.
Rhoda, who had crept to the edge of the cliff, whence to peer down upon the road they had been forced to abandon, arose and ran toward them. "They're here," she said. "The car is here. . . . I counted seven men!"
"I hope Abdullah's one of 'em," said Bailey. "I'd admire to drop a rock on that unreliable little party."
Peering over the brink, they could see the Bedouins—six of them and Abdullah—grouped in momentary indecision about the two cars. Then Abdullah pointed, and with shrill, excited cries, they set off at a run up the path.
"Let 'em come," said Jaunty. "Don't chuck anything on to 'em till I give the word."
As he spoke he was searching out and piling along the lip of the crevice stones of a caliber which suited his fancy; the others joined in this occupation.
"Bailey," said Dare, "there must be a way around. If we discourage them here, they have only to make a circuit and take us in the rear."
"Rather a long circuit," Jaunty said. "If they all go—and we can watch them—our chance will be to go down again and grab a car. If they divide, strength will be about equal. I'd say we occupied a strategic position."
"If only we had ammunition," Dare said.
"Ready, everybody. Mr. Friend, you can drop rocks as well as your grandson, if you've got one."
"I have several," said the old gentleman with a smile, "whom I hope to see again."
"We'll try to arrange it," Jaunty said. "Now!"
A shower of rocks swished and bumped down the precipitous face of the slit in the mountain side, leaping, rolling, ricocheting as they crashed to the path. They showered about the pursuers, splintering, bursting as bombs, starting a dozen tiny avalanches. Such a reception was more than the steadiest, best trained of troops could have sustained. If it had been rifle-fire they might have persisted, but rocks hurled from a height! In all human beings is an instinctive horror of being crushed. . . . For an instant they stood in consternation; then they turned and, thrusting and jostling one another, made for the road below. Until the distance was beyond their range the little party above continued the bombardment.
"Got one," said Jaunty, "and there's ammunition."
In the pathway lay a huddle of robes, motionless, a rifle by its side. Jaunty let himself down over the lip. "If they see me and start anything, cover the retreat," he said.
"Wait!" It was Dare who spoke sharply. "We can't spare you, Bailey. You're our best man. I'm good for a scramble." "Bum leg," said Bailey.
"It will answer," Dare said, coldly.
"Your turn next time." Bailey waggled his hand and began the descent. From the road he would be invisible until he all but reached the body on the rocks. Then, if he were swift, he would be exposed for only a matter of moments, and it was well within the possibilities that he would escape detection altogether. But that was not to be. He dar
ted from his last sheltering corner, to be met by a shout of rage and a scattering, sudden rifle-fire. Bullets spatted venomously against the rocks about him, struck, rebounded, high, low, and to the side. He could be seen to shrug his shoulders with that characteristic gesture of his before he pounced upon the gun, knelt over the Bedouin to run practiced hands through the clothing in search of cartridges and other weapons. Yelling and firing, the pursuers rushed headlong toward him, but he took his time, made certain he had everything of value, and then leaped upward with admirable grace and agility. Once more the advance was halted from above. . . . Dare reached down a hand to haul Jaunty over the edge, where he lay panting for a moment.
"Four to six now," he said, "and the boy was a walking arsenal. I wonder who runs guns to these fellows. Must be profitable. Have to look into it someday."
"They're scattering along the hill," said Rhoda, "looking for some other place to climb."
"I'm thinking," said Dare, "about Hana Effendi and his men. Two racing cars will be easy to trace through the country."
"Um. . . . That does complicate matters." Bailey pushed forward his cap and scratched the back of his head. "Well, there's nothing we can do about it—and nothing they can do about it until they abolish Abdullah and his friends. May work out for the good of the pious. While they scrimmage we can be doing a hasty getaway."
All was quiet now. There was need for nothing but vigilance, and Reuben Friend seized this opportunity to approach Bailey. "Young man," he said, "I would like to say to you that I harbor no rancor. . . . And I have seen in you qualities—misdirected, perhaps—which I can admire."
"Now that," said Jaunty, "is sporting."
"I am not without influence. Perhaps, young man, I can clean the slate for you. . . . I offer this for your sake—but even more for Miss Fair's, who, I understand, is to become your wife. May I advise that you surrender to the British police—and trust to me?"
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