The Black Box Part 51

They started off gaily to where the caravan had come to a standstill. They had scarcely traversed a hundred yards, however, before the Arab who was leading Lenora's horse came to a sudden standstill. He pointed with his arm and commenced to talk in an excited fas.h.i.+on to his two companions.

From across the desert, facing them, came a little company of hors.e.m.e.n, galloping fast and with the sunlight flas.h.i.+ng upon their rifles.

"The Mongars!" the Arab cried, pointing wildly. "They attack the caravan!"

The three Arabs talked together for a moment in an excited fas.h.i.+on. Then, without excuse or warning, they swung the two women to the ground, leapt on their horses, and, turning northwards, galloped away. Already the crack of the rifles and little puffs of white smoke showed them where the Mongars, advancing cautiously, were commencing their attack. The Professor looked on anxiously.

"I am not at all sure," he said in an undertone to Quest, "about our position with the Mongars. Craig has a peculiar hold upon them, but as a rule they hate white men, and their blood will be up.... See! the fight is all over. Those fellows were no match for the Mongars. Most of them have fled and left the caravan."

The fight was indeed over. Four of the Mongars had galloped away in pursuit of the Arabs who had been the temporary escort of Quest and his companions. They pa.s.sed about a hundred yards away, waving their arms and shouting furiously. One of them even fired a shot, which missed Quest by only a few inches.

"They say they are coming back," the Professor muttered. "Who's this? It's the Chief and--"

"Our search is over, at any rate," Quest interrupted. "It's Craig!"

They came galloping up, Craig in white linen clothes and an Arab cloak; the Chief by his side--a fine, upright man with long grey beard; behind, three Mongars, their rifles already to their shoulders. The Chief wheeled up his horse as he came within twenty paces of the little party.

"White! Englis.h.!.+" he shouted. "Why do you seek death here?"

He waited for no reply but turned to his men. Three of them dashed forward, their rifles, which were fitted with an odd sort of bayonet, drawn back for the plunge. Quest, s.n.a.t.c.hing his field-gla.s.ses from his shoulders, swung them by the strap above his head, and brought them down upon the head of his a.s.sailant. The man reeled and his rifle fell from his hand. Quest picked it up, and stood on guard. The other two Mongars swung round towards him, raising their rifles to their shoulders. Quest held Lenora to him. It seemed as though their last second had come. Suddenly Craig, who had been a little in the rear, galloped, shouting, into the line of fire.

"Stop!" he ordered. "Chief, these people are my friends. Chief, the word!"

The Chief raised his arm promptly. The men lowered their rifles, and Craig galloped back to his host's side. The Chief listened to him, nodding gravely. Presently he rode up to the little party. He saluted the Professor and talked to him in his own language. The Professor turned to the others.

"The Chief apologises for not recognising me," he announced. "It seems that Craig had told him that he had come to the desert for shelter, and he imagined at once, when he gave the order for the attack upon us, that we were his enemies. He says that we are welcome to go with him to his encampment."

Quest stood for a moment irresolute.

"Seems to me we're in a pretty fix," he muttered. "We've got to owe our lives to that fellow Craig, anyway, and how shall we be able to get him away from them, goodness only knows."

"That is for later," the Professor said gravely. "At present I think we cannot do better than accept the hospitality of the Chief. Even now the Chief is suspicious. I heard him ask Craig why, if these were his friends, he did not greet them."

Craig turned slowly towards them. It was a strange meeting. His face was thin and worn, there were hollows in his cheeks, a dull light in his sunken eyes. He had the look of the hunted animal. He spoke to them in a low tone.

"It is necessary," he told them, "that you should pretend to be my friends. The Chief has ordered two of his men to dismount. Their ponies are for the young ladies. There will be horses for you amongst the captured ones from the caravan yonder."

"So we meet at last, Craig," the Professor said sternly.

Craig raised his eyes and dropped them again. He said nothing. He turned instead once more towards Quest.

"Whatever there may be between us," he said, "your lives are mine at this moment, if I chose to take them. For the sake of the women, do as I advise. The Chief invites you to his encampment as his guests."

They all turned towards the Chief, who remained a little on the outside of the circle. The Professor raised his hat and spoke a few words in his own language, then he turned to the others.

"I have accepted the invitation of the Chief," he announced. "We had better start."

"This may not be Delmonico's," Laura remarked, a few hours later, with a little sigh of contentment, "but believe me that goat-stew and sherbet tasted better than any chicken and champagne I ever tasted."

"And I don't quite know what tobacco this is," Quest added, helping himself to one of a little pile of cigarettes which had been brought in to them, "but it tastes good."

They moved to the opening of the tent and sat looking out across the silent desert. Laura took the flap of the canvas in her hand.

"What do all these marks mean?" she asked.

"They are cabalistic signs," the Professor replied, "part of the language of the tribe. They indicate that this is the guest tent, and there are a few little maxims traced upon it, extolling the virtues of hospitality.

Out in the desert there we met the Mongars as foes, and we had, I can a.s.sure you, a very narrow escape of our lives. Here, under the shelter of their encampment, it is a very different matter. We have eaten their salt."

"It's a strange position," Quest remarked moodily.

Lenora leaned forward to where a little group of Mongars were talking together.

"I wish that beautiful girl would come and let us see her again," she murmured.

"She," the Professor explained, "is the Chief's daughter, Feerda, whose life Craig saved."

"And from the way she looks at him," Laura observed, "I should say she hadn't forgotten it, either."

The Professor held up a warning finger. The girl herself had glided to their side out of the shadows. She faced the Professor. The rest of the party she seemed to ignore. She spoke very slowly and in halting English.

"My father wishes to know that you are satisfied?" she said. "You have no further wants?"

"None," the Professor a.s.sured her. "We are very grateful for this hospitality, Feerda."

"Won't you talk to us for a little time?" Lenora begged, leaning forward.

The girl made no responsive movement. She seemed, if anything, to shrink a little away. Her head was thrown back, her dark eyes were filled with dislike. She turned suddenly to the Professor and spoke to him in her own language. She pointed to the signs upon the tent, drew her finger along one of the sentences, flashed a fierce glance at them all and disappeared.

"Seems to me we are not exactly popular with the young lady," Quest remarked. "What was she saying, Professor?"

"She suspects us," the Professor said slowly, "of wis.h.i.+ng to bring evil to Craig. She pointed to a sentence upon the tent. Roughly it means 'Grat.i.tude is the debt of hospitality.' I am very much afraid that the young lady must have been listening to our conversation a while ago."

Lenora s.h.i.+vered.

"To think of any girl," she murmured, "caring for a fiend like Craig!"

Before they knew it she was there again, her eyes on fire, her tone shaking.

"You call him evil, he who saved your lives, who saved you from the swords of my soldiers!" she cried. "I wish that you had all died before you came here. I hope that you yet may die!"

She pa.s.sed away into the night. The Professor looked anxiously after her.

"It is a humiliating reflection," he said, "but we are most certainly in Craig's power. Until we have been able to evolve some scheme for liberating ourselves and taking him with us, if possible, I think that we had better avoid any reference to him as much as possible. That young woman is quite capable of stirring up the whole tribe against us. The whole onus of hospitality would pa.s.s if they suspected we meant evil to Craig, and they have an ugly way of dealing with their enemies.... Ah!

Listen!"

The Professor suddenly leaned forward. There was a queer change in his face. From somewhere on the other side of that soft bank of violet darkness came what seemed to be the clear, low cry of some animal.

"It is the Mongar cry of warning," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "Something is going to happen."