CHAPTER VII—THE HILLS OF ZEMMUR

“This puts a stop to it, Tom. It’s a villainous business, and we’ll go straight back home.”

Tom made no reply. He was completing the adjustment of a tourniquet.

“And we’ve no doctor on board!” Mr. Greatorex went on. “We’ll run back to Gibraltar and get assistance. Can’t let the poor fellow bleed to death, you know.”

“He’ll no bleed to death,” said M’Cracken huskily. “It’s just a wee flesh wound. He’ll be a’ richt in a twa-three days.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“The question is, who shall I take with me now?” said Tom, rising to his feet and ignoring Mr. Greatorex’s expressed determination to go home. “The sooner I’m off the better, for that rascally Jew will tell all he knows about the airship, and the Moors will be on their guard.”

“But we’re going home, Tom.”

“Surely you won’t let our enterprise be ruined by a rogue!” replied Tom. “There’s all the more reason for going on with it.”

“Gad, you’re right,” cried Mr. Greatorex, veering round again. “We’ll do it in the teeth of them. But you’ll want some one with you in place of Tim. If I were twenty years younger I’d go myself. You want a man who knows something about engines. Can’t spare you, Mumford, I’m afraid.”

“No, sir,” replied the engineer, “and I’m rather heavy. But there’s young M’Cracken; he’s a light weight; an uncommonly handy fellow too, and judging from some remarks of his when we’ve been watching the airship, he knows something about ’em; seems to have read a good deal. I can do without him for a day or two, especially if we lie at anchor here.”

“Ah! Yes! Where is he? He was here a few seconds ago.”

M’Cracken was haled from below. He appeared even more grimy than ever.

“Look here, M’Cracken,” said Mr. Greatorex. “Mr. Dorrell wants some one to help him, and Mr. Mumford suggests you: speaks well of you, you know. You’ve never been on an airship, of course; but all you’ve to do is to keep calm, and do exactly as you are told. You’re not afraid—no nerves, oh?”

“No, sir.”

“You’re very hoarse still. It will do you good, you know, to be away from that furnace for a day or two. Well, you’d better get a wash.”

“No time for that,” said Tom quickly. “It’s past ten o’clock, and we ought to have started long ago.”

“Very well. You’re not going visiting, to be sure. Well, M’Cracken, go and put on your reefer; the night’s cold, and will be colder.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” returned M’Cracken, and dived with alacrity below. He was back in less than a minute. Then Tom entered the car of the airship, followed by Abdul and the stoker. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the lever controlling the engines, he called to the men to cast loose the ropes securing the car to the deck. Then he started the ascensional screw, and with a whirr like that of a gigantic humming-top the airship rose slowly from the yacht’s deck.

“Good-bye, Tom,” shouted Mr. Greatorex. “Be careful, my boy; run no risks.”

“Good-bye! Good-bye!”

“This is ripping,” said the stoker, as the machine rose higher and higher into the air.

Tom started so violently that he unconsciously jerked back the lever and stopped the motion of the machine.

“Pull that lever, quick!” he called.

“Done it already,” said the stoker, with his hand on the lever that adjusted the planes. “Lucky I’ve been up before, Dorrell.”

“Good heavens, you’re—yes, you’re Oliphant. Whew! won’t the old man be in a tantrum. How in the world did you disguise yourself?”

“Sammy Byles’ clothes, a little lampblack, and my native brogue do make a difference, don’t they! I’m afraid Mr. Greatorex will be a trifle fizzy; but that won’t matter, afterwards.”

“I’m not sure I oughtn’t to go back and drop you.”

“Nonsense. I’m in for it now, and when you come to think of it you couldn’t have a better man. Bar Timothy, nobody knows so much about the machine as I do; and I warrant I’m a better hand in a scrimmage, whether with fists or revolvers. I’ve brought my Colt.”

It was some time before Tom recovered from his surprise; but for the moment his attention was occupied by the airship. At last he said—

“Well, Oliphant, I’m glad enough to have you with me. I hope we shall come through all right.”

While speaking, he had stopped the ascensional screws and set the horizontal going. A small aneroid hung just above his head, lit by a carefully screened electric lamp. The reading indicated that the airship had risen to a height of five hundred metres. Maintaining the ascent solely by the inclination of the planes, Tom brought the whole force of the engines to bear on the horizontal screws, and the machine glided onwards at a speed of some twenty miles an hour, gradually rising as she went. Then, at the altitude of a thousand metres, when Tom judged that he was high enough to clear the tops of the hills that fringed the coast, Oliphant reduced the angle of the planes so that it was just sufficient to maintain a constant height at the increased speed of twenty-five miles.

“By Jove, this is ripping!” cried Oliphant again.

It was a bright starlit night, without a breath of wind. At this altitude the air was crisp and keen, producing a sense of exhilaration in the occupants of the car. Even Abdul, who had quaked inwardly and clutched the rail when the machine rose to such a giddy height, had now lost his tremors, and looked around him with wonderment and delight. The ship was soaring over the land, which lay outstretched like a vast black floor three-quarters of a mile beneath. Behind, the lights of the yacht could be faintly distinguished; before, there was not a glimmer over the whole country. The airship crossed a peak or two, then sailed over a rolling plain; by and by more hills loomed black in front. The aneroid, an extremely delicate instrument, now indicated that the machine was slowly sinking. Oliphant again adjusted the planes; the airship passed clear of the hills, and Tom steered as directly as he could guess for the spot he had marked on his map.

When the voyage had lasted for about an hour the rising moon threw more light on the scene, lending a weird beauty to the variegated landscape—bare rugged hills alternating with wooded slopes and dark valleys. But it was impossible, at the height at which they were sailing, to distinguish any landmarks; Abdul knew the country thoroughly, but was quite at a loss in this unfamiliar situation. He had told Tom that the fastness where the diplomatist was probably held captive stood on the top of an extremely steep hill, and explained that the most convenient spot from which to approach it was a small tableland about a sixth of a day’s journey from it. This was Tom’s objective; but as it was impossible to make sure of reaching it unless Abdul could obtain some guidance from prominent natural features, Tom more than once allowed the airship to sink almost to the ground, so that the Moor might scan the country.

On one of these occasions, about four hours after they had left the yacht, Abdul said that he recognized a hill stream whose source was within a short distance of the sheikh’s stronghold. From the directions he was now able to give, Tom managed to steer fairly straight for the tableland, and after once more descending so that Abdul might assure himself that he had not been mistaken, he finally brought the airship to rest at the desired spot. It was past three o’clock in the morning; the sky was already lightening with what Abdul called subhi kázib—the false dawn which often in these latitudes illumines the sky an hour or so before the real dawn. The three adventurers were all very tired, and on Abdul explaining that the tableland was but rarely visited, and that so far as he knew there were no wild beasts in the neighbourhood, Tom thought that they might all safely take a few hours’ sleep before considering the next move. The tableland was not entirely flat; it had many depressions, and jagged rocks stood up on all sides around the comparatively clear space on which the airship rested. Only one hill, and that apparently four or five miles distant, stood higher, and even the hawk-like vision of the mountaineers was not likely to discover the airship from so remote a spot.

The real dawn—subhi sadik—was some little while past when the Moor awoke, first of the three. He had just completed his morning devotions and ablutions at a little spring when the others roused themselves. Among the contents of the car were a spirit lamp, a tin of condensed milk, and materials for making tea; and while they ate their breakfast Tom discussed with Oliphant the programme for the day.

“The first thing is to find out exactly where Ingleton is imprisoned,” said Tom, “and what chance there is of getting into communication with him. That’s a job for Abdul; obviously we can’t help him; we can’t do better than lie snug here while he goes and gets what information he can.”

“A pretty dangerous job for him if he’s caught, isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s a good many years since he left these parts, and he must have altered. I doubt whether he’ll be recognized. Luckily the hills are covered with mist, too; if he starts soon he’ll be able to get a good way before he’s likely to run across any of his countrymen.”

“Or lose himself?”

“No, master,” said Abdul, “I don’t not lose myself. I go all right.”

“The sooner the better, then,” said Tom. “We’ll wait for you here.”

The Moor, who had resumed his native dress, at once girt his djellab about him and prepared to descend the hillside. Tom and Oliphant watched him breathlessly until the mist hid him from view. He went over the brow of the hill and began to clamber down its steep side with the agility and sure-footedness of a mountain goat. When he was out of sight the others returned to their half-finished breakfast, ready to endure with what patience they might the long waiting until the Moor should have completed his errand.

“What if he doesn’t come back?” said Oliphant.

“We shall have to risk it ourselves. I’m certainly not going back without making the attempt now that we have come so far. It’s pretty cold up here; I shall be glad when the sun sucks up this mist.”

When the mist at last cleared away, a magnificent view spread out before the two watchers on the hill-top. They themselves were perched on the top of a practically bare rock, but a hundred feet below them the hill side was covered with forest, broken, however, with huge patches of rocky ground, on which apparently not even the hardiest tree could find a lodgment. For miles around, the country showed a succession of tree-clad hills, with here and there a waterfall, and here and there a bare summit, not, however, truncated like the hill on which they had landed. Far away to the north-west they could descry, through their field-glasses, a considerable walled village perched on the shoulder of a hill, with one or two large buildings, one presumably a mosque, and a second evidently the stronghold of the sheikh. This no doubt was the place in which they were interested. It lay in the direction generally indicated by the Moor, although when he started it was hidden by the mists.

The hours dragged all too slowly by. They talked over the situation, occasionally getting up to stretch their limbs, but not venturing to move about much, lest they should be seen by any chance shepherd or hunter. On the plain below they caught sight of animals moving, and longed to take a shot at them—now a gazelle, now a wild hog. But to fire a shot was out of the question, and they had to content themselves with exchanging reminiscences of sport at home.

Darkness fell again. Abdul had not returned. Each spent a restless night, and rose with the dawn, eagerly scanning the country, as soon as the mist was dispersed, for a sign of their emissary, but in vain.

“I hope he hasn’t been collared,” said Tom.

“Or turned traitor!”

“He wouldn’t do that, I’m sure. I like the fellow. Of course you read a lot about oriental duplicity, but I don’t believe Abdul is a rogue. Anyway, we should have time to get away in the airship before any one could molest us here, and he knows that. For the life of me I don’t know what we can do if he has been collared. We can’t do a thing until we know where Ingleton is; we certainly can’t go inquiring ourselves. All we can do is to go back to the yacht and try and pick up some English-speaking native who can tell us what we want to know, and that means loss of time.”

“And more than that; it would mean that I’d have to turn into M’Cracken again, and I don’t believe I could keep up the disguise any longer. I say, what’s that moving down there?”

They seized their field-glasses and turned them towards a patch moving along the outskirts of a wood some miles away.

“Moors, by Jove!” exclaimed Oliphant. “And mounted. And coming this way. It looks as though Abdul had betrayed us, after all.”

“Don’t be in a hurry. They’re making no attempt to mask their approach. I don’t believe they’re coming here at all. No; see, they are wheeling off to the right, in the direction of the hill village yonder. We needn’t worry ourselves. But I’m getting sick of this, and it’ll be serious soon. I only brought three days’ grub in the car, and I’m afraid we ate more than we ought yesterday. That’s the worst of having nothing to do.”

“It’s so plaguy hot, too, when the sun’s up. For two pins I’d go down and have a shot at something in the woods. No doubt it’s cooler down there, and there’s no fun in lying about up here to frizzle.”

“There’d certainly be no fun in being pitched into a Moorish dungeon. By all accounts they’re rather horrible. I think I’d rather frizzle here than stew there. In any case, even supposing the Moors didn’t find out who was firing, the shots would put them on their guard and perhaps spoil our game. I say, Oliphant, reel off some of your stories.”

But even Oliphant’s stories in the Doric palled, and by and by Tom got up and said that he was going for a stroll. He was away for nearly an hour, and Oliphant began to feel uneasy at his prolonged absence. Oliphant dared not call, for fear of being overheard by an enemy; nor did he care to explore. But he was making up his mind to follow Tom down the steep path when the wanderer at last returned.

“Rather interesting spot, this,” he said. “Round the corner below there I came upon some caves.”

“I wondered what had become of you. Did you get lost?”

“No. The odd thing is that these caves are up about twenty feet from a ridge of rock, and can’t be got at without a ladder. I tried to mount, but the wall is almost flat.”

“I’ll go and have a look. How do you get there?”

“Down the hill a little way, turn to the right, go along the ridge, and look up. The caves are about halfway between the ridge and the top of the hill.”

Oliphant followed these directions, and by and by returned, with his trousers cut in several places.

“I tried to climb up,” he explained, “but couldn’t manage it. I think it could be done, though, with practice.”

“Which we haven’t time for.”

The discovery of the caves had occupied some little time, and furnished material for speculation and talk that helped to relieve the tedium of waiting. But their patience had well nigh given out when night once more descended and still Abdul had not returned. The two were eating their supper in moody silence when they heard suddenly the sound of a stone rattling down the hillside. They seized their revolvers and sprang up, waiting for another sound. Clearly some one, man or animal, was climbing the hill. All was again silent; then, from some point beyond them, came the sound of a high-pitched voice.

“It’s Abdul. Thank goodness!” cried Oliphant, with a laugh. “Come on, you laggard, and give an account of yourself.”

“You have been a long time, Abdul,” said Tom, as that young Moor came through the darkness.

“True, master; but it is with us a saying, ‘Every delay is good.’”

“Well, come and have something to eat. You’re pretty tired and hungry, no doubt. Then you can tell us what you have done.”

But Abdul declined the food offered him, and producing a wallet from beneath his djellab, displayed a heap of dates. He related that he had made his way safely into the village, but as he went through the street towards the house of Hamet Ali—a friend on whose discretion he could rely—he fancied from the manner of an old water-carrier that the man had recognized him. He contrived to slip away among a company of muleteers that happened to be passing, and reached his friend’s house unmolested; but shortly afterwards he learnt from this friend that the water-carrier had mentioned his suspicions, and that inquiries were being diligently made for him through the village. Every exit was watched; and his friend was in some anxiety lest an emissary of the sheikh should come and search the house. Hamet, however, was an old enemy of the sheikh, though, with true oriental dissimulation, he had hitherto managed to hide the fact. He agreed to give Abdul shelter so long as it was safe to do so, but impressed upon him that he must not venture to show himself out of doors.

He then inquired what had brought Abdul to the village, and the boy thought it advisable to confide in him, taking care to heighten the mystery of the wonderful ship that sailed through the air, and to promise, on the Englishmen’s behalf, liberal bakshish to Hamet if he lent all possible assistance to the enterprise. He wished his friend to send a messenger to Tom, but this Hamet refused to do, for the results to himself, if the messenger were followed and caught, might be disastrous.

On the morning of the same day, when Hamet returned from his usual visit to the sôk, he reported that a camel-driver had arrived, bearing a message from a Jew of Rabat, Salathiel ben Ezra by name, who proposed to come in person to see the sheikh, and had sent a swift rider in advance to request a safe-conduct. The Jews are tolerated, scorned, made to do menial work, in the ports; in remote districts of Morocco they carry their lives in their hands. But the message conveyed to the sheikh had been such that Salathiel’s request was granted, and a dozen men had been sent on horseback towards the coast as an escort. Hearing this, Abdul decided that at all costs he must return to his employer. Under cover of the night he had contrived to slip away from the village, and had come back by a circuitous route so as to make sure of not being intercepted.

“But what of the prisoner?” asked Tom. “Did you learn anything of him?”

“Yes, master. He is in the sheikh’s kasbah.”

“What is kasbah?”

“Strong place, master; thick walls; a very bad prison.”

“We are on the right track, Oliphant,” said Tom.

“It looks bad, though. Ingleton will be pretty well guarded, you may be sure; and I don’t for the life of me see how we can break into a strong place and get him out.”

“Unless we bribe his jailers. Could we get him away with bakshish, Abdul?”

“No, master. The sheikh would cut hands and feet off, put eyes out, and more.”

“Evidently we’ve got our work cut out, Oliphant. And you may depend upon it our friend Salathiel has somehow found out our errand and is coming to warn the sheikh. I remember now that I saw him talking to one of the Moors who came aboard the yacht.”

“That explains it.”

“How long will it take him to get here, Abdul?”

“Two three days, master.”

“We must be beforehand with him, then. Are you prepared for short rations, Oliphant? Our grub won’t last more than another day.”

“Plenty dates and figs in woods, master,” said Abdul.

“We shan’t starve, then. Let’s have a good sleep, Oliphant. We shall want all our strength for this job.”

“We shall indeed. Poor old pater! Wouldn’t he have the blues if he knew where I am!”

CHAPTER VIII—THE SWORDSMITH OF AIN AFROO

“Of course I should have to take Abdul—or rather he would have to take me; and however dangerous it would be for two, it would be still more dangerous for three. If you’ll stay and keep an eye on the airship, I’ll take advantage of the moonlight and go and have a look round. Your turn will come, you may be sure of that. If I don’t come back, you know how to set the machine going. Scoot back to the yacht, and get Mr. Greatorex to make straight for Tangier.”

“There’ll be a pretty row about this before we’ve done with it! All right!—if you will go. But I say, they’ll spot you for a foreigner if any one catches sight of you—in those clothes.”

“Yes; I forgot that. I wish I’d provided myself with a rig-out in the Moorish style.”

Here Abdul produced from the folds of his djellab a small bundle, which, being unrolled, proved to be a long grey garment with a pair of yellow shoes wrapped in it.

“You’re a brick, Abdul!” cried Tom. “You guessed I’d want something of this sort, eh?”

“Yes, master. I could only get one.”

“So you’re out of it for the present, anyhow, Oliphant. Well, good-bye. If we’re lucky we’ll be back by the morning; if not—you know what to do.”

Five minutes later Tom, swathed in the djellab, disappeared over the brow of the hill with Abdul. He carried his revolver; the Moor had only a knife. In his unfamiliar garment Tom found it by no means easy to make the descent down the rough precipitous path; but Abdul went first, picking the easiest course, and both arrived safely at the bottom.

Then they began their march to the village. It was a toilsome journey, and Tom found the Moorish slippers a very inconvenient footgear. A long tramp, and another steep climb, brought them to the wall of the village, which was built on the slope of the hill. The gates had been shut at sunset, Abdul explained: that was the Moorish fashion. Tom perceived that the wall was utterly dilapidated: in that respect Ain Afroo was typically Moorish. In many parts the parapet had fallen to pieces, and, for any protection it afforded, the wall might as well not have been there. It gave easy foothold to a climber, and Tom indulged a hope that the kasbah might prove to be in equally bad preservation.

From what Abdul had told him, Tom guessed that the stronghold lay at the upper extremity of the village, about eighty or ninety yards from the wall. The Moor’s knowledge of the place enabled him to lead Tom to a spot where it would clearly be an easy matter to climb the battlements. Secure in their remoteness, and in the fact that no hostile force could come within many miles of the village without being instantly announced, the inhabitants kept only a perfunctory watch. A few men, Abdul said, were regularly on guard at the north-east and south-west corners; but no attempt was made to watch the walls in general. Knowing the state of the defences, this fact gave Tom some amusement. With walls so ruinous the gates were the last places at which unauthorized ingress or egress would be made. The whole place was still sleeping, and would sleep until the muezzin from the mosque gave the call to prayer. Abdul declared it was quite safe to enter the village so far as its human inhabitants were concerned, though there was a risk that some pariah dog might be wakeful. Taking his courage in both hands, Tom climbed up the wall after Abdul, and descended on the other side; then, keeping in the black shadows cast by the moon, the two made their way through round archways and narrow alleys to the outer wall of the kasbah.

The village was very silent. It might almost have been an abode of the dead. Only the screech of night-birds beyond the walls broke the stillness. Tom held his breath—and his nose, for sanitary authorities are unknown in Morocco, and heaps of refuse here and there spoke forcibly in the night air. The two intruders crept stealthily round the walls of the kasbah, against which small shops and outbuildings that Abdul called inzella were built, except before the principal entrance—a large gateway through which two or three men could ride abreast. In front of this gateway was a wide, open square, with low shops under a colonnade on the other side.

The gateway was shut. It had massive iron doors. Stealing to the further side of it, Abdul touched Tom’s arm, and pointed to a small dark window, unglazed, scarcely more than a slit in the wall, some twenty-five feet above their heads, and a yard or two back from the parapet, which, as the Moor had already explained, extended right round the kasbah, enclosing a kind of terrace. It was the window of the guest-chamber, and there, Abdul had suggested, the captured envoy was confined.

The entrance to the guest-chamber would be from the terrace within the parapet. The floor above was occupied by the sheikh and his family; the floor below was devoted to the servants and the guard. Even as Tom looked, a figure passed slowly along the terrace, and the moonlight glinted on a steel musket barrel. It was clear that the guest-chamber was carefully guarded—a proof, it seemed, that Abdul’s suggestion was correct. Drawing Tom out of earshot, Abdul said that special orders must have been given, or the sentry would certainly not tramp up and down at this hour of night. Tom learnt afterwards that the Moorish soldier’s idea of sentry-go is a long nap in the nearest doorway.

“Is there no entrance to the guest-chamber from within?” asked Tom.

Abdul confessed that he did not know. He had never set foot within the walls. But he had once taken refuge for the night, on one of his journeys through the country, in a ruined kasbah of somewhat similar appearance, and there a door led from the guest-chamber into a small vestibule, which gave access to the upper floor and the roof above.

Flitting silently across the square, Tom and the Moor took post under the shadow of the colonnade on the farther side, which ran at right angles to the wall of the kasbah. Within it was a row of shops, now shut and barred. There, leaning against one of the stout columns, within the black darkness of the Moorish arch, Tom scanned the kasbah, looming white in the moonlight, and meditated.

To get into communication with the prisoner seemed absolutely hopeless. No one could force an entrance into the sheikh’s strong place. Was it possible to gain the assistance of some one within? Might not Hamet Ali, Abdul’s friend, act as intermediary between Tom and some servant of the sheikh’s? The cynical saying, “Every man has his price,” was literal truth in Morocco: such was the impression Tom had gained from his reading. But he knew enough of oriental ways to be sure that the fixing of the price would be a long and tedious affair. If the Moor were asked to name it, he would suggest a sum far in excess of what he would ultimately accept; while however large a sum were offered, it would prove only the starting place for long haggling. Indeed, the larger the bribe, the more likely it would be to excite the cupidity of the agent, and to encourage him to stand out for yet higher terms.

In spite of the difficulties, Tom would have been inclined to attempt this means if it had not involved serious delay, and still more serious risk to both Abdul and himself. Hamet Ali lived on the far side of the town. Abdul would have to make his way there, waken his friend, explain the circumstances, overcome a probable reluctance to meddle, fix a price with Hamet Ali, and another for the sheikh’s servant. Every move would be attended with danger. A Moor’s house is a castle in miniature. Any attempt to rouse the inmates at this dead hour of night would necessitate so much noise and clatter as to disturb the neighbourhood. The night was wearing on, and before Abdul could, with reasonable regard to secrecy, obtain access to his friend’s house, daylight might be upon them. The Moors are early risers, and even if all went well, and Tom and the others stole forth from the village before dawn, they would almost certainly be seen and ridden down as they crossed the wide rocky spaces that surrounded the place. But the most serious consideration of all was that of time: it would not be possible to get into treaty with any one inside the kasbah before Salathiel ben Ezra appeared on the scene. Then the enterprise was doomed to failure.

Tom was anxiously discussing with himself the pros and cons when Abdul plucked him by the arm.

“Day is near, master,” he whispered. “We must go by the way we came.”

Tom was reluctant to own himself beaten; but there was clearly no hope for it. Gathering his djellab about him, and pulling the hood over his head, he followed Abdul with quick, noiseless footsteps across the square.

Ahmed Hûk, apprentice to Hamadi ben Ibn, the swordsmith of Ain Afroo, had spent a restless night. His head throbbed; he could not sleep; he wished he had not smoked so much hashish when his work was done for the day. The air of the little shop was close and oppressive; and after hours of wakefulness, turning from side to side in the vain effort to find sleep, Ahmed got up and quietly unbarred the little wicket in the door, careful not to disturb his master, who was snoring loudly within a few feet of him. Perhaps a little fresh air from the outside would cool his heated brow.

He had not stood more than a few minutes at the wicket, and was already thinking of returning to his charpoy, when he noticed, in the moonlight on the other side of the square, two figures turn the corner by the kasbah opposite, coming from the direction of the village wall. They at once disappeared into the shadow thrown by the great wall of the building, but something in their movements aroused the curiosity of Ahmed. Why were two wayfarers abroad at so late an hour? The matter was not his concern; still, he would remain at the wicket a little longer, to see if the two night-walkers reappeared.

His view was somewhat broken by the rows of pillars supporting the colonnade in front of the shops of which his master’s establishment was one; but through the interval between two of them he did at last see the two forms moving with rather suspicious quickness across the illumined square, and, what was more interesting to him, they were seemingly coming in his direction. Were they thieves, he wondered? He could hardly believe it, for the village was small; they could scarcely escape detection; and the sheikh’s ingenuity in punishments was notorious even in Morocco, where torture is a fine art.

With instinctive caution Ahmed closed the wicket, leaving only a slit just wide enough for him to peep through. In a few moments he heard the slight rustle of the strangers’ garments, and saw their dark forms clearly outlined against the moonlight. They had come under the colonnade and halted within two or three yards of him, behind one of the pillars. They whispered a little together, then were silent for a space, then whispered again: and now Ahmed was interested indeed, for, low as their tones were, he overheard a word or two, and they made him jump; they were certainly not in the Moorish tongue. His master’s business had taken him more than once to Dár al Beida, and he had heard such words used by the N’zrani—the unbelievers who were suffered to pollute the city by their presence. How came it that here, in Ain Afroo, a village where no unbeliever ever set foot save a dog of a Jew now and then (though truly there were one or two infidel wretches now safely confined in the kasbah)—how came it that two men, good Moors and followers of the Prophet, to all appearance, were speaking in the tongue of the infidel? It was perplexing, to say the least, and undoubtedly worthy of the attention of Hamadi his master.

Leaving the wicket, Ahmed silently groped his way to the charpoy on which the swordsmith was sleeping, and gently awakened him. In a low whisper he conveyed the news of his discovery. Hamadi at once rose, and, trusting to the pitch darkness of the colonnade, opened the wicket fully, and listened with all his ears.

Tom and Abdul had no sooner crossed the square than the bolts of the shop door opposite which they had been standing were softly drawn back, and Hamadi, followed by his apprentice, glided barefoot after them. Each bore a sword—good weapons, as Hamadi, who had made them, well knew. Hamadi saw a vision of great prosperity and high favour with the sheikh. He would follow up the strangers, if strangers they indeed were, to the house where they harboured. There he would leave Ahmed to keep watch, while he himself sped to the kasbah and told what he had seen. Without doubt the sheikh would reward him handsomely.

By the time Hamadi and his boy had left the shelter of the colonnade, the strangers had turned the corner of the far side of the square; but the pursuers ran quickly across the open space and gained the corner while their quarry was still in sight.

Tom and his companion, picking their way with all caution through the dark, uneven, dirty passages that led from the kasbah to the outer wall, went out slowly. Every now and again they stumbled over a loose cobble or a heap of refuse; then there was a little noise that might betray their presence to any one who happened to be within a few yards of them. At such times Abdul would throw a hurried glance back; well he knew what their fate would be if they were captured.

Suddenly he edged a little closer to Tom and whispered—

“Men follow us!”

By this time they were almost within reach of the wall. Tom was alive to the danger in which the pursuit had placed them. Descending the wall, they would have to grope for foothold. Before they could get clear, the pursuers would have come up behind, and might either topple down upon them loose boulders from the wall, or, if they bore firearms, have them at their mercy. The two hurried their steps.

“They are close behind—two men!” whispered Abdul.

Tom glanced to each side along the wall. There was no convenient place in which they might take refuge with any prospect of eluding their pursuers. They were now hasting along at a half run beneath a long wall that possibly enclosed some gardens of houses backing on the ramparts. Here and there this wall was broken by a doorway; but the gates, when Tom tested them by a push, were always closed. Abdul was making for the spot at which they had entered the village; it was the nearest, indeed the only practicable, place of descent. But to descend, with the pursuers upon them, would be dangerous, perhaps fatal. To leave this place of exit, and move farther along the ramparts or back into the village, would be almost equally dangerous and would lose precious time. The only other course open to them was to tackle the problem of disposing of the pursuers. Tom nervously fingered his revolver; but a shot would rouse the whole village and multiply the pursuers perhaps fiftyfold.

While Tom was feverishly attempting to hit on some means of dealing with the two men, these, unaware that they had been seen, were already reckoning up the profits of a successful coup. As soon as Hamadi the swordsmith saw that the men in front were making for the ramparts, he guessed at once that they were intruders from the outside, and he also guessed the point at which the exit was to be made. This was not the first time that the place had been used as a means of getting in and out of the village by night. More than once it had happened that the villagers, at feud with neighbouring mountaineers, had crept out at night to settle their scores, returning safely within the walls before daybreak. The fact that the gates were closed and no one could pass during the night was prima facie evidence of their innocence. It was even said that the sheikh had settled accounts with a hostile neighbour in the same way. The swordsmith therefore was quite justified in shaping his course on the assumption that the two men in front of him would climb down the ruined part of the wall, and he would be in ample time to deal with them when they were clinging precariously to the face of the stonework.

The only fault in his calculation was that he did not reckon with the sharp eyes of Tom’s companion. Thus it was that, passing incautiously one of the recessed doorways leading on to the gardens, he suddenly saw a thousand brilliant lights flash before his eyes, his sword flew from his grasp, and he reeled dizzily to the ground. Tom’s muscles were hardened by much exercise in engineering workshops, and Hamadi, though a big man and strong, as befitted one of his trade, was not prepared for so surprising an attack. Before he could recover his wits Tom was upon him, pressing the cold barrel of his revolver to his ear. The man, although dizzy, had still enough intelligence left to know what this meant, and he lay quite still while Tom pondered how he could at the same time secure his vanquished foe and lend assistance to his companion, who was now hotly engaged with the apprentice. Abdul, however, needed no help. Before Tom had time to decide upon his own course, the young Moor, taking full advantage of the darkness that neutralized the effect of his enemy’s longer weapon, dodged in beneath the latter’s guard, and got home a shrewd thrust in the forearm. Ahmed, yelling lustily, dropped his sword, spun round, and set off down the ramparts at full speed before Abdul could repeat his stroke.

Tom breathed more freely. He had at any rate, he thought, gained a few minutes. The yells of the Moor were not likely to bring help immediately. While a shot would undoubtedly have raised the guard at the kasbah, and brought a party in hot haste to the spot, the cries of a man yelling would probably only cause a certain sleepy curiosity. A Moor never puts himself to unnecessary trouble, and it would certainly not be worth while to pay much attention to a brawl between men who had smoked too much hashish. But there was still need for haste, so with Abdul’s assistance Tom trussed up the fallen swordsmith with workmanlike bonds made of his own garments, and in another minute was beginning the descent of the wall.

They were only halfway down when they heard an uproar in the village. The apprentice had lost no time in gathering a band to continue the pursuit. Yet Tom could not hurry his flight, for a false step would mean at least a broken arm, and in all probability a broken neck. With Abdul close behind he picked his way down the broken masonry, the shouts growing ever nearer and more menacing. At last they reached the bottom. Then, Abdul leading the way, they hurried along the foot of the wall. They durst not yet leave its shelter, for the moon, though now sinking in the sky, still threw sufficient light to betray them if they attempted to cross the open space towards the hillside.

Crouching low as they went, they heard the pursuers halt at the place where they had descended. But now they had reached a welcome patch of stunted bush which promised needful cover. Plunging into this, still keeping low so that their heads should not show above the scrub, they strode away at right angles to the wall. Abdul’s knowledge of the country served him well. Descending the hill, they were soon out of danger. Then up and down little eminences, over brooks, through patches of wood, they pressed on, always bearing slightly to the right until they struck the true course. Almost in a bee-line, they made for the hill where Oliphant was anxiously awaiting them, and arrived there just after dawn, tired out, and not a little disappointed with the barren result of their night’s work.

CHAPTER IX—A BOLT FROM THE BLUE

“None, or next to none. The kasbah’s as strong as Newgate. And the worst of it is, we were spotted and followed, had to truss up one fellow; another alarmed the village. We escaped just by the skin of our teeth.”

He related in detail the incidents of the night.

“It looks as if we’ll have to back out after all,” said Oliphant gloomily when the story was finished.

“I’ll be hanged if we will. I’ve been thinking it over, and talking it over with Abdul, on the way back. The only chance, it seems to me, is to face all the risks and make a dash for it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come down in the airship on the terraced roof of the kasbah under cover of night, and trust to luck to find our way to the prisoners’ quarters.”

“But that would be confoundedly risky, especially after you have once given the alarm in the village.”

“I admit that’s a nuisance, but it’s perhaps not so bad as you think. You see, the Moors know nothing—I hope they don’t, at any rate—about the airship, and they won’t look for intruders from the sky. The botheration is that we’ve lost a lot of time, and our chance is utterly dished if the Jew gets in first. Abdul says he can’t be more than a day’s march from the place now. That’s about thirty miles, as near as I can make out. Luckily it’s very rough country, so that he can’t come fast. He’s probably starting this very morning for his last stage; it’s possible that we’ve already lost our chance, for he’s sure to hurry, and if he gets the ear of the sheikh before nightfall, they’ll be on the watch for us.”

“But even without the Jew I don’t see how your scheme’s possible. There are sure to be extra guards at the wall, and if the night were as bright as this they couldn’t help seeing the machine, and we couldn’t alight without their knowledge.”

“Yes; but you must allow for their ignorance and superstition. If they do see the airship swooping down on them they’ll be scared out of their wits; they’ll think it some monstrous evil bird straight from Gehenna——”

“Which is down below, not up aloft.”

“They won’t be in a state to draw distinctions of that sort. Abdul assures me that these ignorant mountaineers—he was one himself once, but travel has widened his mind!—will be in such a state of terror that they’ll be for a time pretty well paralysed: and time’s all we want.”

“Well, he ought to know his countrymen. But there’s the Jew: suppose he does get there first?”

“We’ve got to prevent him.”

“What!”

“As I say, we must go and intercept him.”

“But he won’t come alone.”

“Of course not. Abdul says he will come on horseback with a band of armed and mounted men. He wouldn’t trust himself in this country without an escort. But that’s where the airship comes in. I rather fancy that if we swoop down from the sky among a lot of Moors they’ll think more of their own safety than of the Jew’s.”

“Still, we couldn’t prevent them from going on to the village.”

“I think we could.”

“What! shoot ’em down?”

“No. I don’t want to hurt a hair of their heads if I can help it. I think we can manage to chase them back along the way they came, and do something to frighten them into the bargain. Do you know how to make throw-downs?”

“Never heard of ’em. What are they?”

“I forgot; you Eton fellows never use such things, I suppose. Well, I’ll make some, and you’ll confess they’re excellent little harmless bombs. Then we’ll be off.”

Carefully opening two or three cartridge cases, he extracted the powder, and screwing it up with some tiny pebbles in tissue paper from his pocket-book, he manufactured a dozen or so of the little bombs. Then he inspected the machinery of the airship, thoroughly oiled the parts, and went aboard with Oliphant and Abdul. He allowed the machine to rise only a few feet from the top of the hill, so as to avoid if possible observation from the village; then he set off in a south-easterly direction, keeping the hill between him and the kasbah. Fetching a long circuit, he gradually bore south-west, then slightly north, until, in the course of about three-quarters of an hour, he struck the narrow winding track which would be followed by parties travelling between the village and the coast.

From their elevated position they could trace the path for a considerable distance through the country, but as yet they had seen no sign of a party approaching the village. In broad daylight the airship must have been sighted by many people over whose heads it had passed; but from what Abdul had said it was unlikely that any one would have the least idea of the real nature of the apparition. They would regard it as a supernatural creature, and if within the next few hours a rumour of its appearance should be carried to the sheikh of Ain Afroo he would probably be none the wiser from any description that might be attempted.

It was now little more than nine o’clock in the morning, and the Jew could scarcely have passed. Tom therefore headed the airship westward, keeping it at a low speed so that he might carefully scan the country and not let the Jew and his party escape him. He knew that, unless accident signally befriended him, the airship must be seen by them long before they came into sight. Although the country was spread out like a map, the machine in the open sky must be a much more conspicuous object to people below than they would be to observers above. Salathiel would, of course, recognize the airship; but Tom hoped that before the man could explain clearly to his escort what it was, the immediate object of the aerial flight would have been achieved.

The morning wore away, and Tom began to feel anxious. To keep the airship so long in motion involved the expenditure of a large amount of his propulsive paste, and he had brought only as much of it as would last the voyage to and from the hill fortress, with a little margin for accidents. Yet he did not care to bring the machine to rest, for he might then miss the party of which he was in search. Moreover, all the provisions were gone except a few biscuits and some tea. With no food for themselves and no fuel for the machine their plight would be desperate. Tom spoke of his anxieties to Oliphant, and they were still talking somewhat disconsolately, when Abdul, who had never ceased to keep a sharp lookout, suddenly cried “Horses!” and pointed to sundry small specks ahead.

Tom instantly started up and looked through his binocular in the direction of the Moor’s forefinger.

“There are about a score, I fancy,” he said, handing the glass to Oliphant. “Can you spot the Jew?”

“No, they are too much mixed up. I shouldn’t know him again, either.”

“We shall know him very soon, though. Abdul told me that Jews in this country mostly wear blue clothes and black skullcaps. We’ll make straight for them.”

The engines had lately been reduced to something less than half speed. Realizing that every second was now of value, Tom put them at full speed, steering the vessel direct for the party of horsemen, who had just emerged from a clump of timber. At the same time Oliphant altered the inclination of the planes, so that the airship began to drop rapidly earthwards. Thus it swooped down upon the party like a huge falcon. To manipulate the engines, the steering gear, and the lever affecting the planes, kept the hands of Tom and his friend pretty fully occupied; but Abdul was to make himself useful, and Tom instructed him to take a handful of the little bombs, in readiness to use them when the moment came. Tom hoped that the mere appearance of the sky monster would startle the horses and put the cavalcade to fright. As an additional means of scaring them he relied on the throwdowns.

The airship had come within about two miles of the horsemen when it was seen that they had halted. No doubt the strange apparition had been observed, and Salathiel ben Ezra was doing his best to explain its nature. They remained stationary until the distance of the airship from them was less than a mile: then two of them wheeled suddenly in their tracks and set off in a mad gallop westward. The others, however, held their ground; either they had stronger nerves, or the Jew had managed to convince them that the strange object was not an instrument of the Evil One, but simply a new invention of the accursed people who had invented warships and alarm clocks.

Tom had just distinguished the figure of Salathiel, on a mule in the midst of the party, when there came a slight puff of smoke from the centre of the group, followed by a second and a third. Oliphant laughed.

“They’re firing at us,” he exclaimed, “which argues a pretty state of fright.”

“All very much in our favour. Look, there are three more of them off as hard as they can go.”

“But there are still ten or a dozen of them. If they have nerve enough to hold their fire till we come within range they may do us some damage—if their guns are any good.”

“There’s not much doubt about that. They get hold of good rifles somehow. But we’re in for it now. A bullet or two in the machinery would bring us to the ground; we must simply take our chance.”

The airship was now approaching the party at the speed of a fast train. Moment by moment others of the horsemen detached themselves from the group and galloped after their comrades, and Tom gave a cry when he saw that the Jew was among the fugitives. Still several remained.

“It won’t do to allow them to get between us and the kasbah,” said Tom. “We must drive the whole lot of them back towards the coast.”

The airship was now only some three hundred feet above the ground. Suddenly Tom shut off the horizontal propellers and brought the vertical engines into play. The airship swept onward at the same level by virtue of its momentum. The horses of the Moors began to rear and plunge. They had probably heard the whirr of the machinery, for not being long-sighted beasts it was possible that they had not yet seen the vessel above them.

“By George! aren’t they magnificent horsemen!” said Oliphant, as he saw the Moors striving to hold their terrified animals in. One or two puffs, followed immediately by the reports of the rifles, came from the group; but with their horses rearing and plunging beneath them it was not surprising that the Moors missed the airship, though it now offered a considerable mark. It was immediately above them.

“Now, Abdul!” said Tom.

The Moor flung one of the little bombs earthward with all his force. It exploded at the very feet of one of the horses, which, frenzied with fear, took the bit between its teeth and bolted. Abdul threw half a dozen more, one after another, laughing with glee at the astonishing effect of the little bombs. There was no holding the horses any longer, and the whole party dashed away at a mad gallop along the road they had come.

It was not Tom’s object to overtake them yet awhile. He put the horizontal engines at half speed, and the airship began to follow the fugitives like a sheepdog at the heels of a frantic flock. The little group which had stood to the last were evidently the best mounted of the party, for they gradually closed in upon those who had started earlier. Tom could not forbear chuckling as he came upon the rotund black-capped figure of Salathiel ben Ezra striving to urge his steady-going mule to a brisker pace.

“Is it safe to leave him behind?” asked Oliphant, as the Jew was outstripped and passed.

“Oh yes! We’ll come back for him presently. We could easily catch him up. If the mule is like most of his kind he won’t hurry himself.”

The airship sped on after the rest of the party. Mile after mile was covered: the horses showed signs of fatigue, but one or two that were dropping behind were galvanized into further desperate efforts by the dreaded whirr of the propellers just in their rear.

The chase had continued for about half an hour when Abdul suddenly noticed that the number of the fugitives was one less than it had been when the flight began. None of the three occupants of the airship had seen a rider diverge from the track: to do so would indeed have been difficult, for it ran through uneven and rocky ground which offered little footway for a horse. Yet it was clear that one of the Moors had at some point or other left his comrades and ridden off to right or left.

“Never mind,” said Tom. “If he tries to get to the village, I’ve no doubt we can overtake him. His horse will be no match for us.”

“Don’t you think we’ve chased them far enough!” asked Oliphant. “We’re using up a great deal of your paste.”

“Yes. I think we’ve pretty well disposed of them now. We’ll swing round and go back for Master Salathiel.”

“What are you going to do with him—not bring him up here?”

“Not a bit of it. We don’t want him—not for long, at least. I’ve got an idea. But we must get hold of him first.”

Bringing the airship about in a wide circle, Tom steered it back along the track in search of the Jew.

“The donkey!” cried Oliphant, as presently the man came in sight, making desperate efforts to gain the village. “He might have hidden himself among the rocks or the trees, and given us no end of trouble.”

“I don’t know. He has chosen probably the lesser of two evils. He’d have a bad time of it if he were found alone by any wandering Moors; his best chance was certainly to try to get to the village and tell the sheikh all he knows.”

The Jew could be seen every now and again glancing anxiously back along the track. When he caught side of the airship returning, and realized that he was bound to be overtaken, he pulled up his mule, tumbled off the saddle, and dived into the cover of some rocks, hoping no doubt that they would afford him concealment.

“Too late!” said Tom with a chuckle. “He might escape us if we were on his level, but he forgets we can look right down upon him.”

“It’s like a field-mouse trying to escape from a hawk,” said Oliphant.

“Rather worse, for a field-mouse has its colour to help it, while Salathiel’s blue coat makes him a little too conspicuous.”

For a few moments the Jew, indeed, disappeared from view; but Tom steered the airship exactly above the spot where he was last seen, and there was Salathiel crouching in a cleft much too narrow for him.

There was no convenient landing-place among the rocks where the airship could be brought safely to rest, and the Jew, apparently recognizing this, did not attempt to stir from his position. But the vessel came to rest in the air, hovering like a monstrous humming-bird above the trembling man, no more than twenty feet from the ground.

“How shall we get at him?” asked Oliphant.

“We can leave that to Abdul, I think,” replied Tom. “He is used to ship-board, and he has been on the end of our rope before.”

Abdul understood what was required of him. Letting down the rope with the grapnel at the end, he swarmed nimbly down, armed only with his knife. The two in the car smiled to see what ensued. Salathiel was unarmed. He broke forth in a torrent of mingled threats and entreaties as the Moor approached him, then lay on his back and tried to repel the lad with his feet. But Abdul got behind him, and by discreet employment of the point of his knife at length persuaded the Jew into the open.

Then Tom let the airship gently down. When it stood upon terra firma, he and Oliphant leapt out of the car, bundled Salathiel into it, and in another minute were soaring through the air towards their former resting-place on the hill. With Salathiel’s added weight the airship travelled somewhat slowly, and for some time, when a breeze rose from the eastward, it had considerable difficulty in making headway at all. But at last the flat-topped hill was opened up on the horizon, Tom estimating that the return journey had taken more than twice as long as the outward trip in the morning.