The Project Gutenberg eBook of The vengeance of Sa'ik This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title: The vengeance of Sa'ik Author: Otis Adelbert Kline Release date: November 2, 2026 [eBook #79910] Language: English Original publication: Indianapolis, IN: Popular Fiction Publishing Company, 1930 Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79910 Credits: Greg Weeks and Mary Meehan *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VENGEANCE OF SA'IK *** The Vengeance of Sa'ik By OTIS ADELBERT KLINE _A stirring tale of the Arab revolt against Turkey during the World War--a story of the desert and the unleashed blood-lust of a fierce race of warriors._ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Oriental Stories, December-January 1930-31.] "No need to waste your perfectly good Arabic on me, Mr. Frank Bidwell," said the single remaining patron of the tiny coffee shop in which I had temporarily become Abdullah, hewer of Latakia, drawer of coffee, and pipe-bearer for the individuals of assorted color and nationality who infested the port of Jidda. "Your accent and your make-up are both top-hole, but I have the means of learning things." I glanced sharply at the tall, broad-shouldered man, whose cloak, head-cloth, swarthy features and grizzled beard seemed to proclaim him a Bedouin of middle age, out who spoke English with a British accent. "What then?" I asked, raking the embers of the fire more closely beneath the bubbling copper pot, and tying to look unconcerned. "Simply this. I can offer you employment which you will find both interesting and lucrative. You love adventure, and you work for your living. What do you say?" Studying the man covertly, I plodded about in leisurely native fashion, replacing _shishas_ and cleansing cups left by departed patrons. The business would have something to do with the war, of course. The attempt of the Arabs to wrest Medina from the Turks had failed miserably--due to lack of modern rifles and artillery, according to popular report. And after the troops of the revolting Feisal had been driven back with heavy losses, a characteristic Turkish revenge had been taken on the helpless inhabitants of the Awali suburb--butchery, rapine and the torch. It was my business as a war correspondent to learn and report these things, and one can learn much in a coffee shop if he keeps his eyes and ears open, although the pay is small and the work drudgery. "Perhaps," continued the pseudo-sheik, after puffing reflectively at his _shisha_ for some time, "you fear that I am on the wrong side." "Hardly," I replied, "since you have a decided insular accent, and the United States fights shoulder to shoulder with Great Britain in a common cause. I was merely wondering who you are and just how much you know about me." "Know Reginald Graves?" he asked suddenly. The name called up a vision of a table at Shepheard's in Cairo some few weeks before, and of confidences exchanged with a brother war correspondent from London during an evening which had been pleasantly punctuated by the disappearance of tall empty bottles instantly replaced by tall full ones, well chilled. "So Graves told you about me. Is he here?" "He--er--was here. In fact he visited this very shop yesterday and recognized you, but did not dare make himself known because of the presence of several men he suspected of being Turkish spies. He left here this morning--I may not say for where--but the mission was a dangerous one; such a mission as he led me to believe you might enjoy." "Perhaps he misinformed you," I replied, "and perhaps not. My calling leads me to mingle with many people, yet I have always made it a rule to inquire into the antecedents of men I call comrades. In this particular you have a decided advantage over me." "Quite right," he said, thoughtfully fingering his coffee cup. "I hope that I may be able to satisfy you. I have purposely let you know that I am an Englishman. Only a few men in high places know my real name. Would it suffice if I were to tell you that I am a British patriot, and am he whom the Arabs call 'Sa'ik'?" Sa'ik, the Striker--the Thunderbole of Al Yaman. The name loomed big in my mind. Many were the tales I had heard of the daring and valor of this man, presumably a desert Arab of the Banu Asadin, fighting on the side of the revolutionists--a thorn in the side of the Turks whom he worried and raided constantly, fearlessly and relentlessly. Sometimes he worked alone--sometimes with a few companions, and sometimes as commander of a small army, usually composed of hand-picked cutthroats and desperadoes. As soon as he spoke the name Sa'ik I recognized him from numerous descriptions. "Your past performances are sufficient recommendation," I said. "Now as to your pay," he went on, "I can promise you----" "Forget the pay," I interrupted. "All I ask is food, shelter, means of transportation, and one chance in ten to get back with my copy." "Which will not be detrimental to our cause?" "Of course not." "I trust you. To tell the truth, I have only come to you because you are the one properly qualified man in this city in whom I can place any trust, and I need a good lieutenant." "Are we to go it alone?" "No. I only wish we might. The band of scurvy ruffians I have been forced to employ because time presses and there are no others available, will need much watching, and unfortunately I find it necessary to sleep now and then, despite native tradition to the contrary." "Interesting," I commented. "When do we start?" "Tonight at eleven. Meet me at the Khan of Ibrahim before seven if possible." * * * * * Promptly at seven--having quitted Hassan ben Mohammed, my employer, after a lengthy argument over my wages--I casually strolled into the courtyard of the Khan of Ibrahim. Wending my way among calm, kneeling dromedaries, and stamping, fly-tormented donkeys, I presently found Sa'ik, unconcernedly smoking a cigarette near the entrance. "On time, I see," he said in Arabic after we had exchanged the customary Moslem greeting of peace. "Follow me." He led me to the curtained alcove which was his private sleeping-room, and there decked me in the full regalia of a Bedouin, including a _jambiyah_, or curved knife, a long, heavy simitar, and a pair of beautiful, pearl-handled forty-five caliber Colt revolvers. I was delighted when I saw the latter weapons, with which I had become fairly proficient in the West. "Graves told me you had a preference for Colt six-shooters," he said. "Personally I have always favored Luger automatics, but every man to his taste." "Thoughtful of you," I replied. "Thanks, a lot." "Don't mention it. I've an eye to efficiency, that's all. If you're ready, we'll go down and inspect the troops." Having quitted the inn we made our way through crowded bazars and narrow streets to the docks. In addition to the usual quota of _dhbows_, fishing-boats, and coastwise vessels, I noticed that two British gunboats rode at anchor in the harbor. Only a short distance from us a British merchantman was unloading a number of bales into _sambuks_, which were bringing them ashore to where a file of Egyptian soldiers stood guard. As we strolled along the waterfront, Sa'ik nodded toward the bales. "Merchandise for our caravan," he said. "My men are late, which is to be expected. They will be along presently." We came up to where the bales were being piled, and the Egyptian guards eyed us suspiciously until Sa'ik presented a paper to the commanding officer. Then, while I waited on shore, he went out to the ship in one of the _sambuks_ to exchange certain papers with the master. I noticed that the bales were of two sizes, one small and nearly square, the other over five feet long and coffin-shaped. I observed, also, that the perspiring porters struggled under the weight of the smaller bales as if they had been filled with lead. Scarcely had my companion got back from the ship ere a small caravan approached, consisting of some thirty armed men, mounted on dromedaries and leading about fifty pack camels. Five of these were loaded, but the others bore empty pack-saddles. Behind them came two boys, each of whom led a magnificent saddle animal. "What do you think of my troops?" my companion asked, nodding toward the approaching caravan. I scrutinized the mounted men, and for a moment felt rather sorry I had quit my comparatively healthful job with Hassan. They were, without question, the toughest-looking bunch of unhung gallows-birds I had ever seen--and they were to be my traveling companions! "They look hard," I said in answer to the question of Sa'ik. "Rather," he replied. "There are perhaps three men in the lot who wouldn't slit our throat for an ounce of _tambak_, or even for the pleasure of it." "Three out of thirty," I mused. "There's the ten-to-one chance I asked for." "Right. I'll point out the three Later, but don't put too much trust even in them." He took command of the party instantly, brought order out of confusion in five minutes, and the loading of the kneeling, protesting pack camels went forward with speed and precision. When all was in order we mounted and rode forth from the city into the gathering dusk, Sa'ik leading the procession, I bringing up the rear. 2 As we rode beneath the sky, now beginning to glitter with stars, I considered the situation in which I found myself. There was no doubt that it was desperate. Here we were, with arms and ammunition--for such I had guessed our bales to contain--destined for the Arab revolutionary army which had just been defeated. We would have to pass through enemy-controlled country, and were in constant danger from the Turks, but worst of all, we were by no means sure that we were not in worse danger from the men of our own party. To a man, Sa'ik had told me, their chief consideration had been gold rather than patriotism. Even the three less-to-be-suspected ones he had presented to me before he left--although he said they had made themselves known to him as full-fledged revolutionists by certain signs--were more concerned about wages than national freedom. Personally, I had not been more favorably impressed with these three than any of the other ruffians in the group. There was Hamed ibn Yusuf, the one-eyed, whose black patch only added to the ferocity of his hawk-like face covered with a short growth of grizzled beard. Then there was Silat, the giant negro, with hideous pock-marked features that gave him a ferocious expression--Silat the Demon, whose favorite weapon was the _yatagan_, the terrible double-curved sword, and who displayed two of them, pommel to pommel, in his sash, in addition to his _jambiyah_ and pistol. The third man of the partly-to-be-trusted group was Abu Makarish, whose bushy beard flamed from copious applications of henna, whose garments were resplendent as the rainbow, and whose breath, at starting, had smelt strongly of _fazikh_ despite the prohibitory teachings of the Koran with regard to intoxicating liquors. I was surprized and amused when we stopped for rest, smokes and prayers, and this old red-bearded hypocrite acted as _Imam_ and led our evening devotions. But, I reasoned, as we remounted and rode on, he was perhaps more pious at heart than a certain deacon I had known at home--a man who could pray loud and long on Sunday, but spent the rest of the week defrauding honest men and women under the cover of his sanctimoniousness. As the first gray light of dawn began to blot out the stars we came to a small grove of date-palms and sycamores in the midst of which was a brick-walled well. Here we halted, pitched our tents, spread our rugs, baked bread and made coffee. Having breakfasted, I was strolling about the place smoking my _chibuk_ when I noticed Abu Makarish in earnest conversation with two of the men. They stood apart from the others in the thickest part of the grove, and I noticed that our red-bearded _Imam_ did most of the talking while the other two listened and nodded as if in approbation. Perhaps, I thought, the old reprobate was exhorting them to greater piety--or mayhap, what was more probable--they were the custodians of a bottle or two of _fazikh_. Returning to the tent which I shared with Sa'ik a few minutes later, I noticed that he appeared agitated. His usually steady hand shook as he raised a cigarette co his lips. "I will stand first watch," he said in Arabic. "Get some sleep until I call you." I bowed, entered the tent, and was soon fast asleep, having been awake for some twenty-six hours. * * * * * I do not know how long I slept, nor just what it was that awakened me. I have no memory of having heard a sound, yet something had caused me to become wide awake in an instant. The first thing I saw was a muscular brown fist gripping a _jambiyah_ and poised just above my breast. I was lying on my right side, facing the fence wall, my head pillowed on my right arm. There was no time to seize a weapon, nor indeed to do anything but that which I did. Grasping the descending wrist with my left hand, I flung myself backward. The keen blade slashed my left forearm and cutting through the rug on which I had been lying, buried itself in the hard earth. The pain of the wound caused me to release my hold on the wrist of my unseen assailant, whereupon the arm and _jambiyah_ disappeared beneath the tent wall, and I heard the sound of running feet. I sprang erect, seeing red both literally and figuratively, as my cut arm was bleeding profusely. Whipping out both pistols, I dashed out of the tent, only to run plump into Sa'ik. "What's wrong?" he asked. "An assassin!" I flung at him, as I hurried around the tent with six-shooters ready for action. The thin growth of trees at that point could scarcely have concealed a man, yet there was no one in sight. Sa'ik came up, and we looked behind every tree and scanned the broad plain beyond. The result was negative. I holstered my six-shooters and we returned to the tent, where Sa'ik examined the hole cut in his rug. After copiously dressing my wounded arm with iodine taken from his medicine chest, he bound it up. "You had a close call," he said, "and the sneaking, would-be murderer was undoubtedly one of our men. Do you think you could recognize that hand and arm again?" "I'm afraid not," I replied. "The hand was brown, as are the hands of all of our men except Silat. As for the _jambiyah_, I had no time to notice its outstanding features, if indeed it had any." "What about clothing?" "There was a brown sleeve----" "Of course. Most of the men have brown _jellabas_. It is patent that there is no evidence on which we can act, as yet. But take heart. Time may reveal the culprit." "Small comfort," I muttered, "when he is sure to stab me in the back at the first opportunity." "Did I not warn you that we were on a dangerous mission--that my men were not trustworthy?" he asked. "You did," I replied, "and I spoke hastily. Guess my nerves are rather jumpy. "Don't blame you a bit. Most any one----" He was interrupted by the sudden appearance of one of the camel-men. "Two camels are missing, _Sidi_," he said, "the mounts of Humayd and Kasim." "Have they been notified?" inquired Sa'ik, springing to his feet. "They are not in their tents or anywhere in the camp," was the reply. Sa'ik's brow contracted, and he strode outside the tent without a word. Then I heard him thundering orders in his perfect Arabic: "Rouse all the men. Break camp at once." I followed him out of the tent, and saw that his orders were being carried out, but with surly looks and considerable grumbling. He turned to me with a grim smile. "You will guard our rear as before, Abdullah," he said. "We must do half of tonight's marching today, else those two traitors who have escaped will have the Turkish jackals picking our bones in short order." There came a sudden uproar from the men who were striking the tents. A knot of these suddenly gathered before one of them, and through the group came two figures, carrying the limp form of a third. Sa'ik and I hurried to the spot where Hamed the One-Eyed and the black Silat were bending over the prostrate figure of Abu Makarish. The eyes of the _Imam_ were closed, and the end of his bushy red beard was bound against his throat by the thick folds of an _aakal_ or head-rope which was tightly knotted around his neck. Hamed whipped out his _jambiyah_ and cut the knotted rope. Then he held his ear to the breast of the strangled man. Looking up in a moment, he sheathed his _jambiyah_ and said: "He is received into the mercy of Allah." "And we have an added reason to make keen our weapons against the traitors, Humayd and Kasim," said Sa'ik. "But we have no time for mourning now. If we remain here overlong we may be even as our departed comrade, Abu Makarish--may Allah grant him clemency. Make haste, men. And do you, Hamed and Silat, strip the body and pile stones over it. The dead can make no use of weapons or clothing, but they are useful to the living." Hamed and Silat remained behind to complete the work of burial, after which they were to rejoin us, for their saddle animals could easily overtake our slower and more heavily laden pack camels. As we moved away, I glanced at the prostrate form of Abu Makarish, and could have sworn that I saw his breast rising and falling as if he were breathing. But Hamed, at this moment, stepped into my line of vision, and I did not look again, putting it down as a hallucination, due to overwrought nerves. After we had covered several miles, Sa'ik temporarily placed a man at the head of the caravan, and halting his beast at one side, reviewed our line. When I had come opposite him, he rode up beside me so closely that the equipage of our two mounts rubbed together. "There is a plot--I am not sure but that there are two," he said, "to get possession of the bales. Hamed and Silat are probably in the pay of the Turks, as was Abu Makarish. The latter would have sent for a Turkish force to come and surround us, and bribed Humayd and Kasim for the purpose. These two, being loyal neither to the Ottoman throne nor the Sharif of Mecca, but _harami_, common thieves and robbers who fatten themselves on the misfortunes of both sides, strangled him, and have gone to organize a group of their fellow cutthroats to attack us. It is probable that Hamed and Silat will not return, but will hasten to the nearest Turkish garrison, believing that I suspect them. If they do return, watch them like a hawk, and shoot to kill at the first suspicion of treason. We are two against many, but with resource and valor we can win through to the lines of Feisal." 3 As we rode on through the afternoon the heat waxed and waned, but the dust and biting flies were constant and persistent tormenters. About six we halted in a dry wady for coffee, food and rest. We were lolling on the side of a hummock which overlooked the caravan, smoking our _chibuks_ and discussing our plans, when Zantut, a lean, hawk-nosed camel-driver of chocolate-brown complexion, sidled up to us, casting fearful glances behind him from time to time, as if afraid of being seen in our company. He addressed himself to Sa'ik. "I have made a discovery, _Sidi_, of tremendous importance to our cause," he said. "If thou wilt grant me a word in private----" "Speak on," admonished Sa'ik. "My lieutenant is loyal." "Six weeks ago," he said, "I was in the village of Umm al Arif, when the Turkish army marched through it. As the village had been hostile, the Ottoman dogs were given their way with the people. You, _Sidi_, would know the result. Men tortured and butchered. Women and children violated and murdered. Everywhere looting and wanton destruction. "I was armed, but my arms were useless against so many, so I hid in the ruins of a house which had burned some weeks before. No one paid any attention to the old ruins, so I was reasonably safe. "As I watched the many outrages against my people my blood boiled, and more than once I was on the point of rushing out and fighting these fiends until killed--but a voice whispered to me: 'Not yet. The time for vengeance has not arrived.' So I held my hand and remained hidden. "From my place of concealment I saw the Turkish commander with his staff, laughing and chatting as their horses stepped over the bodies of the slain. With the commander was a tall young fellow in the spiked helmet and uniform of a German officer. "While they were talking, a young woman was dragged before them. She was the youngest wife of the headman of the village. When her _yashmak_ was stripped from her face, I saw that she was beautiful. So did the German officer, who asked the Turkish commander to give her to him. He consented. "The German, who appeared to be far gone in drunkenness, got down from his horse and tossed his reins to a soldier. The Turkish commander rode on with his staff, seeking new amusements, but the German remained, talking to the girl. Presently he tried to embrace her, but she slapped his face. He cursed her and seized her by the left arm, but with her right she drew a dagger from her bosom to stab him. The dog of a _Ferringhi_ was too quick and too strong for her. Seizing her wrist with his left hand, he twisted it until she cried out in pain and the dagger clattered to the pavement. Then he called three Turkish soldiers to follow him, and dragged her into the house across the way from where I was hidden. "The army passed on, company after company, but still no one emerged from that house across the way. At times I fancied I heard shrieks from the young woman, but of this I could not be certain, as people were being killed and tortured all around me, and their cries, together with the shouts of soldiers and officers and the tramping of men and horses, made hearing difficult. Presently, when the vanguard of the army had passed, the German came out, mounted his horse, and galloped forward. Behind him came the three Turkish soldiers, laughing uproariously. "Leaving my hiding-place, I followed these three and the man who had held the German's horse. Coming up behind them, I killed three with my pistols before they realized a living enemy was behind them. The fourth dropped his rifle and surrendered. At first I was minded to shoot him on the spot, but decided to take him back and kill him in the presence of the wife of the head man if she were yet alive. Accordingly I made him march back with me to the house he had just quitted. "As soon as we entered the place I saw the girl, but not alive. With only a few bloody shreds of clothing remaining on her shapely body she was crucified against the thick wooden panels of the _Bab al Harim_. A bayonet had been driven through each of her hands and another through her feet. The handle of a fourth projected from the alabaster skin of her abdomen, and I saw that, had she lived, she had ere long born her lord a child. "Having witnessed this sight, I was so filled with rage that I would instantly have killed the Turk who cowered before me, but I remembered that there was a fifth party to this horrible crime whose name I did not know. Accordingly, I wrung from him the name of the German who was chiefly responsible for the crime, before I killed him." "What was the name?" asked Sa'ik, who had paled with anger as the story went on. "He was the man who had caused more deaths and suffering in Arabia than the most bloodthirsty of the Ottoman commanders. Speaking Arabic perfectly, and a past master in disguising himself, he breaks bread and eats salt with us, and the Turk acts on the information we innocently impart to him. He is the spy, Hans Ubers." "You have told a long and harrowing tale, Zantut, but I fear I do not catch the moral. Or was the tale merely told as a means of diversion during our hour of rest?" "There is, perhaps, no moral to the tale, _Sidi_," replied Zantut, "but in it lies a sequel and a warning. The voice of this spy took on a peculiar quavering sound when he became agitated. I noted this sound when he dragged the young woman into the house, calling the Turkish soldiers to follow him." "Yes?" "Today, when Abu Makarish was found strangled in his tent, I was standing at some distance loading my camel, yet I swear that I heard, for a moment, those same quavering tones, that identical voice, which I shall never forget. _Sidi_, I am positive that the terrible Hans Ubers is among us in disguise." "And whom do you suspect?" "No one and every one--that is with the exception of my lord and his trusted lieutenant, Abdullah. None of the men with whom we ride have I met before. At least a dozen of them could be Hans Ubers in disguise. I have watched these, and when the opportunity permitted, engaged them in conversation, but so far Allah has not seen fit to reveal my enemy to me." "And when he does?" Zantut tapped the hilt of his _jambiyah_ significantly. "You have my permission, and welcome," said Sa'ik, rising. "We must to the march now, but keep a sharp lookout, and report to me any man of whom you have the slightest suspicion." 4 At midnight we made camp in a grove of stunted trees which surrounded a pond of brackish water. While we were eating, Hamed the One-Eyed and Silat the Pock-Marked rode in on a single camel. They dismounted stiffly, and came at once to Sa'ik to report. "What means this tardiness, and where is the other beast?" thundered our leader. "The she-camel is dead," replied Hamed, "or will be ere the night has passed unless the jackals grow soft-hearted and spare her. The clumsy mother of calamities stepped into a crevice and snapped her leg, so that the splintered bone came through the skin. As the mount of Silat was thus forced to bear a double burden, our speed was cut in half; hence we are tardy." "What have you done with the trappings and saddle bags, and with the weapons and clothing of Abu Makarish?" "Fearing that we might not be able to overtake you if our beast were too heavily laden, we cached these under a pile of stones in a place where it will not be noticed from the road, planning to get them on our return." "Who told you we would return this way?" "We only surmised it, but----" "Enough! We may or may not return this way--or any other. However, I will overlook your disobedience this once. Go get your ill-earned food and rest, bunglers." Having finished our meal, we lit our _chibuks_ and smoked for some time in silence. Then Sa'ik rose, shook the ashes from his _chibuk_ and said, _sotto voce_: "I will now shatter native tradition by sleeping during the first watch. Be alert for danger from within the camp as well as from without. Our own sentries may usher an enemy in on us at any minute. Call me at dawn so that you can get your six hours before we leave. You'll need them. Good-night." "Pleasant dreams," I replied, speaking as softly as he, lest our English should be overheard. Before I had half finished my second pipe all of our men but the four doing sentry duty had retired, and the midnight stillness of the desert had settled over the camp. This silence seemed to grow more intense during the early morning hours, so that each trifling sound, the pop of an ember in the dying fire, the occasional grunt or sigh of a camel, the buzz of some night-flying insect, seemed magnified to enormous proportions. At the first hint of dawn, I rekindled the fire before our tent in order that I might prepare my breakfast of dates cooked in clarified butter. The mimosa branches we had gathered for fuel were none too dry, so I bent over and blew on them to make them blaze up. My patience was presently rewarded by a tongue of flame, then several others, and the fire crackled merrily, lighting up my surroundings for several feet. I was about to straighten up when suddenly, from the darkness at my left, I saw the flash and heard the crack of a rifle. A bullet cut through the back of my head-cloth, barely grazing my neck. Acting more through instinct than reason, I toppled forward and slightly to one side, to avoid the fire that had made me an easy mark for my unseen enemy, and lay perfectly still. Another shot sang out, then two more in quick succession, but no bullet struck near me. Evidently my assailant had drawn the fire of one of our sentries and had replied. This was my cue to get out of the circle of firelight, which I accomplished by rolling over and over on the ground. When I arose the camp was in an uproar. Sa'ik came rushing out of the tent, rifle in hand, and close behind me pressed Silat and several others, similarly armed, followed a moment later by Hamed the One-Eyed. I drew my pistols, and we deployed in the direction from which the bullet had come. The enemy, we soon learned, had disappeared, much to the mystification of the two sentries, who had rushed at him from opposite directions. The one who had been nearest him, and with whom he had exchanged shots, averred that he must be a _jinni_, and swore that he had melted into the ground before his eyes. "The dawn is not far off," said Sa'ik. "We shall then see what manner of tracks a _jinni_ leaves in the sand." By the time I had my breakfast cooked and eaten it was light enough to see quite distinctly. Sa'ik and I accordingly went to look for the spoor of my assailant. The record written in the sand was plain enough. He had come from among the tents, circled our end of the camp, and squatted on the ground until I had made my fire sufficiently bright for him to sight his rifle without much fear of missing. After firing his second shot to check the attack of the sentry, he had evidently swung his rifle across his back, dropped on all fours, scuttled around behind our tent, and joined the men who came up behind me with their rifles. We were most mystified, however, by the size of his tracks. They were at least two inches longer than those of the giant Silat, and an inch wider. This mystery was partly solved by Sa'ik a short time after, as he was preparing his breakfast. I was about to enter the tent, preparatory to retiring, when he signed to me to come over by the fire which I had kindled some time before. He pointed to a crescent-shaped object which he had raked from the embers with a stick. It was the charred tip of an enormous shoe. "Your would-be assassin is a clever fellow," he said. "First he uses huge boots to disguise his tracks. Then he burns them in your own fire, that no evidence may be found upon him." "And persistent," I replied. "Having failed with the dagger, he tries a bullet. What next?" Sa'ik shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows? The _aakal_, perhaps. But get your needed rest. There is no fear of his attacking you in daylight while I watch the tent." I did--about half of it, I should judge. Then my slumbers were rudely interrupted by several loud shouts and much excited talking outside. Hastily arising, I hurried to the scene of excitement, which was near the center of the camp, only to find a scene quite similar to the one which I had witnessed some twenty-odd hours before. But this time it was Zantut, the sworn enemy of Hans Ubers, who had met death at the hands of the strangler. At sight of his protruding, blue-white tongue, and staring, glassy eyes, I turned away sickened with horror, smitten with the realization that a similar fate might overtake me before another twenty-four hours had passed. 5 Scarcely had we resumed our march when a cry rang out from the front of the line: "Back to the water-hole! We are surrounded by Turks!" For the next few moments all was panic. Loads were dashed against trees, several girths were bursted and riders unseated. Once more Hamed the One-Eyed proved himself a most able lieutenant. Having made his own camel kneel in the shallow basin which skirted the brackish pond, he dismounted and darted here and there among the men, tugging at lead-ropes, dragging in fallen pack-saddles, and calling words of help and encouragement to his companions. It was due to his efforts that we had every camel out of sight and our men posted at intervals around the rim of the basin with their rifles ready, before the first enemy bullets began singing among the trees. The Turks charged, and from my position on the basin's rim I could see that they numbered about a hundred horse, and fifty mounted on dromedaries. For a few moments we had the advantage, shooting them down as they charged across the open desert. The advantage swung to their side, however, as soon as they dismounted and charged us among the trees, for they had outnumbered us more than five to one at the outset, and we had not been able to pot more than two dozen of them during the charge. The hand-to-hand fighting that followed was furious and bloody. Discarding my rifle, I fired my two Colts until they were empty, then resorted to my simitar. Although I can use a saber fairly well, the extreme curve of the blade of the weapon with which Sa'ik had armed me was confusing, and my first close antagonist succeeded in getting past my guard with a deflected head-cut which sheared through my _aakal_ and head-cloth, and parted my hair and scalp. Momentarily dazed by the blow, and confused by the blood which ran down in my eyes, I firmly believed that moment would have been my last had it not been for Silat. The giant negro, swinging his two double-curved _yatagans_ with terrible effect, happened to be at my side and noticed my plight. With a quick side-sweep of the weapon in his left hand he dealt my adversary a neck-cut that draped him over the edge of the basin, lifeless. Weakened by my wound and the loss of blood, I tottered drunkenly for a moment, wiping the blood from my eyes with the sleeve of my _jellaba_. For the first time I noticed that Sa'ik had gone from my side, nor could I see him anywhere in the basin, either among the living or among the dead. A Turk struck at me with his clubbed rifle. I evaded him, and cut him down. We were reduced to five men now, completely surrounded by enemies who dared not shoot for fear of killing each other, but who were sure to slaughter us in the end if only by sheer force of numbers. Suddenly I saw Sa'ik. He was standing beside a gorgeously uniformed Turkish officer, and watching the affray. He said something to the officer, who smiled. Then he shouted to us: "Surrender, you fools, as I have done. You can not hope to win, and the bales and camels are already taken." "May the sun pour no blessing upon you, O traitor," responded Hamed the One-Eyed, stabbing a Turk in the throat. "We prefer to die fighting like true Banu Asadin--sons of the lion in valor as well as in name." "On your head and eyes be it," replied Sa'ik, shrugging his shoulders and turning again to the Turkish officer. Another man went down, then another, and we were reduced to three--Hamed, Silat and myself. While we fought off a dozen Turks the rest were engaged in looting our caravan and complacently cutting the throats and stripping the corpses of our fallen comrades. [Illustration: "_Another man went down, then another._"] Having given up all hope of life, I had succeeded in banishing fear. My sole sensation was one of terrific, overpowering anger at the menacing, cutting, thrusting forms that confronted me, and I remember that I cursed them--ripping out Arabic abuse and American oaths alternately. Hamed the One-Eyed laughed as he fought, but Silat the Demon, twisting his thick blubber lips into horrible sneers, bragged of his own prowess and taunted his adversaries, calling them women and weaklings. The swing of a clubbed rifle caught me on the thigh and I went down, still conscious, but unable to rise. Expecting my quietus at any moment, I lay there with the huge, sneering Silat standing over me, still taunting his foes, still cutting them down; while Hamed, standing back to back with him, continued to laugh and to wield simitar and _jambiyah_. As all gunfire had ceased I was amazed to suddenly hear a terrific volley--then a shout: "The Arabs are upon us! A thousand Arabs are charging! To cover! To cover!" "_Allaho akbar!_" cried Silat. "Allah is almighty!" "_Alhamdolillah!_" responded Hamed. "Praise be to Allah, Lord of the Three Worlds!" * * * * * The thunder of thousands of hoofs mingled with the crackling of rifles, the whining of bullets, the shouts of the living and shrieks of the dying. The Turks who had menaced my two remaining companions suddenly turned and fled, followed by the terrible and insatiable Silat. Hamed the One-Eyed stood and laughed at him for a moment; then he wiped his bloody simitar on the clothing of a fallen Turk, sheathed it with a flourish, and dragged me down to the water's edge. I bathed my face and drank from my cupped hands, and he bound my head. The leg, he assured me after examination, was not broken but only temporarily paralyzed by the blow, and he advised me to attempt to stand on it. Despite the fact that it was painful, the result was gratifying. The Turks, although not as hopelessly outnumbered as we had been, surrendered after less than five minutes of fighting. While they were being disarmed and herded together outside the oasis, a huge fellow with a fiery red beard came shouldering through the crowd toward us. With a gasp of astonishment I recognized Abu Makarish, whom I had thought dead and buried. He embraced each of us in turn, calling down the peace and blessing of Allah, and I noticed that his breath smelt, if possible, more strongly of _fazikh_ than on the day I had first met him. "_Bismillab!_" he exclaimed to Hamed. "I could recite the Fatihah forward and backward for joy of finding you alive, _Sidi_." I was astounded. "_Sidi_," the equivalent of "My Lord," or "Master," was a new designation for the ragged old monocular. Before I could recover from my astonishment, Silat came up, accompanied by a small, wizened man with piercing black eyes, a thin mustache, and a scanty black beard. Behind them came two Badawin whom I recognized as Humayd and Kasim, our two deserters, dragging Sa'ik, whose hands were bound behind his back. "We have captured the pestilent malefactor alive, _Sidi_," said Silat, bowing before Hamed. "Will you slay this ignoble strangler of true believers, or may I have the honor and pleasure?" Ignoring the question of Silat, Hamed turned to the little man who had come up with him. "You are the Sharif Ali ben Suwayd, headman of the village of Umm al Arif, are you not?" he asked. The little man answered in the affirmative. "When I sent Humayd and Kasim to you for aid, and later Abu Makarish, it was with the promise that I would wreak vengeance on a certain dog who violated your _harim_ and tortured and slew your wife and unborn child." "Yes, by Allah! Where is the spawn of a disease, the _kafir_ who masquerades as a true believer and slays women and children? By the life of my head and the tombs of my forefathers, I will strike off his head and hang his skull over the gate of our village, as a warning to whoso will be warned." "There he stands," said Hamed, pointing to Sa'ik, whose features instantly paled beneath their coat of tan. "Don't you know me yet, Hans Ubers, the German, alias Reginald Graves, the Englishman, alias Sa'ik, the Arab? Don't you recognize me--the real Sa'ik, whose name and papers you stole that you might seize the weapons consigned to Feisal?" He tipped the patch from his eye, and it was plain that it had merely served as a disguise. Then he stood erect, shoulders no longer drooping, tall and straight as a young pine. "You thought you had me permanently cornered in the cave in the Wady al Ward, when you left two men to guard me and made off with my camel and saddle bags. But the old fox outwitted them--the thunderbolt struck them, and their bodies went to feed the jackals. My disguise fooled you when I went to you for employment, even as your disguise deceived the others, all save Humayd, Kasim, Silat, Abu Makarish, whom you thought you had strangled to death, and me. It amused me to let you perform the work which I had intended doing myself--to watch you, and to thwart you." He towered above the prisoner, looking down at him with a disdainful smile. Then he suddenly reached out and swept off the pseudo Sa'ik's head-cloth. With it there went a black wig which revealed a shock of bristling, closely cropped blond hair. The heavy beard did not come off so easily, but it came, disclosing skin of a much lighter shade than that which was artificially tanned above it. "_Gott in Himmel!_ Don't give me to this murderer! Take me back to Jidda, a prisoner of war!" The tones were high-pitched--quavering. "How cooling is this to my heart and liver," said the Sharif, drawing his simitar. "O, mad dog and mangy wolf, know that your end is at hand." "A moment, _Sidi_." The hand of the real Sa'ik fell on the upraised arm of the Sharif. "How goodly is the saying: 'Haste is often the father of regret.'" "What foolery is this?" demanded the Sharif, his eyes flashing. "Is this filth out of _Ferringhistan_ then to be spared?" "_I_ promised to wreak vengeance, _Sidi_," replied Sa'ik, calmly. "The word of Sa'ik is his bond." "Allah grant me the power of patience," muttered the bereaved man, sheathing his simitar. "Take the prisoner into my tent, and guard him well," ordered Sa'ik. Then he waved his hand to Silat and Abu Makarish, who immediately caused two heavily loaded pack camels to rise, and led them away. "Come to my tent for pipes and coffee, _Sidi_," invited Sa'ik, "and you too, Abdullah _Effendi_." We sat in silence on a magnificent camel's hair Hamadan before the tent of our host, while he kindled a fire and prepared coffee. Presently he passed us live coals for our _chibuks_, and later served the beverage, thick, black and very hot. As out of a clear sky, Sa'ik suddenly addressed me. "I praise Allah, to whom belong might and majesty, who caused me to miss you with both knife and bullet--for I seldom miss. I took you for a Turk in disguise, and the confidant of Hans Ubers, until I saw you fight and heard you curse in American today. Then I knew you must be loyal to our cause." "Allah is all-seeing and all-knowing," I replied. We sat in silence for some time. Presently Abu Makarish came up, combing his red beard with his fingers and looking highly pleased about something. "All is in readiness, _Sidi_," he said, addressing Sa'ik. The latter arose and said: "I ask your indulgence for but a few moments. I have a trifling duty to perform. I will return shortly." He went out, but Abu Makarish remained. The stillness was suddenly rent by a single, piercing shriek of agony--quavering--blood-curdling--unearthly. Then, above the gasps of wonder and exclamations of horror from the assembled men, there rose the clear, sing-song tones of the red-bearded _imam_: "_Alhamdolillah!_ Praise be to Allah, Lord of the Three Worlds! The Thunderer has thundered! The Striker has struck! 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