Read Ebook: The Pursuit by Savile Frank Frank Mackenzie Pfeifer Herman Illustrator

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Ebook has 1569 lines and 54687 words, and 32 pages

Rattier stood for an instant motionless. Then he turned and darted for the door.

Before his fingers reached the handle Aylmer's grip was on his shoulder. With a passionate gesture of repulse the commandant shook him off.

As the two wrestled and argued on the threshold, the door opened from the outside. The massive proportions of the sergeant towered over them in respectful amazement. He saluted and deferentially edged a way for himself towards D'Hubert.

"The general was in the act of passing, my Major," he explained. "He read your note and wrote his answer on the back in five words--he was amiable enough to inform me."

The major untwisted the little roll of soiled paper and as he inspected it a smile creased his cheek. He chuckled.

"A half troop of Goumiers!" he read. He looked at the frowning face of the commandant.

"No need to go alone, my Paul. There is your escort." He hesitated a moment, debating. "Do either of you, by chance, speak Arabic?"

The major grinned.

Perinaud saluted with entire imperturbability.

"And my instructions, my Major?" he asked.

"To return with the prisoners which Commandant Rattier will indicate to you, or, failing their capture, within twenty-four hours."

Under the command of one of their own native officers, forty horsemen of the famous Algerian yeomanry had reined up in the dusty street. They sat in their high peaked saddles, watching keenly the faces of D'Hubert and his companions. Aylmer noted the eager, alert expectation which filled each flashing brown eye. The Goumier, though he has proved his valor in more than one pitched battle against the men of his own blood, is not a man of war as we understand it. Manoeuvring, tactics, the orderliness of drill and discipline are not inherent in his nature. But the raid, the foray, the looting expedition are to him the apex and apogee of human bliss. Thin, modest of stomach and worldly possessions, he passes over the quickly reached horizon of the desert and is forgotten of the well-drilled colleagues he leaves behind. But see his return! Swelling with good victuals, jingling with caparison of desert wealth, with chicken and kid pendent from his saddle-bow, who more popular than he? The savory incense of his mess attracts all nostrils; his lavishly scattered loot widens the already capacious circle of his friends. Winning it, or wasting it when won, loot is the pivot on which his reckless, joyous, heedless existence swings.

Rising from the rear as a cathedral tower rises above the encircling dwellings at its base, Perinaud's head and shoulders topped the ranks. His amiable smile, this time, had about it something of more than ordinary deference. It was the near kin of a smirk, and his yellow moustache was twisted fiercely upwards. Aylmer followed the direction of his glance to find it focussed upon Claire Van Arlen.

Her eyes met his. She made him a little gesture, half of appeal, as it seemed, half of command.

As he covered the few yards which separated them, he noted, with a queer tightening of the heart, the deep shadows which had grown beneath her eyes. But at the same time it was not all anxiety or weariness which her face expressed. There was determination also. And this was reflected in Mr. Van Arlen's glance. It dwelled upon Aylmer with expectancy and more than expectancy,--with hope.

Without preamble he answered the question which their eyes had asked. They heard him in silence to the end, and as he finished, the girl's first comment was no more than a little sigh.

"The sergeant's surmise is right; my instinct tells me that," said Aylmer. "A few hours--and I shall be putting the child in your arms again."

She looked up at the double rank of horsemen. A sudden vivid flash of feeling passed over her features. Her breath came with a little pant.

"Ah, if I could ride with you!" she said fiercely. "If I could do more than wait!"

The color mounted to her cheeks, to her brow. A new note sounded in her voice.

"If they show fight--these men? If, rather than lose the child, he"--her voice sank unsteadily for a moment--"does him an injury? You would not spare him?"

He smiled a little wearily.

"So you distrust me still?" he asked. "Why should I spare him? Because, to my shame, we are of one blood?"

Mr. Van Arlen's thin hand rose in deprecation.

"We can leave this matter confidently in Captain Aylmer's hands," he said. "We have only the one thing to think of--the child."

"No!" she cried vehemently. "I want the child, but I want more than that. I want retribution. I want Landon in the dust. I want him made to feel, as I feel. The child is much, but he is not all. Have you forgotten the last eight years of my sister's life? Do you remember what she has undergone and still has to undergo if the father of her son wins this trick, as my heart tells me he will win it? I want vengeance. I want every chance to grasp it seized. I should not hesitate, where his kinsman might."

Aylmer nodded gravely.

"I understand," he said quietly. "Perhaps it is natural. But you keep forgetting the one thing--that I work for my own reward. Even pity would be a frail barrier between me and that."

Watching her keenly, he saw a quiver of repulsion tremble about her lips, but it did not stay. She set them rather into grimness. She looked at him keenly, debatingly, indeed, as if she weighed his words and sought to set a value on them.

"Yes," she said, and there was a breathlessness in her tone as if she slurred words which she did not dare to let herself hear. "I, too, understand. And my father would consider no price too high for the service which won back his grandchild, and removed the menace of Landon's existence from our lives."

Van Arlen bowed unconsciously--his courteous, instinctive inclination of assent.

"Such a service would be beyond price or reward," he said quietly. "We could only do our best."

But there was a queerly puzzled look in his eyes as they wandered from Aylmer to his daughter's face. He frowned a little, still unconsciously, in the throes of an obvious bewilderment.

Aylmer looked at him once, swiftly, speculatively, and then turned steadily towards Claire.

"And you?" he asked quietly.

She did not flinch; she did not even show, this time, any sign of repulsion. The note in her voice now was exasperation, the nervous defiance of one confronting an intolerable situation from which there was no escape.

"I? I should think as my father thinks," she said coolly. She turned as she spoke and looked impatiently at the line of waiting horsemen.

Aylmer nodded.

"Thank you," he said briskly. He made a sign towards Perinaud, who jogged forward leading the spare horse whose bridle he had been holding. Aylmer vaulted into the saddle, and reined in beside his friend Rattier, who, using the pommel for a desk, was writing a few lines of instruction to his lieutenant. A guttural order rumbled from the native officer's lips.

The line of horsemen wheeled and deployed into lines of four. With a jingle of accoutrements, they jogged off into the dust of the allies towards the eastern gate.

THE AMBUSH OF THE BROOM

"The wells of El Djebir, Monsieur," explained Sergeant Perinaud. "It is here we should find our men, if they are proceeding by the shortest route to their hills. If not--" He shrugged his shoulders significantly.

The horses were roused from their gentle amble into a gallop. The dust rose from fourscore hoofs as the Goumiers raced down in an enveloping cloud upon the cluster of palms and thicket of broom scrub which surrounded the watering-place. They pulled their horses upon their haunches; they shouted in hoarse disappointment. The shadowed resting-place beneath the palms was empty. Not a living soul was in sight.

Perinaud shrugged his shoulders again.

"This is very conclusive, Monsieur. The party we seek has thought fit to leave the open road and to bury themselves in the recesses of the jungle and the northern gorges of the river. They did not do that without a reason. It remains to follow, if we can."

"So Monsieur thought fit to leave me--me!" expostulated Daoud, as he drew rein at Aylmer's side. "I, I who address you, am told by the chance gossip of the S?k that this expedition has set out without a word of warning, to seek bandits--where?" He threw abroad his arms in derision. "On the broad and open road, within sound, nay, almost within sight, of the patrols of Casablanca. I ask, is it here that knaves are likely to hide their knavery? Your venture and its object are already the pivot on which the laughter of the market-place swings."

He turned and pointed vehemently towards the north.

"Has none of your trained spies had the wit or the courage to tell you that a hundred of these Beni M'Geel Berbers have encamped in the thickets of the Bou Gherba gorge this ten days back? And yet the market-place knows it, as it knows a hundred things beneath your concern."

Perinaud looked the Moor up and down. Then he turned leisurely towards Aylmer.

"He is a safe man, this?" he asked. "You guarantee him?"

Aylmer smiled, and shrugged his shoulders towards the waiting Goumiers.

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