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Read Ebook: Sarah of the Sahara: A Romance of Nomads Land by Chappell George S George Shepard
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Ebook has 406 lines and 24836 words, and 9 pages
"Leagues have I ridden, I and my faithful follower, tracing the flight of birds, yea, even of the swift-skimming whiffle-hens, which ever drew nearer to their home even as my falcon-heart drew nearer to its nest, the tent of the most beautiful."
I glanced at Lady Sarah who never batted an eye though one lovely lid drooped ever so slightly. Continuing I said, in part.
"And now, the journey done, I am a-weary and would fain repose myself in the light of the gazelle's eyes. My charger rests neath the nodding fig-tree and my soul is parched and a-thirst."
This was a craftily contrived bit. Wimpole gaped through most of it but got the final word.
"Thirst" ... he cried. "Gad, I should say so. Me too. Jolly good idea."
A moment later, her ladyship having retired, Wimpole, Whinney and I raised tall beakers of superb Scotch to my heartfelt toast, "the loveliest lady in the world."
Would she hear me? I wondered. A husky voice from behind the curtain answered my hope:
"Lads, pass one in to me."
Effendi-Bazam was an undersized ottoman, hardly higher than a foot-stool. He was thoroughly desert-broken but as timorous as a hare.
"Great danger!" he cried, pointing northward when the hunting expedition was proposed. "Great danger."
"Danger from what ... the lions?" I asked.
He shook his head and I saw a convulsive swallow traverse the length of his triplicate chins. Then he motioned me aside, out of ear-shot of the others.
"Not lions," he whispered, "but worse ... a madder, wilder beast. O, listen, I pray, important Sheik el-Dhub, listen and heed. We are in the land of Azad,--Azad the Terrible. In yonder defiles he lurks and who so ventures therein is defiled."
I should mention in passing that there was no suspicion of a pun in Effendi's original statement which was delivered in the Astrachan dialect: the horrid thing is unavoidable in an honest translation.
He lay grovelling at my feet.
"Rise, Effendi," I ordered. "Due caution will be exercised."
Without understanding my words he departed, comforted.
Azad! small wonder that at the mention of his name my face had assumed its sternest, cruellest expression, for it is a name which is almost unspeakable in the mouth of any self-respecting desert denizen. In every story of the desert which I have studied there is one Sheik who is described as the cruellest man in the world. To put the matter arithmetically, these men added together equal one-half of Azad. That is how wicked he was.
From that time the name of Azad became a synonym for unbridled license. Many a time I have heard the fishermen along the Moroccan coast say, as the thunder rolled among the coast-ranges. "Aha; there is old Azad, laughing at the law!"
If we were near Azad we were near violence, that was certain, but you may be sure I said nothing of this to the others since there was naught to be gained by alarming them. I had another and better plan. I must divert them from their proposed expedition into the hills.
About four in the afternoon when the sun was beginning to lose its violence the horses were saddled and the gun-bearers gathered under the palm trees, Effendi meanwhile becoming more and more anxious.
"Milady," I said, addressing Lady Sarah who had just come out of her dressing tent, "have you ever hunted desert lions before?"
"Only yesterday," she replied, "but we'd no luck. Not so much as a whisker did we see."
"We didn't go far enough," put in Lord Wimpole. "Effendi stuck about the edges of the hills."
"Curious ..." I mused, "that you saw no lions ... for there are plenty of them there ... and yet...."
"Wot are you drivin' at?" blustered Wimpole. "Wouldn't we of seen 'em if they'd been there?"
This was just what I wanted.
Both Lord and Lady Wimpole were instantly intrigued.
"What ho?" they cried simultaneously.
"Here is the idea," I explained. "Over there is typical lion country, nothing there but sand and lions. But you can't see them; nature takes care of that, you know, protective coloration. Tawny, yellowish beasts--they're invisible at ten feet. But they can be caught. How many camels have you?"
"Twenty-two" supplied Effendi.
"Good. Take all the nets that go over their loads and fasten them together. Quick."
"Do as the Sheik says," said Lord Wimpole.
"She starts ... she moves!" shouted Whinney.
Once in motion, the sand spun rapidly through the meshes until it was reduced to a small mass in the center of which I could detect two vague, but furiously revolving forms ... lions!
"Spearmen, ready!" I commanded, for it does not do to be unprepared.
Lord Wimpole, express-rifle in hand, was apoplectic with excitement.
"Do we shoot 'em?" he cried.
"No ... no!" I motioned him back. "They will kill each other."
Sure enough, after a few moments' fearful clawing and growling the fierce struggle amid the strong meshes quieted down. Two precautionary shots into the net, and the battle was over. At our feet lay the mangled remains of two tawny lions, exactly matching the shade of the surrounding sand.
"For milady's boudoir." I said quietly. "In my own country we do it with a sieve; it is much simpler."
"'Straordinary!" said Lady Wimpole giving me a meaning look from her brilliant eyes, and we made our way back toward the camp voting the affair a complete success.
We dined in state in the Wimpoles' dining-tent. It was a lucullan repast of European delicacies varied with African dishes superbly cooked by a French chef; hors d'oeuvres, a delicious thin soup, audad steak and Egyptian quail succeeded each other, each course being marked by its appropriate wine from sherry through the whites and reds to cognac.
"Couldn't bring any champagne"; apologized Lord Wimpole through a mouthful of quail, "tried to but it blew up. No ice in the dam' desert?"
Lady Sarah looked on coldly as her husband passed through the familiar phrases of garrulity, incoherence and speechlessness. She rose disdainfully just as his lordship slipped heavily from his camp chair. "May I speak to your ladyship a moment ... alone." I murmured.
She nodded.
"Effendi, remove his lordship."
I followed her out under the cool stars, whispering to Whinney as I passed, "Get the horses ready, we must away."
At the edge of the oasis Lady Sarah paused and faced me. We were alone--at last! Overhead a million eyes looked down from the twinkling gallery of heaven; far to the west a gibbous moon shone palely; night enveloped us--in fact it was going on midnight. Clearing my throat I began.
"O woman, strange and mysterious, lamp of my life, it is not for me to rend the veil of thy secrecy, but my soul is eager in its questioning and my heart cries for an answer. Tell me, if thou so will'st, why did'st thou fly from thy nest when thou had'st made tryst with me at the police-station?"
To my delight she caught the elevation of my style at once and replied unhesitatingly.
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