"WHEN NEXT I AWOKE EDWARDS WAS SITTING BY MY SIDE."
"If this is a dream, George," I remarked, "it is the most beastly nightmare that I have ever assisted at."
"It is no dream, old chap," he said. "It is a stern reality. Thank goodness that it is over."
"What has been going on, then?" I asked.
"I have just been hearing about it from our sick friend here," said Edwards. "Unbeknown to him, his pals planned a rescue, and it seems that they had been watching us for days. They managed to bring away all three of the supposed horse-thieves, as well as their three horses and two others, so they did pretty well."
"Why did they bother to bring us?" I asked.
"They have apologised most humbly," said Edwards, "but they say that it was absolutely necessary that Ali Khan should be induced to believe that we had assisted in the escape of the prisoners."
"Rather rough," said I, "that we should be made the scape-goats, considering all the trouble you took about the sick man. Nice sort of Englishmen old Ali Khan will think us, eating of his salt and accepting his hospitality, and then assisting to rob him of his lawful prisoners and his horses."
"I know," said Edwards; "but we will look up Ali Khan some day, and set matters right. How are you feeling after that awful jolting?"
"Limp," I answered, "disgustingly limp. Were you also trussed up on the side of a camel?"
"Much like yourself," said he. "I was on the same beast as yourself—only that mountain of a hump between us. But I did not discover it until I was taken down. I expect we shall be stiff for days."
Then we talked over all that had occurred, and I found that our experiences had been very similar, except that our kidnappers very nearly did for Edwards by keeping the cloth too tight over his face while they were tying him up. In fact, he had no recollection of anything until he felt the cold air rushing across his face, as the camel bore him along. We congratulated each other on having weathered the tempestuous voyage, and we actually laughed over it—so ludicrous did it seem, now that it was all over. According to what Edwards had heard from the men, we must have come sixty or seventy miles straight on end, as they were afraid of being followed; and how our sick man had survived the journey we could not understand. There did not, however, seem to be much the matter with him, and while we were talking he appeared on the scene, bringing us some food.
"We were just wondering, Daud," said Edwards, addressing him, "why you are alive. Surely you must be feeling ill after the long ride."
"Lord," answered the Bedouin, "it is good to be once more free in the desert. It was the confinement that was killing me."
Naturally anxious to find out what was in store for us, we set to work to cross-question our friend, while we ate the food which he had brought. We learned that he and his two fellow-prisoners knew nothing of the proposed rescue until it was an accomplished fact. Their rescuers had never been able to communicate with them, although they had entered the camp on more than one night, and had discovered how everything was situated. Then they formed their plan, which was certainly a bold one. Originally, the party had consisted of no more than six men, but not daring to attempt the rescue with so few, the chief went off and secured the services of ten of his kinsmen; and to each of the sixteen was allotted a separate task. That they were all men to be trusted to carry through a desperate enterprise the chief knew well; for he was aware that if the courage of one man failed, the plan would be wrecked. He himself and three others were to remain at some distance from the camp, in charge of two camels and the horses of the party; five men were to capture the horses; three to release the two prisoners from their holes in the ground; and four to carry off ourselves and the man lying sick in our tent. Nothing was left to chance; each man knew exactly where he had to go, and each had sworn that if he were detected in the act of performing his part, he would do all in his power to induce his captors to believe that he was a thief who had entered the camp alone. Everything worked without a hitch, and our friend was delighted at the brilliant success.
"I am sorry," he said, as he concluded his story, "that it should have been necessary to put you, my two kind friends, to so much discomfort, but you may be sure that I will ever look after your welfare, and when you shall have accomplished that for which the chief brought you away, then you shall take your horses, and we will see you to within a safe distance of Baghdad."
"I thought," said Edwards, "that you said that we were carried off, so that Ali Khan might be deceived about your rescue."
"That was so," replied the Arab, "and that was what the chief of the party at first told me. He has since given me a second reason; but he will come presently to pay his respects to you, and will then explain everything."
It was not long before the promised visit was paid, and our visitor, who was accompanied by nearly all the members of the party, delighted us by his urbanity—if such a term can be used of a real child of the desert. He was frank and open in his speech, and he told us that he and his men felt greatly honoured by having us with them; that he hoped that we had not suffered much bodily pain by our long ride; and that we would not want for anything while we remained their guests. Then he shook each of us warmly by the hand; smiled on us; and, before we realised that he had told us nothing, walked away. We were on the point of calling after him to stay and explain matters, when Daud, our sick man, whispered to us to have patience; the chief, he said, could not speak fully before all his men, but he would return later, when the camp had settled down for the night.
So we possessed our souls in patience, and spent the remaining hour or so of daylight in making ourselves comfortable in the little wigwam that had been erected for us. Soon after dark, Daud returned with the chief, who brought with him his long pipe, whereby we knew that the sitting was to be of considerable duration. His conversation was delightful, and he discussed nearly everything under the sun; but, to our intense annoyance, kept away from the only topic which for the time being was of interest to us. He recounted deeds of personal valour, and told us of his many encounters with the Aeniza; he dilated on the pleasures of Baghdad; and described the fanaticism of the pilgrims who visit the Holy Shrine at Kerbela each year; and I verily believe that he would have left us in ignorance of the future, had I not summoned up courage to put a direct question to him.
"Tell us now, sheik," I said, "how we can be of service to you. We are willing to assist you in any way that we can, but my friend is eager to return to his duties at Baghdad as soon as it shall be convenient to you."
"Dear me," said he, "I had almost forgotten the object of my visit, so pleasant have I found your company. But now that you have recalled me to myself, we will discuss business."
Long and earnestly did he then speak, and he gave us a full explanation for his having carried us off from Ali Khan's camp. There were three reasons. The first was, as Daud had told us, in order to deceive Ali Khan, and so prevent him from having a cause of everlasting feud with the Shammar tribesmen. As matters stood, it was his hope that Ali Khan would think that Edwards and I had released the three prisoners, and had assisted in the theft of the five horses, for them and ourselves to ride. The second reason was that the sheik knew that Daud was ill and might require the attention of a doctor; he knew that one of us was a doctor, but being uncertain which, had thought it advisable to bring both of us. But the third reason was the most important, and doubtless the real cause of our having been kidnapped.
"From my friend Daud," continued the sheik, "I have learned much information concerning you. From him also you have learned many things, and you know of your mysterious fellow-countryman, as well as of his evil deeds. You know also of the gold belt which he has with him, and for which he promised to pay 5000 kerans. But of more recent events neither you nor Daud have heard."
Then he related how he and his men had come to know that the "ill-born Ingleezee," as he styled him, had taken refuge with two Jews who lived in a hovel close to the Birs Nimroud—the reputed Tower of Babel, a few miles from Hillah. These Jews had always been firm friends of the Shammar, and had helped them out of many difficulties, and for that reason they felt bound to respect the person of the man who had become the dakhil, or protected guest, of the Jews. They were thus cheated of their revenge, and the blood feud was at an end. Yet, there was now a hope that the Ingleezee, who was very ill, would be induced to pay them the money for the belt; in fact, he had told the Jews that he would do so, if he should recover sufficiently to reach Baghdad. The long and the short of it was that Edwards was to go and treat the man, so that the Shammar might get their 5000 kerans. We were, we were told, barely twenty-five miles from the spot, and it was proposed that we should rest the next day, starting on the journey at nightfall. We willingly agreed to undertake the work, for we were naturally inquisitive as to the strange individual of whom we had heard such queer tales. Moreover, I saw before me a chance of striking a bargain for the Golden Girdle. I was prepared to pay the Shammar what had been promised, and to give the mysterious foreigner something for himself in addition. I built palatial castles in the air, and continued to build them until long after our host had brought his visit to a close. The Serpent Belt of Sophana lay within measurable distance of my grasp. Two days hence it might be actually mine. Before the week had ended, Edwards and I might be back in Baghdad, when a wire to my uncle announcing my success would make the name of Walter Henderson famous, if not in the world, at any rate in the British Museum. My mother had often told me how, when I was quite a small boy, she had been present, at the Albert Hall, at the reception given to the great Stanley, on his return from the Emin Pasha expedition; and how the Prince of Wales and all London were there to do him honour. I trembled to think what was in store for me. Would I also have to face tier above tier of London society? Would I have to deliver an address, and relate all my experiences? Undoubtedly all these things would happen, and more besides. I should, of course, be commanded to a private audience of the King at Buckingham Palace, so that he might inspect the Girdle, before others had seen it. Then I thought of the endless dinners of various learned societies in London, whereat I should be the guest of the evening. I began to wonder if I could stand it all; or if it would not be better to seek the post of commander-in-chief to Ali Khan, when he should be reinstated at Adiba.
So I dreamed on far into the night, and the sleep that followed was unbroken for many hours of the following day.
At dusk we prepared for our new journey, and our friend Daud himself brought us our horses, smiling as he told us that the chief presented them to us. I was given the horse that I had ridden to the ruins of Katib with Faris, while Faris's own horse was bestowed on Edwards.
"Little did you think," remarked Daud to me, "that you would ever ride this horse again."
"We never know," said I, "what is written in our fate."
"True," said he; "Allah alone knows."
