“I should say he was an Englishman, about my own age,” replied Baynes; “though he might be older. He is remarkably muscled, and exceedingly tanned.”
“His eyes and hair, did you notice them?” Bwana spoke rapidly, almost excitedly. It was Meriem who answered him.
“Korak’s hair is black and his eyes are gray,” she said.
Bwana turned to his headman.
“Take Miss Meriem and Mr. Baynes home,” he said. “I am going into the jungle.”
“Let me go with you, Bwana,” cried Meriem. “You are going to search for Korak. Let me go, too.”
Bwana turned sadly but firmly upon the girl.
“Your place,” he said, “is beside the man you love.”
Then he motioned to his head-man to take his horse and commence the return journey to the farm. Meriem slowly mounted the tired Arab that had brought her from the village of The Sheik. A litter was rigged for the now feverish Baynes, and the little cavalcade was soon slowly winding off along the river trail.
Bwana stood watching them until they were out of sight. Not once had Meriem turned her eyes backward. She rode with bowed head and drooping shoulders. Bwana sighed. He loved the little Arab girl as he might have loved an own daughter. He realized that Baynes had redeemed himself, and so he could interpose no objections now if Meriem really loved the man; but, somehow, some way, Bwana could not convince himself that the Hon. Morison was worthy of his little Meriem. Slowly he turned toward a nearby tree. Leaping upward he caught a lower branch and drew himself up among the branches. His movements were cat-like and agile. High into the trees he made his way and there commenced to divest himself of his clothing. From the game bag slung across one shoulder he drew a long strip of doe-skin, a neatly coiled rope, and a wicked looking knife. The doe-skin, he fashioned into a loin cloth, the rope he looped over one shoulder, and the knife he thrust into the belt formed by his gee string.