In the grip of the Mullah: A tale of adventure in Somaliland

by F. S. Brereton

"Hu-s-s-sh! Keep your eyes open," came his father's voice at that moment in warning tones, while his hand gripped Jim by the arm, and steadily, and with every caution, pushed it in a direction which pointed to a spot across the street and slightly to the left. Instantly Jim's eyes turned to the place, and peering into the darkness, he quickly became aware of the fact that a stealthy figure was moving there.

"Was it the sentry who had suddenly discovered the absence of his comrade and the flight of the prisoner, or was it some other native of the village, whose suspicions had been aroused in some unforeseen manner?" Jim asked himself the question as he lay there, but for the moment could find no answer, for the stranger's figure was hidden almost completely, while his features were entirely invisible. Creeping along in the shadow of the farther wall, he soon reached a point which was exactly opposite to the fugitives, and separated only from them by a matter of a few yards. Then he crept slowly into the middle of the sun-dried road, and turning, faced the store-hut, bending his head forward as if he wished to inspect it closely. Fortunately for Jim and his father, the man had chosen a site to which a few stray rays of the watch-fire contrived to penetrate, and this light falling upon his face, revealed the fact that he was not the sentry, but the native who, when Jim's dagger was found, had suggested that the white prisoner and his rescuer had taken refuge in the store-hut. Evidently, in spite of the Mullah's derision, he had come at length to investigate the matter for himself. With a start of surprise our hero recognized him.

"Our game is up," he whispered; "that is the man who declared to his companions that we must be hiding in the village. And now he has come to set the question at rest, and so that he should not incur the ridicule of his comrades, has selected this late hour in which to put in an appearance. What can we do?"

"Do?" murmured the colonel. "We must manage to silence the fellow, or the whole village will be upon us. But I confess that it is almost an impossibility, for he is bound to discover us before we can get within reach of him. In that case, we must effectually silence him and then escape, for otherwise he would set his comrade upon us. Hush! he is looking in this direction."

As he spoke the native turned round slowly, peering into the darkness in all directions, and, as his eyes fell upon the shadow in which they were lurking, he started backwards. Then, as if uncertain of his powers of vision, he crept a few paces closer, and, shading his eyes with both hands, as though they would help him to penetrate the darkness, stared suspiciously at the two figures crouching there. A second later he had given vent to a shout, and, turning upon his heel, fled down the street, making the air ring with his calls.

Jim was utterly bewildered at the turn which events had taken, but Colonel Hubbard was a man who had faced danger in many forms, and whose wits had been sharpened upon many a field of battle. Realizing at once that this man would not only arouse his comrades, but would lead them in the pursuit, he, too, was upon his feet and dashing along between the houses before an instant had passed. Fear seemed to lend fleetness to his feet, for though the native spy sped onward at a rapid pace, he could not outdistance his pursuer. Indeed, the colonel seemed to come up with him by leaps and bounds, and then with one gigantic spring to land upon his shoulders. What followed Jim could not make out, but when Colonel Hubbard returned he knew that they were safe. The man whom he had followed had paid for his persistence with his life.

Meanwhile Jim had not been idle. Grasping the fact that the store-house could not longer afford a safe shelter, he had at once darted across the street and hurled the door open. Then, as a figure appeared to bar his progress, and he heard the sharp click of a gun-lock, he called a loud warning to John Margetson, and leapt hurriedly aside. Well was it for him that he had the presence of mind to do so, for, suddenly aroused from the slumber into which he had fallen, Margetson had seized one of the Mullah's weapons which lay close to his hand, and, hearing the door burst open and the commotion outside, had discharged the contents into the darkness.

"Steady, old man!" shouted our hero; "it's Jim, and I've come to tell you that we must make a bolt for it. Out you come at once!"

To say that John Margetson was surprised at the sudden turn which events had taken was to express the situation mildly. For half an hour after Jim's departure he had remained in the store-hut, looking out through the aperture between the roof and the wall; but, wearied of seeing nothing, and having by now no small amount of confidence in the young fellow who had so miraculously come to rescue him, he had sat down upon a bag of dates, just to rest for a few moments. Then the heavy atmosphere within the hut—the aroma of dried dates and the store of wine—had overcome him, and little by little his eyelids had drooped till he was fast asleep. Roused by the alarm and by the opening of the door, he had started to his feet, and, rushing at once to the conclusion that the natives had discovered his lair, he immediately opened fire, without thought of the harm he might have done to his young companion.

"What, you!" he exclaimed in bewilderment, appearing at the door with a smoking weapon in his hand. "Have I hurt you? Good heavens! Don't say that my bullet wounded you!"