In the Mahdi's Grasp

by George Manville Fenn

Sam’s heart beat fast, but it was with excitement, for there was no leaven of fear. A marauder was robbing his master or one of his master’s friends, and he felt it to be his duty to capture the scoundrel. At the same time he intended to do this without injury to himself.

“Bless him!” he muttered; “if he’ll only come close and turn his back I’ll have him down on his face in a jiffy, and sit upon him as if he was a camel. It will be time enough to holloa then.”

Those were exciting moments, and Sam’s heart beat faster still as the man stepped softly out of the inner tent and stood for a few moments where the dim light of the lamp fell upon him, showing him to be a light, active-looking black in white cotton jacket and short drawers, his arms, breast, and legs from mid-thigh being bare, and glistening softly as he moved, while his eyes rolled and the whites stood out clearly against the dark skin.

“He’ll be hard to hold,” thought Sam, “and I mustn’t trust to that thin cotton stuff. He’ll tear away in a moment. But he hasn’t a knife, as far as I can see. What’s he got in his pockets, I wonder.”

Sam wondered more the next moment, as he saw the black dart softly back into the inner tent and disappear, his bare feet not making a sound.

“Is there a way out behind there?” the man asked himself, for all was quiet and the minutes glided by till he was just on the point of stepping forward to make sure of the enemy’s presence, when the black appeared again, carrying an armful of clothes, which he threw down on the carpet, and to Sam’s great delight dropped upon his knees in the very position he would have placed him, while the object of his visit was plainly shown, for he began to rummage the pockets of the garments and transfer their contents, the chink of money being heard, and a faint gleam was apparently given forth by something metallic, evidently a watch.

As Sam saw all this he softly raised his hands to his lips after the fashion of a boy about to moisten them so as to get a good grip. But it was only in form, and as he did so he stepped softly from behind the hanging rug and then onward slowly to within springing distance, when with extended hands he crouched and sprang at the black, landed upon his back, driving him forward, and gripped him tightly.

“Got you!” he muttered to himself, and this was perfectly true, but the black did not lie quiet like the camel Sam had settled himself to ride. For he began to act at once as if made of a combination of steel springs. He swung himself sidewise as he felt Sam upon his back, disorganised the butler’s holding, and behaved in a thoroughly eel-like fashion as he struggled hard to get away.

It was many years since Sam had engaged in such a struggle, but he had not quite forgotten old, boyish encounters. The resistance stirred up the latent temper within him, and though his holding was not what he had meant it to be, it was fast, and he made it tighter, locking arms and legs about his captive, and the next minute they were rolling over and over, twisting and twining on the carpet, and panting hard as each strove for the mastery.

Sam’s intention had been to shout for help as soon as he had seized the black, but he was too busy holding him, and all recollection of his plans passed from his memory at once. All he could think of now was that he must keep his prize, while it was perfectly evident that his prize did not mean to be kept, but fought for his liberty with might and main, while at the first encounter the writhing pair had come in contact with one of the poles which supported the tent, the lamp had fallen, and the place now, save for the dim starlight seen through the doorway, was in utter darkness.