No obstacle was thrown in the way, and shortly after the two young men were riding through the streets of the city together; but there was no special horror on the way. They passed, however, scores of fierce, dark warriors with closely shaven heads and pointed beards, and wearing large rings in their ears. They were simply dressed in closely fitting white cotton garbs which left arms and legs bare, looking in their strong contrast of black and white, mounted as they were upon small, active horses, wild of mane and tail, and as savage of aspect as their riders, effective looking troops for a desert campaign; and as they rode through the streets, loath to give way to anyone, their eyes wandered over every person, place, or thing, as if, as the Sheikh had said, in search of spoil.
On that particular day, wearied with his ineffective search, irritable, and hot, the young Englishman felt a strange sense of dislike pervade him as he rode on with his companion, who seemed to share his resentment on encountering party after party of the desert warriors, fine modern Ishmaelites; and before they had gone far there seemed to be every prospect of an encounter, for the rich robe and turban of the young Emir attracted the attention of one thin, wiry-looking black, while his companion fixed his eyes upon the handsome sword and dagger worn by Frank.
These two were taking up the centre of the narrow street through which the young men passed, and seemed disposed to bar their way; but fear was not one of the failings of the Emir’s son, and their attitude aroused his wrath.
Turning to Frank, he bade him ride faster, the words being familiar now, and knee to knee they pressed on, making the strangers give way by opening out; but they returned fierce look for look, and before the strangely assorted couple had gone many yards they found that the black warriors had turned and were following them.
The Emir’s son turned to Frank, laughed, and touched the hilt of his sword, with a meaning look which the young Englishman interpreted to mean—
“Will you help me if I have to fight?”
The dervish warriors had come upon them at an unlucky time, and their insolent, threatening air had roused the quiet British blood in Frank’s veins. The feeling of hatred that had been growing against these people consequent upon the horrors he had seen and heard, and the irritation produced by inactivity and his disappointments, drove away all thought of the risk he might run, and the feeling grew strong that if attacked he must defend himself.
A whirl of such thoughts rushed through the young man’s brain, and at his companion’s question and sign his eyes flashed, he nodded assent, and sharply grasped his own sword.
The young Emir laughed again, and laid his dark hand firmly upon his companion’s arm, disdaining to look back to see if they were followed, but riding forward at a walk towards where the narrow street opened into a wider part, upon reaching which they saw upon their left a party of ten or a dozen more of the dark horsemen riding slowly along as if in search of plunder, for several had various objects thrown across their saddlebows, which looked like spoil, and their wandering looks at once turned to the approaching pair.
It struck Frank as strange in those exciting moments that the allies of the new Mahdi, the followers of friendly emirs, should be parading the streets as if they were new conquerors of the city, looking upon all whom they encountered as enemies; but so it was, and he began now to wonder what his companion would do, then why it was that he did not feel alarmed, for the time for prompt action had come.