The fugitives were now not fifty paces from the walking dervish front, and in less than a minute they would have been right upon them; but in a flash Frank saw the meaning of his comrade’s movement, for he turned towards him, laughing, waved his sword to the right, and the next moment the two horses swerved round and darted down a narrow way little wider than a court, and tore on in obedience to the urging from their riders’ heels, chased too now by fresh pursuers, whose yells rang out as if they were a vast pack of human hounds—as indeed they were, and as bloodthirsty; but they were at this disadvantage: everything about them was new, while to the fugitives, especially to one, the maze of streets was familiar, and their horses were quite at home.
So much so was this the case that after tearing along two or three streets, at every corner of which as they swung round it seemed as if they would come down upon their flanks, the beautiful creatures snorted as they tore on with expanded nostrils and streaming manes and tails, galloping with stretched-out necks as if they knew their goal. It was so, for at the end of a few minutes’ more wild dash they bounded across a wide way familiar to Frank, whose heart leaped as the swift animals dashed into an open court, plunging a group of mounted and foot men into a frantic state of excitement as the horses stopped by one impulse, and the young Emir shouted his war-cry, waving his sword above his head and pointing to his pursuers, who came streaming in through the open gate.
Chapter Thirty Two.
“Burning.”
The wandering tribes of the desert, who exist by their sword and spear, live the life of the wild beast of prey whose eyes are ever on the look out for the furtive blow or stroke that shall lay them low. Their swords are ever ready; their spears are constantly in hand; while as an additional safeguard the majority of them carry a dagger bound to the left wrist. Danger is to them always lurking and tracking their steps as closely as their shadow. It is the shadow of their existence, so that a warning cry, the wave of sword or spear by a flying man, is taken as an alarm at once; and hence it was that the dash into their midst of two mounted men, one of whom they knew as the son of a friendly Emir, and the sight of the pursuers was enough. Before the flying horses were checked, a score of mounted spearmen were to the front to screen them, and in answer to a warning cry a couple of score more were untethering their horses; others were mounting, and a stream of foot, spear and shield armed, came running out of the houses, huts, and tents which surrounded the court. And now a slave went running up to a door in front, leading a splendid white horse, just in time for the Emir, his master, one whom Frank had only seen at a distance. He stepped out, sprang on his horse, drew his sword, and uttering a hoarse shout to his followers, rode with flashing eyes to their head.
There was no pause for parleying; an enemy had invaded his place; his men were gathering round him, eager for the fray; and as the young Emir rode up to his side the dervishes came dashing up to range themselves by their leader, and in another minute the fight would have begun had the newly arrived strangers displayed the same daring in face of the Emir’s rapidly increasing force that they had in pursuit of two fugitives.
As it was, Frank sat upon his panting horse watching while a couple of the dervish party rode forward to temporise, and as far as he could make out by their gestures one of the two explained that they were peaceably riding through the city, strangers though they were, when they were attacked by the young Emir and his followers.
At this the young chief to whom he pointed burst into a mocking laugh of disdain, and it seemed to Frank that as he turned to the Emir in whose court he had taken sanctuary with his companion, that he pointed to the young Englishman and then to himself, holding up two fingers, and then making gesture after gesture as if counting, but giving it up at the end of ten, and holding up his ten fingers over and over again, the Emir’s men bursting into a scornful laugh, which seemed to be the echo of the young chief’s mirth.