Zaloofa
Bending lower I saw that the speaker was a woman, young and beautiful, her pale features haggard to the point of exhaustion. When I had given her a reviving draught from my emergency flask and assured her of my friendly attitude she outlined her pitiful story. It was another sample of Azad’s dastardly work. She was a Circassian, lured from the Convent-school of snake-charmers at Timbuctoo. For a month she had been the sheik’s favorite, then cast aside, poisoned as he thought and left to bleach on the sands. But her constant inoculation with the venom of her pets had made her practically immune to the deadly toxin and for three days she had lain helpless ’neath the furious sun, struggling to reach Tabala.
“Tabala!” At the word I sprang up. “Whither?” I cried. “Tell me quickly. I go but to procure aid.”
“’Tis not far,” she murmured. “An hour’s ride, perhaps, under yon constellation of El Whizbang.” And with the words she lapsed into unconsciousness. Covering her gently with my cloak I leaped into the saddle. Bright above me glistened the starry diadem of El Whizbang and once more the sorrel and I thundered on through the night, our hearts alight with courage and hope.
The desert woman’s direction was straight and sure. With startling suddenness a group of tall palms sprang into being. The neighing of my excited mare roused muffled cries, movement, bustle and confusion as vague tents disgorged their startled inmates. “Swank! Whinney, Ab-Do-men!” I shouted.
Answering shouts of “Traprock” pierced the night.
There was no time lost in parley. A brief pause for rest, a change of costume, a fresh mount and with twenty picked men armed to the teeth I turned back over a road I was not likely to forget.
“Westward-ho!” I shouted, heading the gallant troop, and we thundered off to the rescue of all that I held most dear.