The Sudanese at first became frightened at the noise which the cartridges made, but at last he was convinced that one can not shoot with the empty barrel of a gun or with empty cartridges. Besides his confidence in Stasch also returned, because the boy gave him the weapon to hold in his hands every few seconds.
“So,” said Stasch, “you can put the gun together, you can open, shut, point, and pull the trigger, but you must also learn how to take aim, and that is the most difficult of all. Take an empty water-bag and set it down a hundred paces away—there, on one of those stones, and then come back to me. I will show you how to take aim.”
Idris did not hesitate, but took a leather bag and started to set it up on the designated stone. Before he had gone the first hundred paces Stasch had drawn out the empty cartridges and replaced them with charged ones. Stasch’s heart and temples began to throb so violently that he thought his head would split. The decisive moment had come—the moment of freedom for Nell and himself—the terrible and longed-for moment of victory!
Now Idris’ life was in his hands. One pull on the trigger and the traitor who carried off Nell would fall dead. But Stasch, in whose veins flowed Polish and French blood, suddenly felt that nothing in the world could tempt him to shoot one whose back was toward him. For ought he not at least have the privilege of turning around and looking death in the face? And what would happen then? Then Gebhr would come running up, and before he had taken ten steps he, too, would lie writhing in the sand. Then there was Chamis, but the latter would lose his head, and even if he did not Stasch would have time to reload the gun. When the Bedouins returned they would find the three bodies and they themselves would meet their deserts. All that remained to be done would be to guide the camels toward the river.
These thoughts raced through Stasch’s head like a whirlwind. He felt that the deed to be committed in a few seconds was most terrible, but at the same time most necessary. Pride of victory battled in his breast with feelings of horror and distaste of the means necessary for mastery. He hesitated only a moment when he remembered the tortures that white prisoners had suffered; and at the thought of his father, of Mr. Rawlison, of Nell, and of Gebhr, who had beaten the girl with the scourge, he became more bitter against them. “It must be! It must be!” he cried through his clenched teeth, and his unalterable resolution showed in his face, which was now set as if carved out of flint.
Meanwhile Idris had laid the leather bag down on a stone a hundred feet off and turned around. Stasch saw his smiling face and tall figure on the flat, sandy plain. For the last time the thought flashed through his mind that this man, now living, would shortly fall to earth and grovel in the sand in his death agony. But the boy hesitated no longer, and when Idris was fifty feet nearer he slowly lifted the weapon to his cheek.
But before he had time to place his finger on the trigger a loud voice was heard in the direction of the sand-dunes several hundred feet away, and at the same moment about twenty riders on horses and camels appeared on the plain. Idris was struck dumb at the sight; Stasch was no less surprised, but his surprise was soon changed to the greatest joy. At last these must be the people sent in search of them, for whom they had waited so long! Yes, it must be! Doubtless the Bedouins had been captured in the village, and had confessed where the caravan was hidden. Idris must have had the same idea, for after recovering from his first fright he came running up to Stasch, his face pale with terror, and kneeling at his feet, repeated in a gasping voice:
“Sir, remember that I have been good to you! I have been good to the little Biut.”
Stasch mechanically took the cartridges out of the gun and gazed at the riders, who galloped up to them as quickly as their animals could carry them, and with cries of joy tossed their long Arabian guns in the air and caught them again most dexterously while the animals were still galloping. In the clear, transparent light they could be distinctly seen. At their head galloped two Bedouins, who were gesticulating most violently with their hands and burnooses.
In a few minutes the whole company reached the caravan. Several of the riders sprang off the horses and camels; others remained in their saddles continually shouting. But all that could be understood were two words: “Khartum! Gordon! Gordon! Khartum!”