“Or lose himself?”
“No, master,” said Abdul, “I don’t not lose myself. I go all right.”
“The sooner the better, then,” said Tom. “We’ll wait for you here.”
The Moor, who had resumed his native dress, at once girt his djellab about him and prepared to descend the hillside. Tom and Oliphant watched him breathlessly until the mist hid him from view. He went over the brow of the hill and began to clamber down its steep side with the agility and sure-footedness of a mountain goat. When he was out of sight the others returned to their half-finished breakfast, ready to endure with what patience they might the long waiting until the Moor should have completed his errand.
“What if he doesn’t come back?” said Oliphant.
“We shall have to risk it ourselves. I’m certainly not going back without making the attempt now that we have come so far. It’s pretty cold up here; I shall be glad when the sun sucks up this mist.”
When the mist at last cleared away, a magnificent view spread out before the two watchers on the hill-top. They themselves were perched on the top of a practically bare rock, but a hundred feet below them the hill side was covered with forest, broken, however, with huge patches of rocky ground, on which apparently not even the hardiest tree could find a lodgment. For miles around, the country showed a succession of tree-clad hills, with here and there a waterfall, and here and there a bare summit, not, however, truncated like the hill on which they had landed. Far away to the north-west they could descry, through their field-glasses, a considerable walled village perched on the shoulder of a hill, with one or two large buildings, one presumably a mosque, and a second evidently the stronghold of the sheikh. This no doubt was the place in which they were interested. It lay in the direction generally indicated by the Moor, although when he started it was hidden by the mists.
The hours dragged all too slowly by. They talked over the situation, occasionally getting up to stretch their limbs, but not venturing to move about much, lest they should be seen by any chance shepherd or hunter. On the plain below they caught sight of animals moving, and longed to take a shot at them—now a gazelle, now a wild hog. But to fire a shot was out of the question, and they had to content themselves with exchanging reminiscences of sport at home.
Darkness fell again. Abdul had not returned. Each spent a restless night, and rose with the dawn, eagerly scanning the country, as soon as the mist was dispersed, for a sign of their emissary, but in vain.
“I hope he hasn’t been collared,” said Tom.