The men whispered amongst themselves as Helen slipped from the mare’s back and walked slowly to the steep steps, being far too wise either to notice the peremptoriness of the Nubian’s manner or to attempt to disobey Zarah’s orders.
She climbed up and up to her nest near the sky, where the surly negress awaited her, whilst the men followed the Nubian as he ran to overtake his mistress, who drove her stallion as fast as he could scramble up the steep mountain path.
It was a wonderful sight to witness, and one that, in spite of her brutality and cruelty, endeared her to her men.
She rode her favorite Nejdee, a white stallion of purest breed, standing fifteen hands, which is a height never exceeded in this perfect horse. She rode him without saddle or stirrup, and barely lifted the halter-rope which, with the Nejdee, always takes the place of bit, guiding him by knees and voice, urging him on, as she rode to save the man she loved.
The stallion slithered and scrambled like a goat down the other side of the spot where the spear, thrown at the Arabian girl’s father, stuck fast in a cleft between two rocks, whilst the men fought each other for the best point of vantage from which they could watch either the sinking of the camel and its rider, who looked as one dead, or his rescue by the indomitable woman who ruled them.
And all were too intent upon the sport of the moment to notice a faint movement amongst the rocks to the east, where the shadows were heaviest.
“It is a white man, and the camel’s belly sinketh in the sand,” whispered Namlah to Yussuf. “She, our mistress, and may the hyenas pick her bones, rides out to save him.”
“May he be saved,” whispered back the blind man, “and may she make her bed to-night in the depths of the sands in his stead. Linger thou, O Namlah, until we know the will of Allah, the one and only God, concerning this white man; then must thou flee, lest thy absence from amongst the women be noticed.”
As Namlah said, the camel lay upon the quicksands, screaming with fear, struggling and fighting, biting at the sands which were slowly sucking it down, whilst Ralph Trenchard sat with his head on his knees, which, holding the peak of the saddle in a deadly cramp, had prevented him from falling in the last stretch of the waterless journey through hours of burning sun.
The stallion stood near the spear, shivering in the fear of the death he knew to surround him. He had crossed the path more times than his mistress could remember, and he knew that he would have to cross in the end, driven by the agony of the golden spurs in his sides, just as he always crossed in the end, no matter how strenuously he resisted. But he stood and shivered and rolled his gentle eyes until a sharp jab brought him to his hind feet, then another, which sent him dancing, curvetting down the path. His long silvery mane and tail blew out in the evening breeze like silken streamers, his dainty, polished hoofs flashed in the red light of the setting sun, and he pricked his small ears at the screams of the camel, as he went down the path and turned, spurred by the beautiful, relentless woman until they faced the rocks.