Zarah’s eyes were wonderful to behold as she leant far over and touched Ralph Trenchard on the shoulder. They were tender and sweet and fearless, until into them shot an agonizing look of terror as she clutched the stallion’s silvery mane and leant farther over still and caught the man’s hair in her fingers and pulled back his head and looked down into the terrible face with the closed eyes.
Then she grasped his collar with her right hand and pulled on the rope-halter with her left, as she dug the spurs into the stallion’s sides so that he reared and backed until, for fear of falling over onto the camel, she had perforce to let go her hold on the man who sat stiffly, with his head on his knees, as the camel sank inch by inch to its death.
She sat back, with an agony of horror stamped on her face, which was beautiful under the power of her love, and sent a ringing cry over to the men gathered to watch the fight.
“Bil-’ajal, Asad,” she called. “Bil-’ajal! bil-’ajal!”
Al-Asad leapt from the rock to the hidden path and raced to his mistress’s bidding, swiftly, surely, heedless of the death which awaited him on the first false step, eager to help the woman he loved, even in the task of rescuing the man to whom she had given her heart.
“Give me space, O mistress!” he cried, as he stood with one foot upon the path and the other upon the back of the camel’s saddle and gripped Ralph Trenchard round the waist. “Nearer, O mistress, and place the stallion’s silver hair within my hand.” The shouts of the men rang out over the desert as they watched the desperate fight, as the Nubian put out all his mighty strength and pulled just as Zarah drove in the golden spurs until the stallion reared. “Thy dagger, O mistress,” he cried, as he let go his hold upon the mane and sprang back upon the path. “The white man’s knees break under the strain.” He seized the razor-edged, jewelled dagger and stood once more with his foot on the back of the camel’s saddle and bent and felt in the sands, which pulled at his hands and arms as he sawed at the girth.
He sawed through the girth on both sides and cut the ropes, and holding the jewelled dagger between his teeth, bent and took hold of the saddle as the sands rose to the level where the animal’s mangy tail began. He had a few minutes in which to perform the mighty deed, and Namlah gripped Yussuf’s hand and the men made the wildest, maddest bets upon the outcome of the struggle.
He placed both hands under the back of the saddle and tipped it forward; it was free; then gripped the back pommel and the front pommel and looked up at the woman he loved.
“Back, O mistress! Back, lest I break the stallion’s legs!”
The muscles of his back and chest and arms rippled, then tautened, then stood out in great knots.