“No money.” Nesìb’s shoulders went up to his ears on the shrug of despair. “I will do what is possible, O my dear lord! But money is not like fowls, nor yet like flowers by the wayside. Allah witness, I can neither catch nor pluck it. I know not beforehand where it lies. It must come to my hand, or I cannot take it. Allah put it near me, since our need is urgent.”
At the entering in of the village Nesìb had spied from afar, grew a fine tree, beneath which, at the hour of their approach, lay two sturdy youths asleep. These being awakened, one of them gladly undertook to guide their honors to a place whence the road ran clear to El Cûds. For half an hour he led them in and out among the stony hills till, near a village superior in size and structure to any they had yet seen, he set them on a wide track and pointed out their direction. Receiving some small coins for his services, he cried on Allah to increase their wealth.
“May Allah heed him,” muttered Hassan, “for he has our last dinâr.”
The sun was still high when they learnt from some other wayfarers that they were again near to the city and within a short hour of the village of Zeyd’s relation. Hassan bade Shibli and the rest go on thither, while he and Nesìb attended to some business they had to transact in common. With laughter and knowing looks, the troop rode off.
Hassan and the Thief urged their horses up a small, steep hill, from the top of which they beheld the city, and much country on all hands. Beneath them in the dale they had just left were many olive trees a-shimmer in the sun, which cast a filigree of shade upon the field and on the bridle path which wound among them. Having secured their horses out of sight, they sat to watch that path.
At last, when from long watching he had dropped to sleep, old Hassan was aroused by an exclamation from the Thief at his side. He presently became aware of figures moving upon the path, drawing near out of the distance.
He perceived a fat man bestriding a tall black jackass, and beside him a servant, walking, holding a sunshade over the fat one’s head. The donkey bore full saddlebags, to judge from the angle of projection of his rider’s legs. And the fat man kept clutching the bosom of his robe, as if that, too, were not empty.
“Come, O my lord. Let us descend,” hissed Nesìb. “Yon old man has our money. Watch his hands; observe his glance of fear to every side. Y’Allah!”
They stole rapidly down the hill, making use of every scrap of cover. Long before the fat man and his servant reached the place of their descent, two simple men, an old and a young, sat by the roadside, beneath a wall that fenced the olive yards, holding one another’s hand, enjoying innocent converse in that shady spot. The younger of the twain crooned a love song with closed eyes.