But curiosity was stronger in me at that moment than fear.
“Stay you here, Islam,” I said, “and if aught moves at the gate be ready to shoot.” He was fumbling with his old matchlock.
Then, despite his appeals, I returned to the body with eyes fixed on the arrow-slits, ready to flee at sight or sound. But nothing moved nor stirred.
I studied the arrow again, and then tried to pull it out. It was of unfamiliar type, and might give the key to much. But I could not draw it forth, and so was forced to put my knee upon the dead man’s chest, when presently, with some exertion of strength, I pulled it through. It had been shot from behind, and, entering to one side of the spine, stood out a foot and more beyond the throat.
As I stood holding it in my hand there was a crash like thunder, and I leapt across the open space like a deer to the cloud of smoke where Islam crouched behind a rock holding his smoking piece.
“Something moved in that slit,” he gasped, and turned to flee.
Discretion seemed the better part of valour, and I followed him down the narrow waterway, splashing through the little pools, leaping from stone to stone.
But still I wonder whether he truly saw anything, or if his fancies overcame him.
By the entrance we found Arslan, who had heard not the shot, peacefully preparing food by the camels.
Islam contrived to scare him into the same unreasoning frame of mind as himself. Although I desired much to remain, there was no staying them, nor could I continue there by myself. Also, there was some reason, doubtless, in their arguments, three men against a savage tribe; ’twas poor odds in our favour. Speedily we roped up our gear and once more set out across the desert, as I judged, in the direction whence we had come.