“Never,” I replied, fervently. “None shall ever know of our meeting.”
“Now mount and go, or we shall be discovered,” she begged, in evident alarm. “Remember the directions I have given thee, and know that thou hast my blessing.”
With a last look into her big, wonderful eyes, I raised the tiny white hand I had held and kissed it. Then, vaulting into the saddle, I uttered profound thanks for my deliverance, and bade her adieu.
“Slama!” she cried, standing erect with both bare arms outstretched towards me. “Allah Iselemeck. Slama!”
And digging my heels into the splendid Ku-hai-lan horse she had given me, I shot away like an arrow, and rode for life towards the sand-hills of the Iraouen that looked black and bare against the streak of saffron dawn in the sky beyond.
Chapter Five.
Zoraida’s Pledge.
Over the dunes, regardless of the dust and heat, I rode, well knowing that my life and that of my fair rescuer depended upon my successful escape.