“Is this man Labakan alone, or is there a conspiracy to murder me?” I asked.
“I am afraid, from what he hath told me, there is a widespread plot to compass thy death,” he said. “Apparently thou hast incensed them exceedingly by learning some strange secret which they desired should never be divulged. As death closes the mouth, Hadj Absalam hath ordered that thou shalt be slain. Under such circumstances I hardly think it wise that thou shouldst venture alone through the Valley of Aïr.”
“It is imperative,” I answered; “I must not halt until I enter the gates of Agadez. To me also the result of my mission is a matter of life—or death.”
“May thy treasure be preserved unto thee, and may Allah—the One Merciful to whom be boundless praise—give thee strength to overcome all thine enemies. May they be vanquished and be swept from the earth to the burning land of Al Sâhira like grains of sand before the sirocco,” said he earnestly, hitching up his burnouse.
“I tender thee thanks for thy warning, Gajére,” I said. “For thy action thou wilt indeed receive the reward of the One Worthy of Praise, and drink of the waters of Al Cawthar, which are sweeter than honey, whiter than milk, and cooler than the snow.”
“And thou wilt, I hope, believe some day that Allah is the One Lord of the Three Worlds, and that Mohammed is his Prophet,” he murmured devoutly, looking at me with his deep-set eyes.
But I did not answer. I had no intention of entering upon a controversy on religious subjects, but sat pondering deeply over the plot against me, which evidently had for its object the recovery of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders. His suspicions of approaching attack had caused him to arise in the night, and, armed with his keen blade, reconnoitre for the crafty assassin. He was, after all, my friend and protector. How, I wondered, could Hadj Absalam know that the mysterious object was in my possession? Surely Zoraida had not told him? Yet might he not in his rage, after learning of the catastrophe his tribe had sustained by the loss of the Wonderful Crescent, have taken up a scimitar and struck off her hand?
The thought was horrible.
However fearless I might have been of the terrors of the Desert, I could not close my eyes to the fact that this murderous ruffian Labakan was going about offering as payment for my murder a bag of gold, and I knew that ere long an attempt upon my life would most surely be made. Mine was decidedly a most unenviable position, and when at El Biodh two days later, I bade farewell to my faithful friend Gajére, the earnest blessings he invoked upon me aroused within me an additionally apprehensive feeling of insecurity.
This journey I had undertaken because of the passionate love I entertained for Zoraida, but I could not forget the grave prophecy of old Ali Ben Hafiz, when the Omen of the Camel’s Hoof had been revealed. Had he not told me that it was always fatal to love, and in the majority of instances fatal to the lover?