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Chapter Thirty Seven.
By the Drum of Nâr
The bid for fortune was desperate and perilous.
I had become an outlaw, a member of one of the most daring bands of freebooters that ever robbed a caravan or tortured a wanderer of the plains. To the civilising influence of French authority Hadj Absalam was as defiant and his identity as mysterious as the Mahdi himself; while his followers were for the most part an ill-dressed, well-armed horde, whose torn and dirty burnouses and general negligence of attire showed plainly that they were Desert rovers, whose ramshackle tents were their only homes, and whose existence depended on the result of their depredations.
The knowledge that I was an Infidel, combined with the secret inflammatory utterances of Labakan, created bitter prejudices against me, causing them to jeer and make matters exceedingly unpleasant generally. Among that legion of marauders I had not a single friend, with the exception of Zoraida and Halima, neither of whom were ever visible. Fierce guttural oaths and exclamations of disgust that a dog of a Christian should be permitted to live among them were muttered by dark-skinned, evil-faced ruffians, who squatted idly before their tents cleaning guns, burnishing knives, and filling powder-flasks. Sometimes, after I had passed, they would spit upon the ground to emphasise their contempt, or openly declare that I was a harbinger of evil, a precursor of defeat.
Affecting to take no notice of the variety of insults flung into my face, I suppressed any rebuke that rose to my lips, remembering Zoraida’s words, and determined that when the time came, I would show them that a Christian could handle a rifle with as deadly effect as a True Believer.
The long hot day following my interview with the woman I loved I spent in lonely unhappiness, and my sense of insecurity was very considerably increased by receiving a secret visit, at the mild and balmy dawn of the following day, from one of the men who, after assisting Halima and myself to escape from the Sheikh’s house, had accompanied us on our journey. On recognising him, I extended to him a warm greeting, much gratified that at last I had found a friend; but I paused when, raising his hand quickly, he exclaimed in a deep whisper —
“Hush! Let not thy voice be heard! I come to thee, unseen by thine enemies, to give warning unto thee!”
“Is there danger?” I gasped.
“Know, O Roumi,” he answered, “thine enemy Labakan – on whom may Allah not have mercy! – hath formed a dastardly plot to kill thee! Our Lady of Beauty, Halima, hath heard of it, and sendeth thee word. Be careful of thyself, or of a surety thou wilt yet fall beneath the knife of the assassin.”
“Tell the Lalla Halima I send her greeting. Thank her for placing me upon my guard, and from me give unto her perfect peace,” I said; adding, “Is it possible that I might see her?”
“Alas! no,” the man replied in consternation. “Seek not to converse with the women of the Faith of our Lord Mohammed. The eye of the Infidel defileth them.”
“Why?” I asked, laughing at the Moslem prejudice which even his friendship could not stifle.
“It is written,” he answered piously.
Without attempting to argue the point, I learnt from him, in reply to my questions, that in travelling to the camp we had journeyed due south, and that the valley where we were in hiding was called Akoukou, distant seven days from Agadez, and almost inaccessible from that city. Other hordes of the Ennitra had migrated in small parties, so as not to attract the attention of those they intended to attack, and were now congregated to the number of about four thousand, one body being at the Efigaguen Oasis to the north-east of the City of the Sorcerers, another at the well of Enouaggued, and a third lying in ambush to the north-west, in a secluded valley in the waterless wilderness known to the Arabs as the Kahir d’ Ibn Batouta.
With that cunning of which the Ennitra were past masters, they had gradually moved from their own region across the Great Desert, many of them under the guise of traders, to the points indicated, and now, having collected their forces, had practically surrounded the country of the young Sultan Abd-el-Kerim, and for several days had been awaiting the order from Hadj Absalam to make a concentric movement upon Agadez.
He told me that in our camp we had over three thousand fighting men, but that, even with such forces at their command, we should experience some hard fighting, for the men-at-arms of the Sultan of the Ahír were more than double our number. Then he questioned me as to my future movements, and I told him briefly that I intended to fight side by side with the warriors of Hadj Absalam. To this he answered —
“Verily, O Roumi, thou art a friend of the Faith. May Allah honour thy face and perfect thy light! May the One Giver of Life abandon thee not to the consequences of thy sins without pardoning them, or to thy griefs without consoling them, or to thy fears without removing them!”
“I salute thee with salutation, O friend,” I answered. “To our Lalla Halima, and unto thee likewise, I hope to be enabled to show my thankfulness, for I was a stranger, and thou didst give me succour.”
“Some day thou wilt turn from thy paths of infidelity,” he murmured in an impressive tone, his dark, deep-set eyes riveted upon mine. “If Almighty Allah, the Omniscient, pleaseth, thou wilt at last know the great Truth and drink of the fountain of joy and gladness. Verily, none but He can remit a sin; of a truth He veileth our offences, broadeneth our breasts, and causeth our last words in the supreme hour of life to be the words, ‘There is no Ilah but Allah.’”
Assuring him that I was no “abuser of the salt,” that I entertained nothing but profound respect for the people of Al-Islâm, and thanking him for conveying Halima’s message, we wished each other a cordial farewell, and he crept away from my tent without apparently having attracted any attention.
My wound was still rather painful, yet the fever had entirely left me, and I felt much better, although far from strong. Throughout the greater part of the blazing day I remained alone in my tent, drowsily smoking some cigarettes Zoraida had given me, and making a meal of some dates and lentils brought by a negro who was one of Hadj Absalam’s slaves. An hour before el maghrib, however, a great consternation seemed to be produced throughout the camp, for armed men hurried past my tent, and the few women who had accompanied them into the land of their enemies waddled along after them, closely veiled. Evidently something unusual was taking place, therefore I donned my burnouse, tarboosh, and haick, and, strolling out, followed the crowd to the open space before the three pavilions of the self-styled Sultan of the Sahara.
Here the marauders had assembled, and were the most brigandish-looking horde of ruffians that my eyes had ever encountered. As I pushed my way in among the throng, the abhorrence in which I was held was plain, for scowling men drew aside their burnouses so that they should not come in contact with me, and women shrank from me and turned away to avoid my glance. Fortunately I was enabled to get to the front of the great ring of spectators that had been formed, and as I did so, the crowd opened to allow the tall, regal figure of Hadj Absalam to advance into the open space, followed by the two cadis who had lounged on his divan when I had been brought before him, as well as his Grand Vizier Labakan, and four other men in silken robes. Wild with excitement, the crowd raised their voices, shouting —
“Howa-thâ! O Just and Generous Ruler! Marhaba! O Sultan of the Great Desert! Hail! O Conqueror of Roumis, O Exterminator of Infidels! O Fearless Defender of the Faith! Hail! Hail! Hail!”
Halting in the centre upon an improvised dais, the old Sheikh, arrayed in robes of bright green silk embroidered with gold, and wearing in his white head-dress an aigrette of sparkling diamonds, raised his hands, an action which commanded instant silence.
“Know, O my people! thy Sheikh standeth now before thee!” he cried in a loud voice, as with resolute bearing he gazed round upon the circle of bronzed and bearded faces. “He hath decided that the time hath come when it is meet for thee to spur onward unto Agadez; that the hour hath arrived when salutation should be sent unto our brethren, so that they may co-operate with us in the swift and merciless attack. If there be anyone who craveth to offer advice unto us, let him now speak.”
The Pirates of the Desert whispered expressions of satisfaction among themselves, but no word was uttered in response to Hadj Absalam’s invitation. Several minutes thus elapsed, when suddenly there was a movement in the crowd in the direction of the pavilions, and then the fierce piratical band again shouted themselves hoarse in enthusiastic cheers and utterances of welcome, as a veiled woman, wearing a dainty zouave of amaranth velvet embroidered with emeralds and seed pearls and serroual of golden sheen, advanced and took up her stand on the daïs beside the Sheikh, being followed by six men armed to the teeth and mounted on splendid Arab stallions. She was attended by two female slaves, who, between them, carried an ancient conical-shaped drum, the skin of which was almost black with age. Having placed the instrument on the ground, they unveiled her.
The woman who had received the wildly-enthusiastic plaudits of the robbers was Zoraida!
Pale, erect, calm, she gazed slowly around her, apparently in search of someone, and heedless of a second outburst of cordial welcome. Suddenly her eyes met mine. She started visibly, turned a shade paler, I thought, then set her teeth firmly, as if bracing herself up for some supreme effort.
Her handsome face, with the slight touch of sorrow in its expression, looked even more beautiful than in the subdued light of the harem, and as the brilliant sunset tipped her dark unbound hair with gold and fell upon her breast, whereon lay a great single emerald suspended by a chain of pearls, she seemed standing in hesitancy, as if shrinking from some action she was compelled to perform. Once again she lifted her long lashes in my direction, but only for a second, for, drawing a deep breath, her gaze wandered round the sea of dark, anxious countenances, as she raised her white bare arm heavenward.
In a moment there was a dead silence. The men about her, who had given vent to words of admiration on seeing her unveiled, were breathless in expectancy.
“Behold! my people! At my feet lieth the Drum of Nâr!” she cried in clear, resolute tones, though at first there seemed a slight quiver in her voice. “Times without number hast thou and thy forefathers gone down into battle to its sound. Its note is to thee of a verity a note of victory; to thine enemies a knell of speedy death. To its tones hast thou defeated the legions of the Infidels, and to its roll canst thou now, if thou wilt follow me, overthrow the Sultan of Agadez.”
“Wheresoever thou goest, there also will we go!” shouted the evil-looking crowd enthusiastically with one accord, flourishing their rifles high above their heads. “Lead us, O our Malieah! (Queen) O Beauteous Daughter of the Sun! O Bringer of Victory! We will follow thee!”
“Give ear unto me!” she cried again, silencing the wild tumult of enthusiasm with uplifted hands. “I would have brief speech with thee before we commence the advance to Abd-el-Kerim’s stronghold. Verily I tell thee that – ”
“Cease thy chatter, I command!” cried Hadj Absalam, in a sudden ebullition of anger. “Have I not forbidden thee to address unto the people words other than those which have received my sanction?”
Glancing towards him, the colour left her face, and she trembled as if in fear, but the people, noticing the dispute, cried loudly, “Let the Lalla, Queen of the Noor, speak unto us, O our Father! In her wisdom do we place our trust.” This popular demonstration in her favour gave her courage, and heedless of the fiercely-uttered imprecations of the pirate chieftain, Zoraida, drawing a long breath, continued —
“For many moons now past there hath been amongst thee, my foster-brethren, signs of discontent,” she said.
“Grim whisperings have caught mine ear, and many a sinister rumour regarding myself hath been conveyed unto me. To-day, ere we set out towards the dazzling Palace of Delights, where some of us will peradventure find a grave, I desire to render thee personal explanation.”
She paused, glancing at me with unwavering eye. Every voice was hushed, every face expectant.
“It hath been alleged against me that I have betrayed the secret of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, but before thee all I deny it. Some have said that I have delivered the Crescent itself into the hands of a Roumi. Behold! I have our treasure still in my hands!” And as she drew it from beneath the folds of the bright-coloured silken scarf that girt her waist, and held it aloft, her words were greeted by loud, ringing cheers.
“Those who declare that our power hath been weakened by the supposed loss of the Crescent may here witness it for themselves,” she went on. “It hath further been alleged that the presence of an infidel in our camp bodeth ill-fortune; but I, thy soothsayer, tell thee that his companionship will be of the utmost value unto us. Already hath he been held captive in the great Fáda, and, knowing its intricate courts and pavilions, will render valuable aid in serving as guide when, in the supreme moment, we make the final onrush. Think, then, those of you who seek by sinister device to encompass the death of this stranger from beyond seas! Stay thine hands, thou who art seeking to destroy the one man who can show us the means whereby we can reach the Hall of the Great Divan!”
Every eye was turned upon me with mingled scorn and surprise. Zoraida was endeavouring to ensure my safety! A wild excitement seemed to burn in her veins, and after a few seconds’ pause she again proceeded —
“This expedition requireth the fall strength of each one of us, therefore let none seek to wreak vengeance upon his neighbour. Heed these the words of thy Daughter of the Sun, whose prophecies have been fulfilled, and whose curse falleth swiftly upon her enemies. The barriers of Agadez, held by the peerless scimitars of Abd-el-Kerim, can only be broken by the gallant, patient ‘brothers of Zoraida’ – the soldiers of destiny. Accept the Roumi who hath eaten thy salt as thy clansman, for of a verity he is a friend of True Believers, and will fight by thy side under this the glorious banner of the Ennitra, our green standard that striketh terror into all hearts from Khartoum unto Timbuktu! Let not thy belief in our power be shaken, but act with one accord, follow me with faith, and, striking down thine enemies, thou shalt dash onward through the iron-barred gate of the great Fáda, whence thou wilt bring forth many camel-loads of treasure and many scores of slaves. Verily, I tell thee, thou shalt drive thine enemies to their doom, even as cattle are driven unto water.”
Hadj Absalam stood scowling, with folded arms. His Argus eyes were everywhere. By the expressions of approbation and loudly-uttered promises to carry out her wishes, it was plain that Zoraida’s words had the effect she desired. Over this fierce horde of cut-throats she exercised such regal sway that her every wish was law. So attentive were they to her utterances, that it seemed as if her marvellous beauty entranced them, causing them to fight for her. How strange was her position; how strenuously was she struggling on my behalf! An undying bitterness, a hatred born of fanaticism, the scorn of the Moslem for the accursed Roumi, had been conquered by her words; for ere she had finished speaking, the fierce warriors of the Desert, who a few minutes before had cursed me under their breath, were wildly enthusiastic, and gave me “peace” on every hand.
Again raising the mysterious Crescent above her head, she demanded in a loud voice, “Hast thou still confidence in me?”
The echoes were awakened by shouts in the affirmative, and one man near me cried, “We fear not the stars when the moon is with us.”
“And thou entrustest to me the success of this bold dash into the stronghold of our most powerful enemy?” she asked again.
“Thou art our light!” they cried. “Lead us, O Daughter of the Sun! and we will follow thee.”
“Is the Roumi yonder thine ally and friend?”
“Yes,” they answered. “Already have we given him ‘peace.’”
“May the Giver of Good Gifts bestow upon thee blessing!” I cried, in acknowledgment of their declaration of friendship. I was about to address some words to the woman I loved, when suddenly I remembered she had forbidden me to speak, and stood gazing at her in silence. Upon the sinister face of Hadj Absalam there rested a dark look of displeasure. Zoraida was doing her best to save me, but in the crafty eyes of the Sheikh there lurked treachery and deadly hatred.
A pause ensued. Zoraida, standing erect and glancing around her, smiled as if a great weight had been at last lifted from her mind, while her women on either side slowly moved their great fans of yellow ostrich plumes.
A few seconds later, the two cadis who had accompanied the Sheikh advanced, and, taking up the Drum of Nâr, knelt before her.
“Lo! the note of victory soundeth!” she cried. “From this moment none shall rest until the banner of the Ennitra hath been planted on the Fáda of Agadez!” and with her open palms she suddenly struck the drum, and beat a rolling tattoo, that swelled louder and louder, and then gradually died away.
The call to arms caused the wildest enthusiasm, and the final notes of the rude, ancient instrument were drowned by the fierce war-cries that rent the air on every side. All seemed filled with delight at the prospect of the fight, and these shouts were repeated as the Drum of Nâr was beaten in a similar manner by the outlaw Sheikh himself, whose bearded face seemed harder than flint.
The stallions of the six mounted Arabs pawed the ground, impatient as their riders, who, on hearing the sound of the drum, yelled themselves hoarse, throwing back their burnouses and flourishing their rifles high aloft.
“Whomsoever thou shalt fight we will fight, O Ruler of the Desert!” they shouted, and again the cry was taken up by the people, who, amid a scene of intense excitement, handled their knives, swords, and guns, vowing to give no quarter to their enemies, and to make no halt until the Fáda had fallen into their hands.
Zoraida and Hadj Absalam were standing side by side, a strangely incongruous pair – she young, fair, and smiling; he aged and scowling, with merciless brutality portrayed in every line of his sun-tanned, aquiline features. Turning to her, he uttered some words in a low tone, intended for her ear alone. What they were none knew, but she glanced at him, shrugged her shoulders, and, without replying, glanced across at me with a kindly look of recognition.
Yet I dared not to approach her.
Just at that moment a standard was raised aloft, and a green silken banner, embroidered with gold, unfurled, hung over the pair motionless in the heavy, sultry air. The sight of this emblem of war was greeted with renewed shouts of delight, and as Zoraida slowly waved it, there went up on every side deep, fervent declarations of devotion to the Daughter of the Sun.
“Whithersoever thou goest, O Malieah of Beauty! we will go. Thou art still our Bringer of Victory, and we fear not while thou art at our head!” they shouted hoarsely, half mad with eager anticipation.
With queenly air her head bowed slowly in graceful acknowledgment of their compliments, then, raising both arms to heaven, she uttered some words that were lost in the tumult of excitement. The six horsemen drew up before the dais, one of them dismounting, and taking his capacious saddle-bag, held it open, while Zoraida with her own hands placed in it the Drum of Nâr. In a few moments the bag was again upon the animal’s back, the tall Arab vaulted into his high-backed saddle, and waited immovable as a statue.
There was a dead silence. At last Hadj Absalam addressed them in a loud voice, saying —
“Speed thee onward, my sons. Halt not until the Drum of Nâr hath sounded its note of victory in the Efigaguen, the Kahir d’ Ibn Batouta, and at the well of Enouaggued. Unto our people carry forth our greeting, and tell them that on the tenth day from to-morrow shall we make the dash upon the Fáda, where we shall expect them to aid us in the attack, and to destroy our enemies as were destroyed the tribes of Ad and Thamud. Away! Linger not until thou hast returned unto us with the Drum of Victory.”
“Go!” added Zoraida, stretching forth her tiny white hand. “Upon thee be perfect peace, and may Allah, Answerer of thy Supplications, shadow thee with His shadow, and guard thee in thy peril. Fi amâni-illah!”
The six sturdy horsemen bowed till their foreheads touched their horses’ necks, then, raising loud shouts, they fired their rifles into the air, and, spurring on, dashed through the wildly-excited crowd that opened to let them pass, and in a few minutes were galloping away down the rocky valley, where the misty shadows of sunset had already gathered.
Hadj Absalam’s orders had been despatched, and the Ennitra were now working themselves into a frenzy of excitement, preliminary to a mad ride over the ashes of burned homes and the bodies of their enemies, to pillage the richest and most extensive palace in the Great Sahara. Half demented by enthusiasm, each endeavoured to talk more bravely than his fellow, commenting in anticipation of the amount of loot to be obtained from the Sultan’s abode. Upon this point I was closely questioned, and, in reply, I gave a brief description of the place. The ceremony of sending forth the Drum of Nâr was over, for Zoraida’s women had wrapped her haick about her, and, with a last wistful glance at me, she turned and walked between them back to her pavilion, followed by the great Sheikh and his companions, who, amid the plaudits of the slowly-swaying crowd, bore aloft the green standard under which we were so soon to fight.
Zoraida had gone. Half an hour later, while my companions were repeating their Fâtiha, I stood aside deep in thought. The unquenchable flame of love, I knew, glowed within her heart. Stone to all else, she, forced by some extraordinary circumstance to be the leader of a band of cut-throats, had promised to become my wife. The Ennitra had replaced their faith in her with renewed confidence by reason of her possession of the Crescent, and this she had turned to the best advantage by securing my immunity from molestation. Yet I remembered that, after all, the chances of safety were exceedingly small, and wondered how many of those who were now so ready to murder and plunder would fall under the keen scimitars of the janissaries of the Fáda, and be food for the ever-hungry vultures.
Night fell. The bright white stars shone forth in the clear vault of deep blue with a brilliance that is nowhere seen except in the Great Desert, but through the dark hours the men who had pledged themselves as my friends were busy packing their tents, and at dawn, headed by the green and gold standard, we moved away on the first stage towards the City of the Ahír.
In order to allow time for the other bands of our people to reach Agadez simultaneously with ourselves, we had ten days in which to accomplish a seven days’ journey; therefore the first part of our march was at an easy pace, and with everybody buoyant and in excellent spirits, it was not unenjoyable.
Throughout the long day we travelled onward, first down the rocky ravine until we came to a great open, sun-baked plain, devoid of even a blade of herbage, where the way was rough and progress slow, then out into the trackless, stony desert, wherein few, even of the people of Ahír, had ever ventured. Wild, barren, and parched, the broad expanse of uneven stones and patches of sand stretched away as far as the eye could discern, a lone, silent, nature-forsaken land, where not a living thing could exist. Onward over the uneven ground our méheris plodded, their spongy feet falling with slow, tedious tread, and our horses stumbling at every step, causing the arms to clank and jingle. Upon a milk-white horse, handsomely caparisoned in gold and purple, Hadj Absalam rode, with keen eye, imperious and commanding, surrounded by his people, to whom his merest gesture was law. Behind him, in litters on the backs of camels, were several women, but the silken curtains of each were drawn to shade them from the sun, therefore I could not distinguish in which Zoraida rode. Around them were a number of faithful horsemen, with rifles across their saddles, while following came a great body of the Ennitra, heavily armed and eager for the attack. My horse, a fine bay thoroughbred, carried me splendidly; nevertheless, the heat was terrific, and throughout the day I suffered greatly from thirst and fatigue. But my companions, careless and light-hearted, discussed on all sides the probabilities of a successful attack, and whiled away the weary, monotonous hours by singing snatches of quaint Arab songs. Thus we marched forward, day after day, over the rugged, waterless wilderness, towards the gilded courts of the Sultan Abd-el-Kerim. Our guns and pistols – many of them ancient flint-locks, with curiously inlaid stocks – were primed, our daggers whetted, and we were all ready for the desperate, bloody struggle into which we must quickly plunge. The Drum of Nâr had gone forth; the Ennitra were rapidly closing in upon the proud and wealthy city.
Spies, who met us in the garb of camel-men, reported that the people of Agadez were continuing their merry-making, in celebration of the formal accession of the young Sultan, and were not dreaming of attack, therefore the way was clear, and a sudden dash would carry us onward, unchallenged, to the Fáda. During the sunniest hours, from noon to el maghrib, we usually encamped, making our long, weary journeys over the almost impassable country through the night and early morning; and this having continued for nine days, we at length found ourselves twelve hours’ march from the city we intended to plunder. Encamping, we spent six breathless hours, lying hot, panting, and thirsty under what small shade we could improvise; then the order went forth, horses were resaddled, camels, struggling under heavy burdens, regained their feet, and onward we moved again, every eye strained straight before, endeavouring to catch the first glimpse of the square minaret of the Great Mosque which was my goal. In the direction of Agadez the sun sank, and the grey, misty horizon was streaked with lines of blood-red light, Nature’s presage, it seemed, of a reign of terror, fire, and sword.
The crowd of stern-faced, hawk-eyed horsemen around me was, for the most part, a motley collection of brutal, villainous-looking Arabs; indeed, from their physiognomy, one could almost imagine that all the criminals of the Algerian cities had formed themselves into a tribe to wage war against their law-abiding compatriots. With coarse jest, low laugh, and murmured imprecation, they spoke of bloodshed and murder with a flippant air, exhibiting always a keen anticipation as to the amount of loot that would fall to their lot, and discussing the probabilities of the women they might capture from the Sultan’s harem realising good prices in the slave-markets of the south. Before me was the upright, statuesque figure of the pirate chieftain, and beside him, mounted on a black stallion, with rich gold trappings, was the slight figure of a youth in a dress similar to my own, with white haick, burnouse of palest amaranth silk, and many yards of camels’ hair twisted around his head. The rider, whose back was towards me, was unfamiliar, but presently I managed to rein up level with him, and, turning to look, I was amazed to find that the face was that of Zoraida!
Her beautiful countenance was unveiled, and as our eyes met, she nodded and smiled a graceful recognition.
Involuntarily I was prompted to ride up and speak with her, but again remembering her strict injunctions, refrained, and, laughing back to her, spurred onward in front, where the dreaded banner waved lazily in the breath of hot, sand-laden wind. Hiding like any scarred warrior of her tribe, she sat her horse as firmly as if she were part of it, and, heedless of the cloud, of dust raised by those riding on before, or of the constant stumbling of the animal over the rough ground, she seemed the least fatigued of any. Her pale, delicate features, with eyebrows darkened by kohl, were by no means ferocious in the spotless haick that surrounded them, yet it was apparent that she had assumed male attire in order to place herself at the head of these fierce brigands, and that her wistful eyes were constantly turned in my direction, as if wishing to speak, yet not daring to do so.
Once she left Hadj Absalam’s side and galloped up to a camel whereon a woman was reclining in a rich, cage-like litter. The occupant drew aside the curtains to speak with her, when I recognised it was Halima. Exchanging a few hurried sentences, they glanced significantly in my direction, by which I knew that I was the object of their conversation, and then Zoraida, with a parting word which seemed like an injunction, spurred back again to the Sheikh’s side, while Halima, laughing and waving her hand towards me, drew her curtains again to exclude the hot gusts of whirling sand.
Throughout the evening Zoraida rode onward, smiling with an outward show of happiness, and although I pressed on close to her, she addressed not a word to me. Now and then the Daughter of the Sun would laugh, and the love-look in her eyes told me that her thoughts were constantly of me, and that her silence was enforced. She was leader of the marauders, and her orders were obeyed instantly and faithfully. Hadj Absalam had delivered his authority into her hands, and she had assumed command with the firmness of a military officer, in a manner which showed that it was not the first time that she had occupied that strange position. In galloping, she rode as swiftly and well as any of the bronzed Sons of the Desert, though her hair became unbound and fell in profusion over her shoulders, and she lost one of the tiny heel-less slippers, which, however, was afterwards searched for and recovered by two of her younger cavaliers, one of whom placed her bare foot in it, and received a smile and a word of thanks as reward.
