Zoraida: A Romance of the Harem and the Great Sahara. Le Queux William
the circumstantial evidence was strong enough to convict me. I sought my brother’s assistance, and, half mad with terror and despair, I escaped from England. To return to France would be to run into the arms of the police, so I resolved to come here and in the wild life of the desert to bury the past.”
“But by whom was your friend Fothergill stabbed?” I asked.
“Let me tell you,” he replied. “Since that day, when like a criminal I fled from the trial I was afraid to face, I have learned only one fact, though not until a year ago did it come to my knowledge. It appears that on the evening of the murder, Fothergill wrote telling me that during a visit to Paris he had discovered certain details connected with the relations between Mariette Lestrade, a pretty singer whose chansons de poirrot were well known at the Moulin Rouge and Ambassadeurs and the ex-Minister of Education. He had that day called at Long’s Hotel, in Bond Street, where the General was staying, and in the course of a stormy interview threatened that if he still continued his suit, he would expose his secret attachment to this star of the café-concert, and take his cousin to her, so that she might investigate for herself. Lord Isleworth’s daughter would have a handsome dowry which was much needed to renovate the departed splendour of the ex-Minister’s estate in the Charente, therefore he was obstinate, laughed, snapped his fingers, and defied Jack. This interview took place at four o’clock in the afternoon, and Jack wrote to me from the Naval and Military Club, telling me everything, and stating that De Largentière had threatened his life. This letter was delivered at my chambers the same night, but I was not there, nor did I return, therefore my brother took charge of it and after nearly two years it reached me out here, unopened.”
“In face of such evidence as that,” I said, “the identity of the actual murderer is not very far to seek.”
“No,” he said, in a low, harsh tone.
“Why do you not take that letter, face the charge against you, and bring the criminal to his punishment?”
“Why?” he echoed, starting to his feet and looking me full in the face. “Why do I not denounce him, and return to civilisation? Because,” he said slowly, in a voice trembling with emotion, “because Violet – the woman I love – is Madame de Largentière. I think only of her. I adore her still. She shall never know of her husband’s terrible secret. Her innocent children shall never be branded as the spawn of a murderer!”
As he spoke, there was a bright flash in the dark clump of aloes immediately opposite us, and at the same instant the report of a rifle fired at close quarters caused me to start violently.
Octave Uzanne threw up his arms with a loud piercing cry, and, reeling, fell heavily backward, struck down by a coward’s bullet!
Chapter Eight.
The Fight in the Meskam
Our eyes were in a moment blinded by a flash, as fifty rifles opened fire upon us from every cover the thick bushes afforded.
For a few seconds, as the sounds of the first volley died away, there was a dead silence. So sudden had been the attack, that my comrades the Spahis stood dumbfounded, but ere the rifles of our unknown enemies were reloaded, fierce shrill yells rent the air, the arms that had been piled were snatched up, horses were untethered, and almost simultaneously with a second volley from the ambush, the homards, displaying cool courage, poured into the thick growth of myrtles, hulfa, acacias, and dwarf palms, a terribly withering fire.
The whole scene was enacted ere I could draw breath. The moon had disappeared, and in the darkness rifles seemed to pour forth flame on every hand. Evidently our enemies had been watching their opportunity, and while the camp was busy preparing for the departure of the Chasseurs, they had killed the three men on sentry duty on the other side of the sand-hill, and then crept into ambush, and lay there until the signal was given to open fire.
As the desperate combat commenced, and the fusillade burst forth with deafening report, I felt for my revolver, but my heart sank within me as I remembered that the Ennitra had relieved me of it, and I found myself standing alone and unarmed. A few feet away Uzanne’s rifle was lying, together with his bag of cartridges. I dashed towards them and bent to pick them up, but ere I could do so, a big fierce-looking Arab sprang from the myrtles towards me, yelling and whirling his knife above his head.
It was the work of an instant.
I remember feeling his sinewy grasp upon my shoulder, I saw his flashing blade above me, and heard him cry in Arabic —
“Let the dogs perish! Kill them! Kill them all!”
The heavy knife whistled in the air as uplifted it poised aloft for a moment.
Suddenly a shot sounded behind me. My assailant clapped his left hand to his breast and staggered back a few steps, then clutched violently at the air and fell. Glancing quickly in the direction whence the shot had come, I saw my friend Uzanne had with difficulty raised himself on one arm, and, drawing his revolver, had with unerring aim shot the Arab through the heart.
Octave Uzanne had saved my life.
“Sapristi!” he shouted, with a laugh, as I dashed towards him. “That was a close shave! Je lui ai collé un atout sur le nez!”
“Are you seriously hurt?” I gasped; noticing as the rifles flashed that blood was streaming from his shoulder.
“No,” he replied quickly. “I think not. Don’t trouble after me now, for I’m no good. I’ll patch myself up. Take my rifle and help the others.”
Snatching up the weapon, I loaded it, and, flinging myself on the ground behind the root of a fallen palm, I opened fire upon the thick bushes before me. In this way the minutes, full of anxiety, passed in ignorance of our foes. The deafening explosions were incessant, yells and cries of enemy and friend now and then sounded above the firing, and the air grew so thick with smoke, that I could scarcely distinguish the bushes where the Arabs lay in ambush.
As the terrible moments went by, I knew we were fighting for our lives. Altogether our force in camp only amounted to sixty, while we were, as yet, unaware of the character or number of our assailants. That they had dared to attack a military post showed they were present in overwhelming numbers, and, further, that they had waited until the Chasseurs had got away before swooping down to annihilate us.
Lying along the ground near my red-burnoused comrades, I fired as regularly as I was able, until suddenly a bugle sounded. It was the order to mount!
My comrades dashed towards their tethered horses, a number of which had been shot down, and I followed. In the excitement I jumped upon the saddle of the first animal I could reach, and as I did so, the bugle again sounded.
“I’htaris! sidi! Keep beside me,” shouted a lithe, muscular Spahi, vaulting upon a horse a few yards away. “We’ll soon clear out these vermin.”
Then, as my companion yelled an imprecation in Arabic and held his rifle high above his head, we all, with one accord, spurred on our horses, and, swift as the wind, tore across the open space between the line of tents and low bushes, dashing into the cavernous darkness of the ambush ere our enemy could be aware of our intention. The result was frightful. Carried on by the wild rush, I found myself in the midst of a sanguinary mêlée, where one had to fight one’s adversaries literally hand to hand. My companions, whirling their keen blades, and shouting prayers to Allah the while, fell upon their assailants with piercing yells and cut them down in a manner that was truly awful, but it was not until this moment that I discovered that the officer in command of the Spahis had cleverly divided his small force into two detachments, one of which was repulsing the enemy from the front, while the other had made a circuitous charge, and was now outflanking our opponents and slaughtering them in the rear.
Thus the outlaws were quickly hemmed in, and although we were unable to follow them far, owing to the dense undergrowth, yet we silenced their fire.
Then it was that we made a discovery. The Spahi beside whom I had ridden – a splendid fellow, who sat as firmly in his saddle as if he were part of it, and who, while galloping, could fire his rifle with deadly effect – shouted as he drew rein for a moment —
“Diable!