The Last Egyptian. Baum Lyman Frank
cry was followed by a sudden rustle of the rushes, and with a spring like that of a panther, Kāra was upon the impudent intruder into his domain. Before Tadros could rise, his assailant was kneeling upon his body and with lithe, delicate fingers clutching viciously at his throat. The dragoman struggled to free himself, but could not. He tried to breathe, without effect. The skin of his bronzed face grew black, and his eyes protruded from their sockets with a look of horror and fear.
Seeing this, Kāra’s set face suddenly relaxed and lost its look of murderous determination. He released his hold of the dragoman and pushed away the mat to allow more air to get to him.
Slowly the other, gasping and uttering low moans, recovered his breath. Kāra’s fingers had left great discoloured blotches upon his neck; but that did not matter. From certain death he was coming back to life, and the transition was one to evoke gratitude and joy. Life was sweet to the dragoman – the sweetest thing he possessed.
Kāra, standing erect, looked down upon him with arms folded in repose and a countenance very thoughtful. Two reasons had stayed his vengeful hands. To murder Tadros would get him into trouble with the authorities, and so cause him great annoyance at this critical juncture, when liberty of action and freedom from espionage was important. In the second place, his half-formed plans included the use of the dragoman for his own advantage. Tadros was both clever and well known. He would become a good servant when he knew it would further his personal interest to be faithful, and so it was best that the dragoman should live – for a time.
He had now almost recovered from the shock of Kāra’s assault, and began to grow angry.
“What do you mean, you dog, by felling me like a wild beast and trying to throttle me?” he demanded, with his first breath.
“What do you mean by stealing into my house and prying into my private affairs?” returned Kāra brusquely.
The dragoman’s eyes fell upon the papyrus at his feet, and his face changed its expression.
“Where did you get it?” he asked, quickly. “Are there more of them? Is it a tomb or a temple? Tell me, Kāra, tell me all about it.”
The Egyptian smiled, grimly.
“There are more of them,” he said. “Look! in that corner are fourteen other rolls; but whether they came from a tomb or a temple I do not know. They are my inheritance from Hatatcha. Where she found them she alone could have told; but she carried the secret to the nether world.”
Tadros mused for a time.
“Where have they been kept all these years?” he asked in a tone of disbelief.
“Hidden underneath the rushes of her bed. I dragged them all out last night, as you can see.”
“Were there any more of the coins?”
“A few.” He showed some in his hand.
“Ah!”
The dragoman drew a deep breath.
“You are rich, my prince,” said he. “Fifteen papyri of the ancient days! – they are worth a fortune in any event.”
“How much?” asked Kāra, amused.
“This one,” said Tadros, picking it up and partly unrolling it to glance again at the writing, “I could sell in Cairo for five hundred piastres – perhaps a thousand. It is wonderfully clear and well preserved.”
“You may keep it for yourself,” said Kāra.
Tadros stared.
“I will exchange it for the girl Nephthys,” continued the young man, coolly. “For her you have paid to old Sĕra two hundred and fifty piastres already. You must pay a like sum to take the girl away with you, and afterward you must pay for her support. Very well; I will relieve you of the burden. You will not only save your money, but you will get a papyrus worth four times what you have invested.”
Tadros frowned and looked glum.
“But the girl is mine!” he exclaimed.
“And the papyrus is mine,” returned Kāra. “Perhaps I could buy two or three like Nephthys with it; but never mind, it shall be yours in the way of exchange.”
Tadros moved uneasily and cast a longing glance at the roll.
“I like not this barbaric traffic in womankind,” he muttered, with indecision.
“Nor I,” agreed Kāra. “It is Sĕra who is to blame. If she has a fat daughter, she will want a fat price for her. Otherwise, how can she be recompensed for the girl’s keep? But five hundred is too much for Nephthys. I would have to give her mother the other two hundred and fifty piastres myself – and you would have the roll. By Isis, ’tis a bad bargain! Here; let us say no more about it. Give me the papyrus.”
“Wait – wait!” cried Tadros. “Why are you so unjust in your conclusions? The bargain is made. No one but a sneaking Arab goes back on his word.”
“It is as you say,” replied Kāra, stretching his long arms and yawning. “But it is a fine papyrus, Tadros – all about the Kheta and King Rameses.”
“I know; I know!” returned the dragoman, nervously tucking his prize under his arm. “Come with me at once. I will inform Sĕra of the transfer of my property.”
He rose to his feet a little unsteadily, because his throat still hurt him, and led the way.
Kāra quietly followed.
In Sĕra’s hovel mother and daughter were weaving upon a rude cane loom.
“See here,” announced the dragoman; “this Nephthys is too free with her favors, and I cannot be coming forever to this forsaken village to look after her. Besides, I must get back to Cairo to attend to my business, so I have sold the girl to my friend Kāra here, and when he takes her away from you, if ever he does, he is to pay the other two hundred and fifty piastres I promised.”
Sĕra seemed surprised, but nodded her head cheerfully.
“It is all the same to me,” she replied. “If the royal one has the money to satisfy you, it is none of my business, I am sure. An alliance with the descendant of the great Ahtka-Rā is something to be proud of.”
The girl had broken a thread. As she prepared to retie it, she glanced from one to the other of the two men with a look of indifference.
“I do not promise to make Nephthys a wife,” said Kāra, slowly, “although, of course, it may come to that. My plans are not formed for the future. But I have acquired the girl in betrothal through my compact with Tadros, and his rights are hereafter mine.”
“She grows plumper every day,” said Sĕra, glancing at Nephthys critically. “You will seek long, my Kāra, before you find a more desirable wife. Yet I am in no hurry to lose my daughter, believe me, even for the money she will bring. Take your time about deciding the matter.”
“I will,” responded Kāra, briefly.
“And now, tell me, what has become of your grandmother, Hatatcha?”
“I have carried her into the desert to be embalmed.”
And then, to avoid further questioning, he went away.
CHAPTER VI
KĀRA BATHES IN THE NILE
Tadros followed him into the street again.
“Those other papyri,” he said – “do you wish me to sell them for you?”
“They are already sold,” replied Kāra, regardless of truth.
“Indeed! To whom?”
“Winston Bey, the Englishman.”
Tadros uttered an exclamation of annoyance.
“Where have you met him?” he asked.
“Here, at the Nile landing. His boat will come to-night for the papyrus rolls.”
Many thoughts passed rapidly through the dragoman’s mind. Here was