The G.A. Henty MEGAPACK ®. G.a. Henty Henty
as my hakim, and take this as medicine because you order it.”
“I feel sure that the Prophet himself would not have forbidden it when so used. You look better already, and there is a little colour in your cheek. Now, let us be off. If your father has recovered consciousness, he must be in great anxiety about you.”
“But I want to ask you about yourself?”
“I will tell you when we are mounted. The sooner we are off the better.”
He was glad to see that, as they walked towards the donkeys, Sidi stepped out much more firmly than before. He had put on his burnoose as soon as Edgar joined him, and this concealed him almost to his feet when he had mounted.
“We are not pressed for time,” Edgar said to the donkey-boy. “Go along gently and quietly.”
The donkey started at the easy trot that distinguishes his species in Egypt.
“Now, Edgar,” Sidi said, as soon as they were in motion, “here have you been telling me about my father, and I have been telling you about myself, but not one word as yet have you told as to how you escaped, and so saved the lives of both of us. Allah has, assuredly, sent you to be our good genius, to aid us when we are in trouble, and to risk your life for ours.”
“Well, never mind about that now, Sidi. I will tell you all about it; but it is a good long story.”
So saying, he narrated his adventures in detail, from the time when his horse fell with him to the moment when he entered the room where the court-martial was being held. He made the story a long one, in order to prevent his friend from talking, for he saw when he had spoken how great was his emotion. He made his narrative last until they came within a quarter of a mile of the village near which the sheik was hidden.
“Now we will get off,” he said, “and send the donkeys back.”
He paid the amount for which he had bargained for the animals, and bestowed a tip upon the boy that made him open his eyes with delight. They turned off from the road at once, made a detour, and came down upon the clump of trees from the other side. The Arabs had seen them approaching, and welcomed Sidi with exuberant delight. To his first question, “How is my father?” they said, “He is better. He is very weak. He has spoken but once. He looked round, evidently wondering where he was, and we told him how the young Englishman, his friend, had come to us, and how we had searched for hours among the dead, and, at last finding him, had carried him off. Then he said, ‘Did you find my son?’ We told him no, and that we had searched so carefully that we felt sure that he was not among the dead, but that you had gone back to the town to try and learn something about him. He shook his head a little, and then closed his eyes. He has not spoken again.”
“Doubtless he feels sure, as we could not find you, that you are dead, Sidi. I have no doubt the sight of you will do him a great deal of good. I will go forward and let him know that you are here. Do not show yourself until I call you.”
The sheik was lying with his eyes shut. As Edgar approached he opened them, and the lad saw he was recognized.
“Glad am I to see you conscious again, sheik,” he said, bending over him.
The sheik feebly returned the pressure of his hand.
“May Allah pour his blessings upon you!” he whispered. “I am glad that I shall lie under the sands of the desert, and not be buried like a dog in a pit with others.”
“I hope that you are not going to die, sheik. You are sorely weak from loss of blood, and you are wounded in five places, but I think not at all that any of them are mortal.”
“I care not to live,” the sheik murmured. “Half my followers are dead. I mourn not for them; they, like myself, died in doing their duty and in fighting the Franks—but it is my boy, of whom I was so proud. I ought not to have taken him with me. Think you that I could wish to live, and go back to tell his mother that I took him to his death.”
“He was not killed, sheik; we assured ourselves of that before we carried you away, and I found that, with twenty other Arabs and two or three hundred of the townsmen, he was taken prisoner to the citadel.”
A look of pain passed across the sheik’s face.
“Your news is not good; it is bad,” he said, with more energy than he had hitherto shown. “It were better had he died in battle than be shot in cold blood. Think you that they will spare any whom they caught in arms against them?”
“My news is good, sheik,” Edgar said calmly; “had it been otherwise I would have left you to think that he had died on the field of battle. I have reason to believe that Sidi has been released, and that you will soon see him.”
For a moment the sheik’s eyes expressed incredulity; then the assured tone and the calm manner of Edgar convinced him that he at least believed that it was true.
“Are you sure, are you quite sure?” he asked, in tones so low that Edgar could scarce hear him.
“I am quite sure—I would not buoy you up with false hopes. Sidi is free. He is not far off now, and will speedily be here, directly he knows that you are strong enough to see him.”
For a minute the sheik’s eyes closed, his lips moved, but no sound came from them, but Edgar knew that he was murmuring thanks to Allah for his son’s preservation. Then he looked up again.
“I am strong enough,” he said; “your news has made a man of me again. Send him here.”
Edgar walked away and joined Sidi.
“Be very calm and quiet,” he said; “your father is very, very weak. Do not break down. He knows that you are close by, and is prepared to see you. Do not, I beg of you, agitate him; do not let him talk, or talk much yourself; be calm and restful with him.”
He turned away and walked to the end of the trees, where he engaged in a short conversation with the two Arabs. Then he turned again, and went near enough to catch a sight of the sheik. Sidi was kneeling by his side, holding his hand to his heart, and a smile of happiness illuminated the drawn face of the wounded man. Satisfied that all was going on well, he joined the men.
“In the basket you will find a small cooking-pot,” he said. “Pick up some of the driest sticks that you can find, so as not to make any smoke. Put some kabobs into the pot with as much water as will just cover them; then place it over the fire, and let it stew until the meat is in threads. Strain the broth off. I will give it to him, a sip at a time.”
“We need not be afraid of the smoke,” one of the men said. “We went down to the village to get bread and dates. A man saw that we were Arabs, and asked us for news of what was going on in Cairo. Some fugitives passed along yesterday evening, and said that the French were killing all the Moslems. We told him that it was not as bad as that, but that many had assuredly been slain. He called down maledictions upon the French, and seeing that he was a true man we said that we had a wounded comrade with us, and that he was lying in the grove. He told us that he was the owner of it, and that we were welcome to use it, but prayed us not to come to him again; for if the Franks came along in search of fugitives, and happened to search the grove, and found that he had been supplying a wounded man with provisions, it might cost him his life. We told him that he need not fear, for that we would not betray him, but that, at any rate, we would not come to his shop again.”
“Then make the fire immediately, Hassan; the sooner the sheik has a little nourishment, the better. If he seems strong enough to bear it, I want to carry him off to the mountains at once. It is quite possible that the French may be searching the villages round for wounded fugitives, and I would fain get him up among the hills. Sidi, too, has an ugly wound in the head, and needs a few days’ rest. I think I have everything that they can want for the next two or three days, and you have a good supply of fruit. We must find some place among the rocks sheltered from the sun. When it is dark you must go down to the fountain and fill up your water-skins there.”
An hour later Edgar carried the cup of broth to the sheik.
“Sidi,