Complete Works of L. Frank Baum

by L. Frank Baum

  A scarcely perceptible tremor seemed to pass over the Professor’s slight frame. He turned to us with a new animation in his face.

  “Professor Lovelace reserved for himself the collection of papyrus rolls,” said he, in a brisk tone. “I will do the same. These writings would be of no value to you, in any event. All of the jewels, ornaments, or other treasure than the papyri, I will agree to divide with you equally.”

  “Very good,” said Uncle Naboth, with a nod. “It is our agreement. Write it down, Sam, and all these witnesses shall sign the document.”

  I brought paper and pens and began to draw up the agreement. Presently I paused.

  “In case of your death, Professor, I suppose you are willing all the treasure should belong to us, since that was your own claim when Lovelace died?”

  He grew a little pale as he answered: “Do you want to put that in the paper?”

  “Yes, if you please.”

  “Will you agree, on your part, to protect me from harm in all possible ways, to guard my life as completely as you do your own lives?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Then include it in the contract. It would be a terrible thing to die just when all this treasure is fairly in my grasp; but if I lose my life in the venture there is no one to inherit my possessions.”

  As I resumed my writing Uncle Naboth remarked:

  “We’ll look after you, sir, never fear. Sam only means to cover any possible mishaps, and I guess he’s right. But we’ll be satisfied with a fair division, and intend to do our duty by you if it costs us our lives to protect you.”

  When the contract was ready the Professor signed it without a word of protest, and after the witnesses had attached their signatures the little man went on deck and left us alone.

  “He means treachery,” remarked my father, coolly.

  Uncle nodded.

  “Quite possible, Dick; but it will be our business to watch him. His story is true, because he has the evidence to prove it, and I’ve no doubt he’ll lead us straight to the treasure. But what his game is afterwards, I can’t imagine.”

  After that we sat silent for a time.

  “Uncle,” said I, happening to think of the thing, “Archie wants to go along with us.”

  Mr. Perkins scratched his head reflectively.

  “What share does he want?” he asked.

  I turned to Archie for the reply.

  “If I’m any help to you, you can give me whatever you please,” said the boy. “I want to see the fun, mostly; but I’ll not refuse any reward I’m able to earn.”

  “That’s fair and square,” said Uncle Naboth. “You’re welcome to come along.”

  “Now, then,” proclaimed my father, “we’ve got to talk to the men. That’s your job, Sam — you’ve got the gift of palaver. The enterprise is irreg’lar an’ some dangerous, an’ our lads must be told jest what they’re expected to do.”

  We went on deck and piped all hands aft for a conference.

  As clearly as I was able I related to the crew the story Van Dorn had told us, and his proposal to us to assist him in getting the treasure. The only points I concealed were the location of the hoard and its probable value.

  “If you will join us in this adventure,” I added, “we promise every man three times his regular pay, and in case we get the treasure one-tenth of our share also be divided equally among you. We don’t expect much trouble, yet there may be a scrimmage or so with the Arabs before we get done. Any of you who fear this danger or don’t like the job we’ve undertaken, will be left at Port Said until we return, and we shall think none the worse of those men, who will simply forfeit their prize money. Now, lads, what do you say?”

  There wasn’t a dissenting voice among them. They were Americans. Many had sailed with us before, and all were picked men who had proved themselves honest and trustworthy. My father had indeed chosen his crew with care and judgment, and I think we were not much surprised that from Ned Britton down to the meanest sailor all were eager to undertake the venture.

  We cleared the port, sailed down to Port Said, and paid our fee to be passed through the Suez Canal to the Gulf of Arabia — no insignificant sum, by the way, but an incidental expense of the enterprise. The Professor had sadly informed us that he had no ready money to meet any of these emergencies; therefore we undertook to pay all expenses.

  Our last view of the quay at Alexandria showed the strange Arab still at his post, motionless and staring calmly after us. I noticed that Van Dorn heaved a sigh of relief when we drew away from the harbor and the solitary watcher had faded slowly from our sight.

  We were obliged to lie for four days at Port Said before our turn came to enter the canal, for several big liners of the East India Company and many packets of many nations were before us. Having our own engines we did not require a tug, and after a seemingly interminable period, although the distance is only one hundred miles, we emerged from the canal at Suez and Port Ibrahim and found the broad waters of the Red Sea lying before us.

  Heading southward we found fair breezes that wafted us at a good speed along the two hundred and fifty miles of barren coast between Suez and Koser. The Arabian desert, bleak and covered in places with bare mountains, was in sight on our right all the way, and the few small villages we passed did not seem inviting.

  At length, on the evening of the 12th of February, we anchored in the little harbor of Koser, and although the natives came flocking around us in their miserable fishing boats, offering fruit for sale and doubtless wondering what chance had led so strange and trim a craft as the Seagull to their forsaken port, we made no attempt to land or communicate with them until the next morning.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  GEGE-MERAK

  AFTER BREAKFAST UNCLE Naboth, the Professor, and I rowed ashore and landed on the primitive wooden quay, whence we proceeded to the town — a group of mud dwellings, palm thatched, standing on a small eminence near the bay. At the left of the town were several large storehouses belonging to the government, where tithes of grain were kept.

  A silent but observant group of natives met us on shore and accompanied us up the path to one of the principal houses, where Van Dorn, who understood Arabic, informed us the sheik and cadi awaited our coming.

  After a brief delay we were ushered into a low but spacious room where the light was so dim that at first I could see nothing. Presently, however, my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom and I made out a big, whiskered Arab sitting cross-legged on a mat and surrounded by a group of friends and advisors.

  To my relief they spoke English; brokenly, yet sufficiently well to be understood; and the sheik in most polite phrases begged to know why we had honored his poor village by a visit.

  The Professor explained that our vessel was bound for India, but that some of our party had an errand at Luxor and we wished to secure a guide, an armed escort, and some good camels, to form a caravan to cross the desert and return. The ship would wait in the harbor until we had accomplished our journey.

  They listened to this story respectfully. We were Americans, they judged. Only Americans in Egypt were credited with doing unusual things. An Englishman or other foreigner would have taken the railway to Luxor by way of Cairo.

  But they had no desire to grumble at our strange whim. To keep the ship in their harbor a week longer would mean more or less patronage of the village bazar as well as harbor fees for the sheik. The caravan across the desert would mean good earnings for many worthy citizens, no doubt.

  But just here they seemed to scent difficulties. The Arabs talked together earnestly in their own language, and the Professor explained to us in an anxious voice that guides were scarce in Koser just then. The best, a famous Arab Bedouin, had gone west to the mines on a three weeks’ journey. Another had just departed to take a party to Kift. The third and last one available was lying ill with a fever. There was no trouble about camels; the sheik had himself several superior animals to offer, and a neighbor chief of the Bega Bedouins
owned a splendid drove and could furnish any number required. But the guide was lacking, and a guide was absolutely necessary; for the desert was trackless and infested by haramyeh, or robbers.

  That seemed to settle the matter, to the great grief of the sheik; but the little Professor protested most vigorously that he had to go, and that a way must be found to secure for us a competent guide. Extra money would be available in the emergency, he added, and the hint set the bearded Arabs conferring again. They talked in Arabic, and I heard the name of Gege-Merak mentioned several times. The Professor, listening intently, told me this was the Bega chief who owned the camels. Gege-Merak had once been the most famous guide on the desert, but he was now old, and had retired from active life years ago. Still, if there was plenty of money to tempt him, he might be induced personally to lead us to Luxor and back.

  The discussion resulted in a messenger being dispatched to Gege-Merak, who lived a day’s journey in the desert, to propose our offer and bring back the chief’s reply. There would be nine of our own party, and we desired an escort of six armed natives, besides the guide.

  The delay was inevitable, and we waited as patiently as we could for the messenger’s return. That evening we entertained the sheik and his chief men at dinner aboard the ship, and before they returned to the shore they vowed undying friendship for us all, including Nux and Bryonia.

  My father’s cork leg especially won their admiration and respect, and they declared he must be a very great and famous Captain in his own country to be entrusted with the command of so noble and so beautiful a ship. We told them he was. The Professor added that next to the President himself all Americans revered Captain Steele, who had won many battles fighting against his country’s enemies. I was amused at this absurd description, but it afterward served us a good turn, and perhaps preserved our lives.

  The next day we visited the bazar, where unimportant articles were offered for sale, and as the sheik was himself the principal owner we purchased considerable rubbish that we had no use for, just to keep the rascals good natured.

  On the third day, at about sunset, the messenger returned, and to our surprise he was accompanied by a train of fifteen camels — all fine, strong specimens of these desert steeds.

  He had brought bad news for the sheik, though. Gege-Merak had consented to guide the strangers in person, but he would supply all the camels, tents, and blankets himself, and receive all the hire for them. Moreover, the armed escort must be all from his own tribe; no dog of an Arab should have anything to do with his caravan.

  The sheik frowned, cursed the impudent Bega, and swore he would not allow his dear friends, the Americans, to fall into Gege-Merak’s power.

  Uncle Naboth and I went out and examined the escort. They were handsome, well-formed fellows, with good features and dark, bronze hued complexions. Their limbs were slender and almost delicately formed, yet promised strength and agility. I decided at once that these men looked less like robbers than the Arabs of the village.

  The Ababdeh — for the Bega warriors belonged to this caste — sat their camels stolidly and in silence, awaiting the acceptance or rejection of the offer of their chieftain. They were dressed in coarse woolen robes colored in brilliant native hues, but they wore no head covering except their luxuriant, bushy hair, which formed a perfect cloud around their faces and seemed to me nearly a foot in thickness. In their girdles were short knives and each man carried slung across his back a long, slender rifle with an elaborately engraved silver stock.

  My uncle agreed with me that the escort looked manly and brave. We concluded there was a way to satisfy the sheik, so we went back to him and offered to pay a liberal sum for his permission to engage Gege-Merak. He graciously consented, although he warned us that the desert Bega were not the safest people in the world to intrust with our lives and that only the fear of consequences would prevent the Ababdeh chief from murdering us and rifling our bodies.

  The Professor, however, had no such fears. He confided to us his opinion that we were fortunate in having no Arabs in our party. In case we chanced to encounter Abdul Hashim, the Bega would be more likely to prove faithful than would the Koser Arabs. So he had reason to hope for our safe return from our adventure.

  For my part I pinned my faith to our stalwart escort of American sailors, thinking in my pride and ignorance that any one of them would be worth six Bega or Arabs if it came to a fight, and forgetting that the desert is a prison to those who do not know its trackless wilds.

  Desiring as little delay as possible we loaded the camels that evening with provisions from our ship and the light baggage, taking no more of the latter than was absolutely necessary. Bryonia, who was going with the party, insisted on carrying certain pots and pans with which to provide proper meals while en route, and these the Bega looked upon with absolute disdain. But I was glad to see our cook’s provision for our comfort, since we were to be gone eight or nine days at the least.

  Next morning we mounted the camels and set out. After some careful figuring we had organized our party as follows: The Professor first, of course; then Uncle Naboth, Archie Ackley, Joe, and myself. My father made some objection to three boys joining the party, but it was an adventure in which any boy would be eager to participate, and Joe begged so hard to go along and was so devoted to me personally that I argued the matter until Captain Steele gave in and consented. My father thought he could not ride a camel in comfort because of his cork leg, so he remained aboard to look after the ship. He let Ned Britton join us, though, and three sailors, all loyal fellows and splendid specimens of American manhood. This completed our party of nine. We were all armed with revolvers and repeating rifles, and felt that in case of attack or interference we could give a good account of ourselves.

  The weather was warm at this season, but when we started, soon after dawn, a gentle breeze was coming over the desert and we set out in good spirits in spite of the fact that the motion of the camels caused us to sway awkwardly in our tall saddles. We should get used to this motion in time, the Professor assured us; but at first it jolted us terribly.

  It seemed as if the entire population of the village had assembled to see us start, and from their looks they evidently considered us little less than madmen. The sheik wished us a safe journey and promised in the hearing of the Bega to avenge us in case we met with treachery; but at the same time, he told the Professor privately, he refused to guarantee our savage escort in any particular.

  Bidding my father and the crew of the Seagull a cheery farewell, we left Koser and began our journey across the desert.

  The Ababdeh were silent fellows, but when I questioned them I found that at least two of their number understood and spoke English fairly well. They did not waste words in expressing themselves, but seemed intelligent and respectful in their demeanor toward us.

  Our progress the first day was slow, for the way was across heavy sands that tired the camels to walk upon. We made a halt for luncheon and at about sundown reached the encampment of the Bega chief, Gege-Merak. It was situated on a tiny oasis of the desert, which boasted a well of good water and a group of a dozen tall spreading date-palms. Under the palms were set the chief houses of the village, made of mud and thatched with palm leaves; but the huts of the people extended also out upon the desert, on all sides of the oasis. These mainly consisted of low walls of mud roofed with squares of canvas, and none save the house of the chieftain was high enough for a man to stand upright within it.

  I was surprised at the number of this isolated tribe of Bega, and it was a wonder to me how they all managed to subsist. They had many goats and camels and a small herd of buffalo-cows — too many, seemingly, to crop the scant herbage of the oasis; but there was no attempt at agriculture that I could discover.

  We halted before the house of the chief, and after conferring together our escort conducted my uncle, the Professor, and myself into the building. We found ourselves in a large, cool room, lighted and aired by open spaces between the top of the
walls and the roof. At the rear was a dark passage, doubtless leading into other apartments, but the appearance of the interior was extremely primitive and unattractive.

  Upon a rush mat at one side of the room sat a young girl, her slender form graceful and upright, her dark eyes fixed curiously upon us. She seemed about fifteen years of age, but may have been two or three years younger, for the women of these desert gypsies mature early in life. Her hair, unlike that of the other Bega we had seen, was not bushy and cloudlike, but its luxuriant tresses were heavily plaited into several braids, two hanging in front over either shoulder and two others dropping behind her back. On her arms or ankles were broad bands or bracelets of silver, some of them set with odd stones of strange colors and shapes. Golden bangles — perhaps Persian or Arabian coins — were strung together on wires and woven into the braids of her hair. She wore a robe of some thin, strong material which was striped in alternate bands of scarlet and green — a robe more becoming than its description sounds, I think — and across her rounded shoulders was folded a Syrian scarf covered with rich embroidery.

  The girl was undeniably handsome. She would have been conspicuous by reason of her beauty in any civilized community. Here, surrounded by a barbaric desert tribe, she seemed a veritable daughter of Venus.

  I could not stare long at this gracious sight, for beside the girl sat, or rather squatted, a personage whose powerful individuality compelled attention.

  Gege-Merak — for I did not doubt I beheld the chief — was a withered, wrinkled old man scarce five feet in height when standing upright, a veritable dwarf among his handsome, well formed subjects. One eye — the right one — was gone, and across the sightless cavity and reaching from his cheek to his forehead, was a broad, livid scar as from the slash of a knife or a sword-cut. The other eye, small and glittering, regarded us with a glare as disconcerting as that of a snake, it being set in his face deep amid the folds of wrinkled flesh. His chin protruded and his thin lips were closed together in a straight line, while his bushy hair was snow-white in color, denoting great age.