Stealthily Sidi-El-Seghir slunk back to the boulder which sheltered Mohammed and the two prisoners. He found another Arab there who evidently had no stomach for the bullets of the white man.
“Come!” whispered Sidi-El-Seghir. “The others will hold off the foe while we carry the prisoners to safety.” He did not mention that the others knew nothing of his plan.
Behind the camp were the horses. Their guard had run forward to join the fighting at the front. Quickly the three Arabs saddled their beasts, and with Azîz walking and strapped to Sidi-El-Seghir’s saddle bow and Nakhla mounted behind Mohammed, the fugitives broke straight up into the wild, rough going of the hills. Here, surely, thought Sidi-El-Seghir, he should lose the white man and possibly obtain sufficient start of Ali-Es-Hadji to make good his escape to the wild country through which no man could trail him.
Below them they heard the rattle of the musketry, the cries and cursings of the wounded, and the occasional shriek of a mortally hit horse. It was a hot battle, hotly waged. Sidi-El-Seghir was not sorry that he had escaped it. Ambush and murder were more in his line than open fighting, man to man.
As they reached a little tableland Azîz heard again the roaring of a lion, but this time it was much closer — coming apparently from directly behind them out of the black abyss through which they had climbed to the moonlight mesa. He thrilled to the savage notes.
The Arabs heard them, too, and pressed forward as rapidly as possible. At times the gait taxed even the magnificent speed of the lion-man, but he was buoyed by a strange hope that filled his breast. Could it be that he had recognized the fierce notes of his brother in the voice of the beast upon their trail?”
His keen ears detected the closer grunting of the beast as it approached and finally paralleled them. Presently he was aware that there were two of them, and once he caught the sheen of their tawny hides as they passed from cover to cover a hundred yards to the right. No, there could be no mistake. How his heart leaped as hope grew almost to certainty.
The Arabs were now aware of the presence of the lions. Constantly their eyes were turned fearfully toward those two grim shadows that loped so silently upon their flank.
“Hasten!” muttered Sidi-El-Seghir. “The brutes will be upon us if we do not distance them soon.” But the way was too rough for the jaded horses to better their speed.
Presently the party broke out upon a smooth and open, park-like space. The brilliant moon flooded the scene with light. Sidi-El-Seghir looked fearfully toward the huge beasts that seemed so horribly close.
He could see their jaws drooping open and the light flashing upon their white fangs. The Arab shuddered. Mohammed breathed a little prayer to Allah and drove his spurs into his horse’s sides. Nakhla looked apprehensively toward the lions and then at Azîz. Could these be his beasts? And if they were, could they know him and her so far from their own environment?
The lion and his mate were drawing imperceptibly closer with each stride - edging in toward the little party of horsemen. Sidi-El-Seghir raised his ancient matchlock to fire from the back of his galloping horse. But even as his finger tightened upon the trigger a sudden stirring growl broke from the lips of a beast at his side.
Startled, the Arab glanced down to see the tethered white man leaping upward toward him with outstretched hands. Could that bestial sound have risen from a human throat? For answer he saw the lips part to a hideous roar, and even as he clubbed his rifle to beat off the creature threatening him he felt the sinewy fingers at his shoulder. The man had leaped to his side and was dragging him down even as a beast of prey drags down its quarry.
As he fell he heard the horrid roaring of the two lions mingling with the snarls of his own antagonist, and caught a fleeting glimpse of the tawny bodies charging down upon the party.
Then the teeth of the lion-man found his throat and Sidi-El-Seghir’s ghost glided fearfully out of the wilderness of Africa into the unknown.
CHAPTER 23
When Hans de Groot came to mess for breakfast on thursday, the twelfth, he found his fellow officers in a state of mild excitement.
“Your friend, Carlyn, was killed last night,” said one of them. “Here it is in the morning paper. He was shot by a woman in her room in a hotel on the frontier.”
Hans took the paper and read the brief article. “Wesl,” he said; “Why that was the name of the fellow who assassinated the King. They must have been a very dangerous couple. Well, she will hang for it; and that will be the end of both of them.”
“I am a great believer in capital punishment,” said another officer. “People who commit murders should die.”
“Yes,” agreed Hans
* * * * *
General Count Sarnya arrived in the capital in the afternoon and had an immediate audience with the King. Ferdinand was cold and arrogant. He had always hated Sarnya, probably because Sarnya was a strong character and a very popular man. Ferdinand was neither. He mistook stubbornness for strength, and depended upon his power and his title for popularity.
“Conditions are very bad, Your Majesty,” said Sarnya. “There is a great deal of unrest. The people need only a spark to set them off. The army cannot be depended upon. I beg of you to make a gesture of conciliation at once - today. If you will announce that you will accept the new constitution and at the same time restore the former pay to all grades in the services, I am positive that you will forestall a disaster.”
“I did not send for you to ask your advice,” said Ferdinand, coldly. “I sent for you to tell you to prepare the frontier forces for war. I am going to march on the capital of my father-in-law, and teach the old fool a lesson. When I get through with him, the indemnity he’ll have to pay will more than wipe out the loan he has had the effrontery to call.”
General Count Sarnya stood very straight before the King. “I have warned you, Ferdinand,” he said, “just as I warned your uncle many years ago. Because he was a great king and a very brave man, he chose to ignore my warning. You are ignoring it because you are a fool. Let the consequences be on your own head.”
Ferdinand jumped to his feet, trembling with rage. “How dare you speak to me like that?” he demanded. “You are under arrest. We shall know what to do with traitors.”
Sarnya laughed at him. “You cannot arrest me,” he said. “At a word from me the whole army would rise against you, and you know it;” then he turned on his heel and quit the room.
Ferdinand sank back in his chair, still trembling.
* * * * *
“Hilda,” said Ferdinand, “have your maid pack a bag and get your wraps; we are going to the hunting lodge for a few days. I am sick and tired of all the wrangling and dissension here. I want a rest.”
“Why, Ferdinand, it’s after midnight,” objected Hilda, “and I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”
“You can sleep better out there in the woods, and it doesn’t take long to drive out. Come on.”
“No; it’s Friday the thirteenth; and I wouldn’t start anywhere on that date,” said Hilda. “We’ll go Saturday.”
“Oh, very well; have your own way,” snapped Ferdinand, petulantly.
* * * * *
When Friday morning dawned, the streets of the capital were filled with soldiers. They surrounded the palace and all the government buildings and the national bank. There were barricades and machine guns across many of the principal streets. General Count Sarnya was in command.
Rumors flew thick and fast. The people were nervous and terrified. No newspapers had been issued. There was tenseness in the air. At last an official bulletin was issued announcing that a state of martial law existed. It also told briefly the occurrences of the early hours of the morning of Friday the thirteenth.
“At three o’clock in the morning,” it stated, “six officers forced their way into the palace and the King’s apartments. There they found and killed both the King and Mademoiselle de Groot. Lieutenant Hans de Groot, who was one of the six officers involved, shot himself through the
head immediately following the death of his sister; he died instantly.”
CHAPTER 24
Mohammed and the other Arab, terror-stricken upon their terror-stricken mounts, attempted to escape. The former to lighten the burden upon his horse turned in his saddle and pushed Nakhla to the ground; but it was too late. The girl saw a flash of leaping, white fanged rage spring for the rider. A mighty, taloned paw raked the Arab from the horse’s back; great jaws closed upon his head; and then the lion gave the limp form a vicious shake and dropped it.
The other Arab, a few yards in advance as he had been, was able to make good his escape, for the lions had attacked upon rather level, open ground where the advantage was all upon the side of the fleet horses. Now the lioness was returning at a quick trot toward her mate.
Nakhla looked about her. The lion stood scarce ten feet from her, his yellow eyes fixed full upon her. Behind him the lioness was approaching. A hundred feet to one side Azîz was just rising from the body of Sidi-El- Seghir. He could not reach her ahead of the lions. Would the black-maned one remember her?
The same question rose in the mind of the man, and with great leaps he hastened toward the girl, shouting at the same time to the lions. The lioness had now come to a halt just behind her mate, where she, too, eyeing the girl and growling savagely.
The lion advanced slowly toward Nakhla. The girl stood quietly with extended hand, speaking to the great brute as she had been wont to do when she and Azîz and el adrea had lolled through hot afternoons beneath the shade of some great tree beside the little river in their own beloved canyon.
The huge beast was close before her when he halted and raising his muzzle rubbed it beneath her palm — begging for a caress. It was with a sigh of relief that was almost a sob that the girl dropped to her knees and threw both arms about the savage, black-maned neck. Behind them the lioness growled questioningly, and then Azîz leaped to her side.
It did not take the lioness long to learn that Nakhla was one of them - that she must not be harmed, though, for a while the lion or the man kept always between them.
When Nakhla came to her feet she saw Azîz looking down upon her, with a deep sadness that she never before had seen upon his countenance. She had been minded to thank him for his protection and then turn her back upon him; but there was that in his face that made her forget even the white girl — his wife.
“What is it?” she whispered. “Are you in pain? Does the wound upon your head still cause you suffering?”
He looked at her for a moment in dumb misery. The pain in his head was almost intolerable.
“It is not my head that hurts, Nakhla,” he said, and he laid his hand upon his heart— “it is here that the hurt is.”
“I do not understand,” she answered. “I thought that you were very happy - you seemed so when you rode to my father’s douar beside the white girl.”
“How could the brother of el adrea be happy,” he asked, “knowing that Nakhla was wed to another?”
“Nakhla wed to another?” she cried. “What do you mean?”
“Did you not send a messenger out into the desert to tell me that I must come no more to visit you — that you were married to a man of your own tribe?”
Instantly the girl read the truth.
“Ben Saada!” she exclaimed. “None but Ben Saada would have done so vile a thing.”
“It is not true, then?” he cried, his voice trembling.
“It is not true, Azîz,” she answered. “Nakhla is wed to no man.”
The use of the name that she had given him, and that he had not heard upon her lips for so long sent a thrill through him. He came close to her side.
“I know now what ‘Azîz’ means,” he said.
Nakhla flushed, and at the same instant she thought of what Ben Saada had told her — that this man was married to the white girl of the French. She drew quickly away from him.
“Nakhla is not married.” she said, speaking quickly, “but can the brother of el adrea say the same for himself?”
“You know, Nakhla,” he answered simply, “that I am not wed to you, and, so I cannot be wed to any.”
“But the French girl?” she asked, still in doubt.
Azîz laughed.
“She was like a sister to me, who had never had a sister. How could I, having seen Nakhla, love any other upon the face of the earth?”
This last argument seemed to be quite convincing; and Nakhla came close to him, looking up into his face.
Still he did not take her in his arms, though that is precisely what Nakhla wished him to do. In a moment she was piqued. Her eyes flashed and her chin took upon itself the haughty tilt that made her lips seem irresistible.
Azîz was moved, but he could not forget that he was a Nasrâny, a pig, a dog of an unbeliever, everything in fact that was low and despicable in the eyes of Arab or white.
The firing behind them — the guns of the allies against the marauders - had long since ceased; but neither had noted the fact, nor in truth anything other than one another. The moon stood directly above them, and a few paces away the lion and the lioness tore at the flesh of Mohammed’s horse, for the animal had been crippled by the same mighty blow that had swept his rider to death.
“Come,” said Nakhla, coldly. “Back there are my people. I am going to them. The Sheik Ali-Es-Hadji, my father, will repay you for that which you have done in the service of his daughter.”
“Pay!” exclaimed Azîz. “Why should you hurt me more by saying such a thing as that? Is it not enough that so low a one as I dare love all hopelessly such as you, that you must add hurt to my sorrow by suggesting that I could take pay for serving you?”
Nakhla looked straight into the eyes of the lion-man. “I do not know,” she said, “what you mean by saying that you are ‘low.’ Nor can I guess any more what your sentiments may be — I have seen no indications of love. Perhaps the lion-man is not so brave as a lion, after all.” There was a diabolical little smile of mischief upon her lips.
Azîz, dense as most men are in the matter of a maid’s love, awoke at last from his stupid lethargy. Before she could have prevented had she desired to do so he had seized her, and when she found herself crushed to his broad breast her hands stole up about his neck and slowly drew his lips downward upon hers.
It was upon this scene that two men looked — a French Colonel and an Arab Sheik. They had topped a little rise of ground as it broke upon their startled visions, bringing them to a sudden halt within the concealing fringe of bush through which they had been riding.
“Allah!” exclaimed the Arab. “Look!”
“Mon Dieu!” ejaculated Colonel Vivier. “See those great lions feeding behind them — it is incredible.”
“The lion-man — and my daughter,” whispered Ali-Es-Hadji, half to himself.
* * * * *
“And you really love me?” Azîz was asking. “You do not think that I am a pig or a dog or any of the other things that men call me?”
“I love you,” whispered the girl. “You are Azîz, Nakhla’s Azîz.”
And again he crushed her close to him, covering her face with kisses. Sheik Ali-Es-Hadji saw and groaned.
“The dog!” he muttered.
Colonel Vivier looked at him in surprise — he had forgotten that only a few nights before he had been thrown into a rage at the suggestion that his own daughter might love this outcast — this brother of the beasts.
Ali-Es-Hadji could endure it no longer. With a cry he spurred his horse into the open, crying aloud to the man and the maid.
“Pig!” he shrieked, “take your vile hands off my daughter. Nakhla, come hither at once!”
But for answer there came the savage roar of a great lion, as the black- maned one leaped from his kill toward the advancing horseman.
Ali-Es-Hadji had forgotten the beasts in the moment of his rage, but now as he saw the fierce creature charging upon him he wheeled his horse and raced off in the opposite direction. Azîz at the sa
me time leaped after the lion, crying to him to come back; and then the four stood together, the lion and the man with their mates, watching the intruders.
Again Ali-Es-Hadji rode within speaking distance, but this time his tone was less warlike. There was a note of pleading in it. “Oh, Nakhla, my daughter,” he cried. “Come back to me, my child. Do not leave your old father, who loves you, to die in loneliness of a broken heart.”
It was Azîz who answered.
“Ali-Es-Hadji,” he said, “I shall wed your daughter; and we shall come and dwell in your douar, if you will, that you may have her near you. I have no anger against the father of Nakhla.”
“Come,” said Ali-Es-Hadji— “it shall be as you have said.”
With the lions snarling savagely at either side of them, Nakhla and Azîz walked forward to meet the girl’s father. His terrified mount snorted and reared. It was impossible to bring him close to the wild beasts. Neither could Colonel Vivier approach without dismounting; and as there was none to hold their frightened horses the two men were compelled to ride on in advance of the four, for Azîz would not send his companions away.
Thus the strange party came to the camp of the soldiers and the Arabs, and very near they were to starting a stampede as the lions passed the picket line. Straight into the center of the camp they walked, while the French and the sons of the desert looked on in wide-eyed consternation. Azîz held his two beasts under perfect control, aside from a little savage roaring and growls of warning.
As the party halted before Vivier’s tent, a sudden sharp pain shot through the lion-man’s aching head. With a low moan, he threw his hands above him and sank to the ground, unconscious. Nakhla was on her knees beside him in an instant; and the two lions turned questioningly toward his prostrate form, sniffing about him and brushing his cheek with their rough tongues.
For a few minutes they hovered restlessly about, growling viciously at the circle of men who dared not approach closer, though they paid no attention to the girl in whose lap their master’s head was pillowed. The beasts were evidently suspicious and ill at ease. Again the male sniffed inquiringly at the supine body of the man. Then his muzzle brushed the cheek of the girl as with a low moan he turned away and strode majestically from the side of the man he evidently thought to be dead.
Delphi Collected Works of Edgar Rice Burroughs (Illustrated) (Series Four Book 26) Page 498