The Sheik Retold(75)

He came to where I stood on the balcony and clasped both of my hands in his. "I am glad you are safe. Please know that I wish you all happiness with your sheik." This time he did not ask permission before his lips brushed mine. "Goodbye, Diana."

"Goodbye, Jim," I replied softly. "You are a good man and deserve much better than me."

***

Three days later I was in a large company of mounted legionnaires, the new Régiment étranger de Cavalerie, a cadre comprised largely of White Russians who were the foundation of a new fighting force in Algeria. To his credit, the governor-general had not been fool enough to think he could fight Ahmed from the ground. While individually, the new recruits were no match for Ahmed's desert-acclimated fighting force, I guessed the regiment outnumbered his men by at least five to one. In the end , they had not needed me at all, having recruited a kinsman of Ibraheim Omair who was as motivated as a bloodhound to find and kill Ben Hassan. I feared a bloodbath if they managed to find and take him by surprise.

The troops were under the command of Colonel Perret, a misogynistic little Frenchman zealous of honors and promotion. Although the governor-general had ordered a guard over me, the colonel was lax in this regard and concerned himself about me as little as possible. As we drew closer to Ahmed's territory, Perret became increasingly preoccupied with his battle plan and had all but forgotten me. I did little to bring notice to myself, knowing it would play to my advantage.

It was on the fourth day that we reached the former camp of Ibraheim Omair, now nearly deserted but for the few scattered tents of camel drivers. We were only a few hours from the sad little oasis where Gaston and I had made our brave stand and maybe half a day's ride to Ahmed's camp. I had my bearings. The time had come to break away and warn Ahmed. I was well provisioned and had a fleet horse; now all I wanted was the proper opportunity to make my escape.

I waited quietly in my tent until most of the camp had settled for the night. It was no great difficulty to sneak through to the picket line. Cloaked in the black gandoura I had packed, I was nearly invisible. A couple of times I ducked low, hiding between the horses as the sentry passed until at last I found The Dancer. Fearing his antics would attract attention, I led him as far away as I dared before throwing myself into the saddle. Once more, luck was with me. The sky was clear, and the moon shone almost full as I pointed my horse south.

The moment I was back in the saddle, I was able to shake off my nervous fears. I urged the grey with coaxing words as we raced through the night. I was glad for the cloak. The air was so cold I could see my breath, but only hours from now I would be once more under the scorching sun. Responding to my voice, The Dancer galloped untiringly. The silence and solitude of the night was broken only by his rhythmic hoof beats.

A chill wind sprang up, and I shivered from time to time, drooping more and more with fatigue as the miles passed. At times I was only half-conscious. I prayed I was going in the right direction. I saw a few jackals, a hyena lumbering away among some rocks, and then the whitening bones of a dead camel. A feeling of anxiety stirred faintly in my heart. This time I had no revolver to protect me.

I rode throughout the night, pushing my horse near to collapse, and drifted almost into oblivion, when I awakened with a jerk. The sun was rising, turning the sky into a glory of golden crimson. I was once more away from the level desert and was threading in and out of some low hills, which I feared were taking me away from the right course. The intricate turnings amongst the rocky hills soon became bewildering, and the low, narrow defile seemed to hem me in on all sides like labyrinth. The sun had risen several hours ago, and the merciless heat had set in. I began to despair of ever finding my way out when I rounded a sharp turn, and the rocks fell away to open country once more.

In the far distance I thought I perceived the faint, hazy outline of a tiny patch of trees. Was it a well?

I didn't even have to direct my horse, for he had already sensed the nearby presence of water, yet it was almost an hour before we finally reached the tiny oasis, where I drew enough for our immediate needs. There were only a few trees surrounding the well, but I was thankful for the water and any shelter from the burning sun. Hoping for a brief respite from the intense heat, I lay down to rest in a tiny patch of shade.

All around me were the innumerable tiny noises of the desert, the hum of countless insect life, the rustling of the sand, and the occasional dry crackle of the camel thorns made by the slipping of a twig or the displacing of a branch as my horse nosed around. For a few minutes a sand spider attracted my attention, and I watched his hurried painstaking operations with wondering interest. It was all only a temporary distraction from my growing apprehension.

I had been riding for close to twelve hours with not a human in sight. Shouldn't I have at least come across one of Ahmed's sentries by now? Although I had passed traces of caravans several times, I had seen no sign of Ahmed's camp or any other. I was no longer certain I had plotted the right course.

I was no stranger to the dangers of the desert and was already feeling the effects of the intense heat. I had to press on, but I was already so very, very weary. I looked up into the sky to find a dark speck sailing overhead, the slow heavy flight of a vulture. I thought of the dead camel and shuddered at the thought that in a matter of hours, the bird could be picking my bones! I buried my head deeper in my arms, but the vision persisted. "I'm just nervous," I muttered, looking around with a little shiver. "But I shall go mad if I stay here much longer."