CHAPTER XVI.
A FRENCH WARRIOR.
John digs his heels into the sides of the animal he bestrides, and urgeshim on with every artifice known to a jockey, and considering thedarkness, the rough nature of the road, and the weariness of the beast,he succeeds in getting over the ground at quite a respectable rate.
Thus, meeting no one on the way, he finally bursts upon the village ofBirkadeen much after the manner of a thunderbolt from a clear sky, anddashes up to the office of the stage line, which, as may be supposed, ismanaged by Franks.
A Frenchman has charge, and upon his vision there suddenly bursts adusty figure, with hair destitute of covering, and clothing awry, afigure that has leaped from a horse bathed in sweat; a figure heimagines has broken loose from some mad-house, yet which upon addressinghim shows a wonderful amount of coolness.
"Are you the agent of the stage line?" is the first question fired athim.
"I am Monsieur Constans. I have ze charge of ze elegant equipage linezat you speak of as one stage," returns the Frenchman.
"You remember my passing through here a little while ago, bound forAlgiers?"
"_Parbleu!_ zat is so. I am astonish. What for are you back on zehorseback, too. _Mon Dieu!_ have ze robbers been at it again? Ten souzanfury, and ze _cadi_ promise zat we have no more trouble wif zem."
At the mention of the word John experiences a sudden chill, rememberingthat he has left Lady Ruth and Aunt Gwen upon the loneliest part of theroad to Algiers; but becomes somewhat reassured when it also crosses hismemory that the gallant professor and the soldier hero of Zulu battlesare there to defend them.
"You are mistaken. The miserable vehicle has broken down," he says.
"_Ciel!_ is zat all?"
"All! Confound your impudence, and isn't it enough when two ladies arealmost killed outright by the accident? All! when we've been rattledabout like dry peas in a pod, until there's hardly a square inch of methat doesn't ache. I'll tell you, monsieur, what you are to do, and ina dused hurry, too. Order out another stage and fly to the scene of thewreck without delay."
"Begar! if I only had a vehicle," he groans.
"You shall find one of some sort inside of five minutes and go with meto the scene to rescue my friends, and take them to safety, or you musttake the consequences," and in his excitement John glowers upon thedapper Gaul until the latter actually trembles with trepidation.
"Stop! I have zink of something. Zere is one old vehicle in ze shed,laid by for repairs. By careful handling it would do."
"Good! Get horses hitched to it; we must lose no time. To the rescue,Monsieur Constans. Ladies have been hurt; they must be taken to the cityas speedily as possible."
The Gaul is excitable by nature, and he catches some of John's surplusenthusiasm, springs to his feet, and is out of the office door like ashot, shouting almost unintelligible orders to the gang of dirty Arabswho have rushed to the scene upon the advent of a Frank entering thevillage like a young cyclone and riding a horse that from its harnessthey recognize as belonging to the stage line.
John, finding they make such poor headway, proceeds to lend hisassistance, and under his directions the job is finally completed.
An old stage, even worse than the wrecked one, is brought out, and thehorse John rode harnessed to it. Then a second animal is secured, andafter some difficulty about the harness has been adjusted, they are off.
There is, of course, danger that the same catastrophe will happen tothem, but the emergency is great, and John handles the reins himself.
Thus through the darkness they proceed, gradually nearing the scene ofthe disaster.
The nearer they come the more John's fears arise, though he would findit hard to give good reasons for them, since they rest only upon thewords that have been let fall by the dapper little French agent who sitsbeside him on the box, and holds on for dear life, uttering numerousexclamations, in his explosive way, as they pitch and toss.
A tree looms up. John recognizes it as a mark which just preceded theiroverthrow. Hence, the wrecked stage must lie just beyond, so he pulls inhis horse and tries to pierce the darkness that lies like a pall around.
They have at his suggestion brought a lantern along, but of course thisis of little use to them as yet.
"What is that cry up on the hill-side?" asks John, as he hears apeculiar sound.
"Monsieur es worry; he need be. Zat is some rascally jackal or hyena;zey hover around ze villages and do much mischief. I have seen zemmyself carry off one sheep."
This is not very pleasant intelligence, but John is now engaged intrying to pierce the gloom, and believes he sees some object that mayprove to be the wrecked stage.
He sings out with a hail:
"Ah, there, professor!"
Not a reply; only what seems to be an echo is flung back from thehill-side.
Then John's heart stands still with a sudden fear, as he imagines thatsome terrible thing has occurred. He raises his voice and calls uponPhilander. When there comes no reply to this, he makes use of SirLionel's name and bellows it forth until the valley seems to ring withthe sound. Still hopeless, for no answer bids him drop his fears.
Now the fact is assured that something serious has happened.
John jumps to the ground, desirous of seeing whether they have actuallyreached the spot where the wrecked omnibus lies.
He finds it to be true, and in another moment is standing upon the veryplace where Aunt Gwen reclined at the time of his departure.
There is much room for speculation. Any one of half a dozen things mighthave happened, for to one who is utterly in the dark, there is no end ofpossibilities.
What can he do?
One chance there is, that while he, Doctor Chicago, was absent,bent upon his errand of mercy and rescue, Mustapha may have once moreappeared upon the scene, and influenced the little party to moveon in the direction of the distant city.
He still places implicit confidence in the guide, and has strong hopes,though the absence of the Arab at the time of the accident is utterlyunexplainable.
By this time monsieur has descended from his perch, and joins him. Inhis hand he carries the lantern, ready for use.
"What have you found, _mon ami_?" asks this worthy, as he arrives on thescene.
"Here is the wrecked stage, but my friends have vanished. It puzzles meto know what has become of them."
"No doubt they have gone ahead, fearing that you could not ze newvehicle obtain. We may soon discover ze truth."
"By going forward, yes; but before we do that, perhaps I can learnsomething about the direction they took."
"Ah! you will apply ze wonderful science of ze prairie. I have heard ofit, begar, and I shall be one very glad to see ze experiment."
He poses in an attitude of expectation, and keeps his eyes fastened uponthe other, who has already picked up the lantern and bends over, withthe intention of following the trail.
This soon brings him from the ruined stage to the olive tree under whichthey had laid Aunt Gwen.
Arrived here he utters an exclamation.
"This tells the story. Confusion, indeed."
"What now, monsieur?" echoes the Frenchman.
"See; the tracks are numerous."
"But they would have been had these people moved about a good deal."
"Look again. You will note that they are made by other feet. Many menhave been here. What you once suggested--"
"_Mon Dieu!_ robbers?" as if appalled.
"That explanation is nearer the mark that anything else."
The prospect is appalling, for these wild robbers of the desert fearneither man nor devil, and when once they retreat to their hiding-placesin the mountains, it is next to folly to dream of following them.
John Craig finds himself in a dilemma. To whom can he appeal in this,his hour of trial? Will the authorities do anything for him in case theAmerican or British consul make a demand? Can they accomplish aught?These wild Bedouins of the desert do not come under the j
urisdiction ofthe Dey. His orders would be laughed to scorn, and mounted on theirswift Arabian steeds they would mock any effort to chase them.
So John is deeply puzzled, and knows not how to turn. If the Frenchman,usually so bright and witty, cannot suggest something to help him out ofthis dilemma, he will have to depend upon himself alone; but MonsieurConstans shrugs his shoulders and professes to be all at sea.
Dimly John begins to suspect that this may not have been such anaccident after all.
He begins to suspect a plot.
The driver? what of him?
His actions had been strange and almost crazy from the start, and yetJohn feels sure that if the case were thoroughly investigated it wouldbe found that he was not in the habit of thus running with his loadsover the rough part of his trip.
There is something unusual in this, and something that demandsinvestigation. The man's actions were suspicious, to say the least,for just as soon as the break-down occurred he had vanished from view.
Evidently he was in league with some one.
John is furious to think that he left the scene of the disaster.
Why did he not let Sir Lionel go? The baronet seemed to be in earnest inhis offer, and under such circumstances--but what nonsense after all, tothink that he could do more, when the veteran of three wars wasevidently unable to prevail against his foes.
Thus, after summing up, John is compelled to admit with a groan that heknows absolutely nothing about the case, and is in a position to learnlittle more.
He is a man of action, however, and can not bear to see minutes passwithout at least an effort to utilize them.
Can they follow the track?
It is a possible solution of the problem, although it promises to behard work.
Then, again, he thinks of his companion. How far may the Gaul betrusted? He has known Frenchmen who were brave; he has a good opinion ofthem as a fighting nation, and yet this individual specimen may not turnout to be a warrior.
With the hope of getting an ally, then, he turns to the subject of hisanxiety.
"Monsieur Constans."
"I am here."
"Your words have come true. Arab robbers have, I fear, carried off myfriends."
"_Mon Dieu!_ it ees sad."
"I am determined to rescue them."
"Bravo! bravo!" clapping his hands with the excitement of the moment.
"One thing worries me."
"Ah! monsieur must be plain."
"It concerns you."
"_Le Diable!_ in what way?"
"How far can I depend on you?"
At this the French agent draws his figure up with much pomposity. Heslaps one hand upon his inflated chest.
"To ze death, monsieur!"
"Good! Tell me, are you armed?"
"It has been my habit, among zese Arabs, zese negroes, zese raggedKabyles from ze mountains. I would not trust my life wizout zis."
Then he suddenly flourishes before John's eyes, delighted with thespectacle, a genuine American bull-dog revolver, which, judging from itsappearance, is capable of doing considerable execution when held by adetermined hand, and guided with a quick eye.
John instantly matches it.
"Hurrah!" he exclaims, with enthusiasm, "we are well matched, MonsieurConstans. Let it be the old story of Lafayette and Washington."
"It ees glorious! Zey won ze fight. Why should not we, monsieur--"
"My name is Doctor John Craig from Chicago."
"I greet you zen, Monsieur Doctaire. Zis is all new business to me. Tellme what to do, and I am zere."
"Then we'll follow these tracks a little and try to learn somethingabout those who were here, their number, whether mounted or afoot, andthe probable direction they took."
"Superb! I am one delighted to serve wiz a man of zat caliber. Youmeesed ze vocation I zink, Monsieur John, instead of ze doctaire youshould be ze general."
John knows it will not pay to stop and talk with Monsieur Constans.A Frenchman is inclined to be voluble, and valuable time may be lost.
So he walks on, bending low in order that the lantern light may beutilized. Thus he follows the tracks some little distance, with thefighting Gaul at his elbow, endeavoring to penetrate the darknessbeyond.
It is a peculiar situation, one that causes him to smile. This timehe is not tracking the deer through the dense forests of Michigan.Somewhere ahead are fierce Arab foes who have his friends in theirhands.
At the same time he has a vague feeling of alarm in the region of hisheart, alarm, not for himself, but concerning the fortunes of Lady Ruth.
A month, yes, hardly more than two weeks before, John Craig did not knowthere was such a being in existence.
Even when first made acquainted with her he had believed her ratherhaughty, according to his American notion of girls.
Gradually he has come to know her better, has come to understand thepiquant character underlying what he was pleased to look upon as pride,and which her aunt must have had in mind when she gave her thesignificant name of Miss Caprice.
Thus events have rolled on until now, in this period of suspense, whenthe girl seems to be in desperate danger, he awakens to the fact thathe loves her.
With Monsieur Constans at his side, John has gone perhaps a few hundredyards when the light of the lantern suddenly falls upon a human figureadvancing; an Arab, too.
John is about to assume an offensive attitude when he recognizesMustapha Cadi, the guide.