--ake his head!--screamed Zangi, sensing hostility at last, and thrown into a panic by it.
His demoralization was completed by Gordon't taunting laugh.
--ou seem to be the only one who wants my head, Zangi! Perhaps you can take it!-- Zangi howled incoherently, his eyes glaring red, then threw up his rifle, hip-high. Just as the muzzle came up, Gordon't automatic crashed thunderously. He had drawn so swiftly not a man there had followed his motion. Zangi Khan reeled back under the impact of hot lead, toppled sideways and lay still.
In an instant, a hundred cocked rifles covered Gordon. Confused by varying emotions, the men hesitated for the fleeting instant it took Mitkhal to shout:
--old! Do not shoot!-- He strode forward with the air of a man ready to take the center of the stage at last, but he could not disguise the gleam of satisfaction in his shrewd eyes.
--o man here is kin to Zangi Khan,--he said offhandedly.--here is no cause for blood feud. He had eaten the salt, but he attacked our prisoner, whom he thought unarmed.-- He held out his hand for the pistol, but Gordon did not surrender it.
---- not your prisoner,--said he.--could kill you before your men could lift a finger. But I didn't come here to fight you. I came asking aid to avenge the children and women of my enemies. I risk my life for your families. Are you dogs, to do less?--
The question hung in the air unanswered, but he had struck the right chord in their barbaric bosoms, that were always ready to respond to some wild deed of reckless chivalry. Their eyes glowed and they looked at their shaykh expectantly.
Mitkhal was a shrewd politician. The butchery at El Awad meant much less to him than it meant to his younger warriors. He had associated with so-called civilized men long enough to lose much of his primitive integrity. But he always followed the side of public opinion, and was shrewd enough to lead a movement he could not check. Yet, he was not to be stampeded into a hazardous adventure.
--hese Turks may be too strong for us,--he objected.
----l show you how to destroy them with little risk,--answered Gordon.--ut there must be covenants between us, Mitkhal.----hese Turks must be destroyed,--said Mitkhal, and he spoke sincerely there, at least.--ut there are too many blood feuds between us, El Borak, for us to let you get out of our hands.-- Gordon laughed.
--ou can't whip the Turks without my help and you know it. Ask your young men what they desire!----et El Borak lead us!--shouted a young warrior instantly. A murmur of approval paid tribute to Gordon't widespread reputation as a strategist.
--ery well!--Mitkhal took the tide.--et there be truce between us--with conditions! Lead us against the Turks. If you win, you and the woman shall go free. If we lose, we take your head!-- Gordon nodded, and the warriors yelled in glee. It was just the sort of a bargain that appealed to their minds, and Gordon knew it was the best he could make.
--ring bread and salt!--ordered Mitkhal, and a giant black slave moved to do his bidding.--ntil the battle is lost or won there is truce between us, and no Rualla shall harm you, unless you spill Rualla blood.-- Then he thought of something else and his brow darkened as he thundered:
--here is the man who watched from the ridge?-- A terrified youth was pushed forward. He was a member of a small tribe tributary to the more important Rualla.
--h, shaykh,--he faltered,--was hungry and stole away to a fire for meat--
--og!--Mitkhal struck him in the face.--eath is thy portion for failing in thy duty.----ait!--Gordon interposed.--ould you question the will of Allah? If the boy had not deserted his post he would have seen us coming up the valley, and your men would have fired on us and killed us. Then you would not have been warned of the Turks, and would have fallen prey to them before discovering they were enemies. Let him go and give thanks to Allah Who sees all!-- It was the sort of sophistry that appeals to the Arab mind. Even Mitkhal was impressed.
--ho knows the mind of Allah?--he conceded.--ive, Musa, but next time perform the will of Allah with vigilance and a mind to orders. And now, El Borak, let us discuss battle-plans while food is prepared.-- V
TREACHERY
It was not yet noon when Gordon halted the Rualla beside the Well of Harith. Scouts sent westward reported no sign of the Turks, and the Arabs went forward with the plans made before leaving the Walls--plans outlined by Gordon and agreed to by Mitkhal. First the tribesmen began gathering rocks and hurling them into the well.
--he water-- still beneath,--Gordon remarked to Olga.--ut it'sl take hours of hard work to clean out the well so that anybody can get to it. The Turks can't do it under our rifles. If we win, we--l clean it out ourselves, so the next travelers won't suffer.----hy not take refuge in the sangar ourselves?--she asked.
--oo much of a trap. That-- what we--e using it for. We-- have no chance with them in open fight, and if we laid an ambush out in the valley, they-- simply fight their way through us. But when a man't shot at in the open, his first instinct is to make for the nearest cover. So I-- hoping to trick them into going into the sangar. Then we--l bottle them up and pick them off at our leisure. Without water they can't hold out long. We shouldn't lose a dozen men, if any.----t seems strange to see you solicitous about the lives of these Rualla, who are your enemies, after all,--she laughed.
--nstinct, maybe. No man fit to lead men wants to lose any more of them than he can help. Just now these men are my allies, and it's up to me to protect them as well as I can. I--l admit I-- rather be fighting with the Juheina. Feisal-- messenger must have started for the Walls hours before I supposed he would.----nd if the Turks surrender, what then?------l try to get them to Lawrence--all but Osman Pasha.--Gordon't face darkened.--hat man hangs if he falls into my hands.----ow will you get them to Lawrence? The Rualla won't take them.----haven't the slightest idea. But let-- catch our hare before we start broiling him. Osman may whip the daylights out of us.----t means your head if he does,--she warned with a shudder.
--ell, it's worth ten thousand pounds to the Turks,--he laughed, and he moved to inspect the partly ruined hut. Olga followed him.
Mitkhal, directing the blocking of the well, glanced sharply at them, then noted that a number of men were between them and the gate, and turned back to his overseeing.
--sss, El Borak!--It was a tense whisper, just as Gordon and Olga turned to leave the hut. An instant later they located a tousled head thrust up from behind a heap of rubble. It was the boy Musa, who obviously had slipped into the hut through a crevice in the back wall.
--atch from the door and warn me if you see anybody coming,--Gordon muttered to Olga.--his lad must have something to tell.----have, effendi!--The boy was trembling with excitement.--overheard the shaykh talking secretly to his black slave, Hassan. I saw them walk away among the palms while you and the woman were eating, at the Walls, and I crept after them, for I feared they meant you mischief--and you saved my life.
--l Borak, listen! Mitkhal means to slay you, whether you win this battle for him or not! He was glad you slew the Kurd, and he is glad to have your aid in wiping out these Turks. But he lusts for the gold the other Turks will pay for your head. Yet he dares not break his word and the covenant of the salt openly. So, if we win the battle, Hassan is to shoot you, and swear you fell by a Turkish bullet!-- The boy rushed on with his story:
--hen Mitkhal will say to the people:--l Borak was our guest and ate our salt. But now he is dead, through no fault of ours, and there is no use wasting the reward. So we will take off his head and take it to Damascus and the Turks will give us ten thousand pounds.--