“Shut up!” Bill said to him. “Douglas—Petra?”
Jezzar nodded his head. “I show you,” he said. Then he touched his finger to his lips and glided toward the door.
Bill Barnes stood without speaking for a period of several minutes. He was thinking about the slaughter that had occurred in Es Siq a few nights before. He was wondering if the man was to be trusted. At least, they would have to gamble to find out. He counted on the fact that there had been genuine distress and sorrow in the man's eyes when he had pointed to the picture of his dead master .
“ All right, kid,” Bill said to Sandy. “That's your job—get me a horse to ride. We'll meet him in Es Siq at dusk.”
“What,” Sandy asked; “do you suppose he is going to show us?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Bill answered.
THE DARK, narrow gorge of the Wadi Musa was as silent as a tomb when Bill and Sandy rode into it at dusk that night. The only light that came to them on the dangerous path was a streak of silver moonlight far overhead.
“This,” Bill said, “'would be a swell place for an ambush.”
“ “It's spooky, Bill,” Sandy answered. “It is filled with the ghosts of dead men.”
They both felt their hearts crawl up into their mouths as a white figure on a white horse loomed up in the darkness ahead, BiIl's automatic leaped into his hand as he called out softly, “Who is there?”
“Jezzar,” came back to them as softly. “Follow.”
He swung his horse around and led them deeper and deeper into the black chasm.
“Have gun ready,” he said once, dropping back beside them.
The soft sighing of the night wind, heavy with the scent of oleanders, the creaking of their saddles and the scrunch of their horses' feet on the pebbles of the trail, were the only sounds to break the heavy silence.
As they came out of the mouth of Es Siq, a clearing spread out before them and their first glimpse of El Khazna, in the moonlight, was as unreal as the figment of a dream.
The nine figures carved into the front of the upper story of the temple to an unknown god took on fantastic shapes in the shadows— shapes that seemed menacing and fearful in the absolute silence of the night.
Sandy's breath whistled in his throat as he realized that the slithering shadows that crept along the face were not shadows. They were lizards, iguanas and snakes.
Jezzar, riding on ahead of them, called upon Allah to uphold his horse as it stumbled, then broke into a soft song. To the south a mountain rose out of the valley floor to the great high place of sacrifice.
The dim outline of the Roman amphitheater took shape as they passed out of the Outer Siq, and beyond the ruins of the Palace of the Maiden, grotesque in the moonlight.
To the west rose the dim shape of Jebel ed Der, the Mountain of the Monastery. To the north the top of Jebel Harun, where lights flickered around the tomb of Aaron, the Moslem shrine holding the sacred Dushara.
As Jezzar dropped back beside them once more, he touched his lips with his fingers and' ran them across his throat; they knew only too well what he was trying to convey to them. He pointed to the mosque where lights burned, and waved his hand from left to right to signify that there were thousands of men on the mountains around Petra.
Farther on they entered the gorge of Es Siyagh and crept along the base of El Habis, the unfinished tombs of the ancient Edomites. Dark splotches on its sides were sepulchers, and on the top, gleaming dark in the moonlight, were the ruins: of a castle.
Beyond El Habis loomed Umm el Biyara, dark and silent and menacing. As Jezzar brought his horse to a halt and pointed a finger toward the ancient stronghold, Sandy's horse came up on its haunches, then plunged toward the great wall of stone that was the base of Umm el Biyara.
“Whoa, you fool!” Sandy shouted as he tried to swing his mount around. But for the moment the horse had the bit between his teeth and showed no inclination to turn around. Then, as the bit cut into its tender mouth it came up on its haunches again and whirled.
As its front feet touched the ground, Sandy described an arc over its head. He struck the ground feet first, and managed to hang on to the reins.
That somersault over the horse's head was all that kept Sandy from being annihilated by that first blast of rifle fire from along the base of Umm el Biyara. The bullets tore over his head and came to a stop in the body of Jezzar, just behind him. One strangling cry came from the lips of Douglas' old servant. Then he rocked backward and rolled off his horse like a bag of meal being dropped from a wagon.
Sharp stabs of orange flame appeared from a dozen places along the base of the ancient stronghold as Bill came charging in on his horse and grabbed at Sandy's reins.
“Mount, kid!” he shouted. “They got Jezzar. He was dead before he hit the ground.”
“Hold him, Bill,” Sandy panted. He circled to the left {)f the plunging horse and got one foot in a stirrup. As Bill let go of the reins and emptied his automatic toward the stabs of orange flame, Sandy managed to swing into the saddle.
“Come on!” Bill shouted. “We've got to get out of here the best way we can. I memorized the map Kestrel gave me. We'll follow through the ruins of Petra along the ancient wall to the Outer Siq. I can see white forms coming out of the darkness over there. They'll get us in a few minutes. Are you all right?”
“I'm all right, Bill,” Sandy puffed, “if I can make this fool horse behave. He wants to go toward that gunfire.”
Bill swung his horse over beside Sandy and grabbed at his reins.
“I thought you could ride any horse in Arabia,” Bill grunted as he rode through the ruins, leading Sandy's horse.
“He went nuts, Bill,” Sandy said. “I can manage him now. I'll follow right behind you. We'll make better time.”
“We'll have to,” Bill growled. “If they can signal ahead they'll cut us off in Es Siq and we won't have a chance. We've got to keep ahead of them.”
The sharply turning trail that wound between the sandstone walls of Es Siq was the thing that kept them from being slaughtered by the hard-riding Arabs behind them. Their escape became a running fight that lasted throughout that long mile from the ruins of the city to Bab es Siq.
There they reloaded their automatics, took a prone position behind the crumbling gates and fired at random as they heard their pursuers drawing close. In another thirty seconds they were again in their saddles and racing across the desert sand toward the airport at Ma'an.
“Did you have any idea where Jezzar was taking us?” Sandy asked as they swung out of their saddles before the officers' quarters on the airport.
“None,” Bill said shortly. “He was about to tell us something when they opened up with their rifle fire. The natives probably have guards all through the city to protect the Dushara. They shoot first and ask questions afterward.”
“You know, Bill, “ Sandy said cryptically. “I have a hunch. I—-”
“Get yourself some sleep,” Bill said gruffly. “That's what you need most. I'II have to make a report to Kestrel.”
“But listen, Bill!” Sandy said. “I think—-”
“Good night,” Bill said, and started toward his quarters.
XI-SANDY'S HUNCH
IT WAS shortly after dawn the next morning when Sandy stole over to the stables and asked a native groom to saddle his horse.
A few minutes later he was in the saddle and leaning over the neck of his mount, whispering in its ears the way he had seen Western riders do in the movies.
“We'll show 'em, old pal,” Sandy said in the horse's ear. “We'll teach 'em to pay some attention to our hunches.”
The white horse turned its head and eyed Sandy with anything but a friendly look, and Sandy remembered what Shorty had told him. He had forgotten to wear a head cloth and mantle. And he could see that his horse didn't like it.