the city for Spence. The American turned to the girl.
“How soon can you leave?”
“Now.” Smiling she reached for her white burnoose.
“Then I’ll have the horses saddled at once.”
Fifteen minutes later they rode out of Tlemcen by the north gate, unquestioned.
For an hour they cantered easily through a fertile champaign, more than once meeting parties of soldiery, wild, uncouth, mountaineers of the west, who exchanged a sulky marhaba with Barbarroja and passed on. At length they came to their companions, who were camped in a grove of trees beside a rivulet.
Dr. Shaw came forth to meet them, anxiety and delight in his countenance. Laughing, Spence swung from the saddle, and then presented his astonished friend to Mistress Betty.
“Dr. Shaw is entirely unaware of your story,” he concluded, “so I shall leave him with you for explanations while I speak with our leader.”
He swung off to join Mulai Ali. Looking back, he saw the divine helping Mistress Betty to dismount, and chuckled at the expression on his friend’s face.
Mulai Ali was sucking at a water pipe that bubbled and hissed like a lading camel under a wide tree. Spence made a brief report of their journey, and handed over the note which he had captured.
The somber eyes of Mulai Ali glowed hotly at hearing of Gholam Mahmoud, and burned again as they read the note. Spence lighted his pipe from the perfumed bowl of the chibouk.
“Great is God, and infinite; God, God, and God, the compassionate!” exclaimed Mulai Ali after a little silence. “He ordereth all things; the ways of men are plain before him.”
“True enough,” said Spence. “I suppose you left Arzew before our flight was discovered?”
Mulai Ali nodded.
“Although, as Allah knows, I had nothing to do with the escape of his astrologer, Hassan will suspect and send after us. We must ride on. We cannot avoid the Cisterns if we are to reach Udjde. Since we cannot go back, we must go forward.”
The Moor was silent again, evidently pondering some plan. At length Mulai Ali smiled.
“Here is the situation. This accursed Gholam Mahmoud will ambush me at the Cisterns, being charged with my death. Let him do it, and Allah upon him. Where Ripperda is no man knows; he is like a flea—he may be in Tlemcen tomorrow! But the danger is directed against me. You and the others have nothing to fear. The ambush will not be set against you.
“Therefore, all of you ride forward, taking Barbarroja and two of the Spahis. Ride to Udjde; the governor is my kinsman, and I will give you a letter to him. Tell him that I shall remain at the Cisterns, awaiting help from him. The Spahis will go with me, following you slowly. There are ancient ruins at the Cisterns, and we can easily defend ourselves there until help comes from Udjde. You understand?” Spence nodded. This plan assured Mistress Betty a modicum of risk, and suited him well.
“The leather box is safe?”
“Yes. Will you not take and keep it yourself, now—”
“No! The relics of the Moorish kings in that box will swing every chieftain in Morocco behind me. The copies of secret Spanish treaties are invaluable. The casket is safer with you; the stars declare that your fate and that of the astrologer are bound up with mine. It is evident that Allah, who alone knoweth all things, has so ordained the matter.”
“Very well,” Spence nodded. “Write your letter, and I’ll tell the others of the plan.”
He rejoined Dr. Shaw and the maid, whom he found seated beneath a tree in earnest discussion. They listened in silence to Mulai Ali’s plan, and Shaw nodded quick assent.
“A good plan, Patrick! It assures little risk to any of us. We shall start at once.”
“Then I shall go and thank Mulai Ali for his kindness,” said the girl, and rising, departed.
Spence met the eyes of Dr. Shaw, and smiled.
“I suppose you’re going to rake me over the coals for my imprudence, doctor?”
“Tut, tut, Patrick! You did exactly right, my boy! Do you know she is a most amazing young woman? I was just expounding to her my theory in regard to the eurodydon of Saint Paul’s history, as opposed to the Vulgate reading; as you know, Saint Luke was present—”
“My dear doctor,” intervened Spence, “you must give me your views on that point later. At present you had best gird up your loins and get ready. Our business makes us set out at once and ride hard to Udjde. Suppose you get Mulai Ali’s letter, while I rouse the men.”
Dr. Shaw sighed and obeyed placidly.
Spence found Barbarroja relating, with huge gusto, horrible tales of the Beni Snouss and other desert tribes through whose country they must pass later; the credulous Spahis listened agape, swallowing all his fancies. Spence angrily ordered him to saddle up.
“We are to ride ahead of the others. You will guide us. Two of the Spahis go also. Hasten!”
He turned to saddle his own horse, and did not observe that Barbarroja gazed after him with fallen jaw, as though completely taken aback by this information.
Within twenty minutes the start was made—Spence and Barbarroja leading, Shaw and Mistress Betty following, the two Spahis bringing up the rear with Yimnah. The party would reach the Cisterns some time that night.
Spence had no talk with Dr. Shaw until later. He noted that Barbarroja had lost his bold and jaunty air, seemed silent and uneasy, and often pawed his huge beard as though in deep thought; nor did the man respond to conversation. Spence thought little of it.
At the halt for sunset prayer, in which all save the three Christians joined, Dr. Shaw drew his horse alongside that of Spence.
“Patrick, I am told by Mistress Elizabeth that when you engaged this ruffianly red-beard, you told him you would discuss wages with him at Tlemcen. What agreement reached you?”
“Eh? Why, none! I forgot it.”
Shaw shook his head.
“That looks bad, my son! If the man were what he seemed—well, well, let be. I gather that we reach the Cisterns tonight, and halt until morning?”
“No halts,” said Spence curtly. “We must save Mulai Ali’s neck, and that means hard riding. It’s only fifty miles to Udjde, our horses are in good condition, and we must push on.”
“But stop a few moments at the Cisterns,” pleaded the doctor anxiously. “I have heard of notable inscriptions there, on a pillar near the wells. The moon will be at the full tonight, and I can copy it in a few moments.”
Smiling, Spence agreed. So small a boon, which meant so much to Shaw, could not be denied.
After the prayer and a brief repast, they went on again at a brisk pace. An hour after nightfall the moon rose, full and glorious, lightening all the cold countryside with silver brilliance. Muffled against the cold, the party pressed their horses vigorously.
