it one year, Jimgrim. I am a man of my word.”
“Three years; or I wash my hands of the whole business!”
The Avenger hesitated—stared at our fires for several seconds —seemed to review in his mind his own immediate resources —and was about to speak, when a brown-cloaked rifleman was ushered in a hurry up the stairs and advanced to deliver his message with hardly the form of salutation. He was out of breath, and brushed Ayisha aside as if he did not see her.
He was from the Avenger’s brother. He reported that the person representing himself to be Jimgrim had tried to decoy him and his fifty men farther afield, but had been cornered, because he and his handful of men were mounted on dead-weary camels. At the moment of the messenger’s dispatch the man, whoever he was, was parleying for terms, offering to surrender if his life was guaranteed him. So the Avenger’s brother had decided to grant that condition in order to save time; but there would be delay, because of those tired camels, which were, nevertheless, too good to leave behind. He hoped to bring in his prisoners before dawn, in time to take part in the offensive.
“Taib,” said the Avenger, and dismissed him with a wave of the hand.
Ayisha went and sat down in the circle of lamplight, with an air that I mistook for resignation. Her face wore that fatalistic expression that you read about and very seldom see. Ibrahim ben Ah, looking rather triumphant and decidedly shrewd, whispered to Grim, who shook his head. If you had asked me to play Grim’s hand that minute, I would have thrown the cards down, for the arrival of Ali Higg on the scene as a prisoner of war would be a joker that would upset every calculation. Yet Grim looked uncommonly contented, and the Avenger, whose turn it was to deal, dealt the joker into Grim’s hand.
“Inshallah, we shall have amusement, Jimgrim, when we confront you with the imposter!”
“Business before amusement, ben Saoud!” Grim answered. “Will you agree to the three-year term of peace?”
“But if I agree, how shall Ali Higg be held to it? Will he give hostages? What proof will the scoundrel give that he intends to keep his word?”
Ayisha’s eyes, that had been half-closed dreamily, opened wide at that, and the suspicion of a smile began to hover on her lips.
“Would a wife and fifty men do?” Grim inquired.
“The loss of fifty men would weaken him,” said the Avenger.
“And the wife knows his affairs, knows his strength and weakness, and moreover involves his personal honor,” answered Grim. “Do you not remember how the Prophet Mahommed required his follower Ali’s wife as a token of allegiance? Would even Ali Higg dare to make himself a by-word through all this land by breaking an agreement to confirm which he had given his wife before witnesses? If a man should lose his wife in battle, his honor would require him to seek revenge; but can he give his wife, and break faith afterwards?”
“And what does he require of me?”
“Three years’ peace.”
“And at the end of that?”
“A lot can happen in three years,” said Grim. “Let us plan for those, and leave the fourth in Allah’s lap.”
“Is the wife good-looking?”
“Judge for yourself,” Grim answered; and Ayisha rose to her feet. She looked less like a part of a bargain than the clever driver of one —dignified, alert, triumphant.
“Wallah! And you say she has a following of fifty men?”
“There are fifty who are willing to change sides along with her and bring their camels.”
“Taib! I agree!”
“To what?” demanded Grim.
“To a three-year truce.”
“Does that include personal immunity for Ali Higg? Do you undertake to lift no hand against him, and to take him at no disadvantage at any time during the next three years, beginning now, in return for a similar promise from him to you?”
“By Allah, why not? He marked my face, but I have his wife, and shall have fifty men! Yes, I agree. I promise. Why doesn’t the dog show himself and sign the bargain?”
“He shall,” said Grim.
“But when? Let my men go and bring him.”
“Men have gone for him already,” answered Grim. “He will be here presently. So you have passed your word? Between you and me, as man to man, in good faith? I may count on you to keep it?”
“In the name of Allah. By my beard and by the honor of my race,” the Avenger answered.
CHAPTER XI
“I see no sin in holding to my given word. Let Allah judge me!”
Dawn was just breaking when they brought in Ali Higg. Our beautiful row of fires was dwindling into dots of smokiness. I went through the farce of waving a lantern to a phantom thousand men, although another twenty minutes was going to prove their nonexistence; and we got in a row, staff-officers and all, to receive the prisoner.
I can’t say which was most astonished—Ali Higg at sight of Grim, Ayisha and Ibrahim ben Ah, or the Avenger at discovering the prisoner’s identity.
“By the Prophet’s beard and my feet, this is a worse trick than I thought!” growled the Avenger. And he glared at Ali Higg for several minutes, while his brother Achmet gave an account of the capture, and what preceded it.
“He left a man in wait for us, by Allah, who swore that Jimgrim waited at a place ahead, whence he would lead us to Ali Higg’s flank in such manner that his capture would be easy. But it sounded like strange talk to me, so I kept the man with me, and rode hard. We overtook this person who pretended he was Jimgrim. I passed my word not to kill him, and he surrendered. Lo! It was Ali Higg, who had thrown himself on my protection. He has not told me why Ali Higg should offer to betray Ali Higg by leading us on to Ali Higg’s flank that we might capture Ali Higg—nor why he should call himself Jimgrim! Now make him tell. I promised him his life, but said nothing about torture. Moreover, there was nothing said about his men; if they were bastinadoed—”
“He only had a little private difference with me,” said Grim. “I have the key to his private fortune in my pocket. As long as I have that, he can’t make war without losing fifty thousand pounds. I suppose his wife Jael persuaded him. It seemed simple to her to use the Avenger’s men to waylay me. But Allah doesn’t make all things easy for everyone. Jael suggested, but the Lion of Petra bungled.”
No one else spoke for several minutes. Ali Higg hardly resembled Grim any longer, for he was too dejected, besides being utterly fagged from the pain in his neck, his prodigious ride, and want of sleep. It would have been an act of charity to tell him to sit down, but the Avenger wasn’t feeling charitable just then.
His face was black with anger, and the blackness deepened as he glared at the distant hills and began to realize
