and now.”
“And you still own the little vineyard—that profitable little vineyard beside the Jerusalem Road?”
“Surely. That was my father’s legacy to me, his firstborn.”
“And the stone house in the Haret el-Akkabi (the quarter of the makers of goatskin water-bags)—does that belong to you still?”
“Aye.”
“Since I have caught you red-handed on your way to steal from Ludd Camp, and you have confessed in front of witnesses, do you not see I am in position to drive a very hard bargain?”
“Between friends?”
“Between a thief and one who can get that thief fined so heavily that there would be no more orchard paying profits on the Jerusalem Road, and no more home in the Haret el-Akkabi to bequeath to an only son.”
“You would not do that, Jimgrim!”
“I spoke of a bargain.”
“Well?”
“Where is that leper to be found by daylight?”
“None knows. None dares inquire.”
“Where is the place appointed for his share of the plunder to be left?”
“It is never twice the same.”
“Where have you been told to leave two-thirds of what you proposed to steal tonight?”
“Ah-h-h!”
“My friend the Governor of Hebron keeps a nice, clean jail, it is true,” said Jim. “And my friend Moustapha Aziz the auctioneer obtains good prices, too. There might be a little something left to you after the fine is paid.”
“Jimgrim, if I though you were a liar I would take my chance. The court would never fine me all that much, for since the Turks left there is a law like mother’s milk. But you are such a devil that I think you could arrange it. I suppose you know of other charges you could lay against me, and who shall stand against your persistence? Moreover, you are my friend.”
“Answer my question then.”
“I cannot describe the place.”
“Is it near here?”
“Yes.”
“Then lead us to it.”
“Jimgrim, I am afraid. That dervish who has no name is a capable fellow. He can curse!”
“And I, who hold you prisoner, know all about your property. Which is the lesser evil—a curse that might miss—”
“Inshalla!”
“Or my flat promise to get after you in Hebron?”
Mahommed ben Hamza smiled as winningly as a child with a cause to plead.
“You I know of old, Jimgrim. The dervish is new and talks a lot, but his talking did not save me from being caught tonight. Besides, you are my friend. I will lead you to the place.”
“Loose his feet, Narayan Singh. Then tie his hands behind his back.”
“Nay, Jimgrim! Have I questioned your word once, or lied to you once? Did I lie to you at El-Kerak, when at a word from me they would have thrown you from the castle roof?”
Jim hesitated. He did not want to be hampered by a prisoner on his hands that night, yet he would have had to return to camp in order to lock him up. But on the other hand he did not want the responsibility of letting him go. The best plan seemed to be to make a stipulation with definite limits, which the man would probably observe implicitly and then vamoose.
“Just what do you promise?” he asked.
“I will lead you to the place where the dervish told us we must leave his bakshish.”
“All right. Swear to it.”
“By the holy mosque of El-Kalil—by the tomb of my father, on whom be blessings—by the—”
“That will do. Loose him, Narayan Singh—but keep a close eye on him.”
“Mashallah! I could not run if I were minded,” laughed Mahommed ben Hamza, stretching himself. “I would rather a camel knelt on my belly another time than that fellow of yours who gagged me. This way, your honors.”
* * * * *
He led them along the ridge toward the spot where the leper had danced, so brightly and at such an angle that whoever was abroad could hardly have helped seeing them the moment they should desert the scant cover of the scrub. Mahommed ben Hamza did not care; his own need of secrecy was at an end for that night, and his part of the bargain was to show the way; he deliberately chose the open path until Jim called a halt, midway along the ridge.
There he left Catesby and Narayan Singh, bidding Suliman mark the place carefully.
“Now down on your belly and crawl!” he ordered. “And if you make a noise or show yourself you shall surely wish I was only a camel; I’ll land on top of you like a troop of cavalry! You, too, Suliman—crawl!”
On hands and knees, picking out the shadows of the cactus and taking their chance of snake, centipedes and scorpions, they crept up to the spot where the leper had danced, and Jim went aside to examine it, wondering what sort of hollow his pirouetting must have scooped out of the sand. But in place of a hole was an ancient Moslem tombstone long since fallen flat, and now worn smooth in the middle where the man’s feet had rubbed it night after night.
“Come away, Jimgrim; the place is bewitched!” Mahommed ben Hamza whispered.
But Jim was not satisfied until he had worked his fingers under the stone and lifted it to see what might be underneath. For the next three minutes he was busy killing about a dozen of the little deadly vipers that infest the plains of Palestine, using the kukri snatched from Suliman’s hand.
“What did I tell you?” grumbled Mahommed ben Hamza. “Did not I say it is bewitched?”
After that they crawled downhill, scouting extremely carefully because the moon shone on a smooth surface of sand where cactus and shadow were scant. At the foot of the long slope was a winding nullah, and there, because of the shadow, they dared stand upright. Mahommed ben Hamza led along it to a sandy amphitheater a quarter of a mile away, and stopped in front of one of those open tombs with which all Palestine abounds.
“There, that is the place.”
“Inside or outside?”
“We were to lay the loot inside.”
“Go in and see if the leper is in there now.”
“Allah forbid! Besides, Jimgrim, my bargain is finished. I was to lead to the place, that is all.”
“True.”
“Having
