“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.
''I'II remember before we come out again,” Sandy told him as they made their way over that boulder-strewn waste of sand between Ma'an and Bab es Siq.
The sun was playing a symphony on the red walls of Es Siq as Sandy guided the dainty-stepping steed through the winding pass. As Es Siq ended abruptly into a cross gorge that was the Outer Siq, the face of El Khazna gleamed like white marble ahead.
As they stole past the old Roman theater, Sandy checked the ammunition in his automatics and in his extra clips. His heart was pounding now, and he could feel his face burning with excitement.
Taking a westerly course along what was once the main avenue, he passed the remains of triple triumphal arch from the Roman period. Along the sides of the city were the ruins of hundreds of temples cut into the sides of the stupendous cliffs; its courts, libation basins, and altars where the ancients worshiped all carved from rocks of ocher and all shades of red.
Sandy gazed with silent awe at the crumbling tombs, temples and palaces built oil the towering limestone hills above the city. Then his breath quickened as he sighted the ruins of the Crusader castle atop El Habis, and behind it the great flat rock that was Umm el Biyara.
He guided his horse to the place where he believed Jezzar had been murdered the night before. But there was no sign of his body or his horse.
It was there that Sandy let the reins fall loosely on the Arab horse's neck. The horse raised its head and peered toward the great mountain of stone, then whinnied softly and moved toward it without guidance.
“That's the old pal,” Sandy whispered. But he didn't touch the reins. He let the horse have its head and almost held his breath as the horse advanced.
Picking its way carefully and surely, the horse cut around a rough ledge of overhanging rock, went down the side of a ravine and up the other side. At the top it entered what looked like a stone doorway, barely high enough to admit the horse and Sandy on its back.
In a moment the horse came out on a narrow pathway, wide enough to pass along, clinging to the inside. As they came out into the air again Sandy's red face suddenly became white. He saw that they were already fifty or sixty feet above the jagged rocks at the base of the stone mountain. There was not room for the horse to turn around on the rock-cut
If they went on, Sandy believed, the horse would take him to the secret stronghold of the men who had attacked them in the air and on the ground two days before.
For an instant Sandy hesitated. He checked his horse until he came to a halt. Then he clenched his teeth, took one of his automatics out of its holster and said aloud, “ All right, baby. Let's go!”
BILL BARNES tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes as he slapped his bare feet down on the floor of his room. He stared at Shorty Hassfurther and saw that he was dressed for flying.
“Say that again,” he said to Shorty. “One of the grooms at the stables told me Sandy had his Arabian steed, as he calls him, saddled at dawn. He left here alone, headed for Petra.”
“The nit-wit!” Bill growled as he reached for his clothes. “He tried to tell me last night when he got back about a hunch. I wouldn't listen. He's going to play it alone.”
“What is he going to do?” Shorty asked.
“I wish I knew,” Bill snapped. “Listen, Shorty. Get the Lancer and your Stormer warmed up. We'll have to go out and look for him if he hasn't had his throat cut already.”
“There's hell popping this morning,” Shorty said. “I just talked to Kestrel. Rioting in several cities in Trans- Jordan and Palestine. It's only a question of time, he says.”
“Yeah,” Bill growled, “and that fool kid has to go out and stick his head right into the noose. I think I know what he had in mind. We'll fly over Petra first. Come on, let's go!”
“I'll have the Lancer ready when you're dressed,” Shorty said as he jumped for the door.
“Check the ammunition counters!” Bill shouted after him.
Twenty minutes later they were above the jagged, dazzlingly colorful twin ranges between which the city of Petra lies. They sped down the length of Es Siq at an altitude of only a few hundred feet. Above the Wadi es Siyagh they darted through wisps of clouds until they were near the peak of Jebel Harun. They circled the white dome of the tomb of Aaroff and felt rifle bullets drumming into their wings.
As they swung back over the valley of Petra, Bill flipped his radio switch, “Get down a couple of hundred feet,” he said to Shorty. “We'll see him now if we're ever going to see him.”
He kicked the rudders of the Lancer and stuck the nose down as the flat top of Umm el Biyara took shape to his right. He flew only a hundred feet above it while he studied every detail.
Suddenly his hand tightened on the control column and his face became a shade whiter. Below him he saw a lone figure riding on a white horse. He knew it was Sandy. He shouted into his microphone to Shorty and pointed as a swarm of brown-faced men dressed in the gaudy mantle of the desert Bedouin appeared from nowhere above Sandy.
For one horrible moment Bill saw Sandy's horse rear up and swing its front feet toward the edge of the narrow little path it had been climbing. Then one of the mantle-clad Arabs had it by the bridle. He saw Sandy try to bring his automatic into play while he tried to gain control of the horse. Then he saw the barrel of a rifle crack down on Sandy's head and saw him topple from the saddle.
Bill brought the Lancer around and stuck the nose down toward that little knot of men as they carried the unconscious Sandy toward the mouth of a cave. But he didn't dare clamp down on his gun trips. He cursed between clenched teeth as he zoomed upward and saw the Arabs disappear. He tried to find the path Sandy's horse had been climbing, but it had disappeared. Without some moving object on which the eye could focus the path could not be seen.
Bill knew now that he had been right about Sandy's hunch. Sandy had taken his horse back to the spot where it had balked the night before, when it had tried to go toward the base of Umm le Biyara. The horse had led Sandy to the secret entrance to the top of Umm el Biyara.
But where, Bill asked himself, were the people who were inhabiting the ancient stronghold? How could they hide themselves so completely from sight?
He became aware of Shorty's excited voice in his ear. He said, “I didn't get what you said, Shorty. I'm trying to figure how we can get in there to get Sandy out.”
“That is where those stolen ships are being concealed,” Shorty said. “They must have a hangar under the surface with a camouflaged top that makes it look like the regular terrain. It's the only place for them to be. They could land those little fighters on the top.”
“You're right, fella!” Bill yelled. “Douglas must have learned about it or suspected it, and they killed him to keep their secret until they are ready to strike.”
“Kestrel says they're ready now, Bill,” Shorty said quickly.
But Bill wasn't listening to him. He was talking to the radio man on the field at Ma'an.
“I've given the word to Kestrel,” Bill said in a moment. “He'll send bombers to help us bomb them out. But we've got to get Sandy out of there before they begin to blow it apart. I'm going to sit the Lancer down on top of the place if I can make it. I think I can. What do you say, fella? Are you coming in after me? It's not an order. Use your own judgment.”
“I'll be on your tail, Bill,” Shorty answered. “Perhaps you'd better drop a couple of bombs yourself to soften
