For a moment Meriem was silent, buried in thought. Her first question seemed irrelevant.
“How did you happen to be in this village?” she asked.
He told her all that had transpired since the black had told him of Hanson’s duplicity.
“You say that you are a coward,” she said, “and yet you have done all this to save me? The courage that it must have taken to tell me the things that you told me but a moment since, while courage of a different sort, proves that you are no moral coward, and the other proves that you are not a physical coward. I could not love a coward.”
“You mean that you love me?” he gasped in astonishment, taking a step toward her as though to gather her into his arms; but she placed her hand against him and pushed him gently away, as much as to say, not yet. What she did mean she scarcely knew. She thought that she loved him, of that there can be no question; nor did she think that love for this young Englishman was disloyalty to Korak, for her love for Korak was undiminished—the love of a sister for an indulgent brother. As they stood there for the moment of their conversation the sounds of tumult in the village subsided.
“They have killed him,” whispered Meriem.
The statement brought Baynes to a realization of the cause of their return.
“Wait here,” he said. “I will go and see. If he is dead we can do him no good. If he lives I will do my best to free him.”
“We will go together,” replied Meriem. “Come!” And she led the way back toward the tent in which they last had seen Korak. As they went they were often forced to throw themselves to the ground in the shadow of a tent or hut, for people were passing hurriedly to and fro now—the whole village was aroused and moving about. The return to the tent of Ali ben Kadin took much longer than had their swift flight to the palisade. Cautiously they crept to the slit that Korak’s knife had made in the rear wall. Meriem peered within—the rear apartment was empty. She crawled through the aperture, Baynes at her heels, and then silently crossed the space to the rugs that partitioned the tent into two rooms. Parting the hangings Meriem looked into the front room. It, too, was deserted. She crossed to the door of the tent and looked out. Then she gave a little gasp of horror. Baynes at her shoulder looked past her to the sight that had startled her, and he, too, exclaimed; but his was an oath of anger.
A hundred feet away they saw Korak bound to a stake—the brush piled about him already alight. The Englishman pushed Meriem to one side and started to run for the doomed man. What he could do in the face of scores of hostile blacks and Arabs he did not stop to consider. At the same instant Tantor broke through the palisade and charged the group. In the face of the maddened beast the crowd turned and fled, carrying Baynes backward with them. In a moment it was all over, and the elephant had disappeared with his prize; but pandemonium reigned throughout the village. Men, women and children ran helter skelter for safety. Curs fled, yelping. The horses and camels and donkeys, terrorized by the trumpeting of the pachyderm, kicked and pulled at their tethers. A dozen or more broke loose, and it was the galloping of these past him that brought a sudden idea into Baynes’ head. He turned to search for Meriem only to find her at his elbow.
“The horses!” he cried. “If we can get a couple of them!”
Filled with the idea Meriem led him to the far end of the village.
“Loosen two of them,” she said, “and lead them back into the shadows behind those huts. I know where there are saddles. I will bring them and the bridles,” and before he could stop her she was gone.
Baynes quickly untied two of the restive animals and led them to the point designated by Meriem. Here he waited impatiently for what seemed an hour; but was, in reality, but a few minutes. Then he saw the girl approaching beneath the burden of two saddles. Quickly they placed these upon the horses. They could see by the light of the torture fire that still burned that the blacks and Arabs were recovering from their panic. Men were running about gathering in the loose stock, and two or three were already leading their captives back to the end of the village where Meriem and Baynes were busy with the trappings of their mounts.
Now the girl flung herself into the saddle.
“Hurry!” she whispered. “We shall have to run for it. Ride through the gap that Tantor made,” and as she saw Baynes swing his leg over the back of his horse, she shook the reins free over her mount’s neck. With a lunge, the nervous beast leaped forward. The shortest path led straight through the center of the village, and this Meriem took. Baynes was close behind her, their horses running at full speed.
So sudden and impetuous was their dash for escape that it carried them half-way across the village before the surprised inhabitants were aware of what was happening. Then an Arab recognized them, and, with a cry of alarm, raised his rifle and fired. The shot was a signal for a volley, and amid the rattle of musketry Meriem and Baynes leaped their flying mounts through the breach in the palisade and were gone up the well-worn trail toward the north.
And Korak?
Tantor carried him deep into the jungle, nor paused until no sound from the distant village reached his keen ears. Then he laid his burden gently down. Korak struggled to free himself from his bonds, but even his great strength was unable to cope with the many strands of hard-knotted cord that bound him. While he lay there, working and resting by turns, the elephant stood guard above him, nor was there jungle enemy with the hardihood to tempt the sudden death that lay in that mighty bulk.
Dawn came, and still Korak was no nearer freedom than before. He commenced to believe that he should die there of thirst and starvation with plenty all about him, for he knew that Tantor could not unloose the knots that held him.
And while he struggled through the night with his bonds, Baynes and Meriem were riding rapidly northward along the river. The girl had assured Baynes that Korak was safe in the jungle with Tantor. It had not occurred to her that the ape-man might not be able to burst his bonds. Baynes had been wounded by a shot from the rifle of one of the Arabs, and the girl wanted to get him back to Bwana’s home, where he could be properly cared for.
“Then,” she said, “I shall get Bwana to come with me and search for Korak. He must come and live with us.”
All night they rode, and the day was still young when they came suddenly upon a party hurrying southward. It was Bwana himself and his sleek, black warriors. At sight of Baynes the big Englishman’s brows contracted in a scowl; but he waited to hear Meriem’s story before giving vent to the long anger in his breast. When she had finished he seemed to have forgotten Baynes. His thoughts were occupied with another subject.
“You say that you found Korak?” he asked. “You really saw him?”
“Yes,” replied Meriem; “as plainly as I see you, and I want you to come with me, Bwana, and help me find him again.”
“Did you see him?” He turned toward the Hon. Morison.
“Yes, sir,” replied Baynes; “very plainly.”
“What sort of appearing man is he?” continued Bwana. “About how old, should you say?”
“I should say he was an Englishman, about my own age,” replied Baynes; “though he might be older. He is remarkably muscled, and exceedingly tanned.”
“His eyes and hair, did you notice them?” Bwana spoke rapidly, almost excitedly. It was Meriem who answered him.
“Korak’s hair is black and his eyes are gray,” she said.
Bwana turned to his headman.
“Take Miss Meriem and Mr. Baynes home,” he said. “I am going into the jungle.”
“Let me go with you, Bwana,” cried Meriem. “You are going to search for Korak. Let me go, too.”
Bwana turned sadly but firmly upon the girl.
“Your place,” he said, “is beside the man you love.”
Then he motioned to his head-man to take his horse and commence the return journey to the farm. Meriem slowly mounted the tired Arab that had brought her from the village of The Sheik. A litter was rigged for the now feverish Baynes, and the little cavalcade was soon slowly winding off along the river trail.
Bwana stood watching them until they were out of sight. Not once had Meriem turned her eyes backward. She rode with bowed head and drooping shoulders. Bwana sighed. He loved the little Arab girl as he might have loved an own daughter. He realized that Baynes had redeemed himself, and so he could interpose no objections now if Meriem really loved the man; but, somehow, some way, Bwana could not convince himself that the Hon. Morison was worthy of his little Meriem. Slowly he turned toward a nearby tree. Leaping upward he caught a lower branch and drew himself up among the branches. His movements were cat-like and agile. High into the trees he
