Hunting about in the ruins I found indubitable human bones. Ayisha, when asked about it, said that Ali Higg had raided the place several months ago and killed or captured every one.
“Because he is lord of the waters,” she explained, and seemed to think that reason unassailable.
There was quite a dispute at that place as to who should stand first guard while the rest of us slept, but Grim settled it by casting lots with date- stones in a way that was new, but that seemed to satisfy everyone— especially as the first watch fell to Narayan Singh and me.
“That is because the rest of us said our prayers,” explained Ali Baba piously.
But I think it was really because Grim knew how to play tricks with the date-stones.
The Sikh and I kept making the circuit of the palm-trees and talking to keep each other from getting too sleepy, for there is no time when desire to sleep so loads you down as in the noon heat after a long march. You very often can’t sleep then because of the very heat that makes you drowsy; but the glare has been so trying to your eyes that you yearn to shut them, and inertia sits on your spine and shoulders like a load of lead.
“Thou and I must watch that woman, sahib,” said Narayan Singh. “Our Jimgrim will make use of her; but how shall he do that if her heart changes? As long as she hopes to snare him I am not afraid of her. But what if it should be she who grows afraid as we get nearer to Ali Higg’s nest? A woman afraid is worse than a man with a dagger in the dark. Suppose she bolts to Ali Higg and lays information against us—what then?”
I tried to argue him out of his anxiety, because I wanted to sleep when my turn came. My habit of never looking for trouble is a lovely one until trouble starts; but the Sikh, being only a heathen, could not be persuaded; so I had to promise him that, turnabout, four hours on and four off, he and I would watch Ayisha faithfully until such time as Grim should make other disposition of our services or there should be no more need.
“And I think, sahib, that it will be best to shoot or stab her without argument if she turns treacherous.”
But I never stabbed or shot a woman yet. I have a loose-kneed prejudice against it. I said so.
“Then, sahib, if it be your turn on watch, and you detect treachery, summon me, and I will send her to Jehannum.” (Hell)
“I think we ought to speak to Jimgrim about it,” I objected. “He might have other plans.”
The Sikh turned that over in his mind during one whole circuit of the palm-trees, stroking his great beard with his right hand the while as if the friction would inspire his brain.
“Jimgrim will say she is a woman and therefore must not be killed in any event,” he answered at last. “But that is of the nature of his error, all men suffering delusion in some form, since none is perfect. If we submit the problem to him he will answer wrongly; but we shall then have received orders, which, as faithful men, we must not disobey.
“As concerns ourselves, being men without specific orders on that point, the question is simple: Of that woman and that man, if the one must live and the other die, which shall it be? And I say Jimgrim shall live, if I die afterward even by his hand for it.”
It sounded logical. The arguments with which an unselfish, honest fellow deceives himself into wrong-doing always do bear quite a lot of investigation. But I was at sea before the mast once, where I learned painfully that the captain commands the ship; not even the notions of the buckiest bucko mate amount to as much as a barnacle’s bootlace if the old man disagrees from them.
“What makes you think he doesn’t understand the obvious danger of Ayisha?” said I.
“No man from the West ever understood a woman of the East,” he answered.
That being obviously true—Adam did not understand Eve, and no man from anywhere has understood any woman since—I had to rack my brains for a different argument.
“There are two sure ways of discovering treason,” I said at last. “One way is to pick a quarrel with the person you suspect. But the safer way is to seem very friendly.
“Now—why don’t you make love to her? You’re a fine, big, handsome man. I don’t suppose she’ll prefer you in her heart to Jimgrim, but she’ll not be ashamed to appear to respond, and if she has evil intentions she will surely seek to take advantage of your passion to forward her own plans. Seeking to make use of you, she will betray herself.”
“So speaks the jackal to the tiger. ‘This way, sahib! That way, sahib! A broad-horned sambhur to be killed, worthy of your honor’s strength!’ Why don’t you make love to her?”
“Because I’m afraid,” said I quite frankly. “If I thought I could get away with it I’d try. But she’d laugh at me, whereas your attentions might flatter her.”
“You think so?”
He stroked his great beard again, and twisted his mustache.
“I’m sure of it.”
“Atcha. We shall see. I will give the trollop that one chance. It may be she will preserve her head on her shoulders yet by confiding in me; for if I can forewarn Jimgrim of her plans I will reckon it beneath my dignity to use a sword on her. So. It is settled. We shall see.”
You know that warm glow of vanity that sweeps over you when another fellow concedes your plan to be better than his? It is rather like the effect of certain drugs—a highly agreeable sensation while it lasts.
But it was tempered in my case by that reference he had made to a jackal, and I’m still left wondering how much justice there was in the insinuation. Narayan Singh and I are friends right down to this minute, but I am none the less conscious of a query that seems to spoil confidence a little.
He, being master of himself by training, and used to sleeping when he saw fit, volunteered to take the first four-hour watch on Ayisha, so I got as much sleep as the flies and the snores of the rest of the gang would permit, and awoke toward evening to the sound of unaccustomed voices outside my tent. There was one voice with a squeak in it like a rusty wheel that I had certainly never heard before.
It seemed we had made some prisoners. There were three seedy-looking camels kneeling over by Grim’s tent, and three almost as seedy-looking individuals were talking to Grim in the midst of our camp, with most of our gang seated in a semicircle listening. Grim had out his traveling water-pipe for the sake of effect, and was puffing away at it while he meditated on the information that was being drawn forth gradually. Ayisha was seated on the mat beside him.
The man with the squeak in his voice, who did most of the talking, was a very dark-skinned fellow with a short, coal-black, curly beard. He had little gold rings in his ears, and in spite of the filthy condition of his clothes he wore an opulent look—the sort that suggests intimate acquaintance with the fabled riches of the East. I have seen a Moor, who hadn’t a coin with which to bless himself, create exactly the same impression by simply being dark and handsome.
He was eating dates while he talked, so I suppose Grim had been to some pains to make him feel welcome. But he hadn’t been there long.
“Wallahi!” he said as I joined the circle. “But Your Honor is surely Ali Higg, and that is the lady Ayisha! Your Honor is pleased to pretend otherwise, but am I blind? I, who come straight from Petra where Your Honor paid me, am not thus easily deceived!
“Lo, the good camels! It was easy to make a wide circuit, and reach this place a day ahead of me; but what is Your Honor’s purpose? What do you want with me, O Lion of Petra?”
“Nevertheless,” said Grim, “I am not Ali Higg, who styles himself Lion of Petra.”
“Is