“Now,” he said in Arabic, “this child vows you are an iblis; and he has sworn by the beard of the Prophet to kill the first iblis that he sees. We are his friends, here to help him do it. What do you say to that?”
“You have caught the wrong one. I am no iblis.”
“You fight like one, and you smell worse than one. What then are you?”
“I am a thief.”
The man threw such pride into the assertion that Catesby and Narayan Singh both laughed. But Jim was too intent on something else. He shifted his own position so that the moonlight shore directly in the man’s face—then nodded.
“Look at me carefully, Mahommed ben Hamza. Do you know me?”
“Jimgrim! Ilhamdilla! (Thank God!) Now I am all right.”
“No, you’re not, you scoundrel!”
“Man without virtue I may be, since Jimgrim says it, who knows so much; but not for nothing did I help thee at El-Kerak, when a word from me would have ended thy career. I say I am all right. Ilhamdilla!”
“You think I’m easy,” Jim answered, “but I tell you my friends here are ruthless.”
“Then you and I will fight them. I am not afraid.”
“What brought you from thieving in the Hebron suk (market)?”
“What were you doing yonder?”
Jim pointed to the hill two hundred yards away on which the leper had danced.
“What but obtaining magic against bullet and bayonet? What else could a dervish do for me? However, he forgot to bless me for ambushment by the way, or even you, Jimgrim, would not have been clever or strong enough to take me, with twice as many men.”
“Then you think his dance is efficacious?”
“Surely. All the thieves go to him, and how many get caught? A very few get shot, and a very few get stabbed, but those are the ones who scoffed at him. He is a driver of hard bargains, but his magic works.”
“Hard bargains, eh?”
“Leper’s bargains. A man must leave two-thirds of all he steals, or the equivalent at a place appointed, or suffer the curse. None dares fail him.”
“I drive still harder bargains,” Jim answered.
“Aye, and keep them. Loose my bonds, Jimgrim; thou and I are old friends.”
“Not so fast. Are your wife and child at Hebron, Mahommed ben Hamza?”
“Unless ill luck overtook them between yesterday 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