Keeping ever the narrow opening of the pass, which appeared as a lighter blur between the towering blackness of the cliffs before me, I drew steadily nearer to the mountain range ahead.
Of course I had not forgotten the dangers behind. Whatever might lie ahead, there was always the chance that the warriors of Achmet Bey had followed.
Being armed with only a revolver I would be unable to make much of a resistance, nor could I hope to hold my own in flight with those trained desert horsemen. Several times I drew rein to listen for the telltale sound of galloping hoofs.
At length I reached the mountains, to follow along the rock trail that led through them. It wound in and out of a score of huge boulders, but its length could not have been more than a quarter of a mile. At the far end the cliffs ended to show a waste of desert below. Away on the horizon to the right the broad Atlantic rolled in the moonlight, behind which rose the glittering outlines of some massive structure, three or four miles away.
How such a place had come to be on a barren, semi-civilized coast, or why it should be agleam with lights at three in the morning, was but another in a long string of mysteries, and I was for resuming my journey, when on rounding a projecting high boulder past which the trail continued I was brought to a sudden and surprising stop.
There, directly before me in the middle of the trail, was a heavy, white-robed figure, upon a black horse. From my own mount I could see his sudden start. Instinctively I knew this to be Achmet Bey, the returning brother of the sheik.
There was a silence as we stared at each other, then: "Halt!" cried the Arab. "Who are you that travels at such an hour?"
My hand tightened around my revolver. "One who would resume his journey," I answered.
I could see him lingering with the rifle that lay across the saddle before him, and peering ahead as though displeased with my answer. Then suddenly he must have realized the truth.
"You're a white man—and escaping!" His trained hand slid to the trigger of his rifle. "But I stand between you and freedom, unbeliever."
"You bar it at your own risk, Achmet Bey. I am armed!" I shouted.
Only for an instant the Arab was silent. Then with a wild whoop and a command to his charger, Achmet Bey set spurs to his horse and dashed toward me, even as my own mount sprang ahead to meet him.
At the same instant the barrel of his rifle glared a red and angry thunder, while I leaned forward on my horse and sent a murderous reply.
5. Beyond the Last Outpost
As the white-robed Arab charged toward me on that rocky little trail, I had instinctively leaned forward on the neck of my own mount.
It is to that movement I owe my life. The bullet of my foe would have blown out my brains had I been erect. As it was it whistled through my hair. The next instant he thundered past, a dozen inches to the left of me, but as I wheeled in my saddle I could see the shudder of his massive form. His horse galloped on, yet the man must have kept his saddle for a hundred yards before he sank forward, then plunged headlong to the ground.
I followed, and with ready revolver was on the sand almost as soon as he,
