  What all this was leading to Mr. Hampton could not surmise, but he was content to bide his time a moment longer, pretty well convinced by now that the other was leading up to some denouncement. “Yes,” he stated judicially, “I would say that whoever saw you would have considered you dead. I myself believed so when we discovered you. It was only after various tests that we were convinced you still lived, and since then I have had a struggle to bring you back to sanity and consciousness.” “I suspected it,” said the man, grimly. “Let me think a moment monsieur.” Again he closed his eyes. For not only one but several minutes he continued to lie with his eyes closed, but that he not only was awake but thinking tumultuous thoughts was apparent to Mr. Hampton from the flush that mantled the man’s cheeks and from the labored rise and fall of his chest. “Monsieur,” said the man, snapping his eyes open again, “you have been good to me. I can see that. I am not ungrateful. My people attempted to kill me. They left me for dead. I am convinced of it. Now I shall foreswear them. I shall be your friend, as I was the friend of Professor Souchard.” It was Mr. Hampton’s turn to exhibit surprise. “Professor Souchard’s friend?” he queried in amazement. “Another drink I beg you, monsieur,” pleaded the Athensian. Mr. Hampton obediently poured water from the jar into the cup, and set the latter to his lips. “Ah,” said the Athensian, satisfiedly, “that is delicious. Already I feel myself growing much stronger.” “And now,” said Mr. Hampton, “my time presses. Some of your people have captured my son,” he added, to avoid needless explanation of Bob’s identity. “And I was about to set out in pursuit and attempt his rescue when you became conscious.” “Tsst, tsst,” clucked the other, sympathetically. “That is bad.” “A big fine fellow, six feet tall, an athlete,” said Mr. Hampton, thinking of Bob’s fine appearance. “Well, I imagine he mussed up a number before they took him.” “An athlete?” queried the other, alertly. “And they did not shoot but took him prisoner. Monsieur, that is very bad, very bad, indeed.” “Why, what do you mean?” “I have been here ten days,” said the other thoughtfully, seeming to disregard Mr. Hampton’s question. “Yes, the Sacrificial Games, them, are five weeks, no, six weeks, distant.” Again Mr. Hampton demanded, this time a sharper note of anxiety in his voice, what the Athensian sought to convey. “Just this, monsieur,” said the other; “that your son is destined to take part in the annual Sacrificial Games of my people. Every year twelve of the strongest men from the outside world who can be found, either taken prisoner by us in battle or raid, or bought in the slave mart of Gao, are pitted in single combat against an equal number of Athensian youth. The victor in each contest is then pitted against another victor. Thus the competition is narrowed until only two remain. These combats are to the death. The winner is worshipped one whole year as the embodiment of the God of Strength. At the time of the annual Sacrificial Games of the succeeding year he is killed as a sacrifice.” “Good heaven,” said Mr. Hampton. “And is that the reason for this purchase by your people of the strongest slaves in Gao, of which I have heard?” “Monsieur has heard?” queried the other, surprisedly. “Yes, that is the reason.” “I can’t stay any longer to talk to you,” said Mr. Hampton, emphatically, springing to his feet. “I must set out at once to rescue Bob.” “But a moment, monsieur,” pleaded the other. “I would like to go with you, but I am not strong enough. See, I cannot more than lift my arm,” he added, suiting action to word. “Yes, yes, I know,” Mr. Hampton said, impatiently. “But I must be off. Allola, this old Arab woman, will look after you until my return. And if I fail, well——” A shrug of the shoulders completed his sentence. “Monsieur must not fail if he would see his son again,” the Athensian said. “But before you go, let me explain. I shall be brief.” Mr. Hampton unwillingly returned and the Athensian continued: “I met Professor Souchard on one of his scouting expeditions about the base of our mountain wall. I am an exile from Athensi, monsieur. How I come to speak French is easily explained. I am of the priest clan, and our young men for ages have been sent into the outside world for a certain period of study. Always this has been so. We made our way into Egypt under the Pharaohs. When Carthage rose, we were represented there. At the height of Rome’s power, our young men were at her court, learning the secrets of her civilization and power. Through each succeeding age, we have gone out across the desert and entered the halls of learning of the dominant races of civilization. I was one of those selected to study the French, and I have served in the French Foreign Legion in Algiers. “Then we return after a certain time, not to give the benefit of our acquired knowledge to our people, who are steeped in ignorance, being little better than the Kabyles of Northern Africa, who, as monsieur doubtless knows, are a semi-savage white race living in the mountain. No, we exercise this knowledge to retain our power. Some day there will come a revolution. I was one of those not contented with this abuse of power. I felt our country should be developed, and opened to civilization, surrounded though it is on every side by the desert. For this, I was an exile to Korakum. “Another drink. I beg, monsieur. Ah, that is better. I draw near the finish of my words. Monsieur, I see, is anxious to be gone. Well spies of the Oligarch saw me converse with Professor Souchard whose first escape from Korakum had been regretted by the priest clan as a mistake. And heavily did they punish those who aided him then. Heavily monsieur. They paid with their lives. For the priest clan does not wish civilization from the outside world to enter our mountains, lest the power of its members be shattered. “But I have friends. Knowledge that I had been spied upon in my conversations with Professor Souchard was not unknown to me. It was only recently I had met him, on the next to last trip he made into our region. When he came the last time, I met him out on the desert and warned him the expedition which he and you, monsieur—for I suppose you are the comrade he awaited—must turn back. He had not known before of the priest clan, nor of all this I have told you so sketchily. He said he would meet you at this oasis, and that he would tell you what I told him and go back with you across the desert. “On returning to the mountains, monsieur, I hid beside the outbound trail. Hours later, a friend came to me with word that the Athensian spies were starting with an expedition for the oasis, determined to kill Professor Souchard and his man, Ben Hassim, rather than let them escape and bring the world about our ears. “I had a horse. I mounted, and with a bag of food and several water bottles, set out to overtake my friend. Five days I rode, not sparing my horse. Then he dropped dead, and I staggered on the last half day afoot. But the Athensians overtook me. “I was not killed monsieur. I was carried along to the oasis with them. At its edge, the world went black to me.” He paused. “That is all, monsieur. What has happened since, you know better than I.” Mr. Hampton drew a long breath. The spell of the man’s tersely told story had held him enthralled. “They garroted Professor Souchard and Ben Hassim,” he said. The Athensian’s lips compressed. “A trick of the priest clan’s followers for disposing of enemies,” he said. “And you were hit a blow on the back of the head, and left for dead beside them. It was there we found you.” “Ah,” said the other, composedly. “They lied to me. They said my life would be spared.” A long pause followed, during which he raised a languid hand to brush his eyes. “My name, monsieur,” he added, “is Amrath. I have delayed you, but not for long. Go now, and luck be with you. In the Valley of Korakum, should you reach it, you will find true men named Jepthah, Amonasis and Shilluk. Should it be your fortune to meet them, call upon them for help in my name. And now, luck be with you. I shall await your return.” |
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