It was close upon sunrise when Hassan Agha and his men threaded the burrows of the city to the northern gate. Few moved abroad beside themselves. Dogs slunk drowsily along by the walls, seeking lairs for the day. Once past the gate and its stretching shadow, they all with one accord clapped spurs to their horses.

Away they galloped, shouting, through olive groves where the sunrise reddened one side of the knotty trunks, and awoke a pearly sheen in the gray mistlike foliage. Past old rock tombs, past caverns fledged with fern, they dashed in the pink of morning. From an eminence, the city walls appeared a blue cloud line just beneath the sun. The rays smote their shoulders with a loving hand. They were free.

Shibli rode with them by indulgence of the Sheykh Shems-ud-dÌn, before whom they had laid their plan overnight. The saint had heard them listlessly, as from a distance. He had approved of everything with the slight impatience of one in haste to be rid of questions. But not so Zeyd, the son of AbbÂs. Sure that they were bent on some iniquity, the fellÂh had done all in the power of grimaces and private signals to arouse misgiving in his master, all in vain; till at length, with a shrug for an obtuseness which he knew for the God-sent rind of sanctity, he accepted the inevitable. Executing a circular bow to comprise all the enemy, he had besought them to brighten once again the village of his wife’s sister’s husband’s uncle, who, poor good man, would thus be rendered the happiest of living creatures. When Hassan welcomed the suggestion, Zeyd had praised Allah as for a favor done to himself. He looked to harvest from the lips of his distant relative such clear evidence of their wickedness as should convince even a saint’s incredulity.

But Hassan was not going to seek that village until the evening. He wished to celebrate the release from entombing walls by a day’s ride in quest of adventure.

Letting the horses resume a quiet pace, they joked and chatted together, while the land led them onward by waves. At length, from between some ancient olive trees which watched a sea of corn, they beheld a flat-roofed village with three upper chambers like towers projecting above the herd of dwellings.

“There, in sh’ Allah, we will break our fast,” said Hassan, to the joy of Shibli, who, from excessive delight in the ride, was very hungry.

At the foot of a little height the village crowned, were women fetching water from the spring. Their pitchers filled, they stood to gossip, with arms akimbo. On beholding a crowd of riders, they huddled together in alarm. Other women, at work in the field hard by, stood up to stare at the strangers. A man with a preposterous turban came forth from the village, yawning, with arms upraised. He had begun to descend toward the spring, when he, too, caught sight of the horsemen, and stood still beneath a young fig tree, his hand shading his eyes.

“We be soldiers,” shouted Hassan, loud enough to be heard of the man in the distance. “O women, conduct us to the house of your sheykh.”

At that the women raised a wail, and wrung their hands. The man by the fig tree ran back whence he came.

“O Allah, have mercy. What have our men worth requiring? O my lords, there is nothing left with us. All our beasts are dead lately of a murrain. A blight is on our crops these many years.”

“Draw near, O rising moon,” said Hassan, ogling the youngest and most lissome of the group. “Fear not, O delight. It is but a drink from thy pitcher. O mothers of mighty men, give to drink to my companions. We are not wild beasts to devour you. Why so afraid?”

A moment they hung in a flutter. Then the girl, enticed of Hassan, took a bold step forward, giggling at her companions. She held up her pitcher. Having drunk his fill, Hassan hugged her in his arms. She gave but a little scream and struggled faintly, giggling. Louder screams and laughter came from the elder women, caught in like manner. The toilers in the field applauded the pretty game.

“By Allah, my old mouth waters. My soul is sick for desire of thee,” said Hassan, with the pant of love. “For the sake of all you women—how beautiful! how seductive!—we will spare this village. Say I not well, O my children? We will ask no more of the sheykh than to make for us a little feast to confirm friendship. My peace on you.”

At that the girl who had served Hassan set off, running with rhythmic hips, the pitcher poised upon her head. Before the horsemen reached the house of the sheykh, she had convoked all the men of the place to do them honor. Impressed by her breathless, eager tale, those villagers were ready to make a holiday, to roast a sheep, and gorge thereon till night, to spit a dozen fowls, to boil a hill of rice. But Hassan magnanimously bade them spare their pains. He asked only bread and curds, a few olives, a cup of coffee, for himself and each of his following. The crowd lost speech in wonder at his moderation. His frugal needs were at once supplied.

When he and all his company were satisfied, the villagers led them forth with praise upon their way. At the foot of a rocky slope they said farewell.

“What is the name of yonder shrine?” asked Hassan, pointing with his hand to a mountain, on the summit of which, up against the sky, appeared the form of a wely or saint’s tomb.

“His name is Neby SamwÌl, may it please your Excellency,” the reply was given by a score of voices.

“Is it a great shrine?”

The villagers shrugged shoulders, and smiled widely, glancing at one another. It was as his Excellency pleased. Some pilgrims went there.

The cavalcade rode on by rough and stony ways, while the sun on their backs shone hot and hotter. Wild flowers grew in beds between the rocks. Now and then a bird cried. The hues of earth in contrast with the deep blue sky were pale and dead, as sands beside the sea. A train of camels, pursuing some other road, appeared and disappeared, mere dots upon the sky line.

Coming in sight of another village, hardly separate from its surrounding rocks, Hassan called the Thief to his side and gave some orders, heard of Shibli, who rode near. “Take one other with thee,” were the concluding words.

“Let me be that one,” pleaded Shibli eagerly.

“Thou, the scholar, the disciple of the Sheykh Shems-ud-dÌn. Allah forbid!”

“Nay, let me. I would show you all that I am not a coward. And in truth, since the girl Alia is in the way of recovery, I care not what becomes of me.”

“Go, then,” said Hassan, between a grin and a sneer. “And see that thou support our Thief properly, else Ali, his friend, will surely beat thee.”

Shibli dropped behind with NesÌb, while Hassan and the rest of the party rode on in earnest conference.

At entering the village, Ali, the only Arab left to them, cried aloud by Hassan’s orders, so that all who rested from the heat looked forth at their doors:

“O good people, O pious MuslimÛn, come out and see. Lo! here be pilgrims of distinction—holy men, none like them—men of renown. They come from Jebel CÂf, that mountain reaching into heaven, which is the boundary of the whole earth. From Jebel CÂf, I say, to visit your Neby SamwÌl, the illustrious, the blessed. It is an honor done to all your land. Come forth and behold that which no poor man ever yet was privileged to see—princes from Jebel CÂf, which is under heaven.”

And when all the inhabitants stood gaping in their doorways:

“Come forth,” he cried, “beyond the houses. Let all see and hear alike. This place is too narrow.”

Then, having lured them out into the open, Ali there addressed them at great length; bidding them be good ever more, and sin never again, for that they were now ennobled above all their fathers, having beheld the kings of Jebel CÂf, the very Gate of Heaven, who come once in a thousand years. Their crops would increase thenceforth; all provisions in their houses would abound miraculously. In the end, he besought Hassan to bless them, and then rode off, leaving them perfectly bewildered.

Scarcely were they out of sight of those simpletons, when they espied Shibli and the Thief seated under a rock beside the path, holding their steeds by the headropes.

“It was the work of a minute,” cried Shibli, much excited. “We have many useful things, but alas! no money. NesÌb has ten fowls which he caught and bagged before I could have laid hand on one of them. Also, he changed some things from house to house, so that those fellahÌn may suspect one another of the theft. He is a devil, this Thief. I had been naught without him.”

Hassan looked hard at the speaker. “The praise to Allah,” he said, “we have now two thieves instead of one.”

The boy’s eyes flashed with anger, and his lips parted to make answer. The next minute his eyes swam in tears, and he hung his head, silenced. For long he spoke no word to anyone, but rode apart in dudgeon or despondency.

They came to a wady trending eastward athwart their road. A fairly defined goat path ran along its hither bank. Saying they had gone far enough in a straight line from the city, Hassan led the way upon that narrow track, the rest following him in single file.

They had not proceeded far in the new direction ere their leader reined up. The track was gone. But the sharp eyes of NesÌb made out a village in the distance where they could be sure of learning the way. Hassan resigned the post of leader to the Thief, himself riding second in the file. He could thus converse with NesÌb without fear of being overheard.

“We have no money,” he said savagely. “Look to it that we obtain some before evening. How can we enter the Tower, how fee the soldiers, without money? I myself will help thee, if thou fearest a bold stroke.”

“No money.” NesÌb’s shoulders went up to his ears on the shrug of despair. “I will do what is possible, O my dear lord! But money is not like fowls, nor yet like flowers by the wayside. Allah witness, I can neither catch nor pluck it. I know not beforehand where it lies. It must come to my hand, or I cannot take it. Allah put it near me, since our need is urgent.”

At the entering in of the village NesÌb had spied from afar, grew a fine tree, beneath which, at the hour of their approach, lay two sturdy youths asleep. These being awakened, one of them gladly undertook to guide their honors to a place whence the road ran clear to El CÛds. For half an hour he led them in and out among the stony hills till, near a village superior in size and structure to any they had yet seen, he set them on a wide track and pointed out their direction. Receiving some small coins for his services, he cried on Allah to increase their wealth.

“May Allah heed him,” muttered Hassan, “for he has our last dinÂr.”

The sun was still high when they learnt from some other wayfarers that they were again near to the city and within a short hour of the village of Zeyd’s relation. Hassan bade Shibli and the rest go on thither, while he and NesÌb attended to some business they had to transact in common. With laughter and knowing looks, the troop rode off.

Hassan and the Thief urged their horses up a small, steep hill, from the top of which they beheld the city, and much country on all hands. Beneath them in the dale they had just left were many olive trees a-shimmer in the sun, which cast a filigree of shade upon the field and on the bridle path which wound among them. Having secured their horses out of sight, they sat to watch that path.

At last, when from long watching he had dropped to sleep, old Hassan was aroused by an exclamation from the Thief at his side. He presently became aware of figures moving upon the path, drawing near out of the distance.

He perceived a fat man bestriding a tall black jackass, and beside him a servant, walking, holding a sunshade over the fat one’s head. The donkey bore full saddlebags, to judge from the angle of projection of his rider’s legs. And the fat man kept clutching the bosom of his robe, as if that, too, were not empty.

“Come, O my lord. Let us descend,” hissed NesÌb. “Yon old man has our money. Watch his hands; observe his glance of fear to every side. Y’Allah!”

They stole rapidly down the hill, making use of every scrap of cover. Long before the fat man and his servant reached the place of their descent, two simple men, an old and a young, sat by the roadside, beneath a wall that fenced the olive yards, holding one another’s hand, enjoying innocent converse in that shady spot. The younger of the twain crooned a love song with closed eyes.

All at once, as the black donkey came ambling by, the pair sprang up suddenly, while the elder presented a large and very curious pistol at the rider’s head.

Upon that, seeing the miscreants were two, himself but one, the servant turned and fled with the open sunshade. A minute later, when the fat man lay on the ground, puffing and cursing beneath the clever hands of NesÌb, Hassan saw that servant afar off, frantically endeavoring to climb a tree, while the parasol, still open, adorned the ground close by, seeming some strange white flower.

At that instant NesÌb swore roundly. The fat man had bitten deep into the wrist of his despoiler.

“Pig of a citizen!” yelled the Thief. “I will tear thy beard out. I will stab thy filthy eyes.”

He kicked his victim, and would have leapt upon the hill of fatness had not Hassan Agha restrained him.

“Nevertheless, he shall be punished, and that at once,” said the Circassian. “We asked but his wealth; Allah witness, we bore no grudge to this man more than to any other. But now, since he curses me and has bitten my companion, the case is altered.”

So saying, he removed the saddlebags from the donkey’s back, then, letting go the bridle, drove his dagger into its flank. The black jackass screamed, plunged, and careered away.

NesÌb, meanwhile, was employed in tearing the raiment off the fallen fat one, now quite paralyzed with rage. The despoiled gasped and gurgled convulsively.

“O Allah, help! Shall men rob and outrage the CÂdi of El CÛds, within call of the city, and live? May Allah burn the abode of your wickedness. By Allah, I shall be revenged. The day will come when I shall send you forth to death. All robbers return to me. I am the CÂdi.”

“CÂdi or pig, thou hadst no right to bite my hand,” replied NesÌb severely.

Having stripped him to his silken shirt and his voluminous drawers of white calico, NesÌb, for a further insult, hoodwinked him with his own turban, and bound together his wrists and ankles with strips cut from the clothing taken from him. Then after Hassan he climbed back over the wall.

From a discreet place they watched what should befall. They saw the servant clamber down from out his tree of refuge and, hesitating, with fearful glances, approach his master. They saw him fumble with the bonds. They heard the fat man’s scream of rage, when at length he could rise; and observed him spit upon that servant, striking his face repeatedly, so that the coward fell on his knees and howled for mercy. They waited to see no more, but, full of quiet mirth, crept on their way.