When Hassan Agha and the Thief reached the abode of Zeyd’s wife’s relation, the sun had just sunk beneath the western hill. The cooling waters of the twilight overflowed the village and all the wady. They found their comrades at the sheykh’s house instated in the best room, the floor of which was laid for a feast. The entire population crowded round the open door, anxious to observe the manners of guests so honorable.

“Allah witness, we will be no burden on you,” said Hassan to their entertainer, after fervent greetings. “We have money and, moreover, we shall count it an honor to espouse your quarrels. Your friends, our friends; your foes, our foes; your people are from this hour the sworn brothers of my people.”

“May Allah reward your Excellencies! Behold, we are dirt. The honor is too great!” The old fellÂh wagged his turbaned head most humbly.

“I with four of my comrades repair to the city this night; but after a little while we shall return. In the meanwhile, here is a trifle. Honor me by accepting. It is only right, since we are so great a company.”

The sheykh of the village looked with awful reverence upon a piece of shining gold. It seemed he dared not take it. But when Hassan thrust it into his palm, his fist clinched on it instantly. He faltered praise to God, then wept a little.

About the third hour of night, Hassan set out once more, taking with him Shibli and four of his own men, the Thief among them. Once past the city gate, it was his intention to send Shibli straight to the khan. He had no wish to earn the rebuke of Shems-ud-dÌn by involving the youth in any serious mischief. But as they rode along, Shibli pleaded so earnestly to be allowed this opportunity of conquering his native cowardice, that Hassan, foreseeing no danger, had not the heart to deny him. After all, they were bound on no adventure, but a simple business of fetching and carrying, which could hurt no one.

In an olive grove at no great distance from the walls, they dismounted and made fast the steeds, leaving one of their number in charge of them. They had not taken many steps from that place, the ground being most uneven, when, with a yell, a man suddenly disappeared below the surface of the earth. Eying one another in terror, they missed the Thief.

A groan came from near at hand, ushering words of anguish.

“Woe on me! Am I not most wretched? Do not all things conspire against me? A black hog wears my robe of honor; the lot falls on me to lose my horse; a fat man bites my wrist in two; and now the earth has opened his mouth and devoured me. Allah, mercy! Woe! Woe on us!”

The Thief had stepped into a cistern long disused. Leaning on their bellies round the brink, they managed to grip hold of him, and at length, heaving together, brought him up to the surface. He sank upon the earth with a cry of pain. His legs were broken, he asserted again and again. Useless for the expedition, he was ordered to crawl back and keep watch over the horses, while the man before charged with that duty took on active service.

It was dark on all the face of the land. The city wall was but a greater darkness as they followed it on to the gate. Here they passed unchallenged. The men in the guardhouse peeped out, laughing, and wished them a happy night.

The bulk of the ancient fortress rose undefined against the sky, which in that quarter showed no stars. Clouds seemed to be rising, it might be for a thunderstorm, the year’s last rain. On the narrow bridge which crossed the trench to the portal, Hassan whispered:

“O Muhammed!”

“Ready, O my lord,” came the answer aloud.

“Is all well?”

“Be sure it is. No need to whisper. Only friends hear us.”

“Then open and show us the place.”

“Gently, gently, O Excellency! I would first hold thy gift in my hand, for an earnest of good faith. Be not angry with Muhammed. Bethink thee, I know thee but a little. And I have grave need of the money. To thee it is nothing; to me much. Deign to indulge thy servant, O my soul!”

“Good. Then I give thee the half. The other half shall be thine when we come out with the things.”

“At thy pleasure, O lord of bounty!”

The gate was then opened, and Hassan made his gift to the sentry. Muhammed peered at the money and turned it over slowly, seeming dissatisfied. Weighing it in his hand, he remonstrated:

“O my eyes, this is very little. For me alone, it might suffice. But there are many besides me your helpers in this business. Think not I could act as I do, without the connivance of one or two of my superiors. Then ... the guard at the gate....”

“See here, take this and be content.” Hassan doubled the sum given.

“It will serve, perhaps,” said Muhammed, with a shrug. “Come, follow me.” But he continued to grumble in an undertone.

Though the gate was left ostentatiously open behind them, Shibli felt imprisoned. Too late, he repented of his rashness in aspiring to vie with brave men. As they followed the soldier across the yard, he kept close to Hassan Agha for protection.

Their guide unlocked a heavy door. He struck a match and, shielding the flame with his hand, showed them steps leading down to a vault.

“Deign to enter. Ennoble these Frankish matches.”

“May thy house be destroyed! We need more light than those provide,” objected Hassan testily.

“Cut thy life!” retorted Muhammed in anger. “Didst think I would carry a lantern hither through the common yard, to show any man our business who may happen to be awake and looking out? By Allah, you expect much, and give mighty little!”

“Aha, is it the smallness of the gift, my brother? Thou shalt have more, much more, when we come forth with the rifles.”

Mollified by this assurance, Muhammed said more civilly:

“On the right, a few paces from the foot of the stair, you will find a lantern hanging by the wall. Be careful to strike no match in the armory itself, for there is much gunpowder.”

“Shibli, stay without and watch,” ordered Hassan.

“No, no! Let me enter. For the love of Allah, let me enter with you,” cried the youth, panic-stricken at the prospect of being left alone.

“No, it were a sin for thee.”

“Enter none the less,” whispered Muhammed. “It is a dungeon worth seeing. The walls, the roofs, the pillars, are of the rarest workmanship. I will keep watch instead of thee.”

Shibli required no urging to fulfill his one desire. He slipped in after the Circassians, and the soldier, as if for a precaution, closed the door behind him.

He felt his way down eight stone steps till he found hard-trodden earth beneath his feet.

Presently, amid the darkness ahead of him, there broke a storm of curses. A match was struck, forming a cocoon of light in the distance. Hassan cried in a terrible voice:

“Here is no lantern—no armory. And the door is shut upon us. We are trapped, entombed. May Allah slay me where I stand if I slay not ten men for this trick upon us.”

Shibli crouched at the foot of the steps, annihilated, a drumming in his ears. All at once the door above opened, and shrouded figures entered from the lesser darkness. It shut again ere Hassan and the rest could come at it.

Shibli trembled as those forms brushed by him. The smell of them was not the smell of men, but of goats or camels, he knew not which. A guttural oath from one of them and the words, “I touch a man,” uttered in a tone of alarm, failed to humanize them. But the stroke of a match and a gladsome shout from Hassan—“The BedÛ! Thanks to Allah!”—relieved him of the shudder of the unknown, while multiplying his fears a hundredfold. For that shout was prelude to a frightful conflict of men fighting tooth and nail in the dark, panting hard in the death grapple, striking what they could not see.

Shibli heard groans, gasps, short screams of rage, and the struggling fall of heavy bodies. His heart beat in his brain. He shrank back up the steps to the very door.

Just then the door opened, and, like a sword flash, out leapt the maddened youth. He broke through two ranks of soldiers, oversetting some of them. He was endued with the strength of ten men by the mortal fright possessing him. Blinded by the shine of many lanterns, he missed the gate at first and struck the wall beside it. Rebounding and quickly collecting himself, he dashed for the startled sentry, who, concluding he had to deal with a supernatural agent, wisely dodged the encounter.

“One has escaped, O my lord,” reported the soldier Muhammed to his captain. “A youth, but a youth of the devils. As well try to catch a bullet.”

“What matter!... Have you stopped the fight in there? Drive them all forth.”

Hassan Agha and his three comrades, with all who remained of their antagonists, emerged, torn and bleeding, from the cellar. They blinked in the glare of the lanterns. To their dazed apprehension it seemed the whole city was arrayed against them. By degrees their senses cleared somewhat. Having dashed the blood from his eyes, Hassan descried Abd-ur-Rahman.

“Ma sh’ Allah! Thou here, O child of my soul? Is it a trick of thine? By my gun, thou hast fooled us perfectly. It was a stratagem worthy of thy father’s brother, worthy of Milhem Basha, the very parent of guile.”

In the same playful tone Abd-ur-Rahman answered:

“It seemed desirable to read thee a little lesson, O beloved. Thy endeavor has been to defame me; thou madest light of my commands. To-night thou hast thy wages.”

“But as for thee, I will pay thee soon or late, thou lying dog.” Hassan turned fiercely upon the soldier Muhammed.

That deceiver only laughed. “I scoff at thee, old dotard. Thou art cross, it is natural. What is that to me? I am once more Bimbashi, which is all I care about. If thou didst think to outwit our young lord here—thou with but two old eyes and the mind of a bull—well, Allah bless thee, that is all.”

“What care I?” said Hassan, assuming a jaunty air. “I have at least done something to pay off a debt of long standing. We have slain a few of these dwellers in the House of Hair, who slew my two sons. To Allah praise therefore.”

“Now Allah witness. We knew thee not, nor had ground of quarrel with thee,” cried a Bedawi, who stood by, very sadly. “But now you have slain my father and my brother, their blood cries for your blood. It may prove a long story, but the end is already written.”

A snarl of thunder in the distance gave a sinister voice to the darkness which encompassed the lighted crowd. Hassan Agha turned again to Abd-ur-Rahman.

“What would a certain old man think of this treatment of one who loved thee?” he asked with deep meaning, almost with authority. “What would the saintly——”

“Enough said!” cried Abd-ur-Rahman; and by the haste of his ejaculation Hassan knew himself secure from public dishonor. “I intend not to disgrace so old a friend. Pay ten pounds Turk for distribution among the soldiers under my command, or in default of that sum—which I think you could hardly make up among you—give me a mare from your cavalry, and it is finished between us.”

“The money is with me,” said Hassan, with a chastened gleam of satisfaction; for he knew that Abd-ur-Rahman desired the mare. A gleeful murmur spread among the soldiery.

“With these sons of wandering I will be lenient in like manner. Ten pounds Turk, or one of their thoroughbred mares; that is the price of escape. But first, in their case, it is necessary that I see some certificate of their discharge from the military service.”

“A’al! He is wise. May Allah preserve Abd-ur-Rahman, coming glory of the realm.”

Hassan stayed to hear no more. He paid his fine with the money taken from the CÂdi, and slunk away out of the sphere of the lantern light. Hearing laughter, he ground his teeth and vowed vengeance senselessly. The watch at the gate of the city turned out to mock him and his companions, inquiring whence those blood stains, where the rifles, and so forth.

Flashes of lightning illumined the country fitfully. The stars were covered. Thunder rolled, now near, now distant. In the olive grove where they had left their steeds, it began to rain, big drops, which shook the leaves. The whinny and stamp of the horses guiding them, they found the place.

The Thief lay on his back, groaning, just as they had left him. His legs were broken, he moaned. He told how, as he lay looking up at the sky, he had seen a sword flash forth from heaven over the Holy City, and heard a great voice cry:

“Die, all of you!”

He supposed that Allah would destroy those wicked townsfolk, and Hassan thought it very likely.