CHAPTER XVI.

A DARK DEED.

ROBIN was refreshed by his sleep, although it was not a long one. He sat up and watched the Mahomedans at their customary devotions at sunset. Those of Hassan were very ostentatiously performed, as he prided himself on being a devout Mahomedan. Many were his prostrations, and numerous were his repetitions of the various titles of Allah.

"Perhaps he is a better man than I thought him," said Robin to himself. "He may honestly believe me to be an infidel, and honestly treat me as such; his bigotry may have its root in true zeal."

The manner of Hassan that evening had greatly changed from the sulky approach to insolence which he had displayed in the morning. He was more than usually obsequious to Ali, and almost courteous even to the Feringhee kafir. Hassan politely inquired after the state of Robin's wound, as if feeling a kindly interest in his health. Hassan warned the young Englishman to be on his guard against the evil effects of travelling in the heat after so serious an injury as he had received, as it would be most likely to bring on fever.

"Remain quiet in the tent," continued the self-constituted medical adviser, "I myself will bring to you your repast."

"No, thanks," said Robin; "I will rather eat in the open air like the rest."

Hassan seemed a little disappointed, but by no means offended. Apparently wishing to make up for past rudeness, at the evening meal, he himself helped Robin from a large platter heaped with cakes of unleavened bread, baked upon iron plates over the fire.

Just after Robin had given thanks for the food thus provided for him in the desert, a miserable, half-starved dog, attracted by the scent of savoury curry and piles, made its way into the circle. The creature looked timidly around as if seeking a protector, and then, as if by instinct, went up to the pale-faced boy.

"How comes the brute here," exclaimed Ali; "we look not even for wild dogs in a desert like this!"

"I should think that the poor creature must have been left here by travellers, stopping like ourselves for water and rest," said Robin, patting the animal as he spoke. "He does not look like a common wild dog."

"Kick out the unclean brute!" exclaimed Hassan, in a tone of disgust.

"He is hungry, poor fellow," said the English lad, and he threw his own unleavened cake to the dog.

"Kick him out! Beat him! Kill him!" vociferated Hassan, starting to his feet.

"No; he has sought my protection," said Robin, understanding the man's gestures though not his words; "I know what it is to be famished," and with pleasure, the kind-hearted lad watched the hungry creature devouring the food.

"Let the brute alone, Hassan," said the Amir authoritatively, as he saw his shadow approach with a club-like stick to dash out the brains of the dog, over whom Robin held a protecting arm.

"I'll not sit down on ground defiled by the beast!" exclaimed Hassan, and in an excited manner, he rushed to the tent.

"I noticed in India that you Englishmen often make companions of the dog," observed the Amir to Robin, as the repast proceeded. "I even saw fine specimens of the race which had been brought by their masters from Europe across the sea."

Robin, who was fond of animals, and especially of dogs, recounted several anecdotes of their sagacity and fidelity, pausing occasionally to give a pat or kind word to the creature he had fed.

"We think much more of the horse," observed Ali, and he told several stories of the Arab race, speaking usually in Persian for the benefit of his attendants, then translating his words into English.

"For speed and endurance, I would match my Firdosi against any horse in the world," said Ali, and he mentioned the extravagant sum which he had given for the beautiful creature. "Firdosi knows my voice, obeys me as if he were a child, and often feeds out of my hand. What you have told of the intelligence of the dog is nothing to—but what ails that dog!" exclaimed the Amir, interrupting himself in the midst of his sentence.

With a howl of agony, the creature whom Robin had fed had suddenly sprung up from his crouching position; his mouth foamed, his eyes were blood-shot, his tongue hung out, he ran wildly round and round in circles, every one backing out of his way, though the dog made no attempt to bite. He then rolled on the ground in convulsions.

"Poison!" exclaimed the Ali in English. "That chapatti which you threw to the dog must have been poisoned. Oh, that villain, Hassan; he meant it for you!" Then in a loud voice, the indignant Amir gave orders in Persian that Hassan should instantly be brought into his presence.

Two of the attendants hurried off to obey the command, but soon returned with surprise and alarm in their faces. Hassan was not to be found, nor was Firdosi; the would-be murderer had fled with some of his master's jewels, upon Ali's favourite horse.

"Which way has he fled?" asked the Amir, fiercely.

"By the hoof-tracks it appears in the backward track towards the sea, by the way that we traversed to-day."

"Thirty miles to the nearest well, and but the stars to guide—a perilous journey," observed the Amir, "even mounted as he is. But we must give chase; saddle the horses at once; though no horse," Ali bitterly added, "will ever overtake my fleet-footed steed. I would not have lost him for ten thousand pieces of silver. But, let it cost what it may, I will have revenge on that murderous villain!"

It was a bitter disappointment to Robin to have to turn back from the direction of Djauf to retrace the way which, even when he had been incited by hope, he had found so terribly tedious, the horses having had to keep pace with the slow-footed camels. In vain Robin tried to persuade Ali to forego the hope of revenge, to leave Hassan to his perilous ride, and not attempt to pursue him. Ali was intensely obstinate when once he had made up his mind.

When Robin looked on the carcase of the poor dog, now stretched out in death, and thought of what, but for a merciful interposition, would have been his own fate, he returned fervent thanks to his Heavenly Preserver from the depths of a grateful heart.

The Amir mounted Hassan's black steed, and made Robin ride on a smaller one by his side. Only the horsemen could possibly overtake the fugitive—the camels must follow more slowly. All the animals were tired, and their tedious pace annoyed the Amir, who freely used his spur. All that was savage in Ali's nature was roused, every feature expressed the anger within, his very voice seemed altered, the softness of the Persian tongue lost in the imprecations with which these pages shall not be sullied.

"You shall drink deep of the cup of revenge!" said the Amir to his English companion.

"I do not wish to do so," was Robin's reply; "revenge is forbidden to Christians; we are commanded to love our enemies."

"Another of the commandments of your religion which it is impossible to obey!" cried Ali, with something like scorn.

"Not impossible," said Robin, "since He who gave the command Himself fulfilled it."

Robin could say no more; he was not in a fit state for riding—his bridle arm useless and in a sling, it was difficult for him in his weakness to guide the animal which he bestrode, or even to keep his seat. The chase in which they were engaged seemed to Robin a wild one, and he did not even wish it to be successful, as success would but lead to some deed of blood. The party were only guided by the stars, and the fresh hoof-prints traced in the sand, seen by the light of a torch, for Ali was too impatient to wait for the rising of the waning moon.

But the ride was to be a much shorter one than any of the party had expected. Ali had to slacken his pace, as Robin could not keep up with him; the Amir in an irritable mood drew in his rein, but as he did so, a sound reached his ear from a little distance, which he recognised with joy and surprise.

"A horse's neigh, I believe; I am certain that it is the neigh of Firdosi!" Rising on his stirrups, Ali shouted out a call to his steed in a tone that made the welkin ring.

The neigh was repeated, and from a lesser distance; then the fleet-footed Firdosi came cantering up to his delighted master. By the light of the torch it was seen that his saddle was empty.

Many were the exclamations uttered, many were the caresses given to the beautiful and intelligent creature that had found his way back to his lord. But where was his rider?

As Ali, who had dismounted from the black horse, was stroking the neck of Firdosi, a little warm blood which came on his hand told its own tale.

"The wretch Hassan must have urged on my tired steed with the point of a dagger!" exclaimed Ali. "And Firdosi who is never touched even with a wand, who never felt the prick of a spur, must have suddenly plunged and thrown the coward. Hassan never knew how to ride. And now, my brave, beautiful steed, thou shalt bear me back to the place of encampment. Hassan, in the pathless desert, alone, without food, drink, or means of escape, will get his deserts, and die the lingering death of a starving dog in the burning heat."

"We cannot leave even a bad man to such a horrible fate!" exclaimed Robin. "Whatever else Hassan be, he is at least our fellow-creature."

"You cannot plead for the villain who sought to poison you," said Ali, who had just sprung into the saddle.

"I could not sleep in peace if I thought that even an enemy were dying of thirst!" cried Robin. "Let us find him—he must be near—and take him at least to some place where water can be found. Let us remember that only the merciful can hope for mercy."

"It is not for Hassan that I care to search," said Ali, "but for my dagger with the jewel-studded hilt which the robber has carried away. Let me but recover my dagger, and you may do what you will with the thief."

Again the party proceeded onwards, this time towards the place from which the horse's neigh had sounded. Robin's temples ached, he was almost exhausted, yet he went on. The moon was just showing her silver horn over the waste, and Robin was feeling that he could hold out no longer, when one of the attendants exclaimed, pointing with his spear:

"There—there! I see some one lying on the sand!"

The party rode in the direction indicated, and ere they reached the spot, recognised the red fez and the silken cloak which had been worn by Hassan. The Persian was lying where he had fallen when unseated by Firdosi's sudden plunge—for the Amir's guess had been correct—Hassan had been thrown from the horse. The miserable man, who was of full habit and heavy, had been flung to the ground with such violence that he had broken his spine. Hassan was utterly unable to rise, or even to move; he could only groan in helpless agony on the ground where he lay.

That expression of intense pain made the young Knight of St. John almost forget his own. Robin managed, he knew not how, to throw himself from his saddle and reach the miserable Persian.

"Forgot were hatred, wrongs and fears; The plaintive voice alone he hears, But sees the dying man."

Whilst others were stripping the robber and traitor of the jewels which he had carried away, Robin, kneeling on the sand, was attempting to raise Hassan's head to enable him to breathe more freely, but even the attempt increased the sufferer's pain. Robin's own face looked so ghastly pale, that at a sign from Ali, one of the Persians brought to the youth a flask of water, which the man had taken the precaution of slinging from his saddle-bow.

Robin took the flask readily, but he did not raise it to his own parched lips; the drops fell into the gasping mouth of the dying Hassan, and then the would-be murderer expired, with the hand of one whom he had sought to destroy, supporting his head.