Atlantida - Page 133/145

Suddenly a burning breath touched our faces. A dull reddish light

filtered in through the end of the passage. The desert lay before us.

Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh had stopped.

"Get down," he said.

A spring gurgled out of the rock. The Targa went to it and filled a

copper cup with the water.

"Drink," he said, holding it out to each of us in turn. We obeyed.

"Drink again," he ordered. "You will save just so much of the contents

of your water skins. Now try not to be thirsty before sunset."

He looked over the saddle girths.

"That's all right," he murmured. "Now go. In two hours the dawn will

be here. You must be out of sight."

I was filled with emotion at this last moment; I went to the Targa and

took his hand.

"Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh," I asked in a low voice, "why are you doing

this?"

He stepped back and I saw his dark eyes gleam.

"Why?" he said.

"Yes, why?"

He replied with dignity: "The Prophet permits every just man, once in his lifetime, to let pity

take the place of duty. Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh is turning this permission

to the advantage of one who saved his life."

"And you are not afraid," I asked, "that I will disclose the secret of

Antinea if I return among Frenchmen?" He shook his head.

"I am not afraid of that," he said, and his voice was full of irony.

"It is not to your interest that Frenchmen should know how the Captain

met his death."

I was horrified at this logical reply.

"Perhaps I am doing wrong," the Targa went on, "in not killing the

little one.... But she loves you. She will not talk. Now go. Day is

coming."

I tried to press the hand of this strange rescuer, but he again drew

back.

"Do not thank me. What I am doing, I do to acquire merit in the eyes

of God. You may be sure that I shall never do it again neither for you

nor for anyone else."

And, as I made a gesture to reassure him on that point, "Do not

protest," he said in a tone the mockery of which still sounds in my

ears. "Do not protest. What I am doing is of value to me, but not to

you."

I looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"Not to you, Sidi Lieutenant, not to you," his grave voice continued.

"For you will come back; and when that day comes, do not count on the

help of Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh."

"I will come back?" I asked, shuddering.

"You will come back," the Targa replied.

He was standing erect, a black statue against the wall of gray rock.