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Show you?" "Monsieur, I am not the servant of Benchaalal.'' "What? Have you never gone hunting with him?" "Oh yes, monsieur. And when Benchaalal hunts he pays well. But he pays afterwards." There was-or so Sir Claude thought -a strong significance in Achmed's voice as he said the last words. His · blood grew hot. He longed to strike the guide, to knock him off his mule with a straight blow from the shoulder and to see him roll over in the sand. "No," he thought to himself, "I'm damned if I can have anything to do with the feller. I'll shift for myself. To-morrow I'll take Kitty away to Beni-Mora. She'll be glad to go. She wanted to go before. I've been a selfish beast, but there can't be any harm done, even if that beastly black uS has been up to some devilry with Achmed." And Achmed could get nothing more out of him. To all the Arab's insinuating remarks he returned gruff monosyllabic replies, and at last they rode on, hour after hour, in complete silence, coming ever nearer to the black wall of mountains that was their destination. It was towards dawn when the mules set their feet upon the firm, well-made road that leads to the three villages of the oasis of El-Akbara. The moon was waning, the wind at their backs was colder, and Sir Claude, strong though he was, felt an unusual · sense of fatigue laying hold of him, {it)? an unusual depression, no doubt pure-/"~'/ ly physical, stealing upon his spirit, almost like a stealthy tide, frigid and sadly murmuring. "It's a devil of a ride," he said to himself. |