The Sheik

For the first time a shadow had risen between him and the man whose

friendship had meant everything to him since, as a lad of fifteen, he

had come under the influence of the young Frenchman, who was three

years his senior. He realized that since the night of Raoul's arrival

he had been seething with insensate jealousy. He had relied on the

Western tendencies that prompted him to carry off the difficult

situation, but his ingrained Orientalism had broken through the

superficial veneer. He was jealous of every word, every look she gave

Saint Hubert. Pride had prevented an open rupture with the Vicomte this

morning, but he had ridden away filled with a cold rage that had

augmented every hour and finally driven him back earlier than he had

intended, riding with a recklessness that had been apparent even to his

men. The sight of Raoul sitting alone absorbed in his work had in part

allayed his suspicions, and he had gone on into the other room with a

feeling of new expectancy that had changed to a sudden chill at its

emptiness. The vacant room had brought home to him abruptly all that

the girl meant to him. A latent anxiety crept into his eyes.

He went out under the awning and clapped his hands, and a servant

answered the summons almost immediately. He gave an order and waited,

his hands thrust into the folds of his waist-cloth and his teeth

clenched on a cigarette that he had forgotten to light.

Saint Hubert joined him. "What do you think?" he asked, with a touch of

diffidence.

"I don't know what to think," replied the Sheik shortly.

"But is there any real danger?"

"There is always danger in the desert, particularly when that devil is

abroad." He motioned to the south with an impatient jerk of his head.

Saint Hubert's breath whistled sharply through his teeth. "My God! You

don't imagine----"

But the Sheik only shrugged his shoulders and turned to Yusef, who had

come up with half-a-dozen men. There was a rapid interchange of

questions and answers, some brief orders, and the men hurried away in

different directions, while Ahmed Ben Hassan turned again to Saint

Hubert.

"They were seen by three of the southern patrols this morning, but of

course it was nobody's business to find out if they had come back or

not. I will start at once--in about ten minutes. You will come with me?

Good! I have sent for reinforcements, who are to follow us if we are

not back in twelve hours." His voice was expressionless, and only Raoul

de Saint Hubert, who had known him since boyhood, could and did

appreciate the significance of a fleeting look that crossed his face as

he went back into the tent.