Jimgrim Series. Talbot Mundy

for a lump of rock unless either of us moved. And there are two tricks of moving that hunting teaches you: one is to do it suddenly and then be absolutely still again; the other is to change position so slowly that no eye not deliberately measuring your outline against a fixed mark can detect the motion. If you know you are being watched, the first is usually best, because if you are absolutely still again the moment afterwards the watcher will doubt the evidence of his own eyes. But it needs practice. The one thing not to do is to change position in jerks, or moderately slowly.

      You can’t judge much from a superficial glance at such a veteran scout as Narayan Singh. He was facing pretty nearly due east; but that didn’t mean he was looking in that direction. Almost the surest means of allaying the suspicion of man or animal is to seem to look another way. Most Sikhs are past-master experts at that. I lay and studied Narayan Singh for about two minutes before I was sure he was watching something over to his left. And it was another two minutes before I made out the head of a kneeling camel protruding from behind a rock at about the farthest range of vision in that peculiar light. It might have been half a mile away, or less.

      The rock was big enough to hide a dozen camels; so it seemed likely there was more behind it, because a man with only one camel, who wanted to conceal the beast, would have done the job thoroughly; whereas, if there were more than one there, the end one might have been crowded into view.

      Almost all the way along, between the camel’s head and the edge of the fiumara, there was a series of shadows cast by boulders and sand-heaps. They were short, because of the position of the moon, and considerably broken up; but they formed the only line along which animal or man might hope to approach us from the direction of that camel unobserved. There were occasional gaps in the shadow of as much as twenty feet of glistening sand. It wasn’t long before I made out a man’s shape moving swiftly from one spot of shadow to the next. He took his time in the shadows, kneeling down to crawl and becoming very difficult to see, but hurrying across the light after watching to make sure he was unobserved. The light was tricky, but I don’t doubt I could have put a bullet through him by the time he came within a hundred yards or so. However, there was no need. An occasional glance in the direction of that camel’s head was sufficient to make sure that none of his friends was prowling our way too; and it seemed wiser to discover what he was up to, than to stop him.

      But it wouldn’t have done to try and arouse Grim. If one of us had moved to throw a rock at Grim’s tent the man would certainly have seen us; and if we had called out loud enough to waken Grim the man would almost certainly have heard. We kept quite still, and let him come within twenty yards of the edge of the fiumara.

      Then he lay prone on his belly, watched like a leopard for at least five minutes, examining every detail of the ground in front of him, and began to crawl closer, advancing a yard at a time and pausing to rescrutinize each shadow. He did a pretty good job on the whole. If Narayan Singh were not a trained scout and I a hunter, he might very likely have reached our camp unseen.

      At last he reached the sharp brim of the fiumara, thrust his head and shoulders over it, and peered down; and then it became a problem what to do with him. If we once let him get down into the black shadow below the advantage would be all on his side. I could see the moonlight sheening on his long knife-blade. He might be an assassin sent by Ali Higg to murder Grim; but that was doubtful, because he dragged along a rifle with him as well, and the midnight murderers of that land don’t encumber themselves with long-range artillery that might get in their way in a scuffle and prevent escape. I judged he didn’t mean to take chances down in the dark, and it turned out I was right.

      He would have had two bullets in him the same instant if he had started down toward the tents, for Narayan Singh said afterwards that he had formed the same judgement and decision that I did.

      However, he lay there and barked like a jackal instead. It was very well done. The pests had been snarling and yapping all around us on and off ever since the moon rose, and unless someone had been listening for a signal, or actually watching him as we were, that bark would have got by as a normal night noise. It only differed from a genuine jackal’s bark in its regularity; he made exactly the same succession of sounds four times at equal intervals —a thing a jackal never does.

      And somebody was listening below for just that signal. There was no answer, but he evidently saw somebody move down there in the darkness, for he was satisfied and drew back his head and shoulders. Because of our position in the middle of the island we couldn’t see down into the fiumara, but we heard footsteps; and presently the man spoke and was answered. We could hear both voices, but both failed to catch the words, or to distinguish whether the voice below was man’s or woman’s.

      However, we weren’t long in doubt. A head that was unmistakably Ayisha’s emerged above the edge of the bank, coming up the track our camels had used. The man spoke to her again, and crawled away toward a good-sized boulder to his left-hand and our right, fifty yards off along the bank. She followed him, bolt-upright, walking like a ghost. (It takes a woman to ignore possibilities that scare a man into all manner of precautions.)

      They both disappeared behind the boulder. The single camel’s head was still visible sticking out like a big snake’s from behind the rock in the near distance, and there was no other sign of activity; so Narayan Singh and I dared to breathe normally at last, and speak in low tones.

      “One of us should go close and listen to their talk, sahib,”said the Sikh. “Which of us shall it be?”

      “Both of us,” I answered. “You go ahead. I’ll wake Jimgrim and follow.”

      A couple of points were obvious. Someone had followed us from Petra; for who else could have guessed Ayisha’s whereabouts. She might have made arrangements with one of the Lion’s junior wives or concubines to organize communications as soon as possible after our backs were turned; I was absolutely positive that she had answered a prearranged signal. The other point was that Grim could keep watch on top of the island and be in the best position from which to issue orders, at one and the same time.

      So I crept down quietly behind Narayan Singh, and threw a handful of small rocks on Grim’s tent at short range. He would probably have fired at me if I had used any other means of waking him, because, seeing we had arranged a proper signal, he would naturally suppose anyone entering his tent quietly to be an enemy; and I would have had to go quietly for fear of arousing the camp, whose noise would then have disturbed Ayisha. To cut short her interview with that night-prowler might mean depriving Grim of valuable information.

      As soon as he thrust his head out of the tent I told him what was happening. He went at once to the top of the island, and I started after Narayan Singh. There wasn’t a sign of the Sikh by that time. I could still make out the camel’s head in the distance, moving rhythmically as the beast belched up and chewed its cud, but there was no trace of a human being anywhere; and as it happened, our camels were making quite a din just then, down in the fiumara—dreaming or something. The brutes usually have bad dreams and let high Heaven know it. Their guttural objections and shuffling were loud enough to drown any reasonable footfall, so I took the simplest course and walked straight forward, taking one sole precaution. The jingle of the rifle-swivel in the night can be safely guaranteed to wake the seven sleepers. I don’t know why, but there’s the fact; I’ve seen many a long stalk spoiled by it, and some men never learn.

      By holding that loose swivel I actually stepped on Narayan Singh before he was aware of me, which says something for his skill in taking cover. He was lying in broad moonlight between two ridges of sand on the side of the boulder nearest the fiumara, too busy listening to make a sign of any sort to me; so I went round to the other side and crouched in the short shadow.

      I judged the interview was pretty nearly over. The two were conversing in such low tones that you could hardly distinguish Ayisha’s from the man’s voice; but I heard her say:

      “And is Jimgrim known so well to the Avenger?”

      “Only by name,” the man answered.

      “But the Lion knows no English,” she retorted.

      “Wallahi! Neither does the Avenger know a