His own
teeth were tightly clinched, and his face was dark.
"Emir, listen to one word," he said briefly. "Shame has been done to
me as to you. Had I been told what words I bore, they had never been
brought by my hand. You know me. You have had the marks of my steel, as
I have had the marks of yours. Trust me in this, Sidi. I pledge you
my honor that, before the sun sets, she shall be given back to you
unharmed, or I will return here myself, and your tribe shall slay me
in what fashion they will. So alone can she be saved uninjured. Answer,
will you have faith in me?"
The desert chief looked at him long; sitting motionless as a statue on
his stallion, with the fierce gleam of his eyes fixed on the eyes of
the man who so long had been his foe in contests whose chivalry equaled
their daring. The Chasseur never wavered once under the set, piercing,
ruthless gaze.
Then the Emir pointed to the sun, that was not at its zenith:
"You are a great warrior: such men do not lie. Go, and if she be borne
to me before the sun is half-way sunk toward the west, all the branches
of the tribes of Ilderim shall be as your brethren, and bend as steel
to your bidding. If not--as God is mighty--not one man in all your host
shall live to tell the tale!"
The Chasseur bowed his head to his horse's mane; then, without a word,
wheeled round, and sped back across the plain.
When he reached his own cavalry camp, he went straightway to his chief.
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