Tom breathed more freely. He had at any rate, he thought, gained a few minutes. The yells of the Moor were not likely to bring help immediately. While a shot would undoubtedly have raised the guard at the kasbah, and brought a party in hot haste to the spot, the cries of a man yelling would probably only cause a certain sleepy curiosity. A Moor never puts himself to unnecessary trouble, and it would certainly not be worth while to pay much attention to a brawl between men who had smoked too much hashish. But there was still need for haste, so with Abdul’s assistance Tom trussed up the fallen swordsmith with workmanlike bonds made of his own garments, and in another minute was beginning the descent of the wall. They were only halfway down when they heard an uproar in the village. The apprentice had lost no time in gathering a band to continue the pursuit. Yet Tom could not hurry his flight, for a false step would mean at least a broken arm, and in all probability a broken neck. With Abdul close behind he picked his way down the broken masonry, the shouts growing ever nearer and more menacing. At last they reached the bottom. Then, Abdul leading the way, they hurried along the foot of the wall. They durst not yet leave its shelter, for the moon, though now sinking in the sky, still threw sufficient light to betray them if they attempted to cross the open space towards the hillside. Crouching low as they went, they heard the pursuers halt at the place where they had descended. But now they had reached a welcome patch of stunted bush which promised needful cover. Plunging into this, still keeping low so that their heads should not show above the scrub, they strode away at right angles to the wall. Abdul’s knowledge of the country served him well. Descending the hill, they were soon out of danger. Then up and down little eminences, over brooks, through patches of wood, they pressed on, always bearing slightly to the right until they struck the true course. Almost in a bee-line, they made for the hill where Oliphant was anxiously awaiting them, and arrived there just after dawn, tired out, and not a little disappointed with the barren result of their night’s work. CHAPTER IX—A BOLT FROM THE BLUE “Thank Heaven you are back!” said Oliphant when Tom appeared over the brow of the hill. “I don’t think I ever spent a more miserable night.” “Anything happened?” “No. It wouldn’t have been so bad if anything had. If I’d had something to do—somebody to fight, or something!” “Well, you could have gone to sleep.” “So I did, and woke in a fright. I dreamt that wretched Jew fellow was coming at me with outstretched hands, and his fingernails were like some horrid bird’s claws, and he grew bigger and bigger as he came until he seemed as huge as a mountain. But what luck did you have?”