The Slave Market of Mucar (16 page)

"Play it by ear."

He saw Slingsby's expression and added quickly, "Don't worry, I shan't be far away."

He spoke quietly to Devil.

"You'd better stay here, boy, I know it's hot, but it won't be for long."

Devil gave a low whimpering cry and put his head down on his paws again. Walker left the door open so that the wolf could get what breeze there was. Then he was gone, keeping the machine between him and the Arab guard, until he reached the rocks.

Slingsby had already turned and was strolling casually up a rocky path toward the Arab with his long-barreled rifle. The guard grounded the butt and curiously watched him come. Slingsby made his progress as slow as possible. He knew his mysterious pilot had to make a long circuit and he wanted help to be at hand when his alibi ran out.

The sun beat on Slingsby's head and it seemed an age as he walked upward over the rough, rutted surface of the pathway. He hoped the wolf would not break from the helicopter, but nothing stirred as he glanced back over his shoulder. The animal was too well trained to disobey his master's orders, Slingsby felt thankfully. Not a sound broke the stillness of the desert, except the faint slithering noise made by millions of grains of sand shifting slightly in the wind.

Perspiration poured down Slingsby's back and made a sticky patch on the young officer's uniform shirt. His throat felt dry and he could even feel moisture rolling in rivulets down his cheeks. The guard apparently felt it was too hot also. He stood for a moment or two longer, and saw that Slingsby was still continuing on course toward him in a perfectly friendly manner. He hesitated and then walked back a few yards into the shadow of the rocks. He put down his rifle against the cliff face and started rolling himself a cigarette.

Slingsby was only a hundred yards away now and he knew the Arab could fell him with the rifle easily if he made a false move. Not that he would have contemplated it. Perhaps he could have dropped the sentry with a quick shot from his revolver, but sound carried for miles in the desert. Any sudden shot might even be heard by the men on guard at the gates of Mucar and that would bring a camel party out quickly. It would not take long to discov_er the helicopter and that would be the end. So Slingsby kept on walking.

He was only a few yards away now and was hoping desperately that Mr. Walker could travel as fast as his powerful frame hinted. Even so, gauging the distance carefully, Slingsby knew he would have to hold the Arab in conversation for something more than a sentence or two. And he did not know if he could do it. He could see the man's narrow, cruel face clearly now. He was just lighting the cigarette, his beard drawn back over yellow teeth as he took his first puffs.

He threw the match down at his feet and picked up the rifle again as Slingsby came up close to him.

"That's far enough," he said, to Slingsby's relief. The English was broken and almost unintelligible, but at least the young officer would be able to follow what he said.

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Slingsby came to a halt in the sun and took off his pith-helmet. He wiped his streaming face with his handkerchief. He spread his arms out.

"Do you mind if I come into the shade?"

The Arab grinned "Ah, you no like desert, eh?" He shrugged. "Okay, but don't try anything."

"Thank you," said Slingsby.

He moved over into the shadow. The Arab shifted round and surveyed him carefully.

"Why should I try anything?" Slingsby asked. He was feeling a little more at ease now. "I am a peaceful traveler. No one has anything to fear from me."

The Arab regarded him ironically, the cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth.

"Maybe," he said casually. "But maybe Mucar will have something to fear from you."

He spat onto the sand in front of him and Slingsby could have sworn a brief puff of steam went up, for the sand was so hot.

"We no like strangers in Mucar," the Arab said. "Especially those with pale skins. What are you doing here?"

Slingsby did his best to construct a smile with a mouth that was beginning to get a little rigid from the strain. He hoped Mr. Walker was near, but he did not dare to turn his eyes in the direction from which he expected help to come. Fortunately, the Arab was still standing with his back to the rock.

"I've come for the sale," he said.

The Arab looked at him with hardening suspicion.

"What sale?" he said.

"The slave market tonight," Slingsby said. "I heard there were some good bargains to be had so I came over."

"I no know you," the sentry snarled. "And I go all sales and know everybody. I think you spy."

"Don't be ridiculous," Slingsby protested.

The guard smiled, closing his eyes to narrow slits.

"I think I kill you anyway," he said. "If I'm wrong I apologize tomorrow."

He started to bring the rifle up.

Things began to blur for Slingsby then. Perspiration ran into his eyes, blinding him. What now? he thought.

Mr. Walker only told me to say I'd come for the sale. Now I've run out of conversation. He shifted awkwardly on the stony ground and tripped. He started falling sideways, and put out his hand to save himself. The sentry, suddenly startled, took a step back and pointed his rifle at the sky. A great shadow swooped across the sand. The sentry looked up, incredulity in his eyes changing into fear.

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The astonishing sight of a hooded, masked man, flying through the air from the top of the rocks onto him, broke his nerve. He dropped his rifle, turned to run. He didn't cover a foot before a tornado was on his back, driving every ounce of breath from him. His face slammed into the sand and he lost consciousness.

The Phantom got up and rolled over. He bent over the sentry, swiftly examining him. The black pistol holster slapped at his side.

"He's still alive," he said, conscious of Slingsby's astonished expression.

The young man had sagged back against the rock wall, and was trying to regain his wits.

The Phantom stood up. He looked a commanding figure as he gazed keenly across the distant whiteness of the dunes to the dazzling sky beyond.

He glanced down at the recumbent sentry again.

"We shall need him," he told Slingsby. "Thanks for holding his attention."

Slingsby gulped.

"Don't mention it, sir," he said. "Thanks for saving my life."

The Phantom did not appear to have heard him. He knelt by the Arab's side. He turned him over. He slapped the man's face several times. The sentry started to groan. The Phantom pulled his beard. Tears began to run out of the corners of the Arab's eyes. He coughed a few times and was then fully conscious.

He blinked his eyes in alarm, anger clouding his face.

"I want your clothing," said the Phantom gently. "And I'm not particular how I get it, so behave yourself."

The sentry spat and struggled up.

"What is the password at the gates of Mucar?" said the Phantom sternly.

The Arab shook his head. A look of cunning came into his eyes.

"I do not know," he said attempting to shrug but wincing painfully instead.

The Phantom reached down a big hand and shook the sentry much as a terrier shakes a rat.

"Give me your robe," the Phantom said. He pulled it off him as though he were peeling a banana. The Arab struggled in vain.

"Let's try again," the Phantom said, He gave Slingsby a meaningful look.

"I don't know," the sentry gasped.

Very well," the Phantom said crisply.

He glanced over behind them to where a red-colored heap of earth towered up to a height of about eight feet. Slingsby knew what it was and he licked his lips, for he had an idea of what was to come.

The Phantom hauled the sentry upright and pulled him round so that he was facing in the opposite direction.

The Phantom jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

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"You don't know," he said thoughtfully. "See that? It's a hill of desert ants and I've heard they can strip a man to the bone in thirty minutes."

The Arab's eyes widened in terror. He gave a choking cry as the Phantom suddenly lunged forward. He was as powerless as a child in the big man's grip as he was lifted with hands of steel and flung over the Phantom's shoulder.

"Let's find out," the Phantom said, striding forward with his struggling burden. Slingsby found himself sweating as he followed along behind.

The Phantom flung the Arab down on top of the anthill, held him there with an inflexible grip. The Arab shrieked and turned a pale gray beneath his dark skin. Thousands of big black ants milled about as the Arab's body disturbed the dust of their nest. An angry buzzing noise came to Slingsby even over the distance of several yards.

"The password!" said the Phantom in a terrible voice.

"No!" the Arab choked. Then he shrieked as the ants started swarming over his recumbent body.

"I talk! I talk!" he said excitedly as the Phantom hauled him to his feet. He collapsed onto the ground again as the Phantom let him go. He started to crawl away, feebly brushing ants from his clothing.

"It's Nadlas," he said. "Don't put me back there again."

The Phantom smiled.

"Simple," he told Slingsby. "It's Saldan spelt backward."

He chuckled at the expression on the young officer's face. He answered the unspoken question.

"No, I wouldn't have left him there," he said.

Then his jaw tightened and he stared out across the desert to where the ancient city of Mucar was hidden behind the dunes.

"But you learn one thing out here, Slingsby," he said. "You can't ever be soft with cutthroats."

He started putting the Arab's robe on, turning up his nose at the pungent smell of goatskin which came from it.

"Now tie this man up and put him in the shade of the rocks," he told Slingsby.

"Then I want you to give me a hand in camouflaging the helicopter. We'll cover it with a tarpaulin and sand in case a hostile aircraft or some wandering tribesmen should come near here."

The next few minutes were busy ones. When Slingsby had finished his task, leaving the Arab bound and gagged, he rejoined the Phantom and they carried out the work on the helicopter. Devil was glad to be out of the machine and bounded around them in excitement, his pink tongue lolling from his jaws. When they went back to the rocks the Phantom looked every inch a Bedouin, complete with burnous and headband.

But he retained his mask so that Slingsby still could not see his features. The Phantom swung himself into the saddle on the sentry's black horse.

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"I'm afraid I shall have to leave Devil with you," he told Slingsby. "He won't hurt you so don't be afraid. He won't obey you, of course, but he will protect you if any marauders come this way. And he will stay here until I return."

He reined in the plunging horse.

"There's food for Devil in this pack."

He smiled briefly.

"You'll also find food for yourself when you're hungry. I suggest moving away a bit in case anyone comes to relieve the sentry. If it's a single man you know what to do. Keep hidden until my return. And don't light a fire, of course."

"May the people in Mucar not expect the sentry to light a fire?" Slingsby ventured.

"Too risky," the Phantom decided. "And it will give your position away. Pity there weren't two sentries-then we could each have a disguise. I'll be back as soon as I can."

He waved and galloped away across the dunes in the direction of Mucar,

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CHAPTER 15

FORBIDDEN CITY

The Phantom followed the contours of the dunes for a mile or two until he felt he had disguised his direction sufficiently, and then rode boldly toward the distant turrets of the city. He knew the wind would blow away his tracks in an hour; so that they would not lead back to Slingsby. The Arab horse was a good one, though badly trained, and the Phantom needed his iron hands on the reins as it tended to jib from side to side.

In less than an hour, the turrets and walled battlements of Mucar had composed themselves before him in the haze and presently he was trotting over a flinty track that wound in and out between scrubby trees that grew in the shelter of the walls. It was an ancient town, he noted, and one that would lend itself well to such a trade as that indulged in by Saldan. He halted finally before a watch tower above which the green crescent of Islam flew and where men with long rifles lolled.

The Phantom hammered with the butt of his pistol on the panels of the massive wooden- and iron-bound gate that barred the entrance to the city. A small postern gate in the main structure opened and a lean, crafty face surveyed him, appraising the Phantom and his mount from head to foot.

"The password?" the man asked in Arabic.

"Nadlas," the Phantom replied. Then adding in the dialect of the border tribes, "May Allah be with you all your days."