Edith Rides Alone
to the floor. Aravang sprang to the hearth and flung a blazing log at Abbas, who dodged. Seeking a new weapon, the scarred champion of Edith bellowed defiance and seized the great black pot from its rests.
"Sayak!" he roared.
Abbas caught up one of the low tabourets that stood in front of the cushions by the wall and advanced on Aravang, knife in hand. The pot of steaming meat and boiling water was hurled, but the table resisted it and the next moment Abbas was on his foe, stabbing and grunting with rage.
Aravang was thrust back, moaning, almost into the fire. He looked over the shoulder of his assailant, motioning, in spite of his own peril, to Edith to run from the room. But even if she had had command of her limbs, the two men of Abbas were hovering about the hearth with drawn weapons. The serai-keeper lurked cautiously by the door, wishful to keep intruders out, but with a keen eye for the safety of his own skin the while.
With a cry Edith covered her eyes with her hands. She had seen Abbas' knife flash red in the firelight—with a redness that was not of the fire. She had seen the mute appeal in the eyes of struggling Aravang.
Two shots roared in the narrow confines of the room.
Startled anew, Edith dropped her hands. She saw Iskander's tall form framed against the mats, a smoking revolver in his hand. The Arab's face was utterly tranquil, save for a slight smile and a certain alertness of the keen eyes.
The two followers of Abbas staggered and slumped slowly to the stone floor, their hands groping and their mouths wide in dumb amazement. Abbas himself
103
