Into the Unknown
numbed limbs and climbed stiffly forward upon the empty driver's seat.
She looked out upon a verdant mountain slope. The level light of new day revealed towering mountain peaks snow-capped. A flock of sheep were feeding about a broken-down hut that looked for all the world like a chalet of Switzerland. Steaming horses hung their heads over a muddy road that was more like a trail. Beside the road two small carpets were placed and on them turbaned figures raised lean arms. The driver and his companion were praying. It was this prayer Edith had heard.
The taller of the two men rose to his feet, and, seeing her watching, salaamed.
"Iskander!" she cried.
The seller of rugs inclined his head respectfully; his elegant attire seemed none the worse for the bad night.
"Good-morning, khanum," he said quietly. Edith stared at him. She wondered if she looked as disordered as she felt. She was trying to read his face, but found the task singularly difficult.
"Madame will have her breakfast," observed Iskander in his excellent English. The girl saw that the other native—a withered satyr of a man—was building a fire. Edith was hungry. The smell of boiling coffee attacked her with a vital pang. Thus, she resolved to breakfast before speaking her mind to Iskander.
Heated chupatties, fruit and coffee refreshed her. Her chin rose a notch and she summoned Iskander with purposeful calm. Her gray eyes were coldly alight The storm was about to break.
"I have you to thank for the cup of water—last night?" she observed.
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