Abbas Arranges
"Nay." The Alaman took up the stem of his hubble-bubble. "She abides here."
"I could make a place for her in our party—she rides well."
"Nay," said Abbas sullenly, "those sons of many jackals, my men, would not respect her." He fancied that Monsey found the Georgian attractive.
"Well, then, where will you leave her?"
"With Timan, the Bokharan. He will keep her."
Monsey frowned irritably. It was significant of the relations between the two that the Alaman was obdurate in trifles, whereas he recognized the superior leadership of the Russian in weightier matters.
"So long as you are certain you can overtake Iskander at Kashgar—well and good. We will leave before sunset."
"Effendi mine, my men can trail a marmot through hell. They know the hills yonder as a Tartar knows his sheep."
"But first," murmured Monsey, "I shall visit the American father. Abbas, these American fathers have nothing but their children in their hearts and their purse strings are open to the touch. Be ready with the horses in an hour and take heed that the British major sees you not."
"Nay, the eyes of the man are closed, now that Rawul Singh is dead"
But Monsey had stridden from the curtained chamber. Abbas Abad yawned and stretched, binding his girdle more tightly about his stout body.
"Sa'at," he murmured, "it is the hour of commencement. Eh, but that Russian milor' has wits—little else he has, but wit—yess! He is not one to sleep when the dogs are a-prowl, by Allah, no. He is useful.
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