He hurried on.
It was still a long way to the town where "she" lived.
In making short cuts, he crossed places so impassable that among the surrounding woods a whole army could have hidden and remained unperceived.
He went on without fear. Suddenly, to his surprise, a few indistinct sounds fell upon his ear one after another. Soon he heard his name, "Sarhad! Sarhad!"
Who could it be?
There was hardly any one in that neighborhood who could recognize him. He had companions, indeed, but several days before he had sent them in different directions on various missions. He thought it was probably one of them, and putting two fingers between his lips, he gave a mysterious whistle. It was answered from close by, but the sound was very strange and altogether unfamiliar to him. "It cannot be one of 'them,'" he whispered to himself, and bringing down his gun, he stood on his guard.
The leaves behind him rustled, and he turned around quickly. Again some one said "Sarhad," and almost at the same moment two arms were flung around his neck and a man began to kiss him fervently.
"My master does not seem to know his servant," said the new-comer in Kurdish.
"I know you, Musdo," said the young man, and kissed him joyfully.
Musdo was a Kurd, belonging to the sect of the Yezidees. He had been the shepherd of Sarhad's father, and the companion of his childhood. When Sarhad was driven from home, Musdo was a round, chubby boy, industrious and faithful. Now he found him tall and strongly built, with a brave, manly face. He was not heavily armed, having a gun, sword and pistols. The young man was very glad to have met the trusty servant of his father's house, and still more so because he might be able to give him valuable information.
"Oh, what a fool I am, Sarhad," said Musdo, with his usual laugh; "I came very near killing you. The moment I saw you
