Danger at Dahlkari by Jennifer Wilde Page A

around my waist and held on for dear life. The man sauntered back to the place where we had been standing and kicked at the bag of fruit with the toe of his boot, frowning when the red and brownish-orange balls rolled out. He picked up one of the leaf parasols and brought it over to me, indicating that it should serve for both of us, and then, taking the reins in his hand, he began to lead the horse over the sand, heading east.
    The parasol was large enough to shield both of us from the sun. I held it over my shoulder, holding on to the saddle horn with my free hand. I had clung to the precious canteen throughout all this, and I slung it back over the saddle horn now, feeling it would be wiser to wait awhile before we drank more. I could feel Sally relaxing, her grip not as tense as it had been before.
    â€œI just know he’s got something dreadful in store for us,” she remarked after a while.
    â€œNonsense.”
    â€œRape,” she said chattily. “One of the girls at the orphanage—this was years ago— she was raped, and she said the best thing to do is just relax and enjoy it.” I could tell the minx was beginning to warm to the idea. “Of course, he might be a white slaver,” she continued. “We might end up in some dreadful house !”
    â€œI do wish you’d hush, Sally.”
    â€œIt is rather exciting,” she admitted, “and I must say riding on the back of this splendid horse beats trudging over the sand. My poor feet! Do you really think he’ll take us to Dahlkari, Miss Lauren?”
    â€œI feel sure he will. He knows Reggie will give him a large amount of money for rescuing us.”
    â€œYou’re probably right,” Sally agreed, sounding almost disappointed. “This has been quite a day. At least I’ll have something to tell my grandchildren. Not that they’ll be lieve it. Who would? It’s like something out of one of those books you were always reading on the sly.”
    â€œSo you did find them?”
    â€œâ€™Course I did. Read a couple of ’em, too. They were a lot more interesting than those dreary foreign things you read the rest of the time. I couldn’t make head nor tails of those .”
    Sally was her old cheerful self again, and I felt my own spirits rising. It had indeed been an incredible day, but things were definitely looking up now. Our guide was fierce and sullen, but at least he hadn’t whipped out a yellow scarf and strangled us. He knew that the English soldier McAllister would give him many rupees, and I felt confident that his desire for the reward would make him think twice about doing anything uncivilized. He did look quite capable of rape, but, after all, Sally and I were English.
    The hood of his burnoose pulled up over his head, the native moved at a steady pace, leading horse and riders over the burning sand and showing no sign of weariness. An hour passed, then another, the sun beginning to move gradually west, the rays not quite so intense now, the hard blue sky softening to blue-gray. Sally and I drank more water, almost emptying the canteen. Both of us were ravenously hungry, and I wished our guide hadn’t been so disdainful of the fruit. Hot, hungry, weary and worn, both of us grew silent, although Sally made an occasional comment about her backside. She was certain it had been bruised when that vicious brute had knocked her down, and bouncing up and down on the back of the horse didn’t help a bit. The sky had taken on a pale violet hue and deep crimson banners were beginning to smear the horizon when our native guide turned the horse toward the jungle and, reaching its edge, stopped and indicated that we should dismount.
    Sally slipped off the horse with considerable alacrity, rubbing her posterior with both hands as soon as she was on the ground. I thought I saw a smile play on the native’s lips, although it might have been a grimace. He reached up and took my