see, it is a woman of my name who should go to wake the king.” and she added: “When I had fled from El Yerim, I had nowhere else to go.”
The girl caught herself nodding, jerked back upright, smiling wanly at Price.
“One thing more, and you may sleep,” he said. “What is your name?”
“Aysa,” she whispered. “And I shall call you—”
“Price Durand.” And he murmured softly, “Aysa. Aysa of the golden land.”
She smiled, and was suddenly asleep, sitting half upright. Price rose and laid her softly upon his blankets, in a comfortable position. She did not wake when he moved her, but she smiled vaguely in her sleep.
“See here, Durand, we want to stop this muddle before it makes more trouble,” Jacob Garth greeted Price, as he walked up to the tent. Joao de Castro and Pasic were close behind him, nursing bruised faces, muttering unpleasantly together. Fouad followed, and a crowd of other men, whites and Arabs, most of them eyeing Price with unconcealed hostility.
Price stepped to meet them, trying to assume a confidence that he did not feel. “Of course,” he agreed, “we don’t want any trouble.”
“You’ll have to return Joao’s woman,” said Garth, his voice blandly sonorous, expressionless. His pouchy, broad face, still oddly tallow-white, as if the desert sun had never touched it, was blank as a mask. Unwinking, unfeeling, the small, pale eyes stared at Price.
“The girl isn’t his property,” Price stated, stiffly.
“Dios!” howled de Castro. “Do I pay for d’ bitch, to ’ave heem rob me?”
Jacob Garth waved a puffy, white hand. “That’s all right, Joao. We’re going to settle this… Durand, he did trade fairly for the woman. You can’t appropriate her for yourself, in this high-handed way. The men won’t stand for it.”
“I don’t propose,” said Price, “to have the girl mistreated.”
Garth moved ponderously forward, his voice rolled out persuasively:
“Listen, Durand. We’re after big stakes. A fortune is waiting for us. Many fortunes! A bigger strike than men have ever dreamed of. We’ve got to stand together; we can’t afford a quarrel.”
“I’m willing to do anything reasonable. I’ll pay de Castro whatever you think he should have.”
“It isn’t a question of money. Not with the gold practically at our finger-tips. Surely you don’t want to spoil our chances, for the sake of a woman. What’s one native slut, against the loot of the golden land?”
“Please don’t refer to her that way!” Price demanded, sharply. “After all, I’m the leader of this expedition. When I say hands off, it is hands off! De Castro is not going to have the girl!”
He was immediately sorry for the flare of anger, for it brought lowering looks from the men. To repair the damage, he turned to the little knot of whites and spoke pleadingly:
“See here, fellows, I want to do the right thing by all of you. I don’t want to deal unfairly by de Castro. I’ll give him my binoculars in place of those he traded for the girl. I don’t want her for myself—”
Rude, derisive laughter broke out. Trying to hide his rising anger beneath a smile, he went on:
“Surely you don’t want to see a helpless woman manhandled—”
“Enough of that,” Garth cut in. “You must realize that these are men, not Sunday school children.”
“Men, I hope, and not beasts.”
His appeal met no sympathy. These were a hard sort: no others would have been attracted by this desperate raid into the desert’s heart. Many of them were outside the law. Hardship and fear and greed had ridden down whatever of chivalry they might have had.
The faintest hint of a sardonic smile crossed Jacob Garth’s placid, red-bearded face.
“Has it occurred to you, Durand,” his question rolled out deliberately, “that you have just about lived out your usefulness as our leader? It’s possible, you know, that we could do without you—now there are no more checks to be
The girl caught herself nodding, jerked back upright, smiling wanly at Price.
“One thing more, and you may sleep,” he said. “What is your name?”
“Aysa,” she whispered. “And I shall call you—”
“Price Durand.” And he murmured softly, “Aysa. Aysa of the golden land.”
She smiled, and was suddenly asleep, sitting half upright. Price rose and laid her softly upon his blankets, in a comfortable position. She did not wake when he moved her, but she smiled vaguely in her sleep.
“See here, Durand, we want to stop this muddle before it makes more trouble,” Jacob Garth greeted Price, as he walked up to the tent. Joao de Castro and Pasic were close behind him, nursing bruised faces, muttering unpleasantly together. Fouad followed, and a crowd of other men, whites and Arabs, most of them eyeing Price with unconcealed hostility.
Price stepped to meet them, trying to assume a confidence that he did not feel. “Of course,” he agreed, “we don’t want any trouble.”
“You’ll have to return Joao’s woman,” said Garth, his voice blandly sonorous, expressionless. His pouchy, broad face, still oddly tallow-white, as if the desert sun had never touched it, was blank as a mask. Unwinking, unfeeling, the small, pale eyes stared at Price.
“The girl isn’t his property,” Price stated, stiffly.
“Dios!” howled de Castro. “Do I pay for d’ bitch, to ’ave heem rob me?”
Jacob Garth waved a puffy, white hand. “That’s all right, Joao. We’re going to settle this… Durand, he did trade fairly for the woman. You can’t appropriate her for yourself, in this high-handed way. The men won’t stand for it.”
“I don’t propose,” said Price, “to have the girl mistreated.”
Garth moved ponderously forward, his voice rolled out persuasively:
“Listen, Durand. We’re after big stakes. A fortune is waiting for us. Many fortunes! A bigger strike than men have ever dreamed of. We’ve got to stand together; we can’t afford a quarrel.”
“I’m willing to do anything reasonable. I’ll pay de Castro whatever you think he should have.”
“It isn’t a question of money. Not with the gold practically at our finger-tips. Surely you don’t want to spoil our chances, for the sake of a woman. What’s one native slut, against the loot of the golden land?”
“Please don’t refer to her that way!” Price demanded, sharply. “After all, I’m the leader of this expedition. When I say hands off, it is hands off! De Castro is not going to have the girl!”
He was immediately sorry for the flare of anger, for it brought lowering looks from the men. To repair the damage, he turned to the little knot of whites and spoke pleadingly:
“See here, fellows, I want to do the right thing by all of you. I don’t want to deal unfairly by de Castro. I’ll give him my binoculars in place of those he traded for the girl. I don’t want her for myself—”
Rude, derisive laughter broke out. Trying to hide his rising anger beneath a smile, he went on:
“Surely you don’t want to see a helpless woman manhandled—”
“Enough of that,” Garth cut in. “You must realize that these are men, not Sunday school children.”
“Men, I hope, and not beasts.”
His appeal met no sympathy. These were a hard sort: no others would have been attracted by this desperate raid into the desert’s heart. Many of them were outside the law. Hardship and fear and greed had ridden down whatever of chivalry they might have had.
The faintest hint of a sardonic smile crossed Jacob Garth’s placid, red-bearded face.
“Has it occurred to you, Durand,” his question rolled out deliberately, “that you have just about lived out your usefulness as our leader? It’s possible, you know, that we could do without you—now there are no more checks to be
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