The Flight to the Jungle
Sleepless upon his blankets, Albert Werper let his evil mind dwell upon the charms of the woman in the nearby tent.He had noted Mohammed Beyd's sudden interest in the girl, and judging the man by his own standards, had guessed at the basis of the Arab's sudden change of attitude toward the prisoner.
And as he let his imaginings run riot they aroused within him a bestial jealousy of Mohammed Beyd, and a great fear that the other might encompass his base designs upon the defenseless girl.By a strange process of reasoning, Werper, whose designs were identical with the Arab's, pictured himself as Jane Clayton's protector, and presently convinced himself that the attentions which might seem hideous to her if proffered by Mohammed Beyd, would be welcomed from Albert Werper.
Her husband was dead, and Werper fancied that he could replace in the girl's heart the position which had been vacated by the act of the grim reaper.He could offer Jane Clayton marriage--a thing which Mohammed Beyd would not offer, and which the girl would spurn from him with as deep disgust as she would his unholy lust.
It was not long before the Belgian had succeeded in convincing himself that the captive not only had every reason for having conceived sentiments of love for him;
but that she had by various feminine methods acknowledged her new-born affection.
And then a sudden resolution possessed him.He threw the blankets from him and rose to his feet.Pulling on his boots and buckling his cartridge belt and revolver about his hips he stepped to the flap of his tent and looked out.There was no sentry before the entrance to the prisoner's tent! What could it mean? Fate was indeed playing into his hands.
Stepping outside he passed to the rear of the girl's tent.There was no sentry there, either! And now, boldly, he walked to the entrance and stepped within.
Dimly the moonlight illumined the interior.Across the tent a figure bent above the blankets of a bed.There was a whispered word, and another figure rose from the blankets to a sitting position.Slowly Albert Werper's eyes were becoming accustomed to the half darkness of the tent.He saw that the figure leaning over the bed was that of a man, and he guessed at the truth of the nocturnal visitor's identity.
A sullen, jealous rage enveloped him.He took a step in the direction of the two.He heard a frightened cry break from the girl's lips as she recognized the features of the man above her, and he saw Mohammed Beyd seize her by the throat and bear her back upon the blankets.
Cheated passion cast a red blur before the eyes of the Belgian.No! The man should not have her.She was for him and him alone.He would not be robbed of his rights.
Quickly he ran across the tent and threw himself upon the back of Mohammed Beyd.The latter, though surprised by this sudden and unexpected attack, was not one to give up without a battle.The Belgian's fingers were feeling for his throat, but the Arab tore them away, and rising wheeled upon his adversary.As they faced each other Werper struck the Arab a heavy blow in the face, sending him staggering backward.If he had followed up his advantage he would have had Mohammed Beyd at his mercy in another moment; but instead he tugged at his revolver to draw it from its holster, and Fate ordained that at that particular moment the weapon should stick in its leather scabbard.
Before he could disengage it, Mohammed Beyd had recovered himself and was dashing upon him.Again Werper struck the other in the face, and the Arab returned the blow.Striking at each other and ceaselessly attempting to clinch, the two battled about the small interior of the tent, while the girl, wide-eyed in terror and astonishment, watched the duel in frozen silence.
Again and again Werper struggled to draw his weapon.
Mohammed Beyd, anticipating no such opposition to his base desires, had come to the tent unarmed, except for a long knife which he now drew as he stood panting during the first brief rest of the encounter.
"Dog of a Christian," he whispered, "look upon this knife in the hands of Mohammed Beyd! Look well, unbeliever, for it is the last thing in life that you shall see or feel.With it Mohammed Beyd will cut out your black heart.If you have a God pray to him now--
in a minute more you shall be dead," and with that he rushed viciously upon the Belgian, his knife raised high above his head.
Werper was still dragging futilely at his weapon.The Arab was almost upon him.In desperation the European waited until Mohammed Beyd was all but against him, then he threw himself to one side to the floor of the tent, leaving a leg extended in the path of the Arab.
The trick succeeded.Mohammed Beyd, carried on by the momentum of his charge, stumbled over the projecting obstacle and crashed to the ground.Instantly he was up again and wheeling to renew the battle; but Werper was on foot ahead of him, and now his revolver, loosened from its holster, flashed in his hand.
The Arab dove headfirst to grapple with him, there was a sharp report, a lurid gleam of flame in the darkness, and Mohammed Beyd rolled over and over upon the floor to come to a final rest beside the bed of the woman he had sought to dishonor.
Almost immediately following the report came the sound of excited voices in the camp without.Men were calling back and forth to one another asking the meaning of the shot.Werper could hear them running hither and thither, investigating.
Jane Clayton had risen to her feet as the Arab died, and now she came forward with outstretched hands toward Werper.
"How can I ever thank you, my friend?" she asked.
"And to think that only today I had almost believed the infamous story which this beast told me of your perfidy and of your past.Forgive me, M.Frecoult.I might have known that a white man and a gentleman could be naught else than the protector of a woman of his own race amid the dangers of this savage land."