Suddenly he thought better of whatever impulse
was moving him.
"Sergeant!" he called. The non-commissioned officer hurried toward
him, saluting as his heels clicked together before his superior.
"Take this black dog back to his people," he ordered. "See that
they leave at once. Shoot the first man who comes within range of
camp tonight."
Sheik Amor ben Khatour drew himself up to his full height. His
evil eyes narrowed. He raised the bag of gold level with the eyes
of the French officer.
"You will pay more than this for the life of Achmet ben Houdin, my
sister's son," he said. "And as much again for the name that you
have called me and a hundred fold in sorrow in the bargain."
"Get out of here!" growled Captain Armand Jacot, "before I kick
you out."
All of this happened some three years before the opening of this
tale. The trail of Achmet ben Houdin and his accomplices is a matter
of record--you may verify it if you care to. He met the death he
deserved, and he met it with the stoicism of the Arab.
A month later little Jeanne Jacot, the seven-year-old daughter
of Captain Armand Jacot, mysteriously disappeared.
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