Yesterday the hunters brought
in the body of El Adrea. El Adrea was quite dead. No more will
he slink silently upon his unsuspecting prey. No more will his
great head and his maned shoulders strike terror to the hearts of
the grass eaters at the drinking ford by night. No more will his
thundering roar shake the ground. El Adrea is dead. They beat his
body terribly when it was brought into the village; but El Adrea
did not mind. He did not feel the blows, for he was dead. When
I am dead, Geeka, neither shall I feel the blows of Mabunu, or the
kicks of The Sheik, my father. Then shall I be happy. Oh, Geeka,
how I wish that I were dead!"
If Geeka contemplated a remonstrance it was cut short by sounds of
altercation beyond the village gates. Meriem listened. With the
curiosity of childhood she would have liked to have run down there
and learn what it was that caused the men to talk so loudly. Others
of the village were already trooping in the direction of the noise.
But Meriem did not dare. The Sheik would be there, doubtless, and
if he saw her it would be but another opportunity to abuse her, so
Meriem lay still and listened.
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