Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1912-01-14
CHAPTER XII.
The Caravan in the Desert.

Yes, George vanished from the haunts
of men, as completely as If the Great Roc
had dropped him into the Valley of Dia-
monds and left him there: and as nobody
knows just where the Valley of Diamonds
is. George was very well lost. Still, there
was, at the end of most unique ex-
perience. a recompense far beyond its
value. But. of course. George, being with
out the gift of clarvoyance. saw nothing
save the immediate and imminent circum-
stances-a door that banged behind him,
portentously; sack. cloak, burnouse,
or whatever it was, flung about his head,
and smelling evily.
George hit out valiantly, and a merry
scuffie ensued. The room was small. at
least. George thought it was. for in the
space of one minute he thumped against
the four sides of it. He could see moth
ing and he couldn't breathe very well;
but in spite of these Inconvenience he
put up three rounds that would have
made some stir among the mlddleWelghtS.
In the phraseology of the fancy. he had
a good punch All the disappointments
Of the day seemed to become so many
pounds of steam in his shoulder: and he
was aware Of a kind of barbaric JOY
whenever he hit some one. All the cir
cumspection of years, all OF the gentle
blood of his peaceful forbears gave way
to the strain which still turks in the
blood of civilized humanity, even i'll the
veins of poets and parsons. lie fought
with all the tactics of sailor in bar
room. not Oyernicely.
A table toppled over with a smashing
noise. George and his assailants fell in a
heap beside it. Thwack. Bang! George
struggled to his feet and tuGsed at the
sitting envelope. Some one jumped upon
his back Old Man of the Sea style A
savage elbow jab disposed of this incubus.
And then the racket began all over again.
George never paused mentally to wonder
what all this rumpus was about; time
| enough to make inquiries after the scrim-
mage. Intrepidly. as HereWard the wake,
as Busy d Ambois, as Porthos in the cave
of Loeb Maria, George fought. He wasn't
trained athlete: he hadn't any science;
he was simply ordinarily tough and active
and clean-lived: and the injustice of an
unprovoked assault added to physical
prowess full measure of nervous energy.
1t was quasi-Homeric-a modern young
gentleman in evening dress holding off for
several minutes five sleek, sinewy, un-
hamDered Arabs But the days of the
gods We're no more: and no quick witted
goddess cast veil across the eyes of
the Arabs. No; George had to shift for
himself Suddenly there came a general
rush from the center of the room into one
of the right-angular corners The subse-
quent snarl of legs and arms was not un-
like that seen upon the foot ball field
George was the man with the ball. And
then to George came merciful darkness
The conjunction. as in astronomy, of two
planets in the same degree of the zodiac
meaning Georges head and the stucco
wall-gave the Arabs complete mastery
of the field of battle.
From the opposite side of the room
came the voice of the referee: Curses
of Allah upon these white dogs! How
they fight!' And Mahomed peered down
into the corner.
One by one the Arabs got up, each ex-
aiming his honorable wounds. George
alone remained unmoved, quiet and dis
interested, under the folds Of the tattered
burnouse.
.Is he dead?" demanded Mahomed
No my father. His head hit the wall"
Hasten, then. Bind his feet and hands,
and cover his eyes and mouth. We have
but little time"
There was a long way yet to go. and
Mahomed was too wise and cautious to
congratulate himself at this early stage.
George was thereupon trussed up like a
Christmas fowl ready for the oven. They
wrapped him up in the burnouse and car
ried him out to the closed carriage in
| waiting. No one In the street seemed