Sleepless upon his blankets, Albert Werper let his evilmind dwell upon the charms of the woman in the nearbytent. He had noted Mohammed Beyd's sudden interest inthe girl, and judging the man by his own standards, hadguessed at the basis of the Arab's sudden change ofattitude toward the prisoner.

And as he let his imaginings run riot they arousedwithin him a bestial jealousy of Mohammed Beyd, and agreat fear that the other might encompass his basedesigns upon the defenseless girl. By a strangeprocess of reasoning, Werper, whose designs wereidentical with the Arab's, pictured himself as JaneClayton's protector, and presently convinced himselfthat the attentions which might seem hideous to herif proffered by Mohammed Beyd, would be welcomed fromAlbert Werper.

Her husband was dead, and Werper fancied that he couldreplace in the girl's heart the position which had beenvacated by the act of the grim reaper. He could offerJane Clayton marriage--a thing which Mohammed Beydwould not offer, and which the girl would spurn fromhim with as deep disgust as she would his unholy lust.

It was not long before the Belgian had succeeded inconvincing himself that the captive not only had everyreason for having conceived sentiments of love for him;but that she had by various feminine methodsacknowledged her new-born affection.

And then a sudden resolution possessed him. He threwthe blankets from him and rose to his feet. Pulling onhis boots and buckling his cartridge belt and revolverabout his hips he stepped to the flap of his tent andlooked out. There was no sentry before the entrance tothe prisoner's tent! What could it mean? Fate wasindeed playing into his hands.

Stepping outside he passed to the rear of the girl'stent. There was no sentry there, either! And now,boldly, he walked to the entrance and stepped within.

Dimly the moonlight illumined the interior. Across thetent a figure bent above the blankets of a bed. Therewas a whispered word, and another figure rose from theblankets to a sitting position. Slowly Albert Werper'seyes were becoming accustomed to the half darkness ofthe tent. He saw that the figure leaning over the bedwas that of a man, and he guessed at the truth of thenocturnal visitor's identity.

A sullen, jealous rage enveloped him. He took a stepin the direction of the two. He heard a frightened crybreak from the girl's lips as she recognized thefeatures of the man above her, and he saw Mohammed Beydseize her by the throat and bear her back upon theblankets.

Cheated passion cast a red blur before the eyes of theBelgian. No! The man should not have her. She was forhim and him alone. He would not be robbed of his rights.

Quickly he ran across the tent and threw himself uponthe back of Mohammed Beyd. The latter, thoughsurprised by this sudden and unexpected attack, was notone to give up without a battle. The Belgian's fingerswere feeling for his throat, but the Arab tore themaway, and rising wheeled upon his adversary. As theyfaced each other Werper struck the Arab a heavy blow inthe face, sending him staggering backward. If he hadfollowed up his advantage he would have had MohammedBeyd at his mercy in another moment; but instead hetugged at his revolver to draw it from its holster, andFate ordained that at that particular moment the weaponshould stick in its leather scabbard.

Before he could disengage it, Mohammed Beyd hadrecovered himself and was dashing upon him. AgainWerper struck the other in the face, and the Arabreturned the blow. Striking at each other andceaselessly attempting to clinch, the two battledabout the small interior of the tent, while the girl,wide-eyed in terror and astonishment, watched theduel in frozen silence.

Again and again Werper struggled to draw his weapon.Mohammed Beyd, anticipating no such opposition to hisbase desires, had come to the tent unarmed, except fora long knife which he now drew as he stood pantingduring the first brief rest of the encounter.

"Dog of a Christian," he whispered, "look upon thisknife in the hands of Mohammed Beyd! Look well,unbeliever, for it is the last thing in life that youshall see or feel. With it Mohammed Beyd will cut outyour black heart. If you have a God pray to him now--in a minute more you shall be dead," and with that herushed viciously upon the Belgian, his knife raisedhigh above his head.

Werper was still dragging futilely at his weapon. TheArab was almost upon him. In desperation the Europeanwaited until Mohammed Beyd was all but against him,then he threw himself to one side to the floor of thetent, leaving a leg extended in the path of the Arab.

The trick succeeded. Mohammed Beyd, carried on by themomentum of his charge, stumbled over the projectingobstacle and crashed to the ground. Instantly he wasup again and wheeling to renew the battle; but Werperwas 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 wasa sharp report, a lurid gleam of flame in the darkness,and Mohammed Beyd rolled over and over upon the floorto come to a final rest beside the bed of the woman hehad sought to dishonor.

Almost immediately following the report came the soundof excited voices in the camp without. Men werecalling back and forth to one another asking themeaning of the shot. Werper could hear them runninghither and thither, investigating.

Jane Clayton had risen to her feet as the Arab died,and now she came forward with outstretched hands towardWerper.

"How can I ever thank you, my friend?" she asked."And to think that only today I had almost believed theinfamous story which this beast told me of your perfidyand of your past. Forgive me, M. Frecoult. I mighthave known that a white man and a gentleman could benaught else than the protector of a woman of his ownrace amid the dangers of this savage land."

Werper's hands dropped limply at his sides. He stoodlooking at the girl; but he could find no words toreply to her. Her innocent arraignment of his truepurposes was unanswerable.

Outside, the Arabs were searching for the author ofthe disturbing shot. The two sentries who had beenrelieved and sent to their blankets by Mohammed Beydwere the first to suggest going to the tent of theprisoner. It occurred to them that possibly the womanhad successfully defended herself against their leader.

Werper heard the men approaching. To be apprehended asthe slayer of Mohammed Beyd would be equivalent to asentence of immediate death. The fierce and brutalraiders would tear to pieces a Christian who had daredspill the blood of their leader. He must find someexcuse to delay the finding of Mohammed Beyd's deadbody.

Returning his revolver to its holster, he walkedquickly to the entrance of the tent. Parting the flapshe stepped out and confronted the men, who were rapidlyapproaching. Somehow he found within him the necessarybravado to force a smile to his lips, as he held up hishand to bar their farther progress.

"The woman resisted," he said, "and Mohammed Beyd wasforced to shoot her. She is not dead--only slightlywounded. You may go back to your blankets. MohammedBeyd and I will look after the prisoner;" then heturned and re-entered the tent, and the raiders,satisfied by this explanation, gladly returned to theirbroken slumbers.

As he again faced Jane Clayton, Werper found himselfanimated by quite different intentions than those whichhad lured him from his blankets but a few minutesbefore. The excitement of his encounter with MohammedBeyd, as well as the dangers which he now faced at thehands of the raiders when morning must inevitablyreveal the truth of what had occurred in the tent ofthe prisoner that night, had naturally cooled the hotpassion which had dominated him when he entered thetent.

But another and stronger force was exerting itself inthe girl's favor. However low a man may sink, honorand chivalry, has he ever possessed them, are neverentirely eradicated from his character, and thoughAlbert Werper had long since ceased to evidence theslightest claim to either the one or the other, thespontaneous acknowledgment of them which the girl'sspeech had presumed had reawakened them both withinhim.

For the first time he realized the almost hopeless andfrightful position of the fair captive, and the depthsof ignominy to which he had sunk, that had made itpossible for him, a well-born, European gentleman, tohave entertained even for a moment the part that he hadtaken in the ruin of her home, happiness, and herself.

Too much of baseness already lay at the threshold ofhis conscience for him ever to hope entirely to redeemhimself; but in the first, sudden burst of contritionthe man conceived an honest intention to undo, in sofar as lay within his power, the evil that his criminalavarice had brought upon this sweet and unoffendingwoman.

As he stood apparently listening to the retreatingfootsteps--Jane Clayton approached him.

"What are we to do now?" she asked. "Morning willbring discovery of this," and she pointed to the stillbody of Mohammed Beyd. "They will kill you when theyfind him."

For a time Werper did not reply, then he turnedsuddenly toward the woman.

"I have a plan," he cried. "It will require nerve andcourage on your part; but you have already shown thatyou possess both. Can you endure still more?"

"I can endure anything," she replied with a bravesmile, "that may offer us even a slight chance forescape."

"You must simulate death," he explained, "while I carryyou from the camp. I will explain to the sentries thatMohammed Beyd has ordered me to take your body into thejungle. This seemingly unnecessary act I shall explainupon the grounds that Mohammed Beyd had conceived aviolent passion for you and that he so regretted theact by which he had become your slayer that he couldnot endure the silent reproach of your lifeless body."

The girl held up her hand to stop. A smile touched herlips.

"Are you quite mad?" she asked. "Do you imagine thatthe sentries will credit any such ridiculous tale?"

"You do not know them," he replied. "Beneath theirrough exteriors, despite their calloused and criminalnatures, there exists in each a well-defined strain ofromantic emotionalism--you will find it among such asthese throughout the world. It is romance which luresmen to lead wild lives of outlawry and crime. The rusewill succeed--never fear."

Jane Clayton shrugged. "We can but try it--and thenwhat?"

"I shall hide you in the jungle," continued theBelgian, "coming for you alone and with two horses inthe morning."

"But how will you explain Mohammed Beyd's death?" sheasked. "It will be discovered before ever you canescape the camp in the morning."

"I shall not explain it," replied Werper. "MohammedBeyd shall explain it himself--we must leave that tohim. Are you ready for the venture?"

"Yes."

"But wait, I must get you a weapon and ammunition,"and Werper walked quickly from the tent.

Very shortly he returned with an extra revolver andammunition belt strapped about his waist.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Quite ready," replied the girl.

"Then come and throw yourself limply across my leftshoulder," and Werper knelt to receive her.

"There," he said, as he rose to his feet. "Now, letyour arms, your legs and your head hang limply.Remember that you are dead."

A moment later the man walked out into the camp, thebody of the woman across his shoulder.

A thorn boma had been thrown up about the camp, todiscourage the bolder of the hungry carnivora. Acouple of sentries paced to and fro in the light of afire which they kept burning brightly. The nearer ofthese looked up in surprise as he saw Werper approaching.

"Who are you?" he cried. "What have you there?"

Werper raised the hood of his burnoose that the fellowmight see his face.

"This is the body of the woman," he explained."Mohammed Beyd has asked me to take it into the jungle,for he cannot bear to look upon the face of her whom heloved, and whom necessity compelled him to slay. Hesuffers greatly--he is inconsolable. It was withdifficulty that I prevented him taking his own life."

Across the speaker's shoulder, limp and frightened, thegirl waited for the Arab's reply. He would laugh atthis preposterous story; of that she was sure. In aninstant he would unmask the deception that M. Frecoultwas attempting to practice upon him, and they wouldboth be lost. She tried to plan how best she might aidher would-be rescuer in the fight which must mostcertainly follow within a moment or two.

Then she heard the voice of the Arab as he replied toM. Frecoult.

"Are you going alone, or do you wish me to awakensomeone to accompany you?" he asked, and his tonedenoted not the least surprise that Mohammed Beyd hadsuddenly discovered such remarkably sensitivecharacteristics.

"I shall go alone," replied Werper, and he passed onand out through the narrow opening in the boma, bywhich the sentry stood.

A moment later he had entered among the boles of thetrees with his burden, and when safely hidden from thesentry's view lowered the girl to her feet, with a low,"sh-sh," when she would have spoken.

Then he led her a little farther into the forest,halted beneath a large tree with spreading branches,buckled a cartridge belt and revolver about her waist,and assisted her to clamber into the lower branches.

"Tomorrow," he whispered, "as soon as I can elude them,I will return for you. Be brave, Lady Greystoke--wemay yet escape."

"Thank you," she replied in a low tone. "You have beenvery kind, and very brave."

Werper did not reply, and the darkness of the night hidthe scarlet flush of shame which swept upward acrosshis face. Quickly he turned and made his way back tocamp. The sentry, from his post, saw him enter his owntent; but he did not see him crawl under the canvas atthe rear and sneak cautiously to the tent which theprisoner had occupied, where now lay the dead body ofMohammed Beyd.

Raising the lower edge of the rear wall, Werper creptwithin and approached the corpse. Without an instant'shesitation he seized the dead wrists and dragged thebody upon its back to the point where he had justentered. On hands and knees he backed out as he hadcome in, drawing the corpse after him. Once outsidethe Belgian crept to the side of the tent and surveyedas much of the camp as lay within his vision--no onewas watching.

Returning to the body, he lifted it to his shoulder,and risking all on a quick sally, ran swiftly acrossthe narrow opening which separated the prisoner's tentfrom that of the dead man. Behind the silken wall hehalted and lowered his burden to the ground, and therehe remained motionless for several minutes, listening.

Satisfied, at last, that no one had seen him, hestooped and raised the bottom of the tent wall, backedin and dragged the thing that had been Mohammed Beydafter him. To the sleeping rugs of the dead raider hedrew the corpse, then he fumbled about in the darknessuntil he had found Mohammed Beyd's revolver. With theweapon in his hand he returned to the side of the deadman, kneeled beside the bedding, and inserted his righthand with the weapon beneath the rugs, piled a numberof thicknesses of the closely woven fabric over andabout the revolver with his left hand. Then he pulledthe trigger, and at the same time he coughed.

The muffled report could not have been heard above thesound of his cough by one directly outside the tent.Werper was satisfied. A grim smile touched his lips ashe withdrew the weapon from the rugs and placed itcarefully in the right hand of the dead man, fixingthree of the fingers around the grip and the indexfinger inside the trigger guard.

A moment longer he tarried to rearrange the disorderedrugs, and then he left as he had entered, fasteningdown the rear wall of the tent as it had been before hehad raised it.

Going to the tent of the prisoner he removed there alsothe evidence that someone might have come or gonebeneath the rear wall. Then he returned to his owntent, entered, fastened down the canvas, and crawledinto his blankets.

The following morning he was awakened by the excitedvoice of Mohammed Beyd's slave calling to him at theentrance of his tent.

"Quick! Quick!" cried the black in a frightened tone."Come! Mohammed Beyd is dead in his tent--dead by hisown hand."

Werper sat up quickly in his blankets at the firstalarm, a startled expression upon his countenance; butat the last words of the black a sigh of relief escapedhis lips and a slight smile replaced the tense linesupon his face.

"I come," he called to the slave, and drawing on hisboots, rose and went out of his tent.

Excited Arabs and blacks were running from all parts ofthe camp toward the silken tent of Mohammed Beyd, andwhen Werper entered he found a number of the raiderscrowded about the corpse, now cold and stiff.

Shouldering his way among them, the Belgian haltedbeside the dead body of the raider. He looked down insilence for a moment upon the still face, then hewheeled upon the Arabs.

"Who has done this thing?" he cried. His tone was bothmenacing and accusing. "Who has murdered Mohammed Beyd?"

A sudden chorus of voices arose in tumultuous protest.

"Mohammed Beyd was not murdered," they cried. "He diedby his own hand. This, and Allah, are our witnesses,"and they pointed to a revolver in the dead man's hand.

For a time Werper pretended to be skeptical; but atlast permitted himself to be convinced that MohammedBeyd had indeed killed himself in remorse for the deathof the white woman he had, all unknown to hisfollowers, loved so devotedly.

Werper himself wrapped the blankets of the dead manabout the corpse, taking care to fold inward thescorched and bullet-torn fabric that had muffled thereport of the weapon he had fired the night before.Then six husky blacks carried the body out into theclearing where the camp stood, and deposited it in ashallow grave. As the loose earth fell upon the silentform beneath the tell-tale blankets, Albert Werperheaved another sigh of relief--his plan had worked outeven better than he had dared hope.

With Achmet Zek and Mohammed Beyd both dead, theraiders were without a leader, and after a briefconference they decided to return into the north onvisits to the various tribes to which they belonged,Werper, after learning the direction they intendedtaking, announced that for his part, he was going eastto the coast, and as they knew of nothing he possessedwhich any of them coveted, they signified theirwillingness that he should go his way.

As they rode off, he sat his horse in the center of theclearing watching them disappear one by one into thejungle, and thanked his God that he had at last escapedtheir villainous clutches.

When he could no longer hear any sound of them, heturned to the right and rode into the forest toward thetree where he had hidden Lady Greystoke, and drawingrein beneath it, called up in a gay and hopeful voice apleasant, "Good morning!"

There was no reply, and though his eyes searched thethick foliage above him, he could see no sign of thegirl. Dismounting, he quickly climbed into the tree,where he could obtain a view of all its branches. Thetree was empty--Jane Clayton had vanished during thesilent watches of the jungle night.