rose and neatly tipped him
overboard. He had long hated the fair man.

Straightway, unseen by any, as all eyes were on the grey-eyed youth and
his assailant, Moussa Isa cast loose the _toni_[41] that nestled beneath
the stern of the larger boat. He was about to shout that he had done so
when he realised that this would defeat his purpose, and also that the
fair Sheikh was still under water.

[41] Small dug-out canoe.

"Good," murmured the old Arab, "now brain him as he comes up--and secure
his body."

But the fair youth knew better than to rise in the immediate
neighbourhood of the boat. Swimming with the ease, grace and speed of a
seal, he emerged with bursting lungs a good hundred yards from where he
had disappeared. Having breathed deeply he again sank, to re-appear at
a point still more distant, and be lost in the gathering gloom.

"He is off to Cabul to lay his case before the Amir," observed the
elderly Arab with grim humour.

"Doubtless," agreed the Leading Gentleman, "he will swim the 2000 miles
to India, and then up the Indus to Attock." And added, "But, bear
witness all, if the young devil turn up again some day, that _I_ had no
quarrel with him.... A pity! A pity!... Where shall we find his like, a
Prank among the Franks, an Afghan among Afghans, a Frenchman in Algiers,
a nomad robber in Persia, a Bey in Cairo, a Sahib in Bombay--equally at
home as gentleman or tribesman? Where shall we find his like again as
gatherer of the yellow honey of Berlin and as negotiator in Marseilles
(where the discarded Gras breech-loaders of the army grow) and in
Muscat? Woe! Woe!"

"Or his like for impudence to his elders, harshness in a bargain,
cunning and greed?" added the benevolent-looking Arab, who had gained a
handsome sum by the murder.

"For courage," corrected the Leading Gentleman, and with a heavy sigh,
groaned. "We shall never see him more--and he was worth his weight to me
annually in gold."

"No, you won't see him again," agreed the Arab. "He'll hardly swim to
Aden--apart from the little matter of sharks.... A pity the sharks
should have so fair a body--and we starve!" and he turned a fatherly
benevolent eye on Moussa Isa--whom a tall slender black Arab, from the
hills about Port Sudan, of the true "fuzzy-wuzzy" type, had seized in
his thin but Herculean arms as the boy rose to spring into the _toni_
and paddle to the rescue of his benefactor.

The Dar-es-Salaam merchant threw Fuzzy Wuzzy a coil of